Program notes In a week she's forgotten me, the price, and my expectations for service.
"So many."
Nude, bobbing then softening, waiting for Jennifer to return, I turn off the too-cool-for-March AC, turn off the Islamist on the radio, who was explaining why it's OK to cut off the hands of thieves, then stretch out face down, still slightly moist from the table shower.
"Turn over."
"First me then you."
"Hmm?"
"First, me. Then, you."
I put my hands under the backs of my thighs and pull back, rocking my center of gravity up, spreading my legs wide apart, letting my round heels float in the air.
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.
"Ooh!" Jennifer says, holding the condom up to show how it sags with its white load.
"Many babies!"
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?
Jennifer lies down on her back and spreads her legs wide, but I tug at a haunch so she gets up on all fours and presents. She's long-legged, so her ass is slightly too high for me: If I insert at that height, my knees will be so close together my balls won't swing freely; then they ache. I push down on her cheeks. She scunches her knees slightly farther apart on the mattress. That brings her ass lower so I get the right angle.
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.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
{220}
>> posted by John Psmyth
• 3/27/2004 04:30:00 PM
•
