Rough And Dirty Gems

Rough And Dirty Gems

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Miguel: Part 5: Home Coming

Our passion was rewarded. I received acceptance into my first choice of Graduate programs a very prestigious school. They had an excellent independent study program and agreed I could study and write my thesis in Europe as long as I corresponded with my advisers monthly. I could go back to Miguel in October. My heart lifted, I booked my flights and my body relaxed in the knowledge I would be in Miguel’s arms again.

As the date of my arrival neared, Miguel called more regularly, he told me he got an apartment for us he had procured a dresser for me, the apartment was small, but it had 2 bedrooms, because that seemed more suitable. I felt like I would cry. Was he setting me aside. I didn’t have the heart to ask. My body clenched, the agony of rejection was inside of me. Had I made a mistake? Would we be only roommates now? What should I say to Him? I thought about this revelation for weeks. I discussed it with my friends and sisters. They all encouraged me to ask Him.

With my heart in my throat, one week before I was meant to depart I asked him if he had procured a bed for me. He said matter-of-factly, with no inflection of hurt or lust or anything “Belle, will you not need a bed, you stay with me in mine.” My heart leapt out of my chest and relief flooded me entirely. The familiar butterflies moved in me and He agreed to meet me at the airport in Glasgow in five days.

The entire flight from New York to London then the connection to Glasgow, I was in turns, sick with longing and want and desire and an uncontrollable fear of what was to come. I imagined His lips on mine in the airport, His arms around me, my body convulsing in orgasm in our bed. Would it be like it had been? Was I making a mistake? Did he pine for me the way I did for him?

When the wheels set down in Glasgow, the murky gray sky was a relief to me. The bright autumn sunshine of New York was behind me, my life would be brightened by  Miguel now. He stood at baggage claim waiting for my flight. I saw Him first. His handsome face, his neat clothing, the gray woolen cardigan with the large wooden buttons we bought together at the touristy handcraft store in Skye, his neatly laundered dark wash jeans, his expensive Italian shoes, his stylish glasses and then he saw me. His smile made my body tingle, from my hair to my fingertips. My heart thumped, with the blood rushing through my veins, I felt dizzy and sick. I was sure I was dreaming, I was sure I would faint. He had become even more handsome in my absence.

I thought he was going to see me and just turn and leave. He stood still, completely motionless as I walked slowly toward Him. All focus around me narrowed to the pinpoints of His eyes. Then he started to move toward me as if called by a magnetic force. Then he moved faster and faster toward me, then we were touching. I was alive again. I was whole. I was in His arms and I was sobbing and his lips were on mine and his hand was around me curled into my hair, his tongue probing me teasing me. I wanted him right there on the linoleum floor. We must have made quite a scene in the moldy yellow airport baggage claim. My body ached to be pressed naked to his. I could feel his cock stirring against my belly. He whispered in my ear, in English which was much less accented than the last time he spoke to me. “Belle, my dear lovely girl, you are Mine again. I was lonely and now I am not anymore. You are mine, I will not let you go away again. My Belle, I’m so happy you came back to me.” He fussed over me, asking me if I was hungry, if I was tired. I lied and told him no. Please just show me our apartment. He smiled and said, “Yes eager Belle, I will take you to my flat.”

The flat was larger than I expected, it was on the first floor with a shared hallway, but Miguel explained he had discussed using the side door with the landlady and he would have keys made in a day or so. The apartment had a sunny (by Glaswegian standards) open kitchen/ dining room/ living room. Miguel had furnished the apartment sparsely with a small parson’s style table, two orange and two harvest gold color fiberglass stacking chairs that looked like they were lifted from a classroom lecture hall. There was a second hand Danish Modern Sofa with a bright red and gold fifty’s mod print on it.  In the largish bedroom it had a low platform queen sized bed and 2 dressers which looked like they matched the Danish Modern style sofa in the other room. The third room could barely be called a bedroom. He had set it as an office, with saw horses and an old door was the computer and desk under the window. And on the adjacent wall was a tilting drafting table. There were wooden wine crates staked for books. The apartment was absolutely lovely, much better than I could have expected.

