I rode out my climax, my fingers lost in her raven-black hair as colours collided in my brain, my muscles flexing to the rhythm of her last strokes inside of me. Then she surprised me again by turning me over on my stomach, my backside bare and, seemingly, all hers. I’d gathered she meant next time she fucked me. I just hadn’t presumed that to happen so quickly. Laila was in charge in the bedroom and in the kitchen, the two rooms of our flat where I was merely required to serve, to not take any initiative. I was a sous-chef at best in both places, but my pleasure always came first. I was well-fed and satisfied, living on a diet of expertly spiced dishes and my girlfriend’s delicious golden-brown fingers buried in my cunt at regular intervals. So far, she’d only teasingly ventured in the direction of my ass. She covered my naked body with hers, her soft flesh moulding into mine. “Your ass is mine tonight,” she hissed into my ear, while spreading my legs with her knee. I wondered what she meant with ‘mine’.
