by Christa Wick
"I know it was necessary, too," I pressed. "But I want to play a new game."
"It" was never having Emerson's cock in me, not my pussy nor my mouth nor that other orifice where his fingers and thumbs often teased. But the long wait for the ARV regimen to end and all the blood tests after a second surgery to come back was over. So was most of the work to remove the tattoos.
"I yield," he said, rolling from me with a sly smile, his gaze heavy with his own lust. "So long as you take this off before you start on my clothes."
He plucked lightly at the bikini top that kept my breasts from spilling out. I smiled brightly, drew a deep breath that lifted my chest high and held it as I untied the bows at my neck and across the middle of my back.
"Are you sure you want it off?" I asked, holding the barely adequate triangles of blue fabric against my breasts.
His head bobbed upward. He captured the strap that ran between the two halves with his teeth and held it firm as I drew slowly away. I dropped my hands, my breasts bounced forward.
I continued moving backward, fingers smoothing over his shirt, down the front of his low riding pants. I framed the outline of his barely contained cock for a second then arched backwards as I reached to remove his deck shoes.
Emerson lifted up onto his elbows, his gaze fastened on my breasts as my movements and waves bounced them around.
I straddled his hips. Grabbing his forearms, I coaxed him into a sitting position that let me work the shirt off. He distracted me with kisses to my neck and the top of my breasts. I would no sooner free one arm from its dressing than he would use the attached hand to palm my bare flesh. He pinched, pulled, squeezed. When he could, he popped a nipple in his mouth and sucked.
"You," I said, my moan robbing the word of its intended accusation.
"I didn't say I'd make it easy for you," Emerson answered.
I escaped backward, giving a firm push against his chest so he would relent and fully recline against the deck cushion.
I paused, eyes drinking in his broad chest with its deep cut muscles. Gently, I ran my fingertips where the tattoos had been. I bent forward, breasts molding against his hard stomach. I traced a barely visible outline that would disappear once the skin fully healed from the laser treatment.
Straightening, my hands skimmed lower. I circled the scar Junker's bullet had left.
"Don't be sad, love."
I didn't realize my smile had faded as I looked at the reminder of the day I almost lost him. I forced another smile but couldn't push down the memory.
"I'm still here…in the flesh."
He must have tightened his pelvic floor muscles because his cock tapped twice against his pants in a reminder there was a lot more of that flesh to uncover.
Seizing the waistband, I shook my head.
"Incorrigible."
"Anything to keep you smiling."
I looked up, caught his languid grin and deep blue gaze as he watched the subtle movements of my breasts.
Emerson was inarguably beautiful, the best looking brother in a family of hot-as-hell men. But the beauty extended far deeper than the sexy dressing that covered his bones. I hated that I had ever lost track of that quality.
"Love," he complained. "You're killing me."
His cock jumped again.
Tap, tap. Let me out.
I drew a deep breath, felt how heavy my breasts had become with desire. I unthreaded the button on his pants, peeled the zipper down. Tight, stretchy briefs remained, but I could see the outline of what hid beneath.
Moving backward off the deck cushion, I stripped the pants away. Crawling forward, I stopped alongside him, sitting on my calves, my knees even with his hip. Gingerly, I touched the tip of his erection, the underwear keeping him fully concealed but for the fabric's tightness. From the tip, I moved downward.
Reaching the first of what looked like three piercings, I stalled for a few seconds.
"You kept them?"
He had joked before that maybe he would. I hadn't told him he couldn't.
"I decided you should get the final say, but with an informed opinion," he chuckled.
I released the breath I had been holding in. Closing my eyes, I grabbed the waistband of his briefs and stripped them away. Then I straddled his legs, my face even with his cock.
Eyes still closed, I breathed him in, ran my hands over his hips, low across his gut. His cock surged upward, pressed momentarily against my lips then retreated.
