by Jade London
Contents
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7
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A seagull haws and caws somewhere overhead; another gull answers, cacophonous, raucous. Waves lap, lap, lap against my toes. Despite the grit under my cheek, I am lazy and content and free and warm and cozy—
A hand descends over my lower back, cups my ass. The hand is large, male, rough, callused. I know this hand. I smile before I even open my eyes.
“Mmmm. I love the way you touch me,” I murmur muzzily.
He rumbles wordlessly as he continues to explore the curves of my buttocks. Memorizing them with touch, as if he didn’t already know every last inch and curve of me oh so intimately. His hand caresses me across my lower back from hipbone to hipbone, and then his fingertips trace the fold under the bubble of my left ass cheek. His fingers run across the crack and follow the fold to the other side. Across, again, to my tailbone, and then he drags his index finger down the seam from top to bottom. I remain utterly still, eyes closed, a half-smile on my face. I’m just letting him touch me, and I’m enjoying every single second of it.
Now his palm is part of the equation, his huge paw cupping the right globe. Just holding, at first. And then a bit of pressure. Kneading, a thumb digging into the flesh and fat and muscle. A hearty squeeze. Then the left cheek, in an expanding language of touch.
Then his hand is smoothing across both sides, circling, squeezing now and again, fingertips tracing. He does this for a while, sating his appetite for touching my ass.
And then his middle finger brushes down the seam, back up. Down again, and this time he applies a bit of pressure, sliding that fingertip between the globes, just a little. A little more, and a little more, and then I start and gasp when his fingertip brushes against the tight knot of my asshole, and I wonder if that’s what he’s after.
I’d let him.
God, of course I would.
I’d give him every last part of me, no questions asked, no holds barred. I have, and I will.
Always.
He doesn’t even have to ask. He just…has me.
I remain still, breathing slowly, trying to relax. But I need a little more build-up first if he wants to put his finger inside me back there. He knows this, though. I don’t have to tell him.
He’s smiling, I can tell without looking.
“Dirty girl,” he murmurs, in that dark bass growl of his, so deep and so strong, like the voice of a mountain, all granite and miles-deep caverns. “You like it when I touch you back here, don’t you?”
“Mmm.”
“Mmm?” There’s a hint of laughter in his echo of my response. “What’s ‘mmm’ supposed to mean?”
I shrug one shoulder. “It means mmmm.”
He smacks my ass, hard, sudden. The crack of his hand echoes across the lake, and my butt stings. “How about that? You like that?”
“Ow! You bastard!” I reach back to rub where he smacked me, but his hand is there first, smoothing over the spot.
Then he spanks me again, on the opposite side—CRACK!—and the echo ripples across the lake.
“Jesus, Conrad!” I open my eyes this time and twist to glare at him.
“You like that, don’t you?” His eyes are twinkling.
He soothes the sting with gentle circles of his palm. I stare at him, tensed, waiting for the next spank, but it never comes. He just caresses my ass cheeks, one and then the other, until I’m lulled back into comfortable drowsing, forehead pillowed on my forearms, sand against my cheek.
And then, just as I’m beginning to truly relax into his soothing yet sensual caresses—
CRACK!
CRACK!
Both sides, one then the other, spanked in quick succession. I try to roll away from him, but he seizes me, drags me onto his lap, face down, my stomach over his knees, my ass in the air. My hands grasp at the blanket we’re sitting on, but it’s not going to help me. Nothing can, now. He’s too strong. He’s got me pinned down easily, his hand on my back enough to prevent my escape. And really, deep down, way down where I don’t even really dare look too closely, I know I’m not trying to escape. Not really.
But I still put up a pretty good fight. I kick, scream and twist, but it’s no good.
His hand cracks across my ass, one side then the other, back and forth, again and again—CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!—until I’m squirming for real and fighting to get away, my ass on fire, stinging and aching and throbbing.
“Quit fighting, Hannah.”
“Stop hitting me!”
