I awoke abruptly as he slid into me. I don't know if I was gushing less than I usually did around him or what, but his size just about killed me this time - scraping against my insides in a very not nice way - and, to my horror, I burst into tears at the sheer discomfort of it.

I'd never seen Oakley move so fast. He was off me in an instant, and, to his great credit, he didn't just sit there like a lump as lot of men would and look at me as I cried like they had no idea what the fuck to do about it. His first action once he'd left me was to gather me to him, into arms that held me gently against him.

He was so apologetic that he was almost babbling, sounding more like the young man he was than the confident, lovingly dominant man he'd been last night. "Oh, Christ, did I hurt you? I did hurt you. I'm so, so sorry."

It was lovely being rocked and held in those strong arms - and I was infinitely more aware of just how strong he was now, up close and personal - despite the uncomfortable ache between my legs that was still present even though he'd withdrawn.

Ruthlessly grabbing a hold of myself because I felt so horrible making him feel bad, I said, "Oakley, it's okay. You didn't know."

He sighed exasperatedly at himself. "I should have, though."

I detached myself from him, although he was quite reluctant to relinquish his hold, deliberately reversed our positions so that I was cradling him. "How could you? Normally I'd be fine. But Paul and I . . . "

I realized with horror in my heart that I hadn't thought about my dearest husband since Oakley had appeared after his evening ablutions to ask why I wasn't in bed and had proceeded to relentlessly distract me with that gorgeous body of his.

For the entire rest of the night!

And he was accomplishing that not so easy feat again right now. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he reassured, obviously prompted by my abrupt silence in the middle of my sentence.

"No, honey, I do. You should -" I could barely believe I was saying this, but it was the truth. "You should know."

He moved a bit away from me so that he could look into my eyes as I spoke, reaching behind him to grab the box of Kleenex that was ever present in whatever room I was in. I had to smile at his thoughtfulness and was inordinately happy when he smiled back.

I took a Kleenex preemptively, and began, my voice still hoarse from last night and further constrained by the subject matter. "Paul - Paul couldn't, at all, those last few years." I looked at Oakley to see if he took my meaning and could tell by his dusky blush that he did. "And he was truly sick enough that he didn't have much . . . interest, either, so other . . . techniques were out, too." I squirmed with an entirely different discomfort than I had just experienced, but forged on. "It had been . . . " I had to think, ". . . about five years for me . . . until last night."

"Fuck. And I took you like a rutting bull. I'm so sorry." He looked truly distraught again, refusing to meet my eyes.

I was smiling ruefully, though as I reached out and touched his leg comfortingly, amazed to see something rising impressively beneath the sheets at just that generic contact. "That's a completely apt description, but I wouldn't change a thing about anything you did."

His head came up in surprise to meet my gaze.

I put my hand tentatively on his bare chest, the absent thought hitting me suddenly that, throughout our adventures last night, I had barely touched him at all. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, please, Oakley. I just want you to understand why I think I'm kind of . . . out of commission right now."

He sighed but I could see that he had relaxed a lot at my explanation. Then he sat up and took me back into his arms. "Are you all right? I mean, is there anything we can do - anything I can do - to help?"

He'd asked the question even though he had colored quite brightly while doing so, which I found incredibly endearing.

"No, I'll be right as rain soon enough, I should think. It's not as if Paul and I hadn't . . ." How could I possibly be blushing this hard? I was a full grown woman who had lead an interesting and varied sex life - with and without Paul. I felt like a schoolgirl with Oakley for some strange reason, yet I soldiered on when I probably should have just kept my mouth shut. "Well, he was always kind of sickly and never quite as . . . vigorous as you . . . " Finally my good sense - and sense of decorum - overcame my ability to speak.

Oakley smiled at my discomfort then looked a bit sheepish. "You might not believe me after last night, but I can be gentle with you."

"Of that I have absolutely no doubt. You've always been very careful of me, very thoughtful and helpful."

He scowled. "You make me sound like a Boy Scout."