All of a sudden, in my new home, surrounded by objects I had never seen nor had any part in acquiring I felt all alone. Fear rippled up my spine like a viper. A slow coil around me left me cold as I slowly walked from room to room admiring and smiling outwardly. Miguel looked at me then. He saw the anxiety cross me. Looking down his narrow nose at me, I think he felt my fear. He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “My Darling Belle, you are here with me now, Mine. You are tired and hungry. Please let’s get a meal then we will try on the new bed.”  He ushered me from the apartment, took my hand not letting me go even as people passed us on the side walk. We walked to the nearest pub about 4 buildings down the side road. It was an old building with a painted pressed tin ceiling and cracked mirrors on the walls. It was bright and cheerful inside. Miguel ordered for me as if I was unable to read the menu or speak to the waitress. Like I did for him when he first arrived I mused moodily.
He sat next to me at a small square table. He smiled at me, his confident, mischievous smile, waiting for me to speak. Not pushing for words he just looked at me smiling. I felt a lump rise to my throat as I searched my mind for words. He hasn’t said anything. My heart started beating faster and I felt a panic overtaking me. A need for words for something to fill this silence. “Where did you get the dining chairs?”
 “You don’t like them Belle? We can get new, they were here when I moved in. I didn’t think they were so bad. I think they were taken from the lecture halls at the University.” He was anxious as I was. We were like two nervous cats circling. He was doing his best to be nice and I was tired, hungry and cranky. The silence lingered again. I had not felt a loss of words or awkwardness with Him in so long. But all of my old insecurities arose again. Did I do the right thing, can we go back to where we were? I can tell he missed me. What the fuck did he mean, …His flat. He hasn't said he loves me.
“I love you, Belle, It will be ok.”
I looked up at him. Did I say that out loud? Did he read my mind? I must have stared at Him open mouthed again, because He reached over and placed his fingertip on my tongue and stroked it. I felt my heart leap into my stomach. He was back, we were back, It would be okay. I started to cry.
Meu deus! Belle, what is wrong, are you ill, why do you weep? Stop please, I will make you happy, I will tend to you, I will make you happy, you already made me so happy.”
Every word he said made me cry more. He looked at me, confused. The waitress came with our beers and looked at us and backed away hurriedly.  I took a napkin and buried my face into it racking with sobs that wouldn’t stop. I hunched forward in the uncomfortable bent wood chair with the cane mesh seat feeling foolish.  I hurried from the table to be away from the staring customers, to be away from His probing eyes. I stood outside on the curb, sucking cold moist air sobbing.  I could not stop crying. I turned the corner to be away from the stares through the windows. I slumped like a marathon runner hands on my knees sobbing and gasping for breath between sobs. I calmed myself finally, and tried to think about what to do next. I stood up slowly, dizzily to find that He was standing over me. There was an odd a ray of sunshine that shone between the 2 buildings in the setting sun illuminating one half of his face in orange dusky sunshine. It looked like he was burning. He reached around me and pulled me close kissing my hair. “Belle, You will learn to love me again. You will. You are mine.” He didn’t understand which made me cry even harder.
“Jesus, meu deus, please let’s go I will take you to home now.He bristled with impatience.
I struggled for composure and snuffled into his shirt. “I am so sorry Miguel, I am so very sorry. I am ok, you are...” He backed up slightly as if to ward off an attack. He looked at me, his face was growing hard, he was becoming angry.
“Merda! Will you stop it?” He stepped back toward the street.
He was not understanding, he was going to leave me, I would be alone. I struggled to make him understand why I was weeping. “I love you. Ooh fuck, Miguel. This is so hard to explain. While I was home, you were my talisman, my family and friends kept asking me, ‘Are you sure, you are not just going back for a fling? You are not wasting your time on an affair are you?’...  You are my reason for living, my everything, I needed you to want me, to love me and you didn’t say it. And then you did, and….” I petered off lamely His face glowing with sunlight brightened more he was starting to understand. He stepped toward me,  the sun on his face glowed redder and brighter.  “Please, Miguel, all I want is to be with you, and you did all this,” I waved my arms around toward the flat, the restaurant the street encompassing everything I could in one gesture. I was failing so I stepped toward Him and felt the sun on my face and looked up at His glowing face and looked into His eyes, trying to telepathically tell him everything that was in my heart but the words only came out. “I love you.”
He gathered me into His arms and looked directly into my eyes and kissed me. I was whole, I was going to be okay. My body arched and pressed against His and people on the street stopped what they were doing to look at us, then immediately looked away again in voyeuristic shame feeling the lust spark between us. When we separated I looked into His black eyes and felt myself burning.
He pulled me to Him and curled his fingers into the hair at the back of my head which hung in thick unruly curls. “You are tired and hungry, you are emotional. Let’s have our meal then go to bed.” The word bed hung in the air between us as a sinful promise.
“Drink.” He ordered me as he pushed my beer toward me. “I want you easy.”
I laughed and peered at Him as innocently as I could over the rim of my glass, teasing Him as I flicked my tongue across the thick foam and let it sit on my tongue. His gasp of surprise made me smile and look at him coquettishly. I picked up the small gherkin on my plate, holding it gently between 2 fingers in front of my mouth  I  leaned forward showing Him my teeth as I grazed the bumpy green surface very gently. Sliding the gherkin back and forth over my bottom lip, I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip of the pickle then stuck out my tongue then closed my lips around the pickle biting the tip very gently until it cracked and I smiled rakishly His eyes.
He watched my display avidly as a new tension grew between us. Electricity sparked between us like Tesla coil. He reached forward and pulled the pickle from my fingertips. Leaning in close, so only I could hear, he purred erotically, “Belle, my naughty girl, I have a lot more to fill your lips with. Let’s go.” Still bending over the table with my hands clasped he pushed his chair back with his knees and pulled me up with Him so that when I stood I was bent forward. Pressing his nose into my hair breathing in as he gripped the back of my chair possessively, In my ear so quietly I almost didn’t hear all the words he crooned, “I will make love to you now, Belle.”  Our bodies touched and a spark went through us.
Holding my jacket open for me in the most chivalrous manner, he leaned over and breathed into my hair, “Now.” My heart thudded in my chest. I could hear the blood rushing through my body. He flipped some bills onto the table not waiting for the waitress or the bill. Resting his hand on the small of my back Miguel ushered me out of the restaurant. Through my light woolen coat I could feel the heat of my lover. I could feel His desire transmitted to me. I shuddered like a colt who is being tamed to the saddle. I was in a hurry to be home, He started to walk faster and I matched his pace until we were sprinting to the door, of our building laughing.  He handed me the keys and I bent to unlock the door, he pressed his hips against me I could feel his need against my back. He cupped my bottom in his 2 hands through my jeans. He was distracting me, this was the first time I ever tried this lock and I wasn’t sure which key.
He breathed into my ear, teasing me, “Take your time Belle, I will take you in the hall if you prefer” I finally found the correct key and pushed open the door. He shed his coat and hung it on the peg, I was in fever I dropped mine on the floor in the entrance and ran toward the bed, still breathless from the run and his nearness. He pointed to my jacket on the floor, “Now, now, Belle my dear, you will not leave messes, pick it up and put it where it goes.” I bent low and picked my abandoned jacket off the floor and put it on the hook. I scurried into the bedroom and started to strip.
“No, stay with your clothes on, do not move.” His words were firm. I stood still,  turning my head to face Him.
He smiled wolfishly at me. “Belle my dear girl, I have not seen you in months, my body has ached for you for this long time. Now I have you, I do not want to rush. I want you little by little. I want you all night long.” He stepped behind me, and whispered near my ear, without touching me. “Belle, please slowly remove your jumper.”
I started to shake, I was on fire, my knees felt weak, I was hot and cold and I thought I would fall. I turned toward him and put my hands to my sweater and lifted it off my head, revealing my bright orange t-shirt with the rounded block letters R I S D on them. He grinned, “riso” and started to chuckle.
“What does that mean?”
 “Your shirt, riso, means ‘I laugh’”
I looked down,
“Take it off, I do not think laughing is what I want right now”
I pulled at the hem and pulled it off quickly and threw it to the floor at his feet.
Mais lentamente. No Belle, put it back on again, do it again, more slowly.”
I picked up my shirt and obliged him coyly. Leaning over so that my breasts hung still confined in my bra in front of him, I lifted my arms and let it drop down onto me again. I curled my lip at Him sweetly and he lounged in the door-frame watching me. His eyes were dark now. I looked up and said “your turn”
“Oh, no, my sweet, Belle, I will watch you, I will drink every curve of your flesh into my eyes then I will savor it with my tongue and I will fill every part of you with my seed.” HOLY FUCK! MY breath came in rasping pants and I wanted to touch Him. I stepped toward Him, he moved away. This was no longer a striptease, this was a challenge.
I turned toward the bed and looked back over my shoulder at Him. I lifted my shirt very slowly past my hip over my chest above my breast and then bent down, swaying my ass toward Him. Freeing my head I flipped my long hair back over my shoulder, folding my tee shirt and placing it at His feet with the letters R I S D facing upward. I looked up at Him smiling under my lashes at my own joke. “Good girl, Belle. You are making me happy my dear.” I smiled at Him staring directly into His eyes as my fingers fumbled with the button on my jeans. I unbuttoned the top button of the fly, then sat on the low bed. I looked to the side to see Him watching me, his hand in his pocket of his jeans. I smiled at Him again, playing with Him. “Good girl, belle, go on please.”
I leaned low, so my breasts nearly freed themselves from the top of my demi-bra, and held my foot out to unlace my boot. I slowly undid each lace from the grommet and laid back on the bed lifting my foot over my head and pulled it off. I rolled toward Him, laying on the bed I reached up with my hand and struggled to get the other boot off over my head. Letting the laces fall toward my mouth I made suckling faces as if I was trying to grasp the lace in my mouth. “Take the shoe off belle. Now.” Victory, Belle.
I looked back at Him and pouted. “But, you said slowly.”