“I’m not hitting you, I’m spanking you. Stop trying to get away.”
“It hurts!”
He spanks me again, once on both cheeks, and the fiery sting is almost unbearable. But I know he’d never really hurt me—not hurt me hurt me—so I force myself to be still, to allow him to spank me. Fuck, it hurts. It stings so bad I can’t stand it, the ache spreading through me like wildfire. The spanking continues, hard, god, so hard. I’m squirming despite my best efforts.
And then he tugs my legs apart, keeping me positioned over his knees. One hand goes to my ass cheeks and he smoothes and soothes in circles where the flesh is surely reddened from his palm. And his other hand? He slides two fingers against my slit and teases the lips apart, and then those two fingers glide in, and god, I’m fucking soaked, dripping wet with arousal, absolutely drenched and throbbing. I hear the wet squelch of his fingers going inside me and feel them spearing into me and I gasp a breathy whimper of surprise.
He slides those fingers in and out of me a few times, drags them through my essence until his fingers are coated, and then he brings them out and uses those two middle fingers to brush my clit, and now lightning sears through me at his wet, gentle touch and my hips pivot, pushing back against his touch.
CRACK!CRACK!
The spanks are harder than ever and come out of the blue, with his fingers circling my clit, and I’m so surprised I scream, but the pain has shifted, become something else, something deeper and darker. The touch of his fingers to my clitoris is constant and slow and perfect, just the right amount of pressure and speed.
His palm soothes where he spanked, and I fall into the lull of his fingers against my clit, topple willingly into the chasm of impending orgasm, whimper and shift and thrust and push against his fingers—
CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!
Back and forth, left-right-left-right, and his fingers never slow, and the sting of his spanking becomes a throb that weaves through my trembling arousal, twines around the pulse of nascent climax.
More smoothing caresses again, and his fingers speed up. Faster, faster, his fingers circle my throbbing, diamond-hard clit until my hips are pumping up and down and I’m gasping against the blanket, fists clenching the quilted material.
“Conrad, oh god—” I gasp. “I’m so close.”
The climax powers through me, twists and uncoils and seizes me. I begin to gasp and writhe harder, embracing the orgasm, dragging on it as if it were a hit of oxygen for my starved lungs, or a hit of a drug.
But he doesn’t let me fall over the edge. He pulls his fingers away from my clit and shoves them deep inside my cunt and fucks me, and his hand spanks me so hard I cry out, his palm connecting across both cheeks, over and over and over, in time with the thrusting of his fingers, and I can’t separate the fucking and the spanking, both become one sensation, and my cries are equal measure pain and e
cstasy.
I don’t lose the edge of the orgasm, even though I need direct clitoral stimulation to come. The spanking and the fucking take the orgasm and wrench it into something else, taking every sensation, every nerve ending, every shred of heat and pressure and multiply it all into a mind-melting, soul-distorting experience.
I’m arching away from his spanking hand and bucking into his fucking fingers, both equally, which means I’m thrashing like a wild animal caught in a trap, screaming, whimpering.
“Please, please, please, please—” I hear myself gasping.
“Please what, Hannah?”
“Come! Let me—fuck fuck fuck! Let me come!”
He stops spanking me, pulls his fingers out of my soaked, clenching cunt, and touches them to my aching clit. Instantly, I begin twisting and writhing and gasping, the touch of his fingers alone nearly enough to push me over the edge.
“Come for me now, Hannah.” His words, a direct order, are like a button being pushed.
I obey.
He commands, and I obey.
Come, he says, and I hit orgasm instantly.
My scream of release is deafening, rippling across the water and echoing back to us, and the shrill caws of the seagulls mock me.
When I come, crushing and pumping back into his fingers on my clit, he spanks me one last time, and the climax breaks open and crescendos and I can’t handle it, can’t stand it. I’m coming so fucking hard it’s perfect agony.