I frowned back at him, barely able to suppress a smile. "I don't think there's anything in the Boy Scout oath about rutting like a bull over an old lady -"

Seconds later, I found myself pressed not onto my back as I might have expected, but on my tummy instead, one horribly hard, strong arm found its way across my back as if it had been there untold times before to hold me down while his huge right hand claimed every bit of my behind at once as it lay there quite possessively. As he spoke, he swatted - powerfully and painfully, each effort landing solidly and distinctly from any of the others. "I don't want to hear you say anything negative about your age again, or you'll find yourself right here - or over my lap or the back of a chair or the sofa or over my knee in public if that's what it takes - every time. I don't think of you as old in the least. You're beautiful - you have a delicacy about you that makes me want to fuck you into the mattress and, at the same time, curl myself around you and protect you even from my own dirtiest urges." He colored at his own almost poetic words, then frowned fiercely, adding, "And I don't want to hear you insulting yourself like that. Am I making myself completely understood, young lady?"

Damn, I'd've been able to reply in the affirmative with a straight face and have saved myself a world of hurt if he hadn't added that highly unlikely, otherwise chiding endearment, at which I emitted a scornful snort.

Not a smart idea when one is naked on one's stomach with a very determined - and determinedly dominant - young man's hand resting on flesh that had already been nicely singed by said hand.

He didn't stop again, though, until I was just beginning to sob, and I knew without having to see it that my butt was neon red. I was uncomfortably familiar with the feeling, and he had achieved it in an alarmingly short amount of time.

Horrified at the tears that trailed down my cheeks, I asked accusingly as he gathered me back against him, "I thought you didn't want to hurt me?!"

Oakley captured my chin in his hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Stop that. You already know that I know they're not at all the same thing, and you're not going to be able to guilt me into not spanking you when I think you need it."

He sounded as if he intended that this would go on for quite some time, but I had my suspicions about just how long Oakley was going to remain interested in me. He was a young guy and not, as far as I knew from what I'd overheard him talking with Paul about - although granted that wasyears go - much interested in long term relationships - and long term to him seemed to be anything more than a weekend or two.

So I'd already decided to give him the next few days, but would shield my heart carefully - as best I could - against the inevitable letdown that would come after that, when he saw some cute young thing at the mall or while he was out with his friends, and he came to tell me it was over.

With that thought prominent in my head, I pushed him onto his back suddenly - surprising him, which would be the only way I'd be able to accomplish that task without his cooperation - and lay my head on his chest, looking up at him.

It had become a bit of a tradition - almost a rule - with Paul that there was something very specific that I did for him after I was punished, one that I was only too happy to continue with Oakley.

"May I pleasure you with my mouth, Sir?" I asked, sounding less like myself than Kathleen Turner, somehow. Where had that low, sultry voice come from?

His eyes went comically round and his mouth fell open. I wasn't sure whether it was the offer of a blow job or my calling him "Sir".

His answer was almost too soft and breathy at first. "Yes, please." Then I literally watched him transform as his face became more serious, his posture somehow more . . . proper and erect even though he was in the exact same position as before and his next words were pure dom, delivered in a tone that oozed sex. "You may."

I knelt next to him and kissed him, deeply, fully, cupping his face and feeling the darkish stubble there, wondering how it would feel between my legs. Paul had always kept himself smooth, not wanting to abrade me there, where he had often dwelt for quite some time, especially early on in our relationship.

I had a feeling that Oakley wouldn't be quite so concerned, and that wasn't necessarily such a bad thing.

When I left off kissing him, I began to lick and flick and suck my way down his naked body, claiming every part of him in the way he had done to me last night, dwelling at that sensitive spot just beneath his ear, laving and nibbling down the elegant line of his arched neck, pausing to suck on his prominent Adam's apple, to just where his neck became collarbone, then across to the big pad of shoulder muscle and down his arm to sit back and hold his hand up to my mouth, my eyes glued to his, tonguing his palm playfully then assiduously washing each finger, smelling myself on some of them as I took each of them into my mouth to withdraw them very slowly as I rolled my tongue around them then flicked and nipped at the tips in a preview of what I was going to do to his cock.

Oakley looked positively slack jawed and I wondered if he was going to cum right then and there.

But he didn't.