Opening my eyes, I exhaled. I ran a fingertip across the spot that had once hosted the phrase "Bitches Sit Here" then I fisted his cock.
Other than the moon and the deckhouse, most of our light came from a string of small white Christmas bulbs wrapped round the deck railing. I couldn't see how much of the tattoo remained discernible.
"Not a trace," he promised.
Releasing him from my grip, I slid my bikini bottoms off. Every last curve was revealed for his perusal. He had seen me like this multiple times in the last six months since I accepted his proposal.
Naked, so far from the fashion "ideal," I should have felt vulnerable. I didn't. It was impossible not to feel sexy when Emerson looked at me with hunger blazing in the depths of his blue eyes.
Grinning, I took hold of his shaft as I threw one leg across him. Straddling his hips, I positioned Emerson's cock so that it pointed straight up.
"Here," I rasped, "is something you haven't seen."
30
Delia
With a teasing slowness, I held just the tip against the opening of my pussy. With a tight, glacial grind, I worked the head in. My muscles rhythmically threatened to gulp him deeper, pulling and relaxing over and over until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Gasping, Emerson arched his neck, lifted his shoulders from the deck, his weight bearing down on the forearms planted flat against the cushion.
I rose up, releasing him. He sucked in a breath, expelled it with a harsh blow.
"You're not watching," I taunted, my slick gate moving softly against the tip but not allowing him in.
"I am," he promised, peeling his eyelids open.
I sucked the head in, paused.
"I'm going down this ladder one rung at a time."
Confusion softened his strong features, but then I pulled just enough of his shaft in to cover the first piercing with its nearly half-inch balls. Heat sizzled up my spine, across my breasts, bringing them to a harder peak.
Chin tilted up, eyes closed, I exhaled and sank another rung lower.
Moaning, I clamped down on his cock, the maneuver not quite extinguishing my urge to bury him to his base. Instead, I started to grind, never slipping higher than the middle piercing, never sinking past the third.
"You're a goddess, baby."
I looked down, squeezed harder. His head dipped back, a passionate groan vibrating across his lips.
"Are you ready for the next one?"
My words were choppy, my need to take him all the way inside nearly overwhelming.
"Please, yes…"
I arched my back, grabbed my heels for balance and sucked the third bar and ball caps inside my pussy.
"You're so tight and wet, love."
I tried to focus my gaze on Emerson. The pleasure of my body throbbing around his thick cock was too much. I couldn't see straight, couldn't get him to look like just one lover instead of two. But I could make out his arm moving. I saw it reach forward, then felt the brush of his thumb against my clit.
"Such a slick hole," he purred.
I moaned, my entire body jerking. Emerson sat up, wrapped his big hands around my hips and pulled me down the rest of his length. I lifted ever-so-slightly. He cinched me down again, his lips latching onto a nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth.
His strong hands kept me pinned in place, but I had other ways of riding the long, thick shaft that penetrated deep inside me. My muscles rolled up, down, up.
I bit at my lip to keep the moans from becoming screams.
Emer
son released the nipple with a pop, reached one hand up, wound it in my hair and forced me to arch my neck.
"Baby, there's not another boat around to hear you scream. You don't need to hold back."
Still not trusting myself, I whimpered my understanding.
"Love, don't you want to go crazy?"
My pussy contracted, mouthed harder at his cock.
"Yes," I said, the answer leaving me in a long tremble that threatened to turn into a howl. "I just…"
"You'll come too fast if I let you drive," he teased, his voice thick with his own lust.
My head bobbed in admission.
"On your back," he ordered with a gentle push against my shoulder. He followed my movements, covered me with his body. He kissed my eyes shut, sucked lightly along my neck. His nails trailed down my arms, then across my breasts.
He kept descending, kissing and faintly scratching at my flesh until his tongue reached my labia and slid between them. His mouth sealed around my clit, began to suck. He pushed my thighs apart, forced my knees to bend. With all of me exposed and stretched to his touch, he worked his fingers inside my pussy as he continued to tease and torment the hyper-sensitive pearl hiding under the hood of my clit.