“You are on my bed and I want to fuck you before sunrise.” He never used such crass words, I had succeeded. I rolled onto my back and peeked up at Him, he was staring at me, his hand was petting his crotch through his jeans as if there were a kitten in them. I watched Him touching himself and smiled. He saw where I was looking and tapped his fly with his fingertips.  “Belle, continue please, we are both very happy to see you.”
I smiled up at Him through my lashes and rolled back on the bed so that my foot was over my shoulder, my legs spread and buttocks facing him, I pulled the boot off and tossed it on the floor. Then I reached both socks and pulled them off at the same time pulling them until they peeled off my feet leaving my feet bare.  I rolled back up to a sititng position with my lets over the edge of the bed and grinned at Him brightly wiggling my red painted toes. His fly was open now and he was touching himself over His shorts. I stood up  and stepped toward Him, my bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. Looking directly into his eyes, I slid my fingers into my already opened jeans and pushed them slowly past my hips swaying back and forth in front of Him so that my breasts swayed before His eyes. He looked down at me and nodded, breathlessly he rasped, “Go on, Belle” I smiled and let my jeans fall from my hips.
In just my pink lace bra and knickers I stood in front of him reaching out I covered His hand with mine over His already stiff cock.  He reached for me suddenly and pulled me closer to him. He curled a fist around my long,  thick,  tousled mane and pulled my head to the side. He closed his lips on my neck and I started to whimper. He licked and suckled and bit at my neck and shoulders and the tops of my breasts as if he were starved. Groaning he pressed his hips toward me, feeling the rough wool of his cardigan and the cold hard buttons on my skin made me whimper and feel overly sensitized. I reached my hands into his sweater, needing to feel him now, I wanted to touch his flesh, I pulled at his buttons in a frenzy of wanton lust. He let me undress him. I pressed my hands against his warm flesh. His hand still fisted in my hair I couldn’t kiss Him or drop to my knees and service Him. He could sense what I wanted and whispered, “Belle, meu deus, wait, you will unman me, please, I don’t want to…. Not yet.” This made me struggle against Him more, I wanted to make Him throb, I wanted to make him cum. I wanted to have some power over Him. He held me by my hair and pulled me away from him, He was hurting me but I was hungry for him, I needed to feel him, I needed more.
He put me aside, “Now Belle, lay on the bed, you will make me ruin my shorts. Stop!” He was serious now, not the playful man that started. He wanted to be in control, he needed to exert this over me. I stopped struggling and went to the bed, I was feeling somewhat shy and put aside. I needed him, didn’t he see that? He undressed dropping his jeans and shorts to the floor and stepping out of his shoes. I watched Him, he stepped to the end of the bed, his hard cock curled against His taught belly. I was laying in the fresh white sheets in just my bra and panties. I felt, hot, wet anxious and needy. He looked at me, as if he had never seen me before assaying me with a somewhat cold detachment. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. I closed my legs so he wouldn’t see the wet patch between my thighs and tried to cover myself with my hands. His stare was unnerving; I closed my eyes to be away from it and started to roll onto my belly. “No Belle, please I want to see you, don’t move please, I just want to see everything about you now. You are so much more beautiful than when I saw you last. Your hair is longer, you are thinner, you are stronger, your toes are decorated, you are even more lovely, you are all mine now.” He crawled onto the bed and sat kneeling at my feet.
I blushed hotly, feeling myself pinking from my hair to my breasts. I was in a frenzy of lust before, but now, I felt my pulse slow, I was still pinned by his gaze, I was mounted for His pleasure, and that gave me confidence to lay there exposed. He picked up my foot and kissed the top, then he touched each toe and kissed them one at a time, cooing. “bonita pé.” I was still in my panties and I could feel them wet against my cleft. When he was finished with one foot he moved my foot to his lap and pressed my sole to his cock. He repeated with the other foot as I curled my toes and tried to stroke His cock with my foot.  When he was finished with my feet, he  knelt across my calves, straddling my legs with my panties still intact. I tried to wriggle free by pushing them down but he just looked up at me smiling ruthlessly. “Ever the impatient girl, my Belle, I want your knickers on to make me go slow, if I see your orchid I will fuck you, I told you already, I want to savor you, will you make me tie you down?”
The threat of his words made a flush cross my flesh followed by a shiver. I was not used to this language from him or threats. I became afraid of upsetting him. I didn’t want Him angry with me on this first night. I turned my head away and let Him do what He wanted to me.  He knew what He wanted, even if I didn’t. He had planned this, I was not going to ruin His plans. He looked down at me, his glasses still on but his glare conveyed control and lust. He saw me lose my spirit. He leaned forward crouching over me, pleading, “My querida Belle, look at me, look at my, caralho, You can see I want you, you make me want too much, you make me hurt with need, please Belle, please, let me love you the way you deserve to be loved, don’t be a silly American, don’t rush. This is my gift for you, please let me give it to you.
His words, made me ache, I wrapped my legs and arms up and around him, my fingers curled into His back and I felt the tears sting my eyes. His words left me pliant and submissive but he kissed me now. I was afraid he would feel my tears wet on his face but I moved with him. He covered me with his body and held me tightly, holding me to him he reached around my back and unhooked my bra. He sat up across my hips and looked down at me. He pulled the pink lace contraption from my body and held it in his fingertips. He looked at it and put it to his face, and inhaled. His eyes rolled back as if he had taken a dose of morphine and then dropped it to the bed. “Jesus Dios, you are beautiful.” He leaned forward and took my pink puffy nipple into his lips and suckled hungrily. Slurping noisily on my breasts he held them overflowing in his hands and ground his hips into my panties while he feasted on my flesh. Biting and nipping and sucking, he made me writhe in lust. He wanted me, and I was beautiful.”
I placed my hands on his head and stroked the soft short hair on the top of his head whimpering. I moaned softly “Miguel, I love you, please, please ooh god please, Miguel, I need you please.”
He rolled off of me looking down at me. Then he leaned into my ear “Belle, did sort out medicina?” I looked up at him not knowing what he meant “Belle, I don’t want a child, please, the medicine” I understood, and assured him frantically, “it is okay Miguel, I am safe, please, please, please, I need you. Put yourself inside of me.”
He sat high on His knees and lifted my bottom onto His folded legs, spreading my legs around his hips. He reached for a pillow behind me and placed it under my rear and shifted even closer to me rolling my hips higher onto his thighs. I had no idea what He was doing. My hips were tipped up now and his cock was below the level of my bottom now. Then he whispered something in Portuguese and said “relax darling, relax and let me drink you.” He grabbed my knees and lifted them over his shoulders and I started to shudder. I was still wearing my panties and I was on fire, I needed him to take me. I wanted them off so badly.  Leaning in slowly he pressed his lips to the silky fabric of my knickers and I started to whimper. He ran his tongue up and down my already swollen glans through my panties which felt amazing, almost painful. I bucked up higher on his shoulders, begging for all I was worth” Oh god please! Please! Miguel I’m going to lose it! I can’t help it I’m going to cum, you have to let me, please ooh fuck, ooh God, please……Miguel!”  I started to cry, I was already a bundle of emotions, but now I was out of control. I started shaking and sobbing, as soon as my insides started clenching with my orgasm, he lifted his mouth from my soaked panties.  Letting me relax, the pain was intense, I couldn’t do this much longer, I was in agony. I tried to push him off of me with my legs but he was too strong.
Purring soft words at me in a mixture of English and Portuguese, “meu deus, its okay Belle, you can do this you can wait, you will be ok, doce menina, just hold on a bit longer you can do it for me, you will be brave for me.” I was thrashing flailing my arms my legs were bucking then he pulled on my panties and tore them off of me by the leg. My body was too sensitive, I was a mess then he stroked my thighs purring very softly in English as if he were gentling a wild beast “it's okay now, Belle you will show me your honey  now, I will taste you then I will fuck you” He dropped his lips to mine, curled his elbows around my thighs pulling my sex toward his lips and thrust his tongue inside of me, Flicking at my clit with his tongue so that I felt like he was fucking me with a thousand small cocks.  “let go now Belle, cum para mim.” I unraveled in vortex of spiraling white heat. My entire body clenched and I felt like I was peeing the release was so immense. I was spurting in wet jets of sex and he was slurping loudly on my over eager cunt. I couldn't stop, I bucked frantically against him, he just pressed his lips firmly to my glans and held me in his lips while I spun in waves of heat and shuddering aching painful pleasure. When I was spent, totally exhausted and sobbing he let go of me, easing my bottom, back onto the bed covering me with his body. Holding me tightly in his arms, gentling me, and encouraging me softly “that’s a good girl, you make me so happy darling girl, you are so sweet, you taste like honey, you are so lovely, my girl, my sweet beautiful, Belle.” I wept, holding him in my arms, my eyes wet I kissed him hungrily and tasted my nectar on his lips and sucked his lips drinking myself in through his lips.
He lifted his hips gently and entered me slowly, delicately, watching me. I was sore and sensitive but his prick in me felt like a balm. He moved slowly, rocking me so gently. He watched my eyes and I watched his. I could feel him holding back, I knew how ready he was, how long he had been holding on to his own need. I wanted to give him as much of me as I could.  I infused myself with his body and felt every motion he made as a part of me. We in this moment were one. Love radiated from my heart so brightly that I thought we would both burn, I had never felt so alive in my life. This was the first time his skin was next to mine and I could feel him clench his muscles and still himself to hold on. I whispered into His ear “please Miguel, take what you want of me, don’t hold back use me, take me make me yours, I love you”
He stilled for my words, and slowly, he translated them. Looking at me as if to read through me, he saw my sincerity, felt it in my body and knew I was entirely his. He arched back and started to ram me, forcefully, thrusting himself into me. One punishing stroke, then another and another, I was lost, I was going to cum again, and I didn’t want to. My eyes were on His, he saw me starting to slip away from consciousness and lose control, then he shouted in Portuguese and was gushing into me. I felt him filling me and I clenched around him, then he throbbed deeper into me, I wasn’t sure where I began or ended and what was him. We were entirely one in that moment gasping and clutching to each other twisting in our love and need.  Wetness oozed from us and we pulsed together gasping and holding on to each other in desperate lust.

