He'd already done the smart thing and had gotten me so relaxed that I couldn't imagine being physically coordinated enough to try to get away from him. When he put me on the middle of the bed, I knew I should have tried to roll to the opposite side and relative freedom, should at the very least have registered some kind of verbal protest, but I just . . . couldn't. His sure hands on my back and the way he made me feel - protected and safe - had rendered me largely incoherent, albeit against my will.

Against my mind's will, anyway, but definitely not my body's.

He had me pegged perfectly, right down the line. He didn't fall on me like some greedy, groping college boy out for a quick score. Although he had lost his pajama bottoms somewhere along the line, he didn't even try to undress me at first; he just lay stretched out beside me, half on my nightie, keeping me neatly in place up tight next to him with no hands, not that I was making any moves to get away from him anyway at that point, although I should have been.

I was amazed to realize that I could feel his erection both pressing against the side of my thigh and unfurling as it did so. I was suffused with a feeling of accomplishment - of pride that he was so turned on by me, despite how ridiculous my brain thought that idea was, as well as a not a small amount of alarm at the size of the area he was claiming as he pressed up against me.

While I was trying to come to grips with the reality of what I was learning about him - that the size I'd seen hinted at was not folds in the material of his pajama bottoms at all - he caught the hand that was trapped between our bodies, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing first the back then the palm of it, lingering there for a bit, licking his tongue over the middle and making me giggle before bestowing gentle kisses on each fingertip, then doing the same to my other hand. Then slowly, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time, he brought them together into one of his hands and lifted them well over my head by his long fingered hold on my wrists.

I - somewhat belatedly because I couldn't quite believe this was happening - began to tug against his grip and found, as I'd feared, that I had completely lost the use of my hands to him.

In fact, his arm was so long that mine were stretched as far up as they could go, and a certain amount of tension was maintained because of it that only set my nerves to humming just that much louder, that position constantly reminding me of how effortlessly he had made me feel so helpless.

"Oakley -" I frowned up at him as fiercely as I could muster.

But he gently but insistently interrupted me. "Shhhhh. Don't think, just feel."

"No, Oakely - " I meant for it to sound strong and angry, but it came out as a whimper.

A distinctly plaintive, submissive whimper, at that, and I could see that he'd picked up on my - unintentional? - intonation when his expression became even more determined.

"Yes, baby," he softly but firmly countered. "Close your eyes."

Being called "baby" by a man who was so much younger than I was should have sounded absurd to my ears, but it didn't, somehow.

I was horrified to realize that he was waiting for me to obey him, and I began to fight against his hold anew, but he kept me right where he wanted me quite effortlessly, pressing wonderfully tender kisses to my face, ending with one on each of my eyelids.

When I popped them quickly back open, it was his low, growled, "No," that convinced me to do as he said, although large parts of me fought valiantly against the impulse.

"Oakley -" I began, trying to sound somewhat parental, although my eyes remained closed nonetheless.

His lips nuzzled mine as he issued a threat that was no less real for the very mature, quiet calm with which it was delivered. "If you open your eyes again without my permission, darling, I will spank you, and afterwards, if you want to call the cops on me, I'll hand you the phone myself."

Dammit, the cheeky not so little bastard was calling my bluff!

Where did that bold, confident - very dominant - tone come from?! I wondered, then I realized I really didn't want to know the answer to that question. I was already aching badly enough regardless of how much I tried to fight against it, or, failing that, at least suppress it.

When I didn't say anything to his bold declaration, Oakley raised himself up on his elbow, fingers drifting down my cheek, tickling the sensitive skin of my neck on the way to the collar of my gown where it was pulled tightly against my body - the rest of it still tucked beneath him - finding its top button and undoing it easily one handed.

I immediately began to wiggle restlessly as best I could but he ignored my feeble attempts and concentrated instead on undoing every one of the small buttons that trailed down the front of my relatively short nightshirt. I literally began to shiver when his hand was above my mons, pressing gently in order to accomplish his goal.

He paused for a moment. "Are you cold?"

I couldn't speak. Could not get a word out. So I just shook my head, knowing the stark truth of what I was admitting to him by doing that.

His only acknowledgement I made was his breath escaping his mouth in one long, forceful puff.

Then those fingers continued downwards, releasing the last three buttons and resting atop my thigh for a long moment before he insinuated it beneath the hem, landing just below the juncture of my thighs for a brief second before dragging it slowly, but very lightly, up the center line of my body, those knowing fingertips grazing the insides of my thighs, then the tops of my swollen folds - making me renew my useless struggle to reclaim the use of my hands - as the pieces of my gown began to fall away a bit as his hand gently disturbed its way up to my neck.

