by Vivien Vale
“That sounds about right.”
“Can you tell me what happens?”
“Hmm. I’ll try.” I shut my eyes, pretending to concentrate. “Oh. Oh, my. Psychic visions aren’t usually this explicit.”
“It’s okay, don’t be bashful.”
“Well, okay. I see a guy, I can’t really see his face or anything, but he’s wearing flannel…and now he’s taking it off. Hoo, boy! That is one massive, beautiful cock he’s got...”
“You can’t tell who it is?”
“Well, there’s a woman there. She’s very stylish, and very lucky, from what I can tell.”
“She sounds fucking hot.”
“Hey!” I back away from Dylan, looking up at him with faux-indignation.
“We’re talking about you, right?”
Dylan and I lapse back into our laughing fit, punctuated by a little kiss.
Well, it starts with a little kiss, but that leads to us locking our lips hungrily, our tongues dancing and battling for a hot minute until that tingling returns strongly throughout my bottom half.
“I don’t know that for sure,” I say after our lips finally stop for a rest.
“You don’t know what for sure?”
“I…fuck, I forgot.”
“You’re so fucking hot.”
“I know.” I shrug. “So are you.”
Our lips meet again, refusing to stay apart any longer. Our tongues enjoy the same contentious relationship—wandering, wrestling, flailing around each other’s mouths thoughtlessly.
By the time we stop for another rest, we’re both breathing fast and heavy.
We laugh at nothing again for a second, and then my right hand starts wandering.
I can’t help myself. My eyes are on Dylan’s crotch, and my fingertips are running lightly up and down the crotch of his jeans, roaming teasingly up to his belt buckle and back.
Dylan undoes my bra expertly with one hand as I stare at his crotch with wide-eyed wonder.
I know it’s right there, and that moment when his colossal cock pops straight out from under those layers of fabric is coming. It’s imminent.
Holy shit, the anticipation is driving me insane. I’m about to come just thinking about it. I’m already so far beyond soaking wet, it’s absurd.
“We’re both hot, I guess,” whispers Dylan. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Okay,” I say, distracted by daydreams of that rock-hard duck.
Even after Dylan picks me up again and starts carrying me into the bedroom, I’m still mainly thinking about things soon to come.
As far as I’m concerned, they can’t come soon enough.
The new bedroom is airy and spacious, with few furnishings besides the king-sized bed.
Dylan deposits me gently on the sheets, and I sink slightly into the soft, foam mattress.
Dylan climbs onto the bed next to me and instantly let’s his fingers explore my body.
“What are you thinking about?” Dylan asks while kissing my shoulder, with clear intentions to move down to my left breast.
“Things to come.”
Dylan kisses my breast before lightly stimulating my nipple with his fingertips.
“Not yet,” he responds.
Yeah, I’m still thinking about Dylan’s cock, but as soon as I feel his fingers playing around the waist of my tights I get a tiny, anticipatory wave of ecstatic pleasure.
That focuses me, and I pull down my tights and panties in one fell swoop. Dylan’s fingers stay in the area, moving up and down my left leg slowly, gradually narrowing down the area around my inner leg, then moving in even closer…
I shift my legs away from each other, opening up my thighs and maybe speeding things up a little, since my pussy is now aching for Dylan’s touch.
Dylan takes the hint. His forefinger starts roaming around my wet, throbbing pussy. His touch is delicate, but I immediately start wriggling around on the sheets.
“Oof,”
Just as Dylan turns up the intensity with his finger, he stops abruptly.
“Hey! What the fu…”
Dylan’s tongue on my pussy stops the words dead in my throat.
I can’t stop the moans from escaping me. Dylan’s not teasing this time, drawing out the process or building towards it.
He’s just there, now, where I need him to be.
Dylan does a slightly off-center lick up my lips, and then spirals his tongue around in what is some sort of secret ancient code that’s making me writhe and speak in tongues.