We lay holding each other, gasping for breath, stilling to calm our own hearts and find ourselves again. As we came back to reality, he found my shredded panties were hanging from my thigh between us. He held me. “Ai, ai, ai, Bella mina, Belle, I am sorry, did I hurt you? I will take you shopping, we will get new knickers for you.” He felt ashamed which made me surprised. I tried to explain to Him I wasn’t upset about anything at all, nothing mattered, we were together.  He pulled me close to Him, breathing into my hair, saying words in Portuguese I didn’t know but I thought I understood. “mim amo você, mim queira você, eu preciso de você.”

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Miguel: Part 4 Leaving

The clock was ticking, my time with Miguel was almost up. I started to become anxious about leaving him. I told him so. He kissed me gently and said, “then minha Belle, come back to me here, we will take a graduate program together.” I had no plans to get a Master’s Degree. Before meeting Miguel I only wanted to graduate then get a job. I had never discussed with my parents or advisers about staying on in Scotland. But the seed was planted, I needed to stay somehow. I was in love and the idea of leaving Him felt as painful as his belt on my bottom but my visa was going to expire in September if I didn’t enroll. We decided I would go home as planned, then try to get an extension on my grant from a graduate school in USA then come back as soon as possible.

I went home in May my heart heavy feeling the loss of Miguel as if I was in a desert without an oasis. I went to my graduation in June, feeling lonely and abandoned. The tears didn’t stop pouring from me. My family knew I must go back, they knew what the loss of Him was doing to me. They knew that if I stayed at home I would break and crumble. They knew He was my One. The One. After questioning me about my motivations, they understood, they knew I would make the right choices. They trusted me as always and supported my decision to go back to Him.  

With my parents’ blessings, I searched for a Graduate program and a grant to go back to Scotland as desperately as one would look for a sip of water in the Sahara. I was always an excellent student and my professors liked me. I was given high recommendations and my test scores were exemplary. I had what was needed, and mostly I was motivated. All who interviewed me, thought I was motivated by my love for my art, for my passion for design, my desire to reside again in the beautiful Arts and Crafts Style of Glasgow to study furniture and history.

They didn’t know it was my need for Miguel's hand on my flesh, my desperation for his kiss on my lips, the wanton lust for his body in mine which motivated me. While answering mundane questions about my studies or my future plans, I had in my mind the thoughts of how I may please Miguel with a single finger or my lips on his cock tip. I was thinking of ways I could make His skin ripple with my touch or breath. I felt drawn to Him as a compass finds true north. He sent me missives daily in his neatly formed script, telling me how me misses me, misses my body and my touch. His words in English were misspelled and crossed out in neat lines, where he corrected his grammar. The words were always the same. “My love, my darling. Mine, come back to me soon.”

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Miguel: Part 3 : The Dark Side

We toured the castle at Skye, hiked the moors, holding hands and acting like long time lovers. At the pub the next night the barman asked how our honeymoon was going. I was not sure Miguel understood the implication of the word Honeymoon. He answered in his Portuguese accented English “better than all expectation” and smiled at me.

The ride back to Glasgow was much different than the ride to Skye. I was happy and so was Miguel. The couple in the front were equally happy with their mini-holiday at Gavin’s home. We played a game on the way home, translation. Everyone in the car spoke a second language, Gavin was a highlander and “had the Gaelic” his girlfriend spoke some French, I knew some Italian. So we took turns pointing to something in the landscape and naming it. The couple in the front friend in the front became bored of this game so Miguel and I continued a more intimate version.  Miguel put my hand on his thigh and whispered the word for thigh in my ear. I didn’t have the same breadth of Italian as he did in Portuguese so it was a one sided game. He put my hand on his chest and spoke the word. Then he put his hand on my breast and whispered the word in my ear very softly, as if it was a conjuring. Then he pointed at something out the window, it was a sign for a trappers pub, on the sign there were old fashioned looking manacles. He said the word in Portuguese which meant nothing to me. I had no idea the word for handcuff in Italian and just shrugged. “Belle, in English, please, what is the word for that” He held up his two hands as if handcuffed. I looked at him and said “handcuffs or manacles” He smiled slowly and repeated the word manacles in my ear as if he was telling me a very, very, dirty secret. “I want to see you in manacles minha Belle” I laughed and punched him in the ribs. I knew he was teasing me.

