To feel her stomach retch at the insistent plunging of his cock into the depth of her wanting throat; to feel the warm acid of her guts pour out of her mouth and onto her naked chest; to feel his hand rubbing her hot vomit all over her face before jamming his glistening dick back into her; to feel the grip of his hand on her lower jaw as he shot bullets of jism into her gagging mouth; to feel the crystal liquid of her desire tracing the inside of her thighs; to hear him howl like every animal in the world; to lick him clean as his contractions subsided; to growl with lustful abandonment; to live as one should.
They walked up the old utility access road together. A cool spring breeze swished through the Douglas firs that towered like sentinels above them. The soft forest duff cushioned and quieted their steps. The sun shone uncharacteristically for a day in April. They were in search of a special place, a place to be alone in the sun. The road was not long, maybe a quarter of a mile, but it was enough to transport them out of the busy hustle of the highway into a world of their making. They wanted to sample the early spring sun, to spark the life of their cells with star energy. They wanted to make love in the open air, in the cool April breeze, overlooking the majesty of the Columbia Gorge. At the top of the overgrown road, still damp with winter’s moisture, was a tiny plot of ground, open to the slanting sun and surrounded by basaltic scree. It was nothing fancy, but it was theirs. They were alone. They were buzzing with desire.
He unfurled the blanket. The wind was stiff and cool. When she pulled the shirt over her head, her nipples became like pebbles in a mountain brook. When he pulled his pants off, his scrotum pulled into his body and all but disappeared. They undressed and fell upon the blanket, giggling in the realization of the bold insanity of it all. The sun was warm, but the air nearly cancelled out the warmth. Still, there they were, finally naked in the sun, wrapped together in love. They drank beer and took pictures and fucked and sucked and licked and kissed and ran their fingers through each others’ hair.
Suddenly, she announced that she had to pee. “Wait,” he said. “Do it on me.”
“Are you serious?” she asked. He had asked her before and, out of fun, she had pissed on his chest in the shower. But, out here? Out in the grass, in the open, in the sun? No one had ever asked her to do this. She was leaping with joy, inside. Never had she met such a man. He was an animal.
“Mark me,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I’m your territory.”
He reclined on his elbows, in the grass. “Piss on my head,” he ordered.
She straddled him and gazed off into the awesome beauty of the gorge. Seagulls arched and dove in the river wind and she could feel the same cold wind flowing across her tingling body. The stream was tentative, at first. It dribbled on to the top of his head and ran down the back of his neck. He reached up and soaked his hand and rubbed it across his face, breathing in the strong aroma of her. She saw his reaction and relaxed and the urine flowed easy from her. It sprayed out of her and down his face and across his chest. Soon, he was swimming in her currents. His body shone like a beautiful stone in the sun.
As soon as she was spent, he turned and smiled at her, piss dripping off his chin. “Your turn,” he said, with a large smile. “Really?” she asked, nearly leaping out of her sensual skin. He got up and said, “Sit here.” She did.
She leaned back, her legs splayed in front of her, and she felt the torrent of him pouring through her hair and over her face and down her breasts and into her open crotch. She was coated in the feral essence of him. When he was done, she pulled him to her and kissed him like she had never kissed him. With all of the power of instinct she pinned him to the ground and, piss dripping from her hair, drove her tongue into his throat, growling. Their soaked bodies ground into each other while the sun and wind dried the perfume of their sex onto their skins. They were forever marked, forever belonging.
Liza had a wicked smirk on her face as she sipped on her Bloody Mary. “I’m gonna make you scream,“ she crooned.
This was about day three. We had danced nearly all night. Andrea, Greg and Shawn had joined us. The warm, dry, air of the desert caressed our nearly naked bodies all night. With the chemical soup of alcohol, THC and “E” coursing through our brains, we moved through the dusty night like bats, bouncing off bodies and feeding off senses. We literally crawled into a pile of sweat and skin just as a peach slice of light crept over the eastern horizon.
So, here we were, four hours later, lapping up vodka-spiced tomato juice, warming our bodies in the rising sun, like lizards soaking up energy. “I’m gonna make you scream” was such an ominous threat, full of intensity and electricity and deadly intent. I knew she could do it.