Moans and grunts rattled behind my sealed lips. After so many months of staying quiet, I was afraid of how loud I would be, so I squeezed at his fingers and clawed at the twill that covered the cushion.
"Sweet, sweet Delia…I'm going to work this pussy hard," he warned.
My eyes rolled up, my body clamped tighter around him. The dirty talk combined with the tender rumble each word produced threatened to undo me before Emerson started in earnest.
He worked three fingers in, forced them flat then dragged their pads on the thick, spongy bulb of tissue just inside the gate of my pussy. With my muscles already held tense for so long, it didn't take too many strokes before control of my limbs evaporated. My arms jerked, my torso lifted.
Emerson kept licking and stroking, the pressure of his fingertips against that mass demanding I lose my mind before he would consider relenting.
My clit began to jerk against his tongue. The hard pulls threatened a rush of warm liquid squirting into him, filling his mouth and forcing him to swallow.
He rose onto his knees, body curling forward so he could tease me with both hands, one sluicing his fingers in and out of my tight hole, the other rubbing hard and furious against my clit, my juices the only thing ensuring the friction didn't cause me to burst into flames.
My pussy locked down around his fingers. My clit danced, jumped, pulled higher with each jerky beat of my pulse until a warm jet left me and I screamed my release. My upper torso levitated off the deck. My breasts quivered like jelly as I continued to squeeze at his fingers, the contractions running through me building, not abating.
Squirting hot once more, I collapsed onto the cushion.
His mouth drifted down, his tongue soothing the fevered flesh. He kept a slow, gentle pace, letting my contractions subside, then threatening their return with harder licks.
Seeing my nipples at an aching peak, he ordered me to roll over.
Emerson pressed between my shoulder blades, forcing me to lie with my breasts flat against the cushion. Then he guided my legs so that they were folded under me and spread just enough for him to enter while my ass pushed wantonly up in the air.
As much devil as angel, he blew against my hot pussy, chuckling when I squeaked.
He dipped his fingers inside me, dragged my juices up to smear the quivering star above. He gave the star a lick, prodded it with the tip of his tongue while he siphoned more honey from my pussy with his fingers.
"I've heard that when I enter you from behind," he paused, nipped one butt cheek, then the other, "the piercings will have maximum effect on your pleasure."
I couldn't imagine it was possible for me to receive pleasure more intense than I already had.
Grabbing hold of my hips with both hands, Emerson began to prove me wrong.
My spine slid like a trombone on a long note as he penetrated my body rung by rung by rung. Slow, stretching, I felt the piercings breach me one at a time. They faced the opposite direction as when I had sucked him in. They pointed toward my clit and, this time, instead of the pads of Emerson's fingers dragging at that sensitive bulb of flesh, the steel double-aught balls steamrolled back and forth across it.
Chest pressed against the cushion, my breasts ached with the extra weight of my arousal. My nipples dragged against the weathered twill, the fabric's gentle scratching causing me to coil tighter around Emerson's cock. He drove me harder, pushing and pulling, plowing in then retreating until the fat head threatened to pop free.
Arousal slicked my thighs, built thick around my opening as he thrust in and out. He took the cream, spread it around the hole above. His finger penetrated me there, took me slow and sweet even as his cock pounded harder and harder.
Missing the safety of the ball gag, I sealed my mouth around part of my arm, pushed at it with my tongue like I was licking the fat cock filling my depths. My ass and pussy tightened around him, milked finger and shaft, back and forth, the groans building, my entire body locked in a quiver.
And then I exploded. The climax released against my legs and on the cushion. Within me, Emerson unleashed, his cock spurting, filling me as he buried himself all the way inside. I vibrated around his shaft and the finger invading that other hole. I rode both lengths, thighs flexing, throat locked in a scream that refused to be muted.
