‘Oxford, 1978.’ Laura, a Cambridge girl through and through, sniffed disdainfully. ‘Oxford? Oh, well, so I was mistaken.’ We both laughed quie...ly at this harmless academic banter. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘I’ve noticed that when you smile your face puckers in a way that’s actually quite attractive. You’ve got very intelligent eyes, too.’ I used them to gaze at her steadily. ‘Thank you,’ I said softly. ‘Oh, god,’ she muttered. A strange combination of fascination and fear, tinged with awe, slowly. Every drive of my hips loosens her resisting inner muscles, until she’s not fighting me at all. Every drive sends her neck reeling back and her lips opening wide. Every drive forces her hands to unclench about the sheets she’s grasping, until they’re relaxed and flat against the bedding. And with every violent drive, her voice loses more of its defiance, and gains more of its pleasure. Now, she’s not just staying loose for me, but clenching and embracing me as I enter her. Now, she’s not. More

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