It was now late February about eight weeks after my first arrival and GSAAP luncheon and 2 weeks after our return from Skye and 10 weeks before my flight back to New York to go to graduation at my College in USA. Life had changed. I was Miguel’s. Miguel and I already close, became closer and more contained to each other. Our mutual classmates started to refer to us as Mig-Belle. A silly moniker that I didn’t particularly care for, but Miguel didn’t mind. He seemed to be proud to have me as his girlfriend. He didn’t mind what we were called. I did not have many friends in Scotland. I did have some girls in the dormitory I became friendly with.  From first days we the did nearly everything together so our routine only varied a little. He was offered a room in an apartment of another Portuguese graduate student. He moved out of his but dormitory walked the extra few blocks to my dormitory after breakfast every morning we had classes. He would take my hand and ask me how I slept.

Days rolled into nights. Miguel was a brilliant student, but had a hard time writing in English. I was a good writer but needed to pay more attention to my design work. Our skills complimented each other. We spent our days doing schoolwork together, during the evenings I would go to his shared apartment where he would cook for me traditional Portuguese meals, of fish and vegetables. “Americans do not know how to cook fresh foods,” he explained and proved this truth to me by cooking for me.  He taught me how to cook rice properly. “Querida, Belle, do this, always wash the rice. See that which washes off into the pot, it makes it taste bad, you wash then cook the rice, much better that way, more delicious, more healthy.” Everything he said or did, was with grace and confidence. He was always right, there was no discussion or controversy.  

After our meal, we would sit outside sharing a bottle of cheap wine watching the cold grey Scottish sky turn from slate to ash, to purple then to blackness. He would comment about how the arts and craft style gas lights looked like a set of testes hanging from above, glowing and needy as the shaft of light it cast into the darkness. He had to stop to gesture to his crotch for the words in English to make me understand. I laughed, and debated this with him until he offered to show me his testes to be sure He was correct. He pulled me close and said things to me in Portuguese that made my skin ripple from the tone, even though I had no idea what they meant. I pretended to pout. He said "Come to bed with me, menina doce, you will not be unhappy with me in the bed, Belle."

He had the touch and soul of an artist. He handled me slowly and gently, then turned me onto my belly and bit at my ass murmuring in Portuguese. As his fingers slowly moved in and out of my oozing sex, I writhed and shuddered. He always took his time, not letting me get to the point of such urgent need that i needed to cum, he always worked me like a composer building to his crescendo. He worked me slowly and skillfully using his entire body to make me putty in his hands. His stubble raked my smooth belly and then lower to my inner thighs, teasing me, lapping ad my dewy folds until I arched and quaked whimpering his name begging and promising and swearing until he would hover over me and thrust his hard cock so deeply into me I would hurtle over the precipice of lust, bring me to the point of no return where I’d whirl into a vortex of lost need as my orgasm took all control from me. He always left me sweating, panting and shuddering in completion. I was sure this is what love felt like, it was total agony.

One Saturday in bed, when Miguel’s flat mate was away for the weekend, He slid his fingers into me, lying beside me, he cooed softly into my ear in His mixture of English and Portuguese, "Preciso dar minha querida dor – I need to have you in a way you have never been taken... say Yes to me, por favor, Belle" The smell of his skin, the confidence in his voice, the sound of his words in Portuguese, that I didn't understand, everything making me scream "YESSSSSSSS" even though I knew in my soul it should be NO!
He turned me over onto my belly tied my hands behind my back with his belt and slapped my bottom hard with his hand. I screamed.

He leaned down over me and put a hand over my mouth "Minha querida, My Belle you will wake the neighbors, quiet now." I bit the pillow and he slapped me again, I wriggled, winced, and begged, "NO, NO, NO please...No" My Darling Portuguese lover frowned, looking deeply into my eyes with his dark expressive eyes. He looked so sad and disappointed, " linda menina, you do not trust me, you make me so sad. Belle, you want me to go away forever?" His breath warm and sweet made me want to cry, and I begged this time for Him to stay.
He bound me up. While tied to his bed, he inflicted pain, he slapped me, my breasts, my pussy, my ass. Over and over using the pain as a counterpoint to the pleasure he gave me, bringing me close to orgasm with his mouth then stopping to slap my cunt again. At first the pain seemed wrong to me. Why should sex with someone I love hurt? But the hurting made the pleasure so much greater. As always he worked me slowly. His lips on my nipples bringing me to a sweet needy pulsing want, then, he spread my legs wider, slapping my inner thighs. He knelt over me, straddling my face letting the tip of his cock dangle into my lips. "suck" he ordered, then he pulled his cock from my lips to watch me arch up toward him. He laughed down at me and slapped my breasts watching them wobble, he grabbed my nipples and tugged hard.  When I said this was wrong, he asked "why Belle, is it because the pain hurts or you think it is wrong to enjoy it?"

 He mocked my cries for him to stop by pressing his cock deeply into me, stirring his hips in and out, always when I was at the cusp of cumming he inflicted some small pain, which tipped me over the edge, bringing me to gut wrenching orgasm after, after orgasm. He was mocking my pain by making it result in agonizing pleasure. When I was wrung out,  my body sweaty, exhausted and livid from the slapping, then the forceful fucking he made love to me slowly, in the most vanilla way. He caressed all the places he had slapped soothing all my aches. He brought me to the point of orgasm again, but this time it lacked the intensity of earlier. He was playing with my mind, making me wonder if it was the pain I craved to make the intensity of the orgasms that followed more meaningful. He made me know that it was ok to feel things that were taboo, it was okay to do things which were "wrong" because for us in his bed, they were so right.  

Miguel: Part 2: Falling From Skye

The entire night I felt dizzy as if I was undulating on a raft out at sea. I woke uncomfortably nestled into Miguel's shoulder. He felt me stir and opened his eyes blearily and smiled his most disarming smile at me. He paused to find his English and spoke gently as if to a small child "Minha querida, you made me so happy last night, my Belle, thank you." He kissed me between the eyes and I felt like a goddess. All of the insecurities from the night before left me in that one phrase, “you made me so Belle.”  I rolled on top of him and kissed his mouth. The gray dusk didn't tell us what time it was, but it didn't matter anymore, nothing did. I pressed my breasts which were too large and embarrassing last night to his chest, arched my back and they were in his mouth. He grabbed my ample titties, with both hands pressing them together and sucked each nipple into his mouth looking at me periodically as he feasted on my flesh. 

He said my name over and over as if it was a mantra, and he was counting his prayers. "Belle, Belle, Belle, Belle, minha querida, Belle, Belle, Belle, Belle, minha querida."