Then he reached for the top corner of material and began to peel back the side that was closest to him, completely unhurriedly, doing the same thing with the other side, leaving me, essentially, displayed nude before him.

I don't know exactly what I expected his reaction to be to the sight of my not so nubile body, but it certainly wasn't the prayerful, "I knew you were beautiful, but this . . ." I heard him swallow hard, seeing his Adam's apple bob.

He bent his head and, just as I felt my painfully erect nipple being suckled into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, I found my voice, albeit a soft breathy one I barely remembered I owned. "Oakley, no!"

But my body made a lie of my words, arching up, wordlessly, helplessly offering him more of me to claim with his lips and tongue. He opened his mouth wider and took as much as he could, suckling strongly, breaking off only long enough to bring his fingertips up to my mouth, pressing them gently to my lips and whispering fiercely, "Open."

Automatically, unthinkingly, I did as he commanded - wanting to cringe at his "Good girl," but feeling more pride than I wanted to at his praise - finding his index and middle finger pressed insistently into my mouth where he dipped them in my own saliva - along with the barest tip of his thumb - to then put them to work on the other, lonely peak, mimicking the actions of his mouth and tongue on that captive bud - flicking, clasping, lightly pinching at it avidly.

I did my best to try to stifle reactions that flatly refused to be squelched, not really managing to have any affect at all as whimpers that started out as soft graduated quickly to louder, more insistent groans and even a growl or two of frustration that just had him chuckling softly against my temple and rededicating himself to driving me absolutely out of my mind as I tried to renew my efforts against his hold but my heart just wasn't in it any more and I'm sure I just looked as if I was writhing beneath his attentions.

And I was - frantically, mindlessly. I couldn't remain still - he was too blasted good at this, especially for someone so young.

That free hand eventually began to wander, though, giving my breast a squeeze before trailing almost possessively down over my ribs - making me try to jerk away from his touch on an explosive giggle.

"No tickling!"

His evil chuckle did nothing at all to soothe my fears. "Ah, I'll have to remember that," he teased, changing tactics in deference to that and claiming territory with his whole hand instead, resuming its descent again, and that worry fled my mind as if it had never been in favor of rapt attention to what he was doing to me.

Especially since he moved to lay his top leg between mine, which, in my writhing and restless movements had been carelessly left open enough for him to easily insert his foot between my calves, hooking it around the nearest one and inexorably wrestling it away from its companion.

I almost opened my eyes at that, but somehow managed not to, the specter of being spanked by him playing through my mind. It wasn't something I thought I could live through the thorough embarrassment of, not that I was feeling any less so about what he was doing to me now.

The leg he had captured was anchored beneath his, bent at the knee as it was from being pulled so far apart.

"I want you to do the same thing with your other leg, darling," firmly, in a tone that clearly said he would brook no disobedience. "And I expect it tostay that way."

In blatant defiance, I rolled towards him instead, closing my legs over his for the barest second, and he didn't hesitate in the least in his response, his palm connecting with my exposed bottom cheeks, the loud smack of it sounding just that much more impressive in the silence of the room.

Frankly surprised and not a little worried, considering how much it stung, by his response, I yelled, "Ow, Oakely, that hurt!"

He didn't say a thing but kept spanking me - in the exact same spot - until I rolled back over and, however reluctantly, did as I was told, hating the fact that I was so exposed to him, but feeling myself dripping down onto the sheets beneath us at the same time, my desire trumping my intense dislike and embarrassment in spades.

It was a few long beats before his hand found my ribs again and I knew he was taking his time, drinking in the sight of me splayed before him. Then he touched every bit of me, not just those that were of most interest. Oakley spent a lot of time running his fingers over ribs that I knew he considered to be entirely too prominent. "This stops now, baby. I never want to see you this skinny again." He sounded both furious and truly concerned. "You need to be healthy enough to handle me, and I intend to wear you out, every single time."

That vehement declaration had me taking a sharply indrawn breath that I held longer than I might have because he chose that moment to slide his hand down over my lower tummy to lay claim to the part of me that had been most private, but now was completely and utterly exposed to him.

I couldn't help it. I groaned as his fingers settled over me, the position he had put me into not allowing my body to hide itself from his touch in any way, so that his absurdly long middle finger touched both the very top of my clit with the tip of it resting crooked - almost - inside me but not quite.

