Uncivilized by Sawyer Bennett
He gives me more, wrapping his lips around my clit and sucking at me hard. My hips shoot off the ground and gyrate against his face.
"Fuck yeah," he groans as he lifts his mouth briefly, only to bring it down again hard as if he's starving.
I'd like to tell you it goes on forever, but I'm so freakin' turned on by how much Zach craves doing this to me, that another orgasms rumbles through me, breaking loose just as quickly as it starts. I jerk at his hair even as I pump my hips upward against his mouth, and even when I crash back down to earth, he keeps licking at me.
"Enough," I moan and push at him.
He looks up at me with a lazy smile, and then rests his chin on my pubic bone. His hands softly stroke my stomach. "I'm not done with you yet."
Cocking an eyebrow at him, I ask, "Oh, yeah... what else did you have in mind?"
Pushing up from his supine position, he sits back on his haunches. "I'm fucking hard as a rock again."
Sure enough, his massive cock sticks up from his pelvis, and I swallow hard. I can't believe that thing fit inside of me. It was one thing to have Zach drilling me from behind, but seeing it just inches away is another thing all together. Even though I just had a supremely amazing orgasm, I can feel my insides flood with more wetness.
Raising one of my legs, I straighten it out and run it along his denim-covered thigh. "Well, we could try it with me on my back, you on top... it's called the missionary position."
Zach actually grimaces but places both of his hands behind my knees, raising my legs up and spreading them outward. "Let's call it something else. Missionary makes me think of my parents, and that's the last thing I want to be thinking about when I'm fucking you."
Rising up on his knees, he leans forward, pushing my knees back further toward my chest, spreading me more. He briefly releases one of my legs, only to grab his shaft so he can bring it to my entrance. When he pushes that massive head into me, he lets his hold go and secures that hand back under my knee.
His gaze stays pinned down on his cock and, with a steady push of his hips, he sinks in to me deeply.
"Oh, that feels good," I breathe out.
"Feels unbelievable," Zach groans.
He raises his eyes to me. When our gazes connect, he starts moving his hips. Slowly, pulling all the way out, inch after glorious inch, only to push back in with exquisite deliberation. He leans his body over me to get a better angle, which pushes my knees back until my thighs are resting against my stomach and breasts. I'm almost doubled in half, making breathing somewhat difficult, but it's worth it because Zach is hitting me so deeply this way.
Zach stares at me closely, almost as if he's studying my face. While the temptation to close my eyes is great, because I just want to immerse myself in the feeling of him, I'm carried away back to the time where he stared at me across the village fire when he first fucked Tukaba in front of me. I feel that connection again, except this time there's no angry challenge in an attempt to scare me away. No, his challenge is all in daring me to keep pace with him... to get swept away in these amazing feelings that our bodies are creating.
Grabbing one of my hands, Zach takes it and shoves it in between our bodies. "Touch yourself," he demands.
Rather than submitting, I reach down, wrapping my finger and thumb half-way around the base of his huge cock while he tunnels in out and out me. I give him a squeeze, and he sucks in a harsh breath.
His stare becomes hard, even when I squeeze him again. "I said... touch yourself, Moira. Do it now."
I just squeeze him again, close my eyes, and moan in pleasure.
Zach pulls out of me all the way, causing my hand to fall to the side. The sudden loss of his girth leaves me starkly empty. My eyes fly open, and I find him staring down at me with his lips in a flat line.
"Don't deny me when I tell you to do something," he growls.
Anger, sexual frustration, and womanly pride all war within my brain in an effort to assert themselves. Anger wins out.
"You don't own me," I tell Zach.
"At this very moment, I own every piece of your body," he tells me while squeezing my legs that are still trapped in his massive hands. "If you want me to continue to fuck you, then you'll do what I tell you."
Zach pushes his hips forward minutely, bringing the head of his cock back to my entrance. I hold my breath in anticipation, but he doesn't move further. I squirm just a bit in a vain attempt to inflame him further. He just stares at me.
"You know what you need to do if you want my cock, Moira."
Blowing out a breath in frustration, I engage in a staring war with him. He pushes in just a fraction of an inch, but pulls back the same amount, causing my flesh to quiver in violent need and my blood to pound.
He waits me out and, finally, I can't stand it anymore.
"Fine," I snap, my hand diving in between my legs so my fingers can find my clit. At the first touch, my hips jerk upward, even as Zach rewards my submission and slams into me.
"Good girl," he grunts as he fills me completely, and then he lets loose.
My fingers rub against my clit, causing another orgasm to start to spark almost immediately because the feeling of his thick cock inside of me, tunneling just under where I push at my clit, overwhelms my senses. In an act of utter defiance though, every few strokes I scissor my index and middle finger apart, pushing them to either side of his cock, creating additional friction against his shaft as it thrusts in and out of me.
The first time I do it, he bares his teeth and hisses at me, but he never stops his movements. That's because he is as lost to the haze of lust and carnality that I am suffering under at the same time.