When Dylan slows down to a near-stop, and I fear he’s about to take away his masterful tongue entirely, I grab the back of his head with both my fucking hands as a friendly reminder that I’m still enjoying this.
Again, Dylan gets the hint. His tongue keeps sliding around in all kinds of whirls and eddies, patterns that may or may not have any sort of rhyme or reason, but all scratch the itch of my boundless wanting the way nothing else can.
This time, when Dylan slows down, I slow down with him, and my breathing slows even as my heart speeds with exhilaration.
I’m surrounded by the warm glow as torrents of bliss cascade through me and around me.
I’m still reveling in the heavenly haze of the day’s first orgasm when I spot those chocolate eyes, no longer hard at work between my legs, but resting near me, on the pillow next to where I am.
“So,” Dylan begins. “What are you thinking about now?”
“Things to come, still.”
“Still? After that?”
I twist onto my side to face Dylan, realizing I’ll need to be a bit clearer.
“Things to come, still, out of your jeans.”
“Are you ready for that.” Dylan’s smiling, his answer is immediate.
He knows what he’s doing.
“That massive cock cannot be comfortable so constricted in all that denim. Come on, aren’t you hard?”
“Am I hard?”
Dylan’s incredulous. I’m striking the right chords.
He stands up on the bed, giving me the best seat in the house for the best show in the world—the unveiling of Dylan’s monstrous mountain cock.
If I needed proof that Dylan was actually hard, my vantage point is providing all the proof I need—that bulge is massive.
I don’t say a word about that, though. I just lie back, relax, and wait for the best part of the show.
Dylan starts undoing his belt buckle.
Then he stops.
“Wait a second…”
“Come on, Dylan. Don’t fucking stop now. I’m not waiting a second…”
“Why don’t you come here and see for yourself.”
Some people want all the work done for them, I guess.
I accept the invitation to take matters into my own hands. I jump into action, sending ripples across the mattress as I stand.
Dylan keeps his balance, staying as still and solid as a fucking anchor.
With my first step I almost topple over, but Dylan catches me, and my hands flat on his abs.
Regaining my balance, I let my palms slide to his belt, and I maintain fierce eye contact while undoing his belt buckle.
With that out of the way, I keep my eyes on the prize, running my fingers once more over that protruding bulge.
I undo the top button of Dylan’s jeans easily, and I finally make my way to the zipper.
It’s time to see that fucking cock again.
Dylan
“Take your fucking time,” I say, kind of making fun of myself.
I still remember that first time, when I kept telling Emma not to hurry. Well, this time she’s sure acting like she’s in a hurry, anxiously, almost shaking, fussing with the zipper on my jeans.
Newton’s laws apply to bras and zippers. Whenever you’re in fucking need to get them open quickly, they fucking don’t cooperate.
“Oh, I’ll take my fucking time.” Emma finally gets my fly open with a satisfying zip, and giggles with excitement as she undoes the button.
“This is how I take my fucking time.”
Watching Emma’s now steady and assured fingers reach into the waistband of my boxers, I start to honestly consider if it’s medically possible for my dick to get any harder than it already is. It’s been dying to tear out of this flimsy layer of denim since we shared that first kiss outside.
Outside, where I had to say goodbye to Boss...
Okay, I guess thinking about Boss is going to be like thinking about baseball for me—a tool I can use to calm the fuck down when things get too heated in this new cabin bedroom we’re in the midst of christening.
“Or, we can fucking hurry, it’s all the same to me. But you can just pull that shit down—they’re just my jeans, my shitty fucking clothes.”
Emma’s cheeks are flushed, making her look radiant and ravishing. No foundation that’s ever been on the fucking market could ever hope to compete. Her vast, alluring eyes are open wide with sheer enthusiasm, making them even more vast and alluring than usual.
I keep forgetting how this is all still new to Emma. As I’ve told her, she’s a natural. Also, her excitement is contagious.