He wiggled that finger experimentally and I shuddered beneath his touch.

Oakley leaned down to whisper into my ear. "You sound very close."

It had me emitting a series of very damning whimpers.

"Perfect. I've always wanted to be the cause of those lovely cries of yours as I bring you to ecstasy, and it's finally going to happen."

I was surprised when I found my hands freed suddenly as he moved to lie between my legs, broad shoulders keeping me forcibly open to him as he settled himself with a eager groan of what sounded like pure appreciation.

As much as I wanted this - and I did, every inch of my body was clamoring shamefully for more from him, for him to take me, to make me his in every way he could possibly think of, to make me offer myself to him, to surrender completely beneath him in the throes of untold orgasms - there was a stubborn streak in the back of my mind that made me still need to fight him, however weakly.

But he seemed to anticipate my reaction, more than prepared to subdue any attempt I made to thwart his intentions, accomplishing this now by simply wrapping his arms around my hips and lacing his fingers over my lower tummy, effectively immobilizing me in one smooth move.

I was lost. My hands were free, but I still couldn't get away from his gentle but firm hold - and what was more disturbing was the blatant fact that I didn't much want to.

"Open your eyes, love, and put your hands beneath you."

I didn't even think about it - my butt was still smarting much too badly to disobey him. My hands did as he asked while my eyes fluttered open immediately and latched onto his, taking in the sharp reality of where he was, of who it was that lay between my legs, his mouth centimeters from anguished, aching, fevered flesh that craved his attentions as surely as my lungs craved air.

As I watched him helplessly, and he watched me avidly, he stuck his tongue out, broad and flat and wet and warm, and dragged it, with excruciating slowness, over my completely exposed clit.

It was very nearly all I needed. My body jerked and arched as I panted and heaved and moaned, my hands gripping the sheet so tightly my nails nearly ripped through the material.

"Bloody hell, did you cum?" he asked in amazement.

"N- no," I barely breathed.

"Damn, you are close."

That seemed to prompt him to change his approach a bit, leaving one hand splayed between my hips to keep me in place while the other travelled up from the very bottom of my groove to swirl itself around the entrance to my quim.

That, too, had me offering myself to him in the most lewd fashion possible, although he seemed content to simply tease me with the possibility that I could be filled by those two digits.

"Oakley!" I almost yelled finally.

"Yes?" he answered mildly.

"Stop teasing me, you little fucker!"

He tsked at me, a broad, mischievous grin on his face. "Such language. My virgin ears!"

A purely animalistic growl passed my lips before I could squelch it.

Suddenly, I got my wish and I found myself completely and utterly full of those fingers, to the absolute hilt as he fucked them into me - hard.

He continued to slam into me powerfully, his own husky rumble reaching my ears. "I was going to be gentle with you, this first time between us. You're so small and delicate I don't want to hurt you." He leaned down as he continued that punishing rhythm and engulfed my clit with his lips, flicking that tender bud mercilessly for a long moment, then pulling back again - the tease. "But I'm beginning to think that that's not what you need."

He alternated periods of pressing his tongue over the most sensitive spot on my body - while his fingertips curled against the other within me as they pumped fiercely into and out of me - dragging it over me, rubbing and flicking and grinding it against me with times when he'd lift his head away from me to catch my eye and talk to me, his voice deepening and becoming rougher - although somehow still remaining somewhat gentle, almost sympathetic - each time.

"You need a firm hand - in more ways than one. You crave it - you need to be punished - hard and frequently - the same way you need to befucked."

That time he only used the very end of his stiffened tongue to worry my erect bud, dancing on the very tip of it for long, agonizing moments while I moaned and keened and almost sobbed all at the same time.

"You need your pleasure to be tightly controlled - to live always on the edge of completion, your nipples and your clit constantly swollen and craving my attentions, never knowing when - or if - you'll be allowed to cum."

When his mouth returned to me, I knew it was going to be pretty much the last time. "Oakley," I barely breathed. "Oakley, please."

"Yes, love?" he asked, his mouth still pressed against me.

I could only get out a one word plea, not really knowing if he'd understand it and knowing I couldn't really explain my need to him if he didn't. "Curls?"

A broad smile spread across his face. "Yes, of course, baby."

Finally able to do something I'd wanted to do since we'd met - if I was honest with myself - my hands came down to delve into those beautiful golden curls, clenching them rhythmically as I finally allowed myself to yield - truly yield - to him and the pleasure he was bringing to me.