His hips pound against me, his cock going in so fucking deep. My fingers work myself furiously and both of our breathing is so harsh and labored, I'm afraid one of us might succumb to a heart attack.
"I'm close, Zach," I breathe out, pressing down harder on my clit.
"To coming?" he rasps out, slamming into me brutally hard.
"Yes. You?"
"Just a minute," he says, and then pulls my legs up onto his shoulders, leaning more of his weight onto me. He slams his hands onto the carpet by my ribs, and then unleashes holy hell on my body.
Zach starts driving into me so hard that I swear I feel my spine embedding into the floor, yet the pleasure that he's creating inside of me is so beautifully fulfilling that I want to scream at him to go harder.
Grunts, moans, and wet, slapping flesh. His balls hitting my backside and my fingers working at my own slickness.
It's insane, crazy, wild, and uninhibited fucking.
It's spectacular, and I can't hold back anymore. "I'm going to come, Zach."
He grunts deeply and, impossibly, he goes just a little bit faster, chasing after his own release.
Slamming into me one last time, Zach goes utterly still and throws his head back, causing his long, dark hair to spill down his back. "I'm fucking coming," he groans as every muscle from his neck downward tightens.
The utter and divine pleasure painted across his face is my undoing, and I fracture right along with him. My hands fly upward and grip onto his biceps, my nails biting down into his flesh, and my entire body stiffens rigidly for a brief moment, then releases into an epically massive orgasm that tears through my body almost painfully.
It occurs to me that Zach just made me orgasm three times in less than an hour, and yet, we've never even kissed. Hell, we never even got fully naked--the biggest concession he was willing to give was in pulling my underwear free of my body. Zach has eaten me out twice, producing massive, rolling orgasms, and yet I've never felt those full lips upon my mouth.
This is just weird... the way our sexual relationship has progressed, but then I realize that I moved forward on his terms, not on my own, which are rooted in a culture that typically starts the foreplay at a kiss. Zach's foreplay starts with a solid grip to the back of the neck.
Fascinating stuff, yet ultimately wasted knowledge from a scientific p
After Zach came down off his orgasmic high, he pulled out of my body slowly and stared at me a moment. Reaching a hand out, he rubbed his fingers lightly over my lower stomach, and then said, "I'm going to go take a shower."
He stood up without another word and walked down the hallway to the guest bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.
I roll over and pull my knees up underneath me, pushing my way off the floor. I groan from the stiffness in my neck and hips, testament to the not-so-gentle pummeling Zach just gave my body. I bend over and grab my panties, then head into my own bathroom as his semen trickles down my legs.
Another keen difference in our cultures. I observed the way Zach had fucked Tukaba. It was impersonal... devoid of emotion and feeling. It was a convenient way for him to seek release, all while flexing his superior man muscles in front of his tribe mates. When he was finished with her, he pulled out of her and walked away, leaving her lying prostrate in the dirt below him. Given that cold barrier that seems to exist between Caraican women and men, it's no wonder that Zach just pulled out of me and walked away. I can't imagine a man like him being into after-sex cuddling.
And that makes me sad. Because while every bit of the dominance that Zach has asserted over me pushes all of my buttons in just the right way, as a woman... as a modern woman who embraces the emotional side to the act of sex... a warm embrace of care and tenderness is something that I'm keenly missing right now.
Turning on the shower, I wait until the water gets hot and step under the spray, wetting my hair thoroughly. I go through the motions of shampooing and conditioning my hair, then give myself a thorough scrubbing with some gardenia-scented body wash and a loofah sponge.
There was a time that Zach looked at me a bit ago, and I swear I thought I saw something in his gaze that looked like fondness. It was such a contradiction to the arrogant face he normally shows me, and it gave me hope that maybe this was more than just a one-time only thing.
And it was more than once--three times by my count.
But the way that Zach just abruptly stood up and walked away? So cold... so uncaring of the intimacy we had just shared. Now I'm not so sure what he feels, and unease courses through me.
I hastily soap down the rest of my body, wincing slightly at the tenderness between my legs, but then shuddering in remembrance of Zach's time well spent there.
With a confused sigh, I rinse off and step out of the shower. I give my teeth a good brushing and quickly dry my hair to where it's only slightly damp. Back in my bedroom, I put on a cotton cami top and a pair of loose pajama pants and crawl into bed.
As I start to get drowsy, I remember just before we left the Caraican village, as Zach made his goodbyes. He had done nothing but glare at me every time we made eye contact. Yet, there was a world of warmth in his eyes as he grasped each of the men's arms, and then finally wrapped Paraila in an embrace. He tucked the old man's face into his chest and hugged him tight. Tears sprang to my eyes, as I knew how very bittersweet that moment was for Paraila.
Then Zach ruffled all the kids' hair, bending down to accept a necklace from one little girl. He smiled at the women, his eyes lingering on Tukaba for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
So, I know that Zach has depth of emotion. He showed it to me when he was walking away from all that was dear to his heart. I saw pain and love on his face. I recognized it in the way he held Paraila.
