Dumas arched an eyebrow when Mari claimed that he hadn’t seen anything yet.  What more could there be?  Did she want to dress up in a dominatrix outfit and punish him for being a bad boy?  That lay pretty far outside the realm of Dumas’s sexual experience, but he felt willing to give it a try.  He’d do anything to make Mari happy.<br/><br/>As Mari’s fingernails dragged across his shoulder, the pleasure grew so intense that Dumas whimpered.  For a moment, his eyes rolled back in his head, until only the whites were visible beneath his trembling lashes.  If he hadn’t bitten his lip, he would have exploded prematurely.  This was torture.  Amazing, exquisite torture -- but torture nonetheless.<br/><br/>So it came as a great relief when he felt Mari begin to spasm around him.  Bellowing like a maddened beast, Dumas seized her waist in an iron grip.  Despite all his earlier efforts to be gentle, his hips now bucked wildly, slamming his length into Mari over and over, until he was finally empty.  Only then did exhaustion claim him.  Dumas’s breath came in ragged gasps, and his throat felt like someone had rubbed the inside of it with sandpaper.  But he also experienced a deep sense of peace.  Pulling Mari down against his body, he stroked her hair and covered her face with grateful kisses.<br/><br/>“Oh Baby,” he murmured, unconsciously using that long-buried term of endearment. “That was amazing.<span style="font-style: italic">You’re</span>amazing.  We’re going to be so good together.”