Beneath Him.

His touch is so gen­tle as he arches his body above mine, press­ing me into the bed. I run my fin­gers over the strong planks of his upper body, the bunched mus­cles in his arms and chest. I can feel how much he’s hold­ing back — all that poten­tial he’s keep­ing leashed for my sake. He brushes his lips over mine, the faintest of touches, his breath warm against mine — he mur­murs that he loves me.

He fits his body to mine, enter­ing me. He’s so big, so wide, and I’m so tight, so small beneath him. My body stretches to acco­mo­date him,  my eyes widen­ing as he keeps push­ing, so demand­ing in his quiet way. I gasp as he bot­toms out, and I tell him he’s too big, that I’m too small, that it’s too soon, that he’ll hurt me. The first stroke hurts, but in a good way. The pain is slight, just a fur­ther widen­ing of my del­i­cate tis­sues, and only serves to high­light the dif­fer­ences between us. I cry out, I moan, I keen, but I never tell him to stop. Instead, a steady stream of words pours out of me, telling him how big he feels, how enormous.

The male sat­is­fac­tion in his eyes is matched by the strength he holds back as he starts to move in me. He’s thick and long, bot­tom­ing out over and over again as my body tries to acco­mo­date him. His arms shake with the effort of hold­ing back, I can see in his clenched jaw that he’s try­ing to be as easy as he pos­si­bly can, but I can’t help but be swept away in his wake, in total awe of his maleness.

Each thrust of his cock into my ten­der flesh only serves to remind me that I’m female, and that he’s male. That he’s stronger than me, that he could over­power me, do with me what­ever he wanted. It’s intox­i­cat­ing to think of the pos­si­bil­i­ties, to imag­ine the sce­nar­ios where he no longer holds back and unleashes him­self upon me, fully. But even bet­ter is his restraint, his full aware­ness of the dif­fer­ences in our bod­ies, his under­stand­ing of the power he could wield, of his potential.

I cli­max beneath him, bury­ing my face in the curve of his neck, push­ing my face into the roughess of his strong jaw. His cli­max fol­lows mine, and he col­lapses upon me, but not fully, always aware of his strength, he cra­dles me in his arms, keep­ing his weight off me, pro­tect­ing me from him­self even as we embrace. “I love you,” I tell him, going on to describe the sen­sa­tion of yield­ing beneath his impos­ing cock. He pulls me to him, rolling the both of us over so that I lay across his chest, lis­ten­ing to his heart­beat. His hand strokes me hair as he tell me what my body already knows — that he was hold­ing back as much as he could. He always tries to go gen­tle, to be as easy as pos­si­ble, no mat­ter how hard it is for him.

It’s in the moments that I under­stand what it is to be female, to be fully woman to his male­ness. It makes it eas­ier, know­ing that while I’m held in thrall by his strength, he’s caged by that same strength — that and his love for me, and desire to keep me safe. And there will be a time and place for him to hurt me…and I will love it when he does.