Zach has plenty of feeling; it's just apparently not something he has for me at this moment. I think at this point... it's safe to say that maybe my body was nothing more than a vessel by which he could release himself into.
That shouldn't bother me... not really.
But damn it all to hell... it does.
Chapter 11
Zach
Stepping out of the barbershop, I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. I did it on a spur of the moment whim, having left the library about a half hour ago and not in any hurry to get back to Moira's house. It was a nice day outside, and I was feeling the need to distance myself from that flame-haired temptress.
Last night...
No words to describe it. There aren't enough words in Portuguese or English to describe how unbelievably wrecked I was when I came inside of Moira that first time. I felt something release inside of me. And not just an orgasm that rocketed through me with a force I've never felt before. I felt something give way inside of me... an almost breaking apart of my soul.
It scared the fuck out of me, and I immediately searched outward with blind fingers for something to grab ahold of. I thought briefly of the rainforest and of Paraila's kind eyes. I tried to remember the thrill of the hunt, and of the camaraderie I shared with the other Caraicans. I wracked my mind trying to remember some level of comfort that those memories would normally provide for me, and I came up absolutely empty.
Then I turned my head to the side and looked at Moira lying beside me on the carpet. Her eyes were still on a low simmer of desire, and complete satisfaction was etched across her beautiful face. And that fractured feeling inside of me started to subside, only to be replaced by a burning need to touch her again.
With my tongue.
There was no real thought involved and, within the time it takes for a serpent to strike, my face was between her legs and I tasted her... I tasted me... and I was lost in euphoria again.
Our second coupling was just as frenzied, but it was more intimate... more personal than before. Being able to watch her face and the myriad of emotions that crossed it every time I sunk into her was beyond dazzling. I felt my control slipping again and scrabbled to maintain it, ordering her to touch herself and then torturing myself when I pulled out of her. But she finally capitulated to me, and I was able to fuck her to another divine conclusion.
After... I didn't know what to do. There was a yearning inside of me to touch her... possibly pull her into my arms, yet I didn't know if that was appropriate. So many things I still don't know. So many things yet to learn. While all of my instincts as to what I should do to her body seem absolutely natural, I have not a clue how to deal with Moira when the glow of glorious sex fades away.
Instead, I walked away from her like I would have walked away from Tukaba. Yet, that didn't feel right because I never would have done those things to Tukaba. Don't want to do those things with Tukaba.
Only with Moira.
What I can't figure out is if I'm falling prey to a new culture, or I'm just falling prey to Moira. Neither option seems satisfactory to me.
So when I woke up this morning, I got dressed, grabbed the money that Moira had given me, and left the house. Moira's bedroom door was still closed, but I didn't bother to leave her a note. She had told me I was free to come and go as I please, and besides... I didn't know what to say to her.
My first stop was a little coffee shop that sat a few blocks down from the library. I went in and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices that were available. Mochas, lattes, cappuccinos. I had no clue what any of it meant, so I ordered just a cup of black coffee and paid for my purchase. I sat outside for a while at a small table with an umbrella to shade me, watching the people walking by. I paid careful attention to the women, comparing each of them to Moira. Trying to figure out what was it about her that set her apart... that made her so intriguing to all of my senses.
I didn't come up with a single answer.
Finally, I finished my coffee and went to the library. I just wandered aimlessly around the stacks of books, taking one off the shelf every now and then to read the back cover. Nothing was appealing to me, so I left.
That's when I saw the barbershop across the street and, after a break in traffic, trotted over to it.
Peering in the window, I watched a man getting a haircut. I absently fingered my own long hair, thinking of the pride that came with wearing this Caraican hairstyle. What would it mean if I were to cut it all off? Would I be turning my back on my herit
Maybe it was just hair in Caraica, too.
I sat there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ultimately, I thought of Paraila and something he taught me when I was a young boy when one of our tribe's elders had died.
As is custom, the body was painted with symbols telling of his journey through life. A crown of bamboo leaves was placed upon his head, and a wild orchid was nestled in his hands. He was laid upon a funeral pyre, and then his body was burned until there was nothing left but his bones.
When the embers had cooled to the touch, the women would sift through the ashes and collect the burned bones. They were then crushed with a mortar and pestle to a fine dust. Banana milk was added, and the funeral ritual was completed by every person in the tribe taking a drink until nothing was left.
"Why are we drinking Capa's bones?" I asked Paraila when the gourd was passed to me.
Placing his hand gently on my shoulders, he said, "You know that life is created when a man and a woman lay together, right, Cor'dairo?"
I nodded my head that I understood that. It was one of the first things that Paraila ever taught me... after I first saw a man coupling with a woman.
"Well, we are doing nothing more than returning Capa to life. We ingest his bones and make him part of us. Then, when new life is created, part of Capa will be reborn, and his spirit will live on within the tribe. To us, life is never ending. You will always come back in some way or another. Everything comes back in the end."
As I watched the barber inside take a brush and clean off the man's neck, I thought about Paraila's teachings. Everything always comes back in the end.
I didn't hesitate a second longer. Walking in, I asked how much for a haircut, and then had the barber take it off.