The mood has changed, quite suddenly. Now you're working together, both on equal terms - no longer is this unknown man in charge, in control of this bizarre, supremely erotic situation. The thought that you don't know who he is, what he looks like, has been relegated to the back of your mind, almost forgotten, as you both start frantically to pursue a raw, basic sexual satisfaction. You are two people, secluded by darkness and intimacy, both focused purely on sexual pleasure, your own and each other's. Nothing else matters.

He pulls your hand from between your legs and places it above your head, leaving your breasts feeling not exposed but more accessible, expectant, and ready, and clumsily now he buries his face in them once again, drinking on their softness, their heat, their smoothness and shape, flitting from one nipple to the other, nibbling on the flesh around them in a feast of desire which can't yet satisfy him.

His hand has slid down your body again, exploring your shape and contours on the way almost in a celebration of your feminine shape, until it comes to rest between your legs. You're so wet there now you feel a brief pang of embarrassment - he knows just how incredibly turned on you are! It's no longer a secret, and it feels like you've conceded something to him. But that's soon forgotten as you gasp, involuntarily, when two of his fingers push inside you, then begin sliding in and out in a rhythmic, deliberate motion. He curls his fingers to scrape against the front wall of your pussy, intensifying your desire so much you gasp again and curl your body slightly, almost as if the pleasures too much and you're trying to lessen the effect he's having.

Then another shudder of expectation passes through you as you feel him sliding his body down yours, his mouth pausing briefly as his lips pass over your belly button to teasingly run his tongue around it. He continues down, maneuvering himself until you can feel his head positioned between your legs, his arms beneath them and wrapped around you, his fingers playing lightly across your stomach. Tantalisingly his tongue first brushes against the inside of your left thigh, slowly drawing a circle before moving to the right, then sliding with agonising patience upwards, nearer the source of your pleasure. Briefly he lifts his mouth clear, then you gasp and feel your hands clench into fists as his tongue plunges inside you. The pleasures electrifying, unbelievable, as he drinks on your moisture, teasing and rubbing you. Gradually he withdraws his tongue, but it stays in contact with you as he runs it around your swollen lips, up and down each side. Then his hands move down and you feel him pulling your lips apart as frantically he buries his mouth between them, searching for then finding your clitoris, which he sucks and works at with his tongue and lips.

Who is this man, who knows so much what you want, what you need? What does he look like. You feel another shock as you realise once again he's a complete stranger - you haven't seen him, heard him speak, yet you're opening up the very heart of your sexuality to him. And it's glorious! Time after time he changes from pushing his mouth against your clitoris to penetrating you with his tongue, or caressing your hot, soaking lips with it, until your pleasure starts to overwhelm you. How long has he been doing this? Twenty minutes? Two hours? Time has lost its meaning as you've lost yourself in this fantasy world, until you feel the inexorable build up of a mighty orgasm welling within you. He feels it to, and now stays on your clitoris, even tugging at it with his teeth, rolling your flesh around his lips, tickling with his tongue. He brings his arms around and reaches up, burying his hands into the softness of your breasts, still with his head between your legs - for a second you think how tall he must be, to have arms long enough to do that - then once again you lose yourself in this cascade of pleasure. Then it happens: muscles deep inside you contract almost violently, you arch your back and huge waves of convulsive pleasure course through your body, over and over, as he forces his mouth hard against your writhing body, almost sucking the orgasm out of you, until finally, you relax back on the bed.

But you're far from satisfied. In fact, still you want this man so much it hurts! Now with more urgency, he shifts himself upwards again, your two heated bodies damp with sweat sliding sensuously against each other, until his face is level with yours. His mouth finds yours and you taste your own fluids on his tongue as it forces its way into your mouth, your desire taking control of you once more. You're reaching bursting point, this is no longer pleasure but torture, so you wrap you arms tightly around him and pull him further upwards. He responds in an instant - he can't hold back a moment longer - and shifts his weight until he's right on top of you, and starts to slide himself up until with another shock, even though you were expecting it, you feel his hard cock pushing up between your legs. He holds back again, just briefly, as if he wants to tease but now lacks the willpower, then because you're so wet slips easily and quickly inside you. A great sigh comes from him but you barely notice as you savour the relief of his manhood finally penetrating you.

It ought to feel like a violation - you can barely believe it now, but still you don't even know what he looks like, yet here he is, massively aroused as you are and penetrating you deeply! But it's more like a completion, as if something was missing until he eased himself into you, so heavy and overwhelming is your desire.

And now he's moving, rolling his hips, and you feel him thrusting into you, harder and faster. You rock your own hips in time to his deliberate, relentless motion, and as you feel your pleasure building like an all-consuming tidal wave you start to arch your back, as if trying to force him in further, harder. Then, at last, you feel your muscles inside you start to tense, expectant, as a great wash of pleasure fills your head, consumes your body. You cry out, not loud but with a desperate edge to your voice, just as he starts to lose his rhythm, to let his control slip as he becomes more frantic, more a slave to his instincts. And then, you shudder, feel your muscles in your stomach and between your legs tighten and relax, tighten and relax as your orgasm takes control of your being, flooding your senses - it's immense, unbelievable, gorgeous, shatteringly good, and as you writhe and spasm beneath this gorgeous, anonymous man you feel him twitching, his shudders matching yours, his hips driving into you then great quivers wracking his body as he starts to pump into you, over and over again, for what seems like a fabulous eternity until finally, you both begin to slow down, to breath more deeply and then, at last, to relax.

Four more times he makes love to you, each with passion, care and understanding of your needs, until you have only one desire left: to know who is, what he looks like. You try and imagine his face from feeling it, caressing it with your hands in the darkness, but it doesn't help, and as you drift off to sleep in his arms, your last waking thought is to wonder too, what does his voice sound like?

Suddenly, dramatically, you're woken. It's daylight, you can see around the room, and he... he's gone!
But the phone beside the bed is ringing! And only one person knows you're here. It must be him. Isn't it?