We lay together in Sa’afia’s bed. Sa’afia lay mostly on top of me, her legs straddling my right thigh. I’d rested my hand, in affection and something like ownership, on her bottom, cupping her and savouring the residual warmth and two hotter welts raised by the rod.

She’d stood, taken my hand and led me here and complained gravely that I was overdressed. I’d taken my clothes off, lain down and pulled her on top of me. For a while we were equals, in an affectionate fog.

`The rod was at the foot of the bed. Sa’afia had carried it with us, not because I’d told her to – I hadn’t – and she’d placed it within reach. It exuded promise and power. But for now we wanted to cuddle.

Sa’afia was telling me about her childhood, some of it spent in Los Angeles and some spent in Samoa. She’d been born in American Samoa, but her family home had been in the State of Samoa, in a village near Taga on Samoa’s second main island, Savai’i. This didn’t mean much to me at the time. I’d never been to any of the Polynesian islands. I took her word for it that it was a beautiful place.

Stupidly, I  imagined some Gauguin-flavoured fantasy with a river pool and lots of girls naked as Sa’afia, washing their hair in the water and singing traditional songs. I had no idea what traditional songs would sound like. I imagined something wild and fluid, like a mermaid might sing in a movie. I hoped they’d sing to me.

 But talk about family reminded me me of a duty. I said, “So Ana’s father. Does he live in Samoa, or does he live here? In LA?”

Sa’afia stayed on her knees, still working my cock when there was no more come, cleaning me and keeping my cock as firm as I could be, after coming into that comfortable, clinging place.

Sa’afia sucked and licked for about twenty minutes, while I slowly, pleasurably softened. Finally, though my cock was still a little fat and complacent, it lolled out of her mouth.

I leaned down and, my hands still in her hair, tilted her face up so she looked at me. Sa’afia wanted to please me, and she’d wanted to see if she could drive me, for a while, out of my own control.

She was smiling, and there was no doubt or need for reassurance in her face.

I kissed her forehead and the broad tip of her nose. I said, “I think – ” Then I said, “I don’t think anyone has ever – ” Then I kissed her again, and said “I’m keeping you.”

I didn’t really make any decisions. I’d assumed that I was going to break off and do other things before I came. I’d thought that while I striped her ass with that rod I’d stand where she could turn her head and watch my erection, and then feel it inside her, when her skin was still hot and hurting and I fucked her.

But then I felt the urgency of that sensation at the base of my spine, or somewhere deeper, made up of sugar and need. I dropped the rod and put both hands on Sa’afia’s head. The rod bounced and rebounded on the hard floor, but I’d forgotten it while it was still making its racket. I was supposed to growl something at her, threatening to punish her if she didn’t swallow every drop. But that had never been something that I really cared about, and anyway I didn’t have time.

Instead, looking down on the black shine of Sa’afia’s hair and the warm brown of her shoulders, my eyes wide as a cat’s at twilight, I made incoherent noises, gutteral at first but higher pitched with the rush into Sa’afia’s mouth.

Sa’afia coughed once, and then swallowed and kept swallowing.

I said, “good girl good girl good girl good girl,” over and over, while my body took over. I came in my Sa’afia. My? Well, perhaps she was.

I was laughing, towards the end, because of happiness, pleasure and awareness of how ridiculous we were, but mainly me. I mostly enjoy being ridiculous.

Sa’afia made a noise. Something with both growling and squealing in it. Then she put up her hand. “Armission a heak?”

I said, “All right. Oh.” I withdrew my cock so it bobbed about just inside her mouth.

“Thank you.” Her lips touched me when she spoke. I liked that.

I said, “In fact, we’ll change the rules for a bit. You can speak when you want to, from now until I say otherwise.” 

She nodded. “Thank you. You said you liked hurting me.”

“Well, only in certain ways -“

“You don’t need to be defensive. I mean, you don’t. I just wanted to reply. Because I love it when you hurt me. You know, the number of times I’ve said that to anyone is … zero. I love you hurting me, and that must make me just as weird as you are. Do you know what I like best about you hurting me?” 

I frowned. “Well, I don’t know. Um, you get an adrenalin rush, and that intensifies what you’re feeling, so that makes it sexier? Um.”

“Darling, at least I know something about neurochemistry. You shouldn’t even try. No, what I love best, sir, is how much you love it. And that you think you’re being terribly wicked, and – Well, you love that. You really love it; it’s like … glee. And I love pleasing you. That’s what makes me what I am, doesn’t it?”

“I’m glad you are what you are.”

“Well, so am I. Now. Not before, but now. And I’m really glad that you don’t leave me in any doubt about whether I please you.”

“Mmmmm.” There was history to that last remark. Someone had left her in doubt. Probably the same lover who’d been so lukewarm about having her mouth on his cock.

I stroked Sa’afia’s mouth and ear, and then smacked her cheek.