Page 68 of The Hangman's Rope
He expertly got through the tangled knot and whipped the laces free of their eyelets in a swift manner, hooking his thick finger behind the X the laces mad and pulling, the long strands whipping through the metal reinforced loops, the plastic tips of the laces thrashing and popping against the leather to either side of my shin vaguely like a whip cracking.
I watched the quick progression of my unbinding totally engrossed in what he was doing. He finished the first boot, and repeated the process with the other and I watchedhimfor the second one. His face was almost serene, as though the laces smoothing over his calloused fingertip was almost a meditative thing. He looked as thoroughly engrossed as I had been just a moment before, but also…relaxedand I realized relaxed wasn’t something I was used to seeing when it came to Hangman.
He always held a sort of tension about him, in the set of his shoulders, riding along his back, and in how his jaw clenched, even now as I reached out to tuck a long strand of escaped hair from the little man-bun he had going on at the nape of his neck.
His jaw clenched as my hand came into view and while he didn’t flinch away, his demeanor changed just enough to let me know if he had registered my movement as threatening, I likelywould have been on the floor held prone… and while that should have made my mouth go dry with fear, I wasn’t afraid.
No, the sensation that zinged through me at the thought of Hangman putting me on my back and gripping my throat or wrist sent a thrill like no other through me and I really, really, wondered what that said about me.
He caught the look in my eyes and smiled faintly, slipping off my other boot. I was transfixed by what I saw in his as he reached around me and cupped my ass with his big hands, sliding me to the edge of the seat I was in. He walked forward on his knees, and we met somewhere in the middle, his body fitting against mine, his straining cock through the prison of his jeans pressing against my pussy through the prison of mine and lord, he felt like he was going to be thick.
I didn’t have much time to think about it before his mouth was on mine, devouring it, his hands pressing me forward, cupping the globes of my ass, and pulling me tight and tighter against him.
My arms wound around his neck, resting on his shoulders as I unconsciously moved my hips, rubbing myself up and down against him, causing him to groan into my mouth. A desperate and hungry sound that thrilled me down to my toes.
“Fuck, Sweetpea,” he muttered, breathy, and the sound of his world weary and traveled voice struck an answering chord in me of justfuck this shit. Fuck it all…I wanted desperately to feel good and to makehimfeel good, and to just shut out the noise in my head surrounding sex and what’d happened to me, altogether.
I slipped my blouse over my head and let it fall to the couch cushion behind me, and looked him in the eye, brazenly. He gave me one, silent, questioning glance, and whatever he saw in my eyes seemed to give him permission.
He wrapped his arms tightly around me and slipped me off the edge of his couch to straddle his lap, right there on his living room floor.
His hands found my ass again, his mouth found mine, and he manually rubbed us together, working me up and down the length of his cock through the rest of our clothes, moaning into my mouth as he did it, but I wasn’t resisting, quite the opposite, actually.
I’d captured his face between my hands, forcing his head back as I worked his mouth with mine just as enthusiastically.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he whispered tearing his mouth from mine. “Off.” He helped me stand on my shaking legs and I went for the button and zipper to my jeans before he could. While he peeled the denim down my legs, releasing the fragrance of my sopping wet cunt to lightly perfume the air around us, I worked the clasp of my bra behind me, slipping the offending garment off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor on my opposite side of me where he discarded my clothes.
He rubbed over my delicate lace panties, between my thighs, at the core of my being, and found me wet and wanting.
He stared up at me as I stared down at him, feet braced apart, my hands on his shoulders to steady myself from swooning too hard as he played with my pussy over my panties, before finally giving me what I wanted and slipping his hand down inside them, to stroke me with nothing between us. I whimpered and parted my legs further while he played with me, kissing the front of my thigh, his other hand hooking his rough fingers in the waistband of my panties and sweeping them down my legs.
He just as swiftly pulled his own shirt over his head and went for his well-worn leather belt and the waistband of his own jeans.
He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and his cock was thicker and longer than I even could have imagined. I shivered withanticipation as he struggled to get his folded legs out from beneath him and his jeans down and off of them accordingly. He’d lost his boots and socks somewhere in the bedroom or bathroom and I just hadn’t noticed, but that was neither here nor there as I watched his cock stand straight at attention, reaching to just an inch or two below his belly button, the precum glistening at its tip.
I felt my pussy let out a desperate and throbbing ache at the beautiful sight, and all I wanted was to feel him stretch me, press against my walls, and fill me to the point I wouldn’t know if I could take him all the way.
“C’mere,” he said, resuming his original kneeling posture and reaching for me. He slid his hands up the outer portion of my thigh, from knees to hips, his arms twining around my waist and pulling me down on top of him as we were before.
Feeling his cock rigid against me, nothing between us, was almost orgasmic all on its own as he encouraged me with his hands on my ass to rub myself up and down his length. Not penetrating. Not yet.
I threw back my head and gasped at the building sensation inside of me every time my clit rubbed against his hard length and he took it for an invitation, one hand leaving my ass to come around and grip my boob, lifting it so that he could take my nipple into his mouth.
“Ah!” the cry was as sharp as the sensation of his teeth gripping the tender flesh in his mouth, pulling and suckling at it. My hands left his shoulders and buried themselves in the back of his hair, pulling his mouth tighter against my chest, even as I writhed my hips seductively, looking for a deeper touch that what I’d been given so far.
I slid myself up and down his length and my pussy was more than wet, more than ready, because on the third or fourth try, he was suddenly justthere, at my entrance, gliding in andoh,I slowed down. I savored the sensation of Hangman’s body fitting into mine, the slow stretch, the aching fullness, the way my body protested for just the barest breath of a moment before acquiescing to his silent turgid strength. My body relented, became a welcoming place for him and he held me tight, his arms around me, as I slid him all the way in, sinking over the top of him, taking him damn near to the root inside me.
Oh, how he filled me. Oh, how he pressed against my walls and found my end, that sweet almost sharp twinge at my cervix having to relent and push in letting the head of his cock have its space.
We stilled, each of us panting into each other’s mouths, a frantic staccato of our chests heaving, our breaths coming at a rapid pace, as we both adjusted to being inextricably linked in this way.
“Move for me, baby. Take your pleasure. I want to watch you writhe, I want to hear you moan,” he whispered against my ear.
One hand wrapped around my back, hand on my ass, the other wrapped the opposite direction, his big hand cradling my skull and buried in the back of my long auburn hair causing me to groan in pleasure as I nodded a bit and started to move myself, forward and back, giving a little twist to my hips in the middle there, riding him in what can only be described as a figure-eight pattern thatoh, lord. Oh, yes,that was doing it. That was hitting the spot.
He groaned and held me tighter, kissing my throat, my flushed chest, my shoulders, just showering me in these feather light kisses, his lips contacting my heated skin and turning up the fire inside of me, almost making them feel cool in some trick of body mechanics and their thermodynamics.
I picked up my pace, breathless with the hard work, desperate to coax that glowing spark of a feeling deep in my belly, in my womb, to life. I wanted that glowy and pleasurablesensation to spark harder, to catch fire, and to sweep through my blood and along my nerves like a wildfire until we were both consumed by the fires of our passion for one another completely.