I kissed my way back up the oft forgotten and quite sensitive inside of his arm to repeat the same caresses to the other one, with much the same result. As I began my descent again at his collar bone, I murmured against his smooth, tanned skin, "Sir?"

No response. I wasn't sure if that was because he didn't recognize the title or he simply couldn't respond.

I asked again in a supplicating tone, careful not to allow any hint of admonishment. "Sir?"

That seemed to do it. "Oh, uh, yes, love?"

"You . . . " For some reason I was seized by embarrassment suddenly, and what should have come out as a strong suggestion ended up being almost a muddled, doubt filled plea that I immediately wished I could take back. "Uh, you can - " I took a breath. "You can . . . touch me . . . you know, while I do this." My eyes flickered to his and then away, feeling absurdly like a nervous teenager on her first real date, somehow. "If - if you want to."

I caught his broad smile out of the corner of my eye and returned to my delicious task - and I don't think one or both of his hands was ever not on me somewhere, somehow, for the rest of the time I was focused on him. He in particular seemed to be fascinated by my ass, which I would have preferred he'd've stayed away from, frankly, since it was quite tender to the touch and probably would be for a while.

But he didn't seem to pay my hisses and sharply indrawn breaths any mind at all - as a dom was wont to do - as the same hand that had made it as red and sore as it was began to rub and pat it less than gently, which encouraged me to move out of the range of his long arms, which took me a bit, unfortunately. I couldn't do this well without paying homage to all of him, stopping at the impressively sculpted plates of his pecs to lick every inch of them, avoiding his nipples completely until I heard a decidedly impatient growl from above.

Even then, I intended to take my time getting to what he wanted, teasing and tantalizing and enjoying every second of it.

Oakley let me know he'd had enough by reaching down to cup the back of my head, guiding it firmly to his nipple and leaving it there as I let the tip of my tongue flick that tiny bud mercilessly.

I was surprised at his reactions, which were very nearly orgasmic. I thought he was going to cum before I got a chance to do what I so desperately wanted to for him.

"Your nipples are very sensitive, Sir."

"They are. I -" He stopped abruptly and I looked up at him. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to, somehow, that beautiful face of his bright red.

"Please tell me, O - Sir. You are as safe with me as I . . . ." I hesitated a bit, then drew my courage to me and finished what I had intended to say, ". . . as I feel I am with you. There should be no secrets between lovers. I want to hear everything about what you like in order to pleasure you better."

He sat up suddenly, the fingers of both hands delving into my hair, bringing my lips forcefully to his. "Yes," he agreed, kissing me fiercely, thoroughly, then leaning back a bit and groaning, "I want to know all of your secrets, every little thing you've ever thought of that's turned you on."

"Well, I want the same candor from you, please. Sir."

He lay back, a hand still in my hair, using it to guide my mouth back to his nipple. "I've always felt kind of . . . freakish . . . because of how sensitive my nipples are. They're too much so . . . for a man."

I could tell just how hard that was for him to admit and would have moved up and hugged him, but he held me too fast.

"I haven't much let anyone spend much time there because of it."

"I think that's wonderful. There's no shame in enjoying your body - no matter how that manifests itself, and it's different in everyone. It doesn't make you any less a man," I reached down to wrap my fingers around his huge, sheet-tenting erection as I did so to emphasize my point, "in any way. Nothing could, Sir, believe me. You are every inch a man, and not just here. Nothing you desire could make you any less so in my eyes."

When I finally left his nipples, he was arching beneath me, hips thrusting, seeking my warmth.

I tried to bury my face in his stomach, but his abs were too rock hard and unforgiving to really do that. It was like pressing my face against the abs on a marble statue, so I settled for licking every rippled, ripped inch of them, moving a bit lower to trace the prominent, twin ridges of his Apollo's belt, then, assiduously avoiding the area that was poking insistently against my chest, I treated each of his long, muscular legs much as I had his arms, nibbling at his instep and tickling the backs of his knees with my tongue.