After he was through with my breasts he rolled over quite suddenly dumping me to the bed beside him. I gasped and laughed as he held himself, hovering over me. I reached my head up from the pillow to kiss him, but when my mouth came near to his lips, he lifted higher off of me, smiling down at me, looking at me, appraising me. I felt his breath hot on my face, I felt needy and wanton. I was becoming insecure again under his stare. My brain had time to weave its web of insecurities while he teased me. When he saw I was becoming eager and nervous he lowered his mouth to mine very gently and kissed me with such passion I felt my insides flip and drop as if I were on a roller coaster. He looked down at me, his eyes sharp and birdlike without his glasses. When he saw he had my full attention, he spoke in a slow deliberate staccato, " do… not... be ... afraid...You... are... mine... I... will... keep... you... near..." I needed these words, but I had to look away. I felt the lump in my throat forming, I was going to cry. He lowered his mouth to mine and kisses me gently. I was hungry for Him, I needed his lips his mouth his body to comfort me. I was a mess. Does he even know what he does to me?

He smiled at me again and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, with a peck on my lips he grinned widely and burrowed below the covers. He poked his head out playfully and said “do peekboo” in his adorable accent. This made the lump in my throat subside and I smiled weakly down at him. Then he burrowed deeper he lifted the blankets from my feet and folded them neatly at my knees. I thought he was going to give me a foot massage when he sat on the bed at my feet. He smiled back at me taking one of my feet into his hand. He held my foot in his lap, so gracefully confident in his nudity I envied him. He lifted my foot to his mouth and turned to face me again. He kissed the ball of my foot and placed it back on the bed. Then he lifted the other foot and kissed that one the same as the first. I was stunned, shocked, disgusted and aroused. He moved to kneel at my feet. He took one foot again off the bed, while looking into my eyes he held my barefoot and rubbed it on his growing erection. He just stared into my eyes and rubbed the arch of my foot on his cock. I watched his manhood stiffen and lengthen. Then he placed my foot back gently on the bed and kissed the top of one then the other. I was appalled, but aroused. But then he slid off the edge of the bed, leaned over my legs and kissed my calf. Licking in slow swirls making me squirm with ticklishness when he got to my knees. He kept turning his head, not focusing on one or the other leg. Then he moved upward, his soft fingertips kneading into my thick thighs, his thumbs angled down toward my sex. He kissed each thigh, starting with the top of one then around and down and then up the same path on the other. I was struck motionless, mute and deaf to anything but the beating of my own heart. I had had sex lots of times before, but this was… this was….love making.

Miguel used his powers of confidence and guile to manipulate me from an insecure fat jelly fish one moment to Aphrodite the goddess of love, beauty and sexuality the next. Before he put his mouth on my loins I was panting. He looked up at me from between my legs and smiled, as if he was finally asking permission to do the most intimate things. He said slowly, thinking about each word. “Belle, you smell like warm baked bread, I want to eat the whole loaf.” HOLY FUCK!

As I gasped, sucking in breath, and quivering like a landed fish from that romantic bombshell, he grabbed my ankles swiftly pushing my legs up so that I was forced to bend my knees and spread myself open wider for Him. With my feet flat on the bed, his hands gripped my ankles still, tightly held in his hands. He buried his face in my soft wet pink folds. He curled his tongue back and forth along my entire entrance making me writhe. He sucked gently and pulled on the flesh of my stimulated entrance as he pressed his tongue inside. I was whimpering. I couldn’t keep quiet, as much as I wanted to be silent, I gasped and groaned. He looked up at me, his mouth still deeply employed in my quivering mound. I looked at him and was aroused and embarrassed by the view. I closed my eyes and he pulled his lips away from me. His breath was hot on my sex but I wanted him back I put my fingers gently on the top of his to his head to guide him back. His English coming out in poorly translated pulses. “No, Belle, look… see at what I do for mine.” I popped opened my eyes to see him staring at me.

He lowered his head again as I watched him. I watched him cover my hot spread hole with his mouth open wide. I watched him take a hand from my ankle and curl two fingers deep inside of me. I cringed at the intimate view of him spreading his tongue out and lapping at my clit like a hungry kitten as his two fingers twisted in and out of my pussy. I watched his sharp tongue flicking at my clit. I watched him humiliate me and by making me writhe and whimper. I gripped the covers, holding on to my sanity and chastity by a mere 200 thread count sheet. Then he pulled the finger from me and put it into his mouth, sucking my nectar off his finger for me to see. In that one instant I was gone. I closed my eyes, I arched up and whimpered through my orgasm. Clutching his finger inside of me and pressing it out, I came and came. I felt weak when I found my way back to him. He was now lying next to me crooning in Portuguese. His face was slick and smelled of sex. He wiped his face on the pillow case, which made me grimace with horror. He laughed at my reaction and kissed me. He said, “Minha Belle, always the American.” I didn’t think he was talking about the pillow case.  

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Miguel: Part 1

I stood at the airport terminal with my overly large bag in hand. I looked up to see the carabinieri on the catwalk patrolling the Leonardo da Vinci international departures terminal in Rome Italy. My eyes were wet with tears, as I walked away from the Man who had taught me everything about love and loss.  I was sure I wouldn't see Him again. I had already decided, this was the last time. If he didn't want to come with me this time, he would never want to come with me. I needed him to be mine, as much as I needed to be his. That painful word between us, mine, his promises, his excuses, but I was about to graduate now, with a Masters in Art History, my entire life in front of me, my visa was about to expire, i needed to move on, i needed to be more than just his.  We had spent the last 2 weeks traveling on our Eurail passes from Scotland, to London, to Paris, to Amsterdam, to Barcelona, to Porto, to Milan, Florence, then finally to Rome where I had booked a flight home to New York. This was my swansong, it was the final trip. I had hoped to convince him on this trip to come home with me to meet my family, then we could come back in the fall and stay together in Porto or Milan.

Three years prior, I was accepted on a grant to study at the prestigious Glasgow School of Art (GSA) in Scotland. I was overwhelmed that my entry was accepted and that I was the one applicant from my college in USA who would be given this honor.  We first met at the foreign exchange student luncheon hosted by the Glasgow School of Arts Alumni and Professionals. It was held in the prestigious Macintosh library. I think I was a pretty typical looking girl in those days. I was slightly overweight with large breasts and not used to the dreary wet of Scottish winters. I didn't have much in my wardrobe to combat the murk. Snow, I could handle, wet cold, I wasn't used to.  It was pissing rain on this day, as it does most days in winter in Glasgow. This was a professional occasion; I was dressed neatly in a long plain fitted olive green button front dress with a turtleneck under. Nothing about my appearance was sexy, bookish perhaps, but in hindsight not my best to make an impression. I wore brown knee high calfskin riding boots. The only outfit I brought for such an occasion. I arrived at the luncheon early excited to see the famous Macintosh library which I had read so much about in my art history texts. When asked to be seated I chose an original Macintosh chair at the front of the library where all of the foreign students were assembling and chatting in mixed languages. I was able to speak to the native Scots hosting the event, but couldn't understand many of them, which made them laugh at me. I felt quite self-conscious in that room that morning. The chairman in his broad Irish Accent welcomed us, followed by a convocation by the president of the school, a native Glaswegian, I couldn't understand a word he said in his thick accent. I sat perched in my seat excited to finally touch the part of history I was here to study. The chair was brutally uncomfortable, after about 15 minutes I wished I had chosen a modern practical chair. I lost focus on the events as I peered around the room, hoping to find someone to make friends with. 