Not that it’s not plenty exciting just being with Emma as it is, but seeing her lustily eyeing the exact spot where my dick is soon to emerge—I’ll just say that it doesn’t hurt my already ample excitement.
“Fuck, just get down already!”
Yes, Emma is yelling at my pants, and they do as they’re told. As my stupid jeans and boxer shorts finally acquiesce, my vigorously erect cock flies out and up, finally settling in its natural position of pointing straight up at an almost perfect angle.
I’ve done a pretty fucking good job maintaining my balance standing up on this bed so far, but my weighty cock suddenly shifting its position starts to throw me off. I nearly fall over when Emma abruptly grabs my shaft with both hands, but her tight grip somehow helps me maintain my position.
Emma drops down into a kneel, almost slamming her forehead into me. Before I can even grasp what’s happening, her tongue starts slithering around my shaft, starting around the base but rapidly moving up, down, around, and pretty much every-fucking-where.
It’s a beautiful, blissful chaos.
I’m trying to stay as still as a goddamn gargoyle, but Emma’s genius use of her tongue is leaving me wobbly and in danger of toppling over like a felled oak tree.
I want to leave Emma to her work, and there’s nothing around to grab onto for balance. When Emma begins sliding my dick into her mouth, the situation becomes critical.
I extend my arms like a fucking tightrope walker. Emma is doing some sort of sorcery with her tongue and her lips, and now it’s like I’m on a surfboard or some shit, listing slightly from one side to the other, but staying upright at all costs.
I don’t even know what Emma’s doing when I finally throw my arms up in the air. I give up on the idea of concentrating on anything except the white-hot, all-encompassing ocean of bodily bliss taking over my consciousness.
“Fuck!” I yell unwittingly as cum gushes out all over the goddamn place.
The climax hits my entire body like a tidal wave, and even after coming I’m still helpless against the weight of it.
Fuck, I’m gonna fall, but I don’t give a shit because that was fucking amazing.
“Timber!” yells Emma as I tumble like a tree onto my left side.
The tidal wave leaves me and I join reality as I lie across the bed. Emma gives me some support by tumbling down right next to me.
“So...” she says.
“So, you are a magician, Emma. A mountain magician.”
“Am I?”
“There’s no other explanation for it.”
“‘Mountain magician.’ Is that even a fucking thing?”
“It is now. And I think you coined that phrase, so...”
“So…”
There’s that fucking fire again. I see it in Emma’s eyes, and I know it’s in mine.
It’s like the more we satisfy each other, the more ravenous we become.
Hey, I’m not complaining.
“So, I want to make you come, Emma. Again.”
“Yes. Do that. And there is a fucking hurry, because I want to come again like right fucking now.”
I kiss Emma’s tits fervently and leave the usual trail of kisses going down to her belly button, and then down further.
“Oooh, hurrrrry,” Emma wails as I get to the top of her lips.
Emma’s certainly in a hurry. Her pussy is as wet as I’ve ever seen it—and that’s saying something.
The sight of her so ready—so aroused that she’s soaking the sheets and the mattress—has my cock right back to being harder than a piece of petrified wood.
I move my lips just close enough to her fully ready clit and labia for her to perceive my presence, and I stay perfectly still as she wails again—wordlessly this time.
I crawl in closer by an almost microscopic amount, and I wait, keeping still, as Emma wails once more.
Okay, it’s time. I lick Emma’s perfect cunt, lapping up slowly with my tongue, trying to get as much of it as I can with one broad master stroke before getting more detailed and intricate.
“Hurry, hurry.” Emma’s speaking slowly and so quietly I can barely hear her. I don’t think the words mean much at this point besides keep fucking going until I have one orgasm, at least.
As I keep going, moving into a swirling pattern, Emma does have an orgasm. She grabs a pillow, gripping it tightly, and slams it back down on the bed as she comes.
I keep fucking going, and Emma’s shoving herself into my face. I move my tongue more aggressively around her lips, and a little faster, and she squeals briefly, but keeps pushing herself closer.