Arms and legs abandoned me. I melted against the cushion. Emerson folded with me, his cock still buried and throbbing with the aftermath of his climax. His arms cradled my sides and kept his body from weighing too heavily upon me.
Slowly, he rolled away, his breathing as harsh as my own.
With a fresh breeze blowing over the ocean and across the deck, I started to shiver.
"Sorry, love," he said, pulling the blanket over us as he held me close. "Don't want my baby cold."
When all the little tremors subsided within our bodies, he brushed the hair from my face.
"So," he teased. "What's the verdict? Keep the bars?"
Sliding my hand between us, I found his cock, curled my fingers around the shaft. My thumb began to gently manipulate the piercings, smoothing up and down the embedded rods. His hips thrust forward immediately, a fresh moan twisting through his throat.
Diving under the blanket, I flicked my tongue against the ball caps.
"I take it that's a 'yes,'" he groaned.
Peeking up from the blanket, I hooked his blue gaze and smiled. "That's a 'hell yes!'"
Epilogue
Emerson
-- Three Years Later --
Stopping my pacing, I stared at the emblem of the Montana Department of Justice painted in gold on the plate glass window. A glance at my watch showed me I had been inside the building for forty-eight minutes.
For the first thirty minutes, I had been calm, entirely professional without a hint of worry scratching any new lines into my face. At thirty-five, I started to shift my weight from one foot to the other. At forty-two, no one around me would have ever believed I had been an undercover agent for the FBI.
The woman at the counter cleared her throat and pointed at the window as a cherry-colored sedan pulled to a stop. Through the car's lightly tinted windows, I could see Caiden behind the wheel. At sixteen, his face was filling in, the mischievous angles finally being molded into something decidedly masculine. There was a lot of Ken in his looks, but I could also see how he took after Delia's father.
At that moment, however, all I really saw was teenage tension as the man next to him continued to fill out a sheet attached to a clipboard. Finished, the man put his pen away, took his seatbelt off and stepped out of the vehicle. Caiden followed suit, meeting the man at the front of the vehicle.
Holding my breath, I waited to learn the results of the driver's test. The man tore the top sheet off and handed it to Caiden. Good or ba
d, the examiner's face gave nothing away as Caiden read through the results, his head moving back and forth.
A big grin split his face as he got to the bottom. He bounced once, then settled before thrusting his hand toward the examiner. They shook. The examiner said something not audible in the air conditioned building with the plate glass between us. I imagined it was a warning to be safe because Caiden's head bobbed up and down just like it did when Delia or I lectured him on something.
Caiden turned his gaze in search of me as the examiner disappeared around the side of the building. Spotting me, Caiden raced inside, shouting the minute he passed the threshold.
"Dad! I passed!"
Hugs still weren't his thing, rarer still when the person he was hugging was me, but he threw his arms around me and squeezed tight.
"I passed!" he repeated.
"First try," I acknowledged. "Great job, son."
He squeezed me again before pulling back. "Thank you for teaching me. Mom freaked out too much."
I grinned at his assessment. He was right.
"Hormones," I told him. "But don't repeat that."
"Because she's a girl?"
Ah, God, he was going to get me in the doghouse.
I shook my head. "Because she's pregnant. She could have helped teach you last year or next year. But she's nervous right now."
"Because she's old?"
I slapped my hand against my face and shook my head. "Your mom is young and vibrant, but she's having a baby at thirty-eight and it's been sixteen years since she was pregnant with you."
Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, I lead him toward the woman at the counter.
"None of this is official," I said, "Until we give your paper to the lady and pay the State of Montana some more money."
He placed the piece of paper on the counter. I placed my debit card next to it. The woman had Caiden move in front of the boxy camera and told him not to grin too much. He didn't listen or couldn't control it. She made him pose again.
Five minutes later, he held a temporary paper copy of his driver's license.
