Standing Up

Pinning a woman against a wall is my favorite position, nothing delivers intensity, passion or caters to raw sexual nature quite like wall sex. Being pressed against a wall by a lover because the shared arousal can no longer be denied leading to a fierce, aggressive sense of urgency to this position making it undeniably hot. No wonder this steamy position is a top favorite for men and women. Those primal feelings of possession and domination that are triggered during wall sex are what many men and women find most erotic. Men love the feeling of power that comes from pinning the woman against a wall and completely controlling the pace, depth of his thrust and angle of penetration; whereas women relish the sense of vulnerability, confinement and being dominated that comes from being wedged between the hard surface of a wall and a man. Another reason women find sex against the wall so appealing is that it provides exceptional clitoral stimulation. In this position, her pelvic region is lower than the man’s, directly aligning her clitoris against his pubic bone. With the man deep inside her, she can easily rub her clitoral region against him to create a delicious friction.

Anna is friend’s with Shelly, she is 25 never married frustrated with dating men her age. Shelly suggested she spend a evening with me. Shelly explained she had the same frustrations until she met me and had sex with me. She explained rough primal sex with me has made her a complete woman reaching sexual pinnacles and having massive orgasms that she had never experienced with men her age. After this conversation with Shelly, Anna invited me to her place for the afternoon. The doorbell rings; its abrupt crack travels like a jolt down her spine and floods her pussy with tingling wet pleasure. She walks towards the door and she feels the first layer shrouding the undertones of our first meeting being peeled away. Acknowledging to herself that she is looking forward to this encounter; admitting that her mind screamed the word ” pussy,” with thoughts of me, of what my touch might entail causing the tingling down there. This in itself is a violation. Or perhaps a revelation; for more. The more that is now about to be uncloaked. Anna feels a thrill….like that of an artist. Revealing to the world at large my art; a sculpture cloaked with a white cloth; the folds of it shrouding the eroticism of the couple locked in a furtive embrace, with identical looks of passionate rapture barely concealed in their closed eyes and open mouths. It is scandalous; a 25 year old never married woman anticipating private time with a man thirty years older. The eroticism of the situation is palpable. The impersonal eyes devouring the personal ecstasy of a possible lover, and the pride of the sculptor who stands there uncloaking the moment with a flourish; owning the moment and its eroticism, owning each and every reaction. The inescapable thrill…it is that which courses through her slowly, at last, she opens the door.

I stand there looking at her. One look at her face and I know something is different; even ominously so. She has never shared so much with man before. My innocuous touches made her feel safe, barely whispered sighs, looking at me in silence. It freaked her out; the thought of having a connection with a older man. She had never shared her thoughts and inner most desires with any man before. She never thought she could share her vulnerabilities before, but she can with me. Perhaps, that is why she feels relaxed. Anna shudders…as yet another layer is peeled off…getting her closer to what might be the more of a possible relationship. I know this…for with that one look at her face, with the subtle contracting of her facial muscles…her eyes narrowing, her face lifting, her gaze intent upon me….I know too that she wants to cross that line. The questions have been asked. There’s no going back now. I hold her by her hand. The hot crackling energy rippling in between our palms no longer surprising her.

It’s especially true when I telegraph that I’m going to do it. That I show her, tell her, that it’s coming so that she can put up the best fight she has in her. So when her eyes narrow and her breath quickens and her muscles are bristling with all that extra strength and I sweep it away? Push you down into the position I want her in like she has no strength? That way she knows that I own her. She can call it whatever she likes and she can pretend it didn’t happen, whatever it takes to soothe her, make her whole. Make her want it again. But we both know the truth when I do it. As strong as she gets, as smart as she is and as dedicated to the fight as she can be—the moment I want to take her, I can. So keep struggling, grunting, narrowing her eyes at me. I want that, too. I want to gaze into her fire with my perfect calm and demonstrate again that she is being taken. That she cannot clasp her legs together tight enough that I can’t pry them apart. That she can’t push her arms against mine to move them as I do. She will be mine after today. Her head relaxed, bending slightly to the side. My hot breath lingering along the soft curve of her neck. Searching lips scorching the delicate skin and melting into its softness. Her eyes are closed and lost in the moment, opening slowly. She stared through their lust-filled glaze into the afternoon sky.