I lightly touch my tongue in Emma’s clit, and she has another orgasm, and she lets out a shriek full of primal aggression and longing.
It’s a sound that signals that this is still not the time to stop. No, this is just getting started.
I keep fucking going.
I keep my tongue locked around Emma’s clit. Not on it, but around it, spiraling in one direction then the other. I slow down the pace as I get closer, until I’m almost—but not quite—just fucking stopped.
My tongue is moving at a rate that would have to be measured in the geologic scale.
And then I’m stopped for real. And I stay there until I hear Emma moan softly, almost under her breath, and I lightly tap her clit once, then twice.
Emma has another orgasm, thrashing on the sheets like she’s possessed, and then letting her body go limply relaxed with a sigh.
I start an upward trail of kisses, past Emma’s belly button, then skipping up to her glowing, enraptured face.
“One more,” Emma whispers.
“Way ahead of you.” I reach back down to Emma’s pussy and start lightly skimming her lips with my fingertips. “And then we’ll fuck.”
Emma’s face lights up into her full, electrifying smile.
There is nothing as sexy in this world as that smile. It really is too much, and I roll my eyes up towards the ceiling, automatically feeling unworthy of seeing something so beautiful.
“And then we’ll fuck,” Emma repeats, bringing me back to Earth.
I run my fingertips around Emma’s pussy, building another rhythm, faster this time, before stimulating her labia again, keeping a real light touch to start.
We lock eyes, and the fucking fire is still burning so fucking bright, and I move one finger slowly, lightly into Emma’s pussy.
Emma’s eyes go blank as she wails lowly to herself. I bring my fingertip back out, and slowly work it just a tiny bit back in.
“Yeah. That’s the one,” Emma comments quietly before succumbing to another orgasm.
Emma
You know that saying people have about certain vices? Something like One is too many, and a thousand is never enough? In a way, I think that could apply to orgasms with a bit of a twist: one is never enough, and a thousand’s probably never enough, e
ither.
“Okay, let’s fuck.”
Man, do I enjoy saying those words in that sequence.
Another orgasm, coming right up, and pretty soon at that. I don’t think we’ll fit a thousand in today, but I’ll do my best.
It’s about time I start paying attention to this new aspect of life. I’m talking about a whole other side to it, an entire new universe that I’ve purposefully put off discovering for too long.
But those days are gone.
“You’re the most achingly beautiful, amazingly fucking sexy person on the whole fucking planet, and I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive.”
And I enjoy hearing those words as well. This is turning into a very nice little exchange.
I’m about to enjoy another exchange even more.
“I buy it.”
“Damn straight. You know how lucky I am.”
We’re still kissing, our lips meeting for extended periods of time. There’s not much of the magnetic desperation as there was earlier. The desire’s still there, but by now, we’ve proven to each other that we’re here, we’re together, and neither of us is going anywhere—hopefully ever again.
One kiss leads to a longer kiss, then to an even longer kiss, like Morse code, as we lie the wrong way across the bed.
A little bit of the desperation inches its way in to our last couple kisses, but that’s okay—it’s time to fuck.
Do we even bother trying to get ourselves completely back on the bed? You know, so our legs aren’t dangling off the edge?
I don’t think the answer to that question’s too hard to figure out, but here’s a hint: my feet are still hanging off the edge of the bed, yet I’m already sensing the unmistakable presence of Dylan’s humungous, hot, throbbing cock—specifically the tip of it—hovering around the perimeter of my begging pussy.
“Just like this?” I ask Dylan.
“Just like this—let me do all the work.”
Not to get all flaky or New Age or whatever, but I can feel all the accumulated tense, toxic energies of my recent stint in New York just float right out of me the instant Dylan’s dick starts to slide right in.
“Ooh. Okay.”
I sound as if I’m enjoying a nice day at the spa, except for this spa treatment feels way better than any fucking steam bath or seaweed wrap I’ve ever had.
