Behind the Velvet Rope

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the cabin, a relentless rhythm that both soothed and agitated me. Outside, the Oregon coast was a churning mass of gray, the Pacific breathing in angry sighs. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of pine, damp wool, and something else entirely – something primal and deeply intoxicating that had taken root in my soul over the past twenty-six years. E. My E. Just the sound of her name sent a shiver down my spine, a delicious tremor of anticipation that built with each passing moment.

We’d found this cabin tucked away on a remote stretch of coastline, a refuge from the world, a place where time seemed to slow to a languid crawl. It wasn't the most luxurious accommodation, but it possessed a raw, untamed beauty that mirrored our own desires, a silent invitation to indulge in the pleasures we’d both craved for so long. The rain, the isolation, the scent of the sea – it all contributed to the atmosphere, a perfect backdrop for the slow burn we were about to ignite.

E had always been a creature of intense passion, a fire that could consume everything in its path. But as we’d aged, our desires had evolved, refined into something deeper, more nuanced. The frantic, impulsive heat of our younger years had mellowed into a deliberate, measured pleasure. Now, we approached intimacy with a quiet intensity, savoring each touch, each glance, each stolen moment of shared pleasure.

And then there was her favorite position. The one that always left me breathless, begging for more. Taking her from behind. The angle of penetration, she’d explained countless times, was simply divine. The way her body arched, the subtle shifts in her breathing, the way her muscles flexed as I pushed deeper – it was an experience that transcended mere physical pleasure, a communion of souls through the act of creation.

We hadn't indulged in this position frequently over the years. It had become a ritual, a sacred offering we reserved for the most special occasions, when the world outside felt too loud, too demanding, and we needed to retreat into the sanctuary of our bodies. Tonight, the rain, the isolation, the sheer weight of our shared history had driven us to this particular indulgence.

I’d spent the afternoon meticulously preparing for her, stripping down to just a pair of worn denim shorts, letting the cold air kiss my skin. As I moved towards the bed, I could feel her anticipation building, a silent current of electricity that crackled between us. The cabin was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls, which only served to heighten the sensuality of the scene.

She lay on her back, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a silken waterfall. Her eyes, the color of moss after a rain shower, held a knowing glint, a silent challenge. As I knelt beside her, my hands tracing the curve of her spine, she arched her back slightly, offering herself up to my touch.

“You’ve been looking forward to this,” I murmured, my voice a low rumble in her ear.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Always, darling. Always.”

I gently lifted her legs over the edge of the bed, her body sliding down into my arms. The warmth of her skin against mine was immediate, a comforting weight that grounded me in the present moment. As I slowly, deliberately, began to lower her onto my lap, I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated desire.

The scent of her body, a blend of lavender and something uniquely her own, filled my senses. Her breathing grew faster, deeper, as she shifted closer, her hips pressing against my chest. I ran my hands along the length of her body, tracing the lines of her ribs, the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts.

“Let me feel you,” she whispered, her voice husky with anticipation.

I obliged, my fingers teasing the sensitive skin behind her ears, her neck, her collarbone. Her body began to tremble, a silent plea for release. It was time.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I shifted my grip, positioning myself to take her from behind. The angle of penetration was perfect, just as she had described. The first thrust was tentative, a gentle exploration of her receptive tissues. But as I continued, the rhythm intensified, becoming more forceful, more demanding.

Her muscles tensed, her breath hitched, and a moan escaped her lips. She arched her back further, digging her nails into my shoulders, anchoring herself to me. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain, a dance between control and surrender.

As I pushed deeper, her body convulsed with pleasure. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her face flushed crimson. I could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic rhythm mirroring my own. The rain continued to batter against the roof, a relentless soundtrack to our shared ecstasy.

I didn't stop. I continued to penetrate her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, focusing on every nerve, every muscle, every inch of her body. I felt her pleasure radiating through me, washing over me in waves of pure sensation.

She let out a primal scream, a sound of unbridled joy and release. Her body arched even further, her hips rotating as she shifted her weight, seeking the precise spot that would deliver the ultimate pleasure. I adjusted my angle, responding to her every whim, every movement.

The world outside faded away, the rain, the cabin, everything else disappeared into the depths of our shared experience. There was only us, lost in a world of lust, desire, and exquisite sensation.

As we reached the peak of our arousal, we locked eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection we shared. The rain continued to fall, but it no longer bothered us. It was just another element in the atmosphere, a reminder of the wild, untamed beauty of our love.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, exhausted, and utterly satisfied. The scent of her body lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the pleasure we had just shared.

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that conveyed everything she felt. “That was wonderful,” she whispered, her voice still trembling with pleasure.

“Just as you like it,” I replied, pulling her close and kissing her deeply.

As we lay entangled in the sheets, the rain continued its relentless assault on the cabin. But inside, there was only warmth, comfort, and the lingering echo of our shared pleasure. The rain, the isolation, the scent of the sea – it had all conspired to create the perfect setting for our intimate encounter.

We knew that this position would remain a special one, a reminder of our enduring love and our shared passion. It wasn't just about the physical pleasure; it was about the connection, the vulnerability, the raw emotion that flowed between us. And as I looked into E's eyes, I knew that this was just the beginning of many more nights filled with the same exquisite sensations. The angle of penetration, the slow, deliberate rhythm, the shared pleasure – it was a ritual, a sacred offering, a testament to the enduring power of love. And as long as we had each other, there would always be a place for this position in our lives, a place where we could lose ourselves in the depths of our desires, and find solace in the warmth of our shared intimacy.

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