And that’s when he presses one finger, coated with my essence, against my asshole. I’m still coming, still clenching and quivering, and I have no hope of resisting; I don’t want to. I want everything he wants to give me.
I’m still coming when his finger delves into my asshole. Just the tip, slipping in.
“Touch yourself, Hannah.”
“I just came. I can’t—I can’t, not so soon.”
“Do it.”
I shift backward, pulling my body over his lap and tucking my knees under me. I reach between my thighs and touch my clit. Oh god, oh god—it’s too much. Too fucking much. I’m still shaking from my orgasm, my cunt is still spasming, and my clit is still hard, erect. I touch myself. And oh god, oh god, oh fuck, it’s pure, beautiful torture.
“Make yourself come.” His order is firm, brooking no argument.
“Yes, Conrad.”
“Good girl.”
“I need your cum.”
“You’ll get it.”
“I need your cock.”
“Baby, you’ll get it. But make yourself come first.”
So I find that rhythm, that pressure. No one will ever be able to touch you the way you touch yourself. Your pussy knows your touch, responds to it differently than a man’s touch, or a woman’s. It’s just…different. My touch is firm and quick, yet light. Not quite touching my clit directly, but circling around. And then, when I feel the riptide of climax burgeon deep in my core and my hips begin to quake and thrust, I press three fingertips against my clit and increase the speed and grind against my fingers.
He has one hand on my ass cheek, just holding on, an affectionate, possessive grip. The other hand? He’s two knuckles deep inside my asshole, and pushing deeper every moment. Slowly, gently. And then I feel his hand against my ass cheeks and I know he’s all the way in, his long thick middle finger deep inside my asshole. Then he pulls out completely. I hear him spit, and then wet warmth touches my asshole and he works it against me and worms that finger into the opening, and now the lubrication of his saliva makes it go in easily. I’m on the verge of coming again and I’m clenching and releasing, and I feel him put his finger into my asshole, but it registers as a deep, perfect, beautiful aching pleasure.
God, yes.
Yes.
“More—” I gasp.
He glides that finger out, then back in.
“Yes, yes…” I whimper. “More.”
I feel him add more saliva, and then he’s got a second finger inside me and I’m whining in the back of my throat and grinding hard against my fingers and his fingers, and it’s so amazing, so much, so perfect, so incredible.
“Take it, Hannah.”
“I am, oh god, I am.”
Everything is a riot of sensation, then. His fingers, two of them, fucking my asshole. My fingers, wildly circling my clit.
It all congeals and coalesces into a single incendiary infinite moment, a climax crashing through me with the force of a thousand suns going nova. I can’t cry, can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t do anything. I’m seized and spasming violently, breathless, and his fingers fuck my asshole hard and fast and mine are moving faster and then my lungs squeeze and I can scream, and the sound of it startles even me, a scream so loud and so wild it’s deafening.
And then I’m sobbing, just absolutely sobbing.
He pulls his fingers free of me and twists me and settles me on his lap and cradles me against his chest.
I cling to him and shudder through the quaking aftershocks.
When they pass, I feel him shifting beneath me. Feel his erection against my hip. I wrap my arms around him and press my face into the side of his neck. I lift up, settle astride him, knees in the sand, toes digging in. I wedge my core against his belly and slide down until I feel his cock nudging me. His palms cup my cheek, his fingers bury in my hair pulling my head back and his eyes fix on mine, fierce and intense. I clutch the back of his neck, writhe my hips until I feel the head of his beautiful cock align with my slit, flutter and roll my hips to settle him deeper, deeper, until he’s splitting my pussy open.
“Hannah.”
I kiss his cheek. Just below his ear. His temple. Then pull away to meet his eyes, and I pause just like that, his cock almost but not quite inside me.
I hold my breath, lower lip caught between my teeth and then, keeping my eyes on his, I sink down, impaling his thick, throbbing cock inside me.
He groans, and his fingers shake and his eyes widen. “Holy fuck, Hannah.”