“Stand up,” she ordered. I knew better than to argue. My balls grew tight as I stood. Something told me I was in for some fun. I stood. She dug around in the toy box and found the cuffs. She moved behind me and grabbed my hands, one at a time, and slipped the cuffs around my wrists. I stood there, naked, before her. She walked around me, running her fingers up and down my chest and across my ass, purring with approval as she moved. I admired her. She was strong and in control. She knew what she wanted. The radiant beauty of her confidence was overwhelming. She moved behind me. A few seconds passed and, then, my head was wrapped in a scarf and my sight was gone. Now, I could only move into my mind and wonder what was coming next. “Don’t move,” she said as she grabbed my cock and kissed me deeply. “I’ll be right back.”
I stood there, naked in the warming desert air, my skin alive with sensation, my ears straining to hear what Liza was up to. She came back, in what seemed like an eternity, and said, “Come with me.” She grabbed one arm and I stumbled along beside her as she led me to the sex gym (I knew we were going to do something on the structure). My mind and body buzzed with anticipation. The soft dust of the playa felt like hot talcum under my feet. The sun flowed across my skin like hot olive oil, falling into and across every nook and cranny, exposing my body. We reached the gym and Liza led me up onto the platform. The beam had been left over from the day before and I could feel its wood against my hips. Liza unlocked the cuffs and directed, “Bend over.” I complied and, as I did, I felt another set of hands grab one hand and direct it forward to be tied to a post. As that was happening, another set of hands tied a rope around my left ankle and then my right. After both hands were secured to posts in front of, and over my head, the ropes on my ankles were secured. There I was, bent over and tied and blindfolded. I was helpless. That is what Liza wanted.
I stood there, waiting, a cool lazy river of playa air flowing between my legs. In spite of the steady boom, boom, boom, boom of the techno beat of the gathering, everything seemed to be quiet and remarkably peaceful. A light, damp, touch of tongue on the very tip of my dangling cock sent a spark through me. My fingers arched and my toes curled, just a little. I could hear some shuffling in front of me and, soon, a pair of hands led my head into a very damp and earthy crotch. My tongue matched the rhythm of the tongue that circled the head of my cock. My mind was focused on my dick and the pussy that was spread in front of me. That is why it came as a bit of a shock when a finger went up my ass.
There I was, bent over at the waist, a slick cunt in my face and a warm mouth on my cock and a finger probing my ass. I was racing through the math. There was Liza, and Andrea and Greg and Shawn. Who was on my cock? Who was up my ass? Initially, I was concerned, but the feelings were so fucking good. After the initial consternation, I settled into a bubble of senses. Damn! Everything felt so good. The pressure was building inside my balls. The tip of my cock was tingling. Then, the mouth popped off the end and I was left dangling in the air.
The finger in my ass pulled out and things became quiet again. I still had the clit on my tongue and I licked it with abandon, listening to the moans of the woman who lay sprawled in front of me. I thought it might me Liza, but I couldn’t be sure. The geography felt similar. The skin was smooth and the clit was about what I’d come to know. I was busy trying to figure out who I was eating when the blunt end of a cock pressed against my anus. I tensed. I couldn’t believe someone was going to fuck my ass! But, my cock was hard and a slick pussy was in my face and I was tied up and immobile. The mushroom head popped inside of me. It burned, at first, and I groaned with pain and desire. Then, that long tube slid deep inside of me and I thought I’d collapse. I would have, if it hadn’t been for the crossbeam over which I was bent. The hot meat rubbed my prostate and it started flooding with semen. Still, my cock waved in the breeze, waiting and begging for attention. It didn’t happen.
I lapped at the pussy at my face, all the time being plunged into from behind. The sensation of the cum building inside of me was indescribable. The long, fleshy, tube plumbed my depths and, with each stroke, the liquid of my ejaculation flooded the labyrinth of tubes that ended at the tip of my straining dick. The rhythm in my ass escalated until, suddenly, the cock was pulled out and cum spilled all over my low back. It dribbled down the sides of my hips while the pussy at my lips flooded me with female cum. She wailed and I knew, at that point, that it was not Liza at the end of my tongue. She bucked and twisted while I kept up the onslaught. Finally, she relaxed and I drank her juices while the deep muscles in my loins settled and the warm liquid of my balls inched down the length of my semi-turgid organ.