There was no more fight left in me.

"And I'm the one who's going to do all of that for you, angel," came his hoarse promise, murmured against the center of me that he was claiming.

He had won.

When those lips closed around me again and he began to suckle and tease my throbbing bud at the same time, I was completely overtaken. Usually I knew when the end was imminent, and although I knew I was very close, this snuck up on me and I did what I usually did because I knew I could.

I screamed - a full throated, long, loud scream that seemed to startle Oakley at first, as if he was going to tell me to quiet down but then remembered how remote we were out here, and he quickly rededicated himself to forcing me to ride his lips and tongue, eagerly coaxing every hard won spasm out of me until I tried to beg him to stop, my voice completely blown and therefore barely audible, but he wouldn't have it.

My body - still rolling and writhing, my hips still boldly offering up my secrets to him, he met the challenge eagerly, not easing off, not allowing me to be satisfied just once, but driving me relentlessly, skillfully to my second, and then my third orgasm in a row, fingers buried in his curls, sometimes trying to pull him away, other times using those floofy ringlets to trying to grind his face into my cunt as I mindlessly sought my release.

After a fourth loud culmination, Oakley pulled away from me and I grasped after him, not wanting to lose his lovely warmth and all of that stimulation, every inch of me still greedily throbbing and aching, unbelievably still not yet quite sated.

Oakley wasn't idle. He hitched my legs up over the tops of his shoulders, so that my knees bracketed his neck, driving himself into me to the hilt in one powerful surge.

I didn't like the vulnerability of this position one bit but my attempts to extricate myself were belated and with his weight pressing down on me, my legs rendered entirely useless by their position, I wasn't going anywhere until he allowed it.

Beyond that, I was so suddenly full of him that I could think - I could feel - nothing but him, keening long and low at first, my body spasming helplessly around him, trying to come to some kind of accommodation of his long, thick presence within me and failing badly as every single bit of my insides felt invaded and stretched to its breaking point, right at the doorstep of discomfort, and I found I wasn't at all too proud to beg. Something about being put into this terribly defenseless position, held there, helplessly pegged by him - in particular - in the most blatant sense of the word, nagged at me for some reason and I wanted out of it.

"No, Oakley, please, my legs." My voice was very hoarse and nearly inaudible, but I knew he heard me because he stopped cold, still buried deep within me, concern written all over his face and I could tell he was seconds from dismounting.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked.

I frowned. He wasn't, really; he was just making me feel . . . much too vulnerable, too thoroughly possessed, but I would bet if I told him he was that he'd let me out of this absurdly exposed position. I opened my mouth to say a hearty "Yes!", but something stopped me. I didn't really want to lie to him.

As I wrestled with my conscience, I watched the realization of just why I had stopped him dawn over his face.

Surprisingly perceptive bastard that he was.

And then he lifted his hips away from me, leaving my body entirely, and I thought I had won without actually having to lie.

But I was wrong.

Because then, with his eyes glued with the slightest hint of triumph in them to mine, his next move was to snap himself into me with every bit of his strength, to the absolutely hilt, his balls slapping against my bottom - and he never let up that pounding rhythm - not once from that point on.

And my legs remained exactly where he had put them the entire time, even when he reached between us, still watching my face avidly as he did so, and began to worry my aching, ultra sensitive little bump, whispering, "Cum for me, babygirl."

Why did him using endearments like that - as if he was older than I was instead of the reverse - practically have me orgasming on the spot? It was embarrassing. It was humiliating.

It was un-fucking-believably hot.

Seconds later, I obeyed him - forced into absolute mindlessness by his cock and his fingers and his knowing smirks and his voice and his lips . . .

Him. All of him had every coherent thought fleeing me as if from a burning building.

He knew me entirely too well, somehow he knew exactly what buttons to push - how hard and for how long, and, worse than that, exactly what tosay to me, which had always been a huge weakness of mine.

I flew apart beneath him, trying to scream again but my voice wasn't capable of it any more, because of him, so I had to settle for agonized squeaks and cries and - in the end - sobs.

He reached his own end seconds later, screaming my name multiple times as he strained over me, then again, only a little less vociferously, into the pillow beside my head as he collapsed into it and down onto me, his hips continued to jerk and press himself into and reach for the tip top of me as he spilled himself uncontrollably into my depths.