I settle onto his lap, his dick deep in my cunt. “Don’t make me wait, Conrad. Just give it to me. Give me your cum.”
He thrusts into me, driving upward with all his power, and his eyes fix on my tits as they jiggle.
“Make them bounce,” I murmur. “Fuck me so hard it hurts.”
He groans again, long and low. I squeeze around him, and he hisses, and that’s his undoing—that squeeze of my pussy around his cock. He claws at my tits and drives with his hips, once, hard, watching my tits bounce. And then he’s fucking me, no restraint, no technique, no gentility, just my Conrad fucking me as hard as he can, teeth gritted and groans scraping past those clenched jaws, eyes on mine and on my tits, which he is indeed making bounce, the heavy mounds jiggling to the rhythm of his cock slamming up into my slit.
“Yes, Conrad, god, yes. Just like this. Don’t stop. Fuck me until you come.”
“Hannah, god, honey…you feel so fucking good. Why does it always get better every time I fuck you?”
“Because you were made to fuck me.” I cling to him, lean close and bite his earlobe and then his shoulder. I whisper in his ear. “We were made to fuck each other. You and me, Conrad, just like this. The way you fuck me is so perfect, every single time. You’re what I need. This is what I need.”
“God, baby. Me, too.” He wraps his arms around me, one around my shoulders, his hand clutching my nape, the other arm low around my waist, gripping the crease of my hip where my leg bends. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum.”
“Oh…please, please—fill me until I can’t take any more. I want it all. Come inside me. Come all over me.” I tangle my fingers in his hair and ride him, my ass hitting his thighs with a loud slapslapslapslap, and his cock drives into my cunt with a wet squelch and he’s groaning and I’m whimpering and I feel him throbbing inside me, he fits me so perfectly I can feel him tense as he starts to come.
“Oh—Jesus—” he snarls, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Yeah? You’re gonna come now, aren’t you Co
nrad?”
“So fucking hard.”
“Do it, baby. Fuck me. Come for me.” I grip his hair with a rough yank, drive down onto him. “Right now, Conrad. Come inside me.”
He obeys me. My command is his undoing. He unleashes, then, driving up into me and spurting deep into my cunt. I groan in relief and delight as I feel his cum fill me, wet warmth spreading through me. I squeeze around him and keep riding him as he tenses and stiffens and loses the capacity to even thrust.
“Oh—my fucking god…” he groans.
But he’s not done.
I lift up off him and fall backward to the sand and reach up, grip his thick slick throbbing dick and pull him forward to straddle kneeling over me.
“Paint me with your cum, Conrad.”
I pump his cock with my fists and he arches his back and I watch his eyes close in bliss and his hips thrust forward. Cum spurts out of him and splatters on my stomach. I caress his erection, lift up and lick my own essence off his shaft and then he’s gasping and more cum drips onto my face, onto my chin and my tongue and my lips and my cheek, hot and wet and sticky and dribbling everywhere.
“Holy shit, Hannah. You’re so fucking hot like that.”
“Covered in your cum?” I ask, smiling up at him.
“Yeah.”
He lifts me up and settles me on his lap again, cradling me against his chest. He tips my chin up with a finger, and my heart hammers. He wipes a thumb over my lips, and then fits his thumb into my mouth; I taste his cum, salty, smoky, musky, mine.
He leans down and cups my face in both of his hands, and his eyes are deep and dark and intense and passionate.
His thumb brushes across my lips again, and this time his mouth isn’t far away. Closing in, his lips brushing mine.
I close my eyes, tears of happiness trickling down my face as he kisses me…
And then the darkness shifts and coruscates and my awareness tilts forward and tumbles and I’m lost for a heartbeat, for a timeless moment when there is no heartbeat, no me, no heat or cold, or up or down. There are no kisses, no lips, teeth, or tongues, no limbs covered in salt and heat and sweat.
I am aware of nothing at all but a deep, twisting, and razor cold darkness.