Finally, I crawled between those legs, positioning my head just above a cock that was flexing and bobbing, surging upwards occasionally, pumping itself into the air, all purple and swollen and desperate with need. Looking down at it, I was amazed that I had been able to take him at all. He had the biggest endowment I'd ever seen, and I felt no small flush of pride that I was able to bring him to this point, completely unable to stop myself from flicking my tongue out to lick the cum that dribbled out of the very tip, savoring the saltiness of him on my tongue.

I thought he was going to lose it right there as his hips jerked violently and his breath hissed in through his teeth. I was of a mind to tease him some more, wetting every inch of him thoroughly - not lingering anywhere - then moving back a bit to blow my hot breath over him..

That was it. That was all he could stand, apparently, because the next thing I knew, he had reached down with both hands and was using the hair at the back of my head to guide me to the cock his hand was holding away from his body. "No more." His voice was hoarser and deeper than I'd ever heard it. "I want to spurt my cum against the back of your throat. Now."

I sat up, to get a better angle, pressing my pursed lips against the head of his cock and forcing him past them, keeping them taut and tight around him, sucking my cheeks in to add to the sensation of him being surrounded by my warm wetness, following the amazing length of him all the way down and ruthlessly tamping back my urge to cough around him, forcing myself to relax enough to take every single bit of him.

When I would have dallied there, flicking and cupping him with my tongue, I found my hair pulled up and he used that grip to establish the rhythm he needed. I let him guide me completely, let him use me, giving myself over to him in this excruciatingly intimate way.

Submitting myself to him in a manner that had me gushing between my legs.

It wasn't very long before I could tell that he was extremely close. I had been cupping and gently rolling his heavy balls from the start, and they were snugged up tight under his cock. On the last trip up, I swirled my tongue furiously against the underside of the head of his dick, feeling a tremendous sense of satisfaction when he cried out and I felt his cream flowing down the back of my tongue.

He groaned several more times, sounding as if I was killing him, quickly descending into animalistic growls as he maintained a hand in my hair, eventually using it to stop me from moving any more.

His big hand fell away from my head and I crawled up the side of him to lay my head on his chest, drawing lazy circles on his abdomen as his growls died slowly down but he continued to pant for some time, one hand still at home in my hair and his other arm flung over his eyes.

When his breath quieted, I wondered if he'd fallen asleep - which I would have been perfectly fine with.

But he hadn't, as I found out abruptly a few moments later when he turned onto his side suddenly and I slid off him, then found myself trapped against him, my wrists quickly caught at the small of my back as he used his other hand to tip my chin up so that I had to look into those fathomless blue eyes of his. "I hope this isn't just a fling for you, because I can't imagine ever getting enough of you, ever letting you go." His hand tightened on my wrists, pressing them into my back and tugging down a bit, so that I had no choice but to arch my back, pressing myself even closer against him as his free hand roamed, open palmed, down my body. "I could happily spend the rest of my life learning your body, listening to your whimpers, teasing and tasting you."

I could see stark, triumphant possession in his eyes, foremost, but behind that was the truth of the naked sincerity of his words and I felt tears prickling in my own eyes because of it.

But when his palm squeezed my breast from the very bottom, nimble fingers climbing to the crest and plucking at a nipple that had been hard since last night, my eyes closed automatically on their own at the waves of bliss that flooded through me.

"No, angel. Look at me. I want your eyes on mine."

Swallowing hard at his tone, I whispered, "Yes, Sir."

That brought the hint of a smile, but it was gone in a flash in favor of a much more intently dominant look.

He played with my breasts, holding me there, immobile, until I was moaning constantly, until I was arching my back almost painfully, offering myself up to him, my hips rolling into his, into an erection I was amazed he was able to sport again so quickly.

When his fingers worked their way down, between my legs, I gasped as he stroked his finger over the very crest of my clit for the first time that day and I couldn't help but see the huge smile of satisfaction that lit his face. I hoped he would continue to stroke me, but his finger delved past my pulsing little bit to hover over the path to my passage, dipping gently beyond it to gather my honey on the end of his finger.

"Does this hurt?" he asked tentatively, sounding quite worried at the possibility and thus less like the dominant lover I was getting to know. And then, again, I watched his demeanor change as he consciously assumed the mantle of the role he sought to fill with me - and for me. "Rule number one," he began, continuing even though I frowned deeply, chafing a bit at the idea of him making them for me, although that was part and parcel of what any good dom did, "is that you are required to tell me if something I do to you hurts, even a little."

