Catch a Scoundrel by the Tail

He grabbed her by the waist and turned her around. She teetered on the swing, facedown, ass up. She was breathless, worn out. Her shaking legs begged for a rest. But she was ready just the same—slippery, throbbing. Ready to be pushed past her limits.

He drove himself into her until a wetness announced itself with a noise. She felt his hardness, his fullness. She felt those hands on her hips, guiding her, shoving her into just the right place. More grunting, more slapping. She held the chains again, this time pulling them to rise upright and press against his thrusts as he propelled himself faster, harder. He nudged her into that place again, that place of stunning wordlessness.

"Ohhh...yeah! Up!"

They fell together, stumbled into the other's limbs, and basked in everything. She turned, buried her head in his chest, and cooled herself in the nighttime air. After searching, she found his gaze and said nothing. Words wouldn't work anyway for what she wanted to say.

The ache was gone—or sound asleep, at least. In time it would roar back awake, but why not enjoy its being sated for now? Why not breathe in the night's flawless aroma and slowly drift into sweet slumber?