It was there that he first caught my eye. He had a very charming smile, very unassuming, but confident. He was in a modern chair on the other side of the isle. He relaxed comfortably and appeared to be listening with astute attention. While daydreaming about his smile and shifting uncomfortably on the rigid Macintosh chair, I noticed all at once, everyone was applauding and standing and starting to make their way to the back of the library where a small buffet was laid. I lagged behind and stretched my back twisting from side to side to ease the cramp of sitting so upright for 45 mins of the introduction and welcome in 4 languages. 

The young man with the lovely smile walked over to me. In his broken accented English he pointed to my back and said "I was warned about the chair. He told me not to sit on you, only to admire you. Much like your backside." I looked at him agog and smiled broadly, not knowing if he knew what he had said. I giggled self-consciously and he laughed a little, not understanding my reaction. 

"What is it? Why do you laugh at me?" I tried to explain, but I was too embarrassed. I blushed and became tongue tied. His stare was disarming. But he asked again, "Please, do help me to improve my English, please explain the joke" thus he made me explain the difference between backside and back and sitting on me, and sitting on a chair. I blushed crimson and wished the floor would open to let this handsome stranger fall away from me. He smiled knowingly and thanked me. We exchanged names he said “Belle, this means beauty in my language” His name is Miguel which means nothing but Michael in English, so I was at an awkward loss for words. We learned we were staying at dormitories near to each other on Sauchiehall street. We both laughed awkwardly neither of us knowing how to pronounce the name of the street we were staying on. We commented on everything being so odd in this country where the sun never seems to shine. He told me he was from the south part of Portugal, an estate he said, near Porto. I felt warm in the cold drafty room. I felt my insides light with a flame I never knew I could feel. 

We became friends. Not only because we were two similar souls left to drift in a strange place, but we found we had things in common. We were both studying Industrial Design with the intent to design furniture. We had many of the same classes and lectures booked. We both were here on a grant and it seemed we just had a knowledge of each other. I always felt warm when He spoke to me. He made me flush embarrassed. He would treat me so familiarly and talk to me like I was already His lover but I ached for Him to kiss me. His English was improving but he still deferred to me many times in public to explain to Him what was meant by some idiosyncratic phrase. 

We decided to go to the north to Skye to see the Castle there. We had a mutual friend, Gavin, a Scotsman who had a car. He would take us when he went there with his girlfriend for a long weekend. Miguel and I sat in the backseat of Gavin's small car, for the 6 hour long journey. The couple in the front of the car seemed to chat about this and that with each other with no effort. But Miguel and I were lost in our own worlds. We looked out our windows keeping to ourselves in silence. About two hours into the trip, we had settled to our own sides. I remember looking out the window at the barrenness of the landscape and marveling at a bright red phone box where nothing was around except sheep and  a lone shepherd's croft. Miguel tapped my thigh and showed me the same thing I had noticed. I smiled and nodded vigorously at him, at a loss for words. He surely could read minds. He pulled me close and tucked me to his shoulder and told me in his lovely sweet accented voice "rest, querida" He pressed his lips to my hair and I slept in a state of aroused flux.

I started to obsess. "Does He like me? Is he just being nice? What is his deal? I can’t read this man, he will break my heart" When I woke and looked up at Him he was still sleeping with His head on mine still holding me tight to Him. We arrived at the small hotel we booked in Skye. Gavin, said us he would pick us up on Sunday afternoon for the ride back to Glasgow. Miguel and I went to check into our room in the quaint little hotel and found although we had booked two beds, there was only one bed available. The clerk assured us it was a king size. Miguel, as always with his light romantic air said "good, Belle, we will know each other better this way." I'm sure when I blushed crimson the clerk winked knowingly at Miguel.  

We walked to the crest of the cliff that falls about 40 feet in a drop to the ocean and had our picture taken. His arm around me, we really did look like lovers. We went to the pub below the guest house we stayed at for dinner and we were both tired from the long cramped journey. We agreed that a walk would be nice after the long car ride. I was studiously avoiding the topic of the sleeping arrangements. We walked back and forth the short main road and then back to the inn for the night. 

When we got back to the inn, the air was charged. It was like the tight quarters and the romantic setting was seeping into our veins. We were just friends, nothing between us, nothing at all. I kept telling myself this but I felt myself blush at Miguel’s every movement. He moved about the small room like a panther and I was his prey. I ran down the hall with my sleeping clothes in my hand to change. Miguel was in his underwear when I returned in my sweatpants and t-shirt with my bra still intact. I was gasping for breath. I couldn't look at him or talk to him. He seemed completely at ease in his state of undress, I had never seen him without his shirt before. I couldn't help admiring his bare chest and taught muscles.  In his very southern European way he just sauntered around the room adjusting this or that, as if He were wearing a parka and boots. We hadn't discussed the sleeping arrangements, the room still only had one smallish bed, and an upright chair. I looked from him in his underwear to the bed blushing, afraid to move or sit or do anything. He said in his airy confident way. "Querida, you will sleep with me in the bed, I do not want to sleep on the floor or the chair, I am sure you do not want either." So it was settled. I was to learn, that is how all decisions were made with Miguel, pragmatically, and to his benefit. I sat on the bed, and pulled back the white crewelwork covers and slid into the sheets in my sweats t-shirt and bra. He stood in his underwear so his crotch was so close to me I imagined I smelled it. 

He looked down at me boldly, "This is not how you sleep, cher, you take off your brassier, surely." I squeaked embarrassed and wriggled out of my bra with the covers pulled up around my ears and dropped it over the side of the bed. He smiled and pushed his body against mine as he got into the bed. The bed was small, what we would call a double in the USA. In Scotland it was a King. The side light was left on. Miguel removed his glasses and set them next to the stoneware ewer. He lay facing me, I was disarmed and couldn't move any farther from him without literally falling out of the bed. He laughed seemingly to himself.

"What?" I whined.

He just smiled at me. Then after a long pause "Have you never laid in a bed with a Man?" my jaw must have fallen open, because what he did next has stayed with me in my mind as the most erotic thing anyone has ever done to me. He leaned over and put his index finger on my tongue. He stroked my tongue once slowly and languidly then put the finger into his own mouth. My breath stopped, my heart stopped, my brain stopped and my pussy oozed. He smiled at me slowly and asked again. "Querida, am I the first man you have lain with?" 

My brain started racing, of course he wasn't my first, but what the fuck... I mean really what the fuck, 20 minutes ago I thought you only wanted to be my friend, now we are in a tiny bed together stranded on this romantic as fuck island, in this romantic as fuck room, in this romantic as fuck bed, and you want to know if I'm a virgin?!?!?! I shook my head and mouthed the word "no."

