Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           ”Heclaspsbothmyhandsinhis,hispalmsagainstthebacksofmyhands,hisfingersinbetweenminesothatmyfingersaresplayed.Heplacesmyhandsonmybelly.“Feelhowsoftyourskinis.”Hisvoiceissoftandlow.Hemovesmyhandsinaslowcircle,thenupwardtowardmybreasts.“Feelhowfullyourbreastsare.”Heholdsmyhandssothattheycupmybreasts.Hegentlystrokesmynippleswithhisthumbsoverandover.

           Imoanbetweenpartedlipsandarchmybacksomybreastsfillmypalms.Hesqueezesmynipplesbetweenourthumbs,pullinggentlysothattheyelongatefurther.Iwatchinfascinationatthewantoncreaturewrithinginfrontofme.Oh,thisfeelsgood.Igroanandclosemyeyes,nolongerwantingtoseethatlibidinouswomaninthemirrorfallingapartunderherownhands…hishands…feelingmyskinashewould,experiencinghowarousingitis—justhistouchandhiscalm,softcommands.“That’sright,baby,”hemurmurs.

           Heguidesmyhandsdownthesidesofmybody,pastmywaisttomyhips,andacrosstomypubichair.Heslideshisleginbetweenmine,pushingmyfeetfartherapart,wideningmystance,andrunsmyhandsovermysex,onehandatatimeinturn,settinguparhythm.Itissoerotic.TrulyIamamarionetteandheisthemasterpuppeteer.

           “Lookatyouglow,Anastasia,”hewhispersashetrailskissesandsoftbitesalongmyshoulder.Igroan.Suddenlyheletsgo.

           “Carryon,”heorders,andstandsbackwatchingme.

           Irubmyself.No.Iwanthimtodoit.Itdoesn’tfeelthesame.I’mlostwithouthim.