I don't know how long we lay there. It could well have been hours for all I knew, panting and sweating all over each other, bodies still twitching pleasurably occasionally. I knew my pussy would be throbbing and contracting for - well, probably long hours afterwards, considering how hard I had cum.

Oakley seemed to come to his senses with a start. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm too heavy for you -"

I wrapped my arms around him and he allowed me to hold him in place - I had no illusions that I was any match for his strength. "No, please don't worry about that. This is almost my favorite part."

He grinned at my "almost". "I just don't want to hurt you."

"And I don't care if you do," I out and out pouted. "I love this part of the intimacy."

He gave me a pointed look, nonetheless. "Am I hurting you?"

I purse my lips out ridiculously far, my jaw clamped tightly shut. The truth of it was that my thighs and hips hurt from his weight, not that I was going to tell him that. But my silent pout was all the answer he needed and he rolled off me, but took me with him, spooning himself around me so completely that there was no part of my body that wasn't completely surrounded and touched by his, each hand claiming a breast.

Dear God, it felt almost criminally good to be held like this by him, and I was more exhausted than I could remember being in a very long time. I had no doubt he would achieve his goal of getting me to sleep tonight.

As if he knew where my mind would begin to wander if I was allowed to begin thinking again, and he intended to prevent that from happening for as long as he could by pressing one of his knees between mine then simply lifting his leg - and mine - to hold mine apart enough that he could easily reach a hand down - while the other arm remained wrapped tightly around me, holding my arms clamped to my sides so that there was nothing I could do to stop him - to lazily begin to drag the very end of his middle finger ever so lightly, around and only occasionally over the top of that little bit of flesh that was, at first, quite reluctant to be touched.

My entire body tensed and jerked, but he ignored it, nuzzling at my neck.

"I want one more from you, then I want you to go to sleep," he whispered, nibbling at my earlobe. "And I'm not going to allow you to say no to me, this time or ever again."

I almost snorted that he hadn't allowed me to do any of that the entire evening, so why should now be any different? But his deeply growled words had me practically contracting already as he had dipped down to my entrance, which was just slightly sore from how aggressively he had taken me, to scoop up some of my still very copious drippings and bring it back to drench my clit.

Then he used his little finger and thumb to spread me further open, forcing that gem out of its little enclosure, to lay the big pad of his finger directly on top of it and began to move in slow, exquisitely gentle circles.

A stark, startled breath hissed in between clenched teeth. My first instinct was to try to close my legs, but I couldn't.

"No, babydoll," he chided. "I won't allow you to close your legs until you've cum for me again."

In a humiliatingly short amount of time I could no longer contain my need to moan at what those torturous fingers of his were doing to me. "Mmmmmm . . . ahhhhhhhh . . . Oooooaaakkklllleeeyyyy!"

Dear God this man - and I had to concede that he was a man - no boy could make love to me - could handle me - in this adroit, adept a manner - was going to be the death of me!

My heartfelt groans were met with a soft chuckle. "Yes, sweetie. Give over to me. Give yourself to me again. I will have your pleasure, one way or the other."

That softly expressed sentiment - just shy of a threat - made me shudder in his arms, and his slickened finger quickened over me. My strength somewhat renewed, I began to act contrarily to his urging, to try to actively fight him, neither my mind nor my body sure that I could survive another orgasm at his hands. But he merely contracted his arms and that one strong leg, subduing my attempts with ridiculous ease as his finger kept up its steadily increasing pace, never once missing a beat.

I could feel the inevitability of my defeat very early on, so exhausted from my previous efforts that I couldn't even begin to put up a real fight against it. I was forced to hold almost completely still for it as he dragged that finger up over me, repeating just the same intricate pattern of movements that rasped across the sensitive tip then around territory where the sensations he was creating were less acute, over and over inexorably.

Seconds before that curled live wire exploded within me, he whispered into my ear, "The only way to stop me, love, is to give me what I want from you."

Only a few beats later, he had it. I bucked and writhed and hurled myself every way I could - all without being allowed to move an inch as he continued to stimulate me, relentlessly milking every single last spasm from me.

I could feel the hard rod of his erection where it lay along my cleft, a few scant centimeters from where it most desired to be, but Oakely didn't acknowledge it in the least. He leg go of my leg, still keeping me wrapped up tightly even as he turned me around to face him. "Sleep, lovely."

He gathered me to him, holding me deliciously tight against him, and I fell asleep instantaneously to the feeling of his dick pulsing eagerly against the outside of my quim.