Then, it was another cock. It took the place of the last one. It felt larger, but it just felt good. It pumped into me with craziness, like it was attached to a machine. The cum that had been building inside of me started to drip out of the end of my cock. With each thrust, a drop. Cum streamed out of me and drifted in the hot desert air, like a gossamer spider web. It flew through the air in thin wisps. Unbeknownst to me, it dripped into Liza’s mouth and drifted across her face. She was there, underneath me, waiting, coating herself with me. The pussy in front of my face beckoned. The cock in my ass was ready to burst. It pumped; I licked. He groaned; I groaned. Cum leaked out of my cock in a constant, agonizing, ecstatic, gut-wrenching stream. I had to explode, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t happen. There was just this excruciating, teasing, never-ending, aching, leak; a slow, inexorable, leak. The cock in my ass kept pumping, the clit at my tongue kept throbbing, the sticky cum from my balls kept filling the air, landing softly on Liza’s face.
Soon, the cock in my ass was pulled out and another load of cool cum sprayed across my ass. I thought I might get some relief. I thought that this was the end. I thought that someone would take my cock in their mouth and make me pass out with an earth-shattering orgasm. That didn’t happen. My ass was fucked for hours. Men fucked me. Women fucked me. Pussies changed places. I was tied and immobile and captive and a piece of fuck meat. Cum ran down my legs. A river of cum spewed out of the end of my cock, but I didn’t have an orgasm. I couldn’t until, finally, Liza gripped my balls in one hand and sucked me like a fiend, while a cock pumped deeply into my bowels. I screamed, just like she said I would. I screamed until my throat was raw. I screamed like I had just been fucked by every god that had been named. I don’t know who fucked me; I didn’t care.
The road scraped across the simmering dryness like a pencil line. Dark volcanic escarpments, bleached in the sun and capped by sage and juniper, held back the rushing sky. He slowed down to steer onto a rough dirt track that twisted its way toward the base of Obsidian Butte. A mile off the highway, he rolled the truck to a stop, dust swirling, beneath a spreading juniper. Against the red and fraying bark is where she would stand, her small hands gripping the low branch above her head, her glass hard nipples at the beckoning of his lips and fingers. It was there, naked in the late morning stillness and rising heat, that she would thrust her bare mound toward the sun and howl like a coyote while his fingers flowed across her slick and steely clit. It was there that she would fall on her knees into the pine needle and cow dung duff and swallow him until she gagged, again and again, until he poured across her, an offering of life in the high desert.
The egg sat in the bowl, perfect in its daisy radiance, swimming in a slick halo of albumen. It was the visual music of life, it’s thin skin vibrating upon touch like the steel string of his guitar. He hated to destroy the peace of the moment, but the egg had some work to do with the oil and oat bran in the mixing bowl. The oil, of course, had experienced the length of his cock before dribbling into the bowl. The essence of him mixed well with the bran. Next, the wanton egg.
He took the simple spring egg beater and pummeled the egg into a light bubbling froth of light yellow. This was not done with anger, but with the love of creation. The fluff of protein and fat would hold everything together, would make a browned loaf fall out of the baking dish like a baby. He stood above the bowl and ceremoniously poured the bubbly liquid over his meaty sex, felt the flowery soft color dripping off his balls and into the bowl. She watched.
Then, it was the soda, the powder, the salt, the vanilla, and the bananas. The bananas were ripe and fragrant. Sweet in taste and smell, soft and pliant in texture, they released their mottled skin like lingerie peeled off a lover. They lay in a separate bowl, their penis curves arching into the thick fragrance of the vanilla, touching the acrid bite of the salt. Before her eyes, he forked the tender fruit into a slippery thick lotion that wanted, only, for her essence. One tablespoon of her, one measure of her pheromone power, one thin stream of her water, that’s all that was needed before the fecund fruit could flow off of him and into the caldron. He collected her tenderly, adding her formula with an alchemist touch. Then, it was up to him.
The formula, the nectar, the potion flowed over his straining tool, slicking it like her pussy. She watched as spurt upon spurt flew into the mixing bowl, along with banana, vanilla, salt and piss. His stomach tightened and he called out, invoking the muse of the life-giving property of bread. After calling to the gods, he stirred the pot, folding the flour, the ground seeds of fertility, into the fermenting unity of light and energy and life that would become a simple loaf of banana bread.