In a week she's forgotten me, the price, and my expectations for service.
"First me then you."
"First, me. Then, you."
Now I feel truly naked, not just unclothed: Anus, perineum, balls, cock, belly, nipples, throat, mouth: All fully exposed, all open to view, while I wait for her choice, her descent: The where she will bend her head to and feast: Helpless, consenting.
She does bend her head: The tip of her tongue touches my anus: I roll up my pelvis yet more so she has the angle to probe, not just lick. And soon I am rocking, rocking, rocking my center as she laps my perineum, probes my ring, daintily slurping.
She stands, gets a washcloth and rubbing alchohol, cleans me, scrunching my dick: Rough, stinging, cool.
"I'm old. I have to wait for my second time."
"Don't say you are old. Together, we are young."
As I suck on her demure tits and stiffen her nipples, she gasps, yowls in the back of her throat, gives a quickly suppressed yelp, then the barest of moans, then smiles broadly: An ironic run-through of her repertoire? To show what might be done? The thought of her outcries—
How do I ask, "Will you make some noise?" Perhaps just in those words?
Head down, she braces herself: She's put her hair up in a butterfly clip, no doubt to protect it from fluids: Her black feathery crest bobs in time to my thrusts.
Grabbing, clutching, taking, cramming, banging: I power my way to a climax. Percussion with occasional notes from the winds.
Her living flesh is a wall to be smashed through, a demolished building under the wrecking ball, and then—
A mountain to climb, a non-technical peak, and then—
I clutch her cheeks and gasp in the thin air at the top: Stiffened, convulsed, clenched, frozen, unseeing: My come flung like a prayer flag against a bleached sky—
Frozen outside, inside I silently listen, straining as if to catch a secret sound no one could hear, ever, even were the latex not to prevent it: The spurt spatter splat splat splat hitting her inner flesh, then a faint splurch as jizz squeezes out, dripping down droplets pressured out by our jointure, jizz seeks its own level, down her lips, down her asscrack, down onto the sheets—
I decunt, rock back on my heels; she turns over to face me, gets up on her knees.
How gentle her touch was.
All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."