It was the anticipation, his order to wear a skirt and no underwear. The air was cool and damp, and clouds swirled about a winter moon. They met to walk under the full moon, to feel the heat from each other. They met to make love and to fuck. She buzzed inside when she saw him walking toward her, in the darkness, the roll of towels under his arm. She had an hour.
“Do you want to go up to the top? There are some picnic tables over here, where we should still be able to see the moon,” he said, in a calming, playful, voice. She didn’t know why his voice made her feel so comfortable. It was soft and deep and had some indescribable power in it. He seemed not to be tentative about anything. The strength in him flowed into her and she breathed easier. He looped his arm around her and kissed her, deeply. “Let’s walk over here,” he said. She followed.
The tables were on the east side of the hill, under towering fir trees. A sheen of moisture caused them to glow under the moon. He unrolled the towels and placed them, side-by-side, on one of the tables’ benches. They sat there, his arm around her, slowly warming in each others’ presence, assisted by the Johnny Walker Black in his flask. He ran his hands through her thick hair and she rested her head against his broad shoulder, drawing him closer.
The cloudy sky opened, and the full moon cast her light upon them. He reached into her skirt and lifted it. “The winter moon is lighting up your pussy,“ he observed, dipping into her wetness. She spread her legs in the light, as he kissed her and invited the power of the moon into her. His fingers moved like clouds through the thick folds around the little moon of her clit. She groaned into his open mouth and he sucked her breath out of her lungs. Her atmosphere, her oxygen, her wind and air and life were drawn into him.
She was rising to meet the moon, when he stopped and stood. “Come,” he demanded, softly. He took her hand and helped her onto her quaking legs. He led her to the end of the table, lifted her up, spread her legs and impaled her with his cock. Just that quickly, just that unceremoniously, just that passionately, he was slipping in and out of her, there on the picnic table in the park, in the coolness, in the subtle warmth of a winter moon. Her head almost exploded. She closed her eyes to keep all of the feelings inside. This was exactly what she wanted, in this hour, with this man. This was an experience she had held inside of her for so long, and now it was swirling around her in magical streams of sparkling moonlight. He was feeding that winter moon to her, driving it deep. He pushed her back onto the table, hiked up her skirt, fully exposing her. His thumb circled her tiny moonlet until she cried out, the sounds of her radiating lunar orgasms absorbed in the strong silent firs that stood above her.
He had her tied like a bundle of cotton on a truck. She was pinned on his coffee table. The windows were open, and the spring air washed over her body, lapping in waves across her neck, ribs, hips, thighs. Outside, birds twittered and, occasionally, people walking on the sidewalk below could be heard, talking. She could not move a muscle, except to breathe. The ball gag kept her jaws spread and tight. Her hands were tied behind her head. Her ankles were tied to the table legs. Her breasts were bound. A rope held her stomach and hips in place. Her pussy was an open mouth, the gaping mouth of a hungry fledgling, waiting to be fed. It was the mouth of a flowing river, waiting to cascade over him.
The sharp sting of the crop on her breasts and inner thighs had left her groaning and breathless and aching. She was quivering flesh, wanton flesh, flesh wanting to be devoured. She was meat, his meat, bloody and soft and salted. She could not see him, but she knew he was there. She could barely feel his soft breath on her clit as he breathed the aroma of her into his animal nostrils. A pool of her essence spread across the table top below her opening. It soaked into the fibers of wood and became a testament to her torture.
He placed the tip of his cock against the soft, hungry, opening to her. It was all he could do to keep it in that place, without pushing forward, without satisfying the ultimate urge. She held her breath, waiting for that buzzing nervous explosion that would surge through her body when he entered. But, he didn’t. The perfect end of him rested there, nestled in her labia, unmoving. Maddeningly, unmoving. Excruciatingly, unmoving. He held himself steady, just outside of her. She wanted to press down, to envelope him, suck him into her. She couldn’t move. It was up to him. He would feed her as he wished. His thumbs pressed into her labia, massaging her, moving her, making her swell.
Every nerve ending inside of her sparked and sizzled as the head of his muscle stick slid like thick lava just inside of her. The fledgling mouth snapped around him, wanting to swallow him whole. He held her there, his hips resisting the urge to plow into her with all of his force. She moaned and rocked her head from side to side. Saliva spilled down the sides of her cheeks. Fireworks went off in her brain. Her fingers were spread, then clenched, as she gripped the air with each spasm of her pussy. He slapped her breasts from side to side, then pinched her nipples hard, never giving her his length. His thumbs worked her clit until she screamed past the gag, the veins standing hard in her arched neck. The muscles inside of her felt as if they were tearing apart, as orgasm wracked her, tossing her against the inner walls of her own body. When, she finally regained her breath and her toes uncurled, he pressed his hands into her abdomen and slammed into her. She passed out.
