Sometimes the growls were words — stark nasty words. Sometimes I commanded you to watch me/stroke me/touch me/fuck me/beg me/bite me. Or maybe I ple...ded for more and deeper and harder and faster and now. Just hearing my own voice, it's lust-filled, rhythmic reverberations was pushing me over because I knew no-one listening to me right then could mistake those sounds for anything other than a body on the verge of a huge orgasm.And it was shattering. When I came, I came so hard, and it felt so. He wove me a story that was so sad that tears ran down my face. I could not imagine a childhood so devoid of love and affection, as mine had been the opposite. His parents seemed like creatures that loomed in the shadows, and only came out of hiding to hurt him with judgement and criticism. But it wasn't all bad. His summers and vacations with his tante, which was french for aunt, sounded magical, and reminded me so much of my own fairy tale childhood. Only his lasted mere breaths, and was. More

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