I grinned. "Well, then expect an earful the next time you spank me."

He did not look amused and I had the sudden, unfamiliar - and considerably disconcerting - urge to straighten up and fly right. "You know what I mean."

His scolding tone made my whole lower body contract - all on its own - damn him! He was entirely too good at this!

That finger had stopped, and he gave me an expectant look that had me confused.

"When I speak to you, especially to give you a rule, I expect you to respond to me properly, love."

Again with that voice - his tongue might as well have been against my clit rather than in his mouth. "Yes, Sir," I whispered breathlessly, hoping that was what he wanted to hear, and, feeling a bit uncertain, I automatically lowered my eyes.

His stern expression softened somewhat and his slickened finger moved back to where I wanted it to be and began to circle and press and worry my clit firmly, almost demandingly.

"Eyes on me," he corrected immediately.

Mine darted up instantly, and the soft, apologetic, "Sorry, Sir," slipped from my lips without any thought.

That seemed to please him, but not enough to keep him from warning, "If I have to remind you again, you're going to get another spanking."

Oh, dear God - what had I gotten myself into? I had a sudden flash of insight that this was going to be much more than I bargained for. Being submissive to Paul and submissive to Oakely were already proving to be very different things. As much as I knew he wanted to be everything he knew I needed, Paul was very often too tired or uncomfortable to discipline me, and I had, as a result, gotten away with murder. I had a feeling that Oakley - who was sharp as a tack and apparently highly motivated - I wasn't going to be able to slide anything by him, and as a result, I wasn't going to be sitting very comfortably very often.

And that also had me contracting.

Only this time he felt it, too, but unfortunately it didn't prompt him to do what I would have preferred, which was that he stop teasing and bring me off already. Instead, it added fuel to his growing authoritative tendencies.

And I didn't think they needed much at all in the way of encouragement based on how he was already taking to the position!

But when he spoke again, my eyes locked with his by his own order, his finger still roving lazily over the point of my ultimate pleasure, his commands were husky with his own desire, that rich, low tone flowing over me like hot caramel over a scoop of ice cream.

"You are not allowed to cum without my permission. You are not allowed to touch yourself without my permission. You are never allowed to deny me access to this luscious body of yours."

I know he saw me bite my lip at his description of me, but at least I was able to save my bacon by not rolling my eyes or snorting.

I may be old, but I can definitely learn new tricks, especially to save myself from his bedeviling palm!

But what I didn't do was remember the order he'd just given to me and respond to him quickly enough, because the next thing I knew, that big hand was removed from my pussy to land squarely on my behind - and not just the once.

"Yes, Sir, yes, Sir, yes, Sir!" I chanted, hoping it would magically make him stop.

No such luck.

He held me still with ridiculous ease as he lit into me for the second time that morning. I could only hope - although I severely doubted - that it would be the last time.

When he had set thorough fire to every inch of my flesh, he stopped, using the same hand beneath my chin again to hold me still as he kissed away my tears, whispering almost reverently, "You are almost as beautiful when I spank you as you are when I bring you off. You're usually so reserved -"

I chuckled at that description of me, since I would never have applied it to myself.

" - well, you are around me, anyway, and I love being able to push you past that. To make you wild and uncontrolled - freed yet tamed by my hand - or my lips - or my cock . . . "

His hand was the culprit this time, those fingers having found their way back to me, dipping with heartbreaking gentleness into the as yet still tender source of my juices, then brushing insistently over a clit that had - ashamedly - only increased in size and sensitivity as a result of his discipline.

And, of course, he noticed.

"I think that - despite your protests - someone thoroughly enjoys being spanked."

With that, the hand that had held my wrists behind my back released them to descend to the bottom that had been so recently roasted and squeezed a hot, rounded cheek, making me catch my breath at the pain his action inspired - I couldn't even get a moan out, it caught me so unaware.

"Don't you dare move your hands, my darling," he cautioned against my neck. "I want you just like this."