It's not weak to enjoy this.

Close your eyes, for a moment, and take in a breath; feel my hands on your hips, the sting of their echo still reddening your cheeks. You can feel it, can't you? The ridges of callused skin along the arc of my palms, pressed right against where your waist gives way to your hips, guiding you back with the sure insistence of gravity. There, beneath you, is something soft - warm, thick fur from a bear, spread out lushly by the hearth, our things slung around bedposts above and lit warmly by firelight, and, for once, you're exposed.

I can see all of you, now, and even while your face reddens, hair hanging down around your face as you feel that warm, blunt press at your ring, I drink you in. The scars on your arms, the faint notches of your spine, the smooth curve of muscle around your shoulders flowing into the soft weight of your breasts below. You are, I promise, beautiful, and I can scarcely hold back from running my hands along you, gently and firmly alike. One moment, it's a tender caress trailing along your back, the next, a firm grasp, fingers furrowing your flesh, squeezing as my lips play along the curve of your neck.

And when I murmur your name, a hint of pink flowering on my own cheeks when you grunt softly? You're perfect, in that half-second between embarrassment and surprise, when my hands find your hips again and bring you smoothly, slickly home. It doesn't hurt, at first, and when it does, it's but a dull ache, the stretching, full sensation of my body entering yours causing a tensing that has nothing to do with thought. It's instinct, now, guiding us both, as my hips press in that last half-inch, the firm nestle of my sack between your legs falling against what you had thought, not so long ago, was the only way a man might ever take you.

You were wrong, but there's something strong in admitting that. Something warm and giddy, spiraling up from the pit of your stomach, as gentle fingers close softly around your throat, pulling you back for a kiss.

Soon enough, skin and sweat will clash like swords again, but for now, the first time like this, the world settles for a moment, all its clouds and storms vanished in the hot, solid connection of you and me.

A little vignette, spawned both from my love of badass lady warriors, romantic anal, and sheer, sweet passion with a rough frisson.

Kinks: Anal, romance, sensuality, and the sort of roughness that's built and borne of trust.

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