He smiled instantly, a look of I don’t know what crossed his face, but only for an instant; was it relief or disappointment, or arousal? I don’t know to this day. But he leaned in and whispered close to my ear “good.” He lifted his hand between us and put it on my shoulder, very gently, he touched my neck and it sent a shiver through me. He skimmed my neck and shoulder and the base of my skull with his hand. I was already panting and wet and hot and blushing and awkward and stiff. He cooed confidently in his accent “sweet querida, I do not hurt you. Relax, it is okay, I like to touch you. You are beautiful.”

I melted at that moment, I was sure I would become a puddle of gooey syrup under him if he touched me anywhere else.  He did touch me elsewhere; he rose on his elbow and looked down at me, submissive to his touches, I was afraid to move. He moved his hand over my chin held my neck in the most possessive way and leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. It could have even been a friend kiss, but it wasn't.  Not now, not like this, not here, not on this bed, in this inn, on this island on this night. He moved his lips away and then he skimmed his hand down my chest where his hand rested on my clavicle between my breasts, still over my t-shirt. Then down between my breasts to my belly. I let out a breath and a tiny gasp. I was afraid I would burst into flames, but I daren’t move for he may stop. He smiled down at me, and kissed me again, his breath tasted like the strong beer from the pub and I craved more. I kissed him back this time, harder and he teased me with his tongue. He lifted up and looked down at me, “Querida, you will be mine, won’t you.” It was not a question, it was a statement of fact.

In that moment, I knew I already was his. I nodded, I would say anything at that moment for more of his lips on mine. He stared down at me deep into my eyes.  I felt awkward, uncomfortable at being looked at so carnally. “Please say so, querida, I won’t touch you again until you say you will be mine, only mine. He lifted away from me only slightly, but that shift made me shiver with cold or fear. I nodded again, and croaked in a tiny stilted voice “yes Miguel…. I am yours….. only yours, there are no others.”

My words had some magical power over him. He looked at me, hungrily and he said softly “you do not wear things like this to bed with a Man, you wear night dresses or nothing”

I blushed hotly. I had not packed for this. I had not expected to share a bed. I had not expected anything, I had hoped, wished maybe, but this eventuality never crossed my mind as a reality. He stared at me, like a hungry wolf, while my mind raced, I squeaked my excuses “I didn't expect to be in bed with you or anyone for that matter.  I don’t have any night dresses, I have nothing else to sleep in.”

He laughed, breaking the charge between us and said flippantly “then you will sleep in nothing.” He pulled back the covers in a flip and tugged off my gray sweats and my cotton knickers. “Sit up” He barked. I was blushing again, my face on fire, I could feel the blush to the bottom of my feet and the tips of my ears. He smiled at me, He knew what he was doing to me. He knew how off balance he made me. He pulled the hem of my t-shirt up over my head and left me like that for a moment, sightless as I wriggled, feeling my breasts sway without confinement. I heard him gasp, in my insecure state I assumed it was with horror. I freed myself from my t-shirt dropping it on the floor. I reached for the blanket to hide myself. He pulled it away from me more forcefully than I expected from him.

“You are mine are you not, querida? Then please let me look at what is mine.” He was always polite, always confident. I did as he directed. I felt myself squirm under his frank appraisal. I was feeling awkward, and exposed, insecure and almost angry now. I thought myself fat and unpleasant to look at. I didn't want to be mocked or teased. He leaned forward, covering me with his body he cooed into my ear like a sweet dove “You are very beautiful to look at, cher, you do not know that do you?” I wanted to cry, I wanted this to stop, I wanted him to let me curl into a ball to hide the raw, sensitive, pink heap, which I felt like I was. That was never his way. He liked to see me exposed. He moved his hands over my body. Over all the parts I was most insecure about as if his hands were called to my flaws like a beacon. His hands cupped my too large breasts that swayed side to side with his touches, over my soft belly and to my too thick thighs. He pinched my puffy nipples and watched them harden for him. He looked directly into my eyes the entire time, making me feel even more exposed and on display. He parted my legs and dragged his fingers through my downy fluff. My body betrayed me as always, I was wet and he felt it. He put his fingers into me, and examined my dewy folds. I was on fire, aroused, embarrassed, insecure my entire body blushed a hot pink.  

He looked down at me, and covered me with his body pulling me into him, engulfing me in his embrace, soothing me after his harsh examination. I could feel his rock hard erection on my thigh as he hugged me close. His English becoming lost with his arousal he murmured in Portuguese.  He wriggled out of his underwear and placed my hand on his manhood. His English was gone now so he reverted to gestures.  He moved my hand back and forth over his phallus showing me what he wanted. I eagerly obliged. I used my fist and stroked his cock, I wanted to make him cum, I wanted him to be happy with me. I gripped his cock in my small hand. I milked him, making him even harder, I could feel his cock starting to throb, I knew he was close.  I wanted more than anything to make him cum. I felt his precum ooze and he his cock became slick. I wanted him so badly to cum. 

He had different plans. He pulled my hand away from his cock forcefully by my wrist and then kissed my palm gently. He placed my hand gently beside me on the bed. I started to panic, I thought he was done with me. I looked at him in near agony. But he just smiled silently. He reached over to the bedside table, fumbled with his valet case. I watched and became fearful, not sure what he was doing. He found a packet of condoms and rolled one on in a business like way, not hurrying. He climbed over me slowly, not asking my permission, just parting my legs with his thighs, never losing eye contact he slowly entered me.

I closed my eyes. He called to me gently, “querida, Belle, olhe para mim.” The Portuguese words meant nothing to me, but I understood. I opened my eyes and watched him, he looked at me directly as he took me slowly, entering me, opening me, filling me. His hard cock thrust over and over again inside of me. He brought me so near to cumming, but then let me relax. It was agony, sweet bloody hell. I do not think I screamed but he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. He raised up pumped his hard cock into me bringing me to the edge over and over again. Thrusting his hard cock into me, wriggling his hips up and down more quickly and then slowing, until he brought me to the moment, the crescendo, and held me there, not rushing, not eager to cum as all my previous lovers had. Miguel just held me at the moment of agony, my body attuned to him until, I fell over the precipice, gasping, panting, I clung to him, as I let go, spiraling into an orgasm I never thought would end. I whimpered and shuddered clutching to him as if he were a lifeline and I was adrift at sea. He waited for me to be finally sated and find my way back to reality and him.

Then he thrust hard and fast and violently, my tender insides sensitive to the nuances of his cock. I felt him throb bigger one more time and then he grunted and thrust in jerky motions filling me with his purging cock. He rest on top of me, for a moment, I dared to curl my fingers into his hair and he lifted up and smiled weakly at me.

We lay like that sated, him still inside of me for what seemed like forever or just a moment. As he softened inside of me he swore in Portuguese and rolled off of me into a standing position on the floor next to the bed.  He turned away from me, I heard the condom fall wetly into the bin with a splat.

He went to his rucksack and got a bottle of water and offered it to me. He climbed back into the bed, gathered me beside him and tucked me into the crook of his arm. He kissed my lips so gently and said in Portugese then translated into English for me “Belle, you are mine, I don’t share and I won’t take no.” I closed my eyes to hold back my tears and fell into a fitful sleep in his arms.