. . .And On The Seventh Day

By. Tate Icasa

Part Five: Singing For Him

He jumped, nearly throwing me across the room, as I stroked his manhood gently.

I laughed. "Look's like someone's a little eager, ne?" I murmured. "Very well."

(Tate: You're talking in the past tense again. Kitami: Sorry. Can't help it. Now shut up before I stop writing altogether.)

I guided him into me.

It wasn't that hard.

I've faced worse than unconsious virgin's before.

Actually, it went easier than I'd expected.

His body responded well to my touch, even though he was unconscious.

I wished he were conscious to experience this.

I shuddered as it began, wave after wave of ectasy washing over me.

I moaned softly.

I sang for him, even though he couldn't hear.

I

(Tate: You know you've begun the last four sentances with the word 'I'? Kitami: 'I' is a letter. Not a word. Tate: You know what I meant! Kitami: Yes. And I'm sorry. But it's a story about me. Now if you don't shut up I really with find something to hit you with. Tate: grumbles Kitami: What was that? Tate: Nothing. Continue.)

I shuddered again as he released inside me.

And then it was over.