They climbed the steps and on to the porch. The moon was full and the wind blew dust through their hair. The porch was no ordinary porch; the house to which it was attached no ordinary house. The house was a museum, a memento, a showpiece, a slice in time. It was dark-paneled and decorated with aging photographs and rickety tables and pieces of the nineteenth century. The porch was a dish-shaped extension, filled with throw pillows, lined with wind-whipped blankets, open to the stars and moon. They had explored this place earlier in the week. It seemed to suit their desires. On this night, as expected, it was vacant.
They were naked in the warm playa air, except for shoes worn to protect the feet from the caustic dust of the lakebed. He went first, leading the way up the stairs and onto the porch. She followed, the dampness between her legs building. He sat down; she sat beside him. He turned to kiss her. She spread her legs to his hand. The slick folds opened and his fingers easily found their mark. She groaned into his open mouth as he touched her clit. She leaned against his shoulder as the tension built inside of her, draining all energy from every other part of her body. He rubbed her, grabbed her, flicked her, slid across her, driving her, driving her, driving her.
Suddenly, he stopped. “Stand,” he ordered. She did. “Put your hands behind your head,” he directed. She did. “Don’t move,” he commanded. She stood there, in the moon, the wind brushing her erect nipples and cooling the thick stream of liquid between her legs. He reached between her legs and rubbed her juice all over her labia and inner thighs. “Whore,” he said, as he slapped her breasts, one after another. As the momentary pain subsided, he drove his fingers deep into her pussy, rubbing her spot, making her thrust. Then, he stopped and slapped her tits, once, twice, three times in quick succession. She gasped and groaned as his hands dove between her legs again. He rose to kiss her and, as he did, his slapped her crotch. It stung and she inhaled his breath into her lungs. Then, he crouched and lashed at her throbbing clit with his tongue. She forgot his orders and lowered her hands to his head.
“Keep your hands behind your head,” he barked. He stood and struck out at her swollen pussy, slapping her again and again. She squealed in pain as he drove his tongue deep into her mouth. Then, he bent down again and licked her furiously, almost driving her over the edge. When he knew she was about ready to unleash upon him, he stopped. “Turn around,” he ordered. She did. “Bend over.” She did.
His cock entered her from behind and they fucked like beasts beneath the rutting moon. He drove into her, spewing and bellowing, as she screamed into the playa air, collapsing into a heap after the last spasm in her gut subsided. They cuddled on the porch, after that, their hands tracing the contours of their love.