The trail went straight up, or so it seemed. It taxed them both, their lungs burning, the muscles in their legs aching, sweat running down their backs. She ran ahead of him, her small buttocks firm with each powerful stride. He noticed. He also noticed the swing of her muscular shoulders and the soft, confident, placement of her tiny feet. She floated over the rocks and roots and mud. From his angle, it appeared that she expended no energy. He, on the other hand, was nearly wheezing. He had asked her on this run, dammit, and he was going to keep up with her!
Finally, they made it to the top of the interminable climb. She had peeled off a layer and had only the small jog bra covering her nipples. She stopped as the trail came to a high lookout. Below was the Columbia River, winding upstream to the east, flanked by layer after layer of receding basaltic bluffs. The sun reflected off the water like the silver scales of salmon. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. Their lungs panted in unison in the luxury of each others’ heat. “Do me a favor,” he nearly whispered.
She turned to look at him, her blue eyes deep as the Gorge. “What?” she asked.
He took her head in his hands. “Kiss me.”
Her mouth gave itself to him and their lungs exhaled into each other with an ache that went far deeper than skin, muscles and bone. She wanted to crawl inside of him, and he into her. For a few seconds, they flowed into one another, a single river of want and desire.
What a liberating thing to give up one’s will to an external force too great to resist. I might as well begin by telling you that I am an addict. I thirst for all of him, I love to taste him, the slippery texture of his offering makes me flow, and the feeling of the splash across my skin sends me into spasms. I could engulf him, surround him, envelop him all day, longing for the reward at the end of it all. I used to make my boyfriend give me his juice in a jar, so I could mix it with suntan lotion and rub it all over my body at the beach. The hot sun beating on my browning breasts and tummy would bring out the strong scent of my lover and, by the end of the day, I’d be near delirium. With that background, let me describe the ultimate addict’s fantasy, a fantasy that came true for me.
My husband is a baseball player who plays first base for a Midwestern farm club. During the summer, while he’s away playing ball, I lie in the sun in our backyard, dreaming of how I’m going to swing my baby’s bat when he gets home. I always lie in the sun nude; there’s no other way. My husband loves my skin to be a deep, golden brown. “It contrasts so nicely with my cum,” he tells me.
One blistering afternoon, I decided to take the afternoon off from work to lie by the pool in the backyard. My hubby would be at the ballpark, practicing, so I’d have some hot, peaceful hours alone, during which time I could fantasize and masturbate myself into a frenzy. I rushed home from work and ran excitedly into the house. My panties were wet and my nipples were begging beneath my thin, cotton blouse. In about ten seconds, after entering the front door, all of my clothes lay in a heap on the floor.
I thought it might be nice to get a little high ( I get even hornier), so I took a couple of hits and then ran upstairs to get my beach towel and lotion. Then, I skipped back down to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of rum. Grabbing my shades and a copy of my favorite erotica, I padded out into the blazing sun and toward the far side of the pool.
The hot walkway next to the pool caressed the soft bottoms of my feet, and the sun pouring across my breasts, belly and ass felt incredibly sensual. When I reached the far side of the pool, I spread the towel out on the ground and set my drink and magazine down. Slowly and deliberately, I squeezed white, creamy, tanning lotion onto my breasts and stomach then smeared it all over the front side of my solar-charged body. The pot was beginning to take effect and all of the blood in my body seemed to be rushing into my clitoris. The sensation of my slippery fingers gliding across the even more slippery folds of my opening flower caused me to close my eyes and take a short gasp of the broiling air. Already, tiny beads of sweat were starting to form on my chest and back. I stood next to the glimmering pool, massaging the unsheathed head of my little button and kneading the firm flesh of my breasts until the muscles in my abdomen began to grow taut. Then, giggling at my hedonism, I dove into the cool, clear water. The water felt like silk as it flowed between my legs and over my pursed nipples. My clitoris screamed for immediate attention.
I climbed out of the water and walked over to the towel, took a long sip of rum and settled down to some serious reading and long, languorous masturbation. The pot had really taken effect, and it was difficult for me to concentrate on anything other than bodily stimulation. Every word I read seemed erotic, somehow, and I felt as though I was personally involved in every fantasy that I read. I experienced several small waves of pleasure, but I made a conscious effort to keep from climaxing; I wanted the feelings to last all afternoon. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I couldn’t stand my self-imposed torture any longer. I stood up ( I love to cum in that position) and gently eased the middle finger of my left hand into my ass. The sweat rolling down my back and between my firm cheeks provided more than enough lubrication. I started sliding the finger in and out of my rectum, slowly, while the fingers of my right hand danced tantalizingly over my clit. Things started to heat up rather quickly and soon my head was spinning with delight. No wonder I didn’t hear the cars drive up to the house.
The rhythm of my hands was driving me delirious, and when I finally started pumping two fingers deep into my dripping cunt, I closed my eyes and started the climb toward a glorious climax. My back arched and my hips thrusted, spasmodically, against my plunging fingers. I started moaning, softly, but the moaning soon was replaced by loud gasps and groans and, finally, by cries of pure animal delight as glorious wave after wave of orgasm wracked my body. Lights and colors swirled in my head and I became dizzy and collapsed onto my blanket where I lay panting and sweat-soaked beneath the steaming sun.
Suddenly, from somewhere in my blissful half-dream state, I heard a voice say, “Beautiful show, baby.” I was startled at first, but instantly felt a familiar flood of warmth when I opened my eyes and saw my beautiful husband standing next to me, stroking his long, rigid cock.
“Practice was called off today because of the heat,” he said. Then, with a mischievous smile, he teased, “Are you all worn out?”
“My tongue isn’t tired,” I teased back, licking my lips. “Get over here so I can lick those sweaty balls.”
My man was facing the house as I rose to my knees and started licking his shaft like it was a popsicle. The pot I’d smoked made me hungry and I imagined the cock and balls to be sausage and meatballs, banana and plums, sucker and marshmallows. His shaft was soon dripping with saliva as I alternated between deep-throating him and jerking him off while I sucked on his balls. Every time he tensed up, I’d squeeze his meat at the base and roll the tip of his pecker between my lips. Sweat was streaming down his chest and down the hot crack of his ass. I was so focused and so totally involved in what I was doing that I didn’t notice, for a long time, that I had an audience.
I suddenly became aware of a presence to one side of me and stopped sucking long enough to glance over my shoulder. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Four of my husband’s buddies from the team were gathered around. None of them had clothes on and they all appeared very excited. I could even see some clear drops of pre-cum oozing from the tips of a couple of twitching cocks. At first, I was scared. I looked up at my man and he smiled down at me as if to assure me that everything was O.K. My lips and hands began to quiver, and then I sank back, with a groan of lust and abandonment, back onto the shining muscle that hung in front of my lips.
Apparently convinced that I was not offended by their presence, the other guys gathered closer to watch the fireworks. I made up my mind that I was going to give them everything and more than they could imagine. Playfully, I gazed up at my lover, the head of his engorged penis resting on my tongue. I reached between my legs and seductively slid my fingers across the slick folds of my labia. When my hands glistened with my own juices, reached between my man’s strong legs and slowly pushed a finger deep into his tight little asshole. I started purring to him, “Squirt me, baby . . . all over my lips . . . Fuck my mouth . . . feed it to me, yeah . . . .”
As I urged him on, I increased the tempo of my finger pumping into his ass, and my other hand jerked him with short, quick, strokes. His hips began to shake. I could tell that the cream was ready to flow out of his furry balls. When I was sure he could hold back no longer, I warned my appreciative audience, “Watch this, boys; your turns are next.”
I pumped my lover’s muscle hard while the tip of my tongue tickled the underside of his purple helmet. With a long, guttural moan, my lover’s floodgates opened and stream after long, white stream of his delicious cum splashed across my lips and cheeks, dripping from my chin onto my breasts, running in warm rivulets down my neck. I was in heaven. I could taste and smell and feel my lover’s cream all over me, and I was excited like never before because of the audience that crowded around me. As I kneeled in front of my lover’s shining pole, fondling it, rubbing its cum-slickened head across my lips and cheek, I heard a moan from behind me and turned just in time to catch a big load of hot sperm with my tongue as it cascaded out of the very thick tube of one of my excited guests.
My clitoris was rock hard and begging for attention, so I sprawled out on the grass under the still spurting cock and masturbated while trying to catch the last sputtering drops in my mouth. I guess the picture of my writhing, wet body was too much for the rest of the guys because, one-by-one, they started unloading their precious cargo onto me. Cum rained down on me from all over the place. I was masturbating furiously as hot juice splattered my body. I rubbed the slick stuff all over. I washed my face in it and ground it, desperately, into my pussy until, whimpering and moaning, half-laughing and half-crying, I succumbed to a mind-blowing orgasm that left me breathless and wasted.