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, either.
“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.
“Yeah,” Dylan pants. “Okay, indeed.”
He grabs a nice handful of right ass cheek and lets go after a couple short seconds.
“Just fucking slap it, why don’t you?”
Dylan gives my ass one firm smack, and then another firmer one.
“Okay,” I say between quick breaths.
“Okay.”
Dylan’s hand finds its way around to my ass again, this time running his palm over it with a fierceness I rarely see from him.
“That seems like fun.”
I embrace the opportunity to get some of Dylan’s sculpted ass to enjoy in my hand as I also enjoy his girthy dick.
He’s taking it a little cautiously, though—not that I blame him, but...
“It’s...you can go fucking faster. It’s okay, come on.”
Fucking finally, Dylan starts to press down on the accelerator.
“Okay,” I add approvingly, using our new favorite word, “and you can go a little harder, too.”
“Okay.”
Dylan pulls out. I could ask What the fuck? but instead, I just roll with it. Also, we share a few more hot kisses, and he starts playing with my pussy again. I track my fingers around his epic shaft, so things aren’t too bad.
But fuck, we keep going just like that for another few minutes—maybe five minutes, maybe ten, or longer. And now the desperation from earlier is coming back to the surface, with a renewed conviction.
Dylan moves from delicate stroking to circling around my clitoral hood like he did earlier with his tongue, and I’m now moving my hand aggressively up and down the length of his shaft.
Yeah, I’m just jacking him off now, except we both slow down before we reach the off part.
I think I’m training Dylan, or at least finding a way to communicate with just the right kind of blazing stare, directly into his cocoa-colored eyes.
Actually, I think that’s one way that we’re training each other, because this time, it’s wholly mutual. Our eyes meet at the exact same time, detonating each other, setting the bed and this whole room ablaze with the message that our eyes say better than our words ever could.
But, if I had to put it into words, it would simply be:
It’s time to get back to fucking.
“A little harder this time would be good,” I remind Dylan.
“Okay, lift up your leg.”
“Which one?”
It’s not the smartest joke—lying on my side, there’s only one leg I could possibly lift—but it’s enough to get us cackling.
“Your right leg, Emma.”
“Oh, like up in the air?” I point my foot up at a forty-five-degree angle, like I’m stretching after a spin class.
“Okay...”
“Okay!”
“Okay, that can be step one.”
“Ooh, this is getting fancy.”
“Well, you know how fancy I am, Emma.”
“Rrrrright. What’s step two?”
“Step two is to swing that leg down in my direction, and just fucking wrap that thing around me.”
“Wait, why are we doing this?”
“So I can try to accommodate your request.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure what that means, but you are talking fancy now, so...”
I drape my leg right over Dylan’s body, and it fits like a puzzle piece. My knee rests just above his waist, and my lower leg is touching that rock-hard ass.
And that rock-hard cock starts going right back into me, but there’s something different this time. Dylan’s cock coasts in with ease, and it just keeps coasting, and coasting.
It’s like Dylan’s considerable girth is touching me in ways I’ve never been touched—even though I thought that all happened when I lost my virginity.
“This, right here, is what I’ve been missing,” I comment, my voice dripping with pleasure.
As Dylan pulls out, my eyes close involuntarily. Ripples of both gratification and invigorated desire swell in unison.
When he proceeds to thrust his cock back into me, my leg becomes a conduit for expressing exactly what the fuck I want. I flex my leg muscles, bringing Dylan in fiercer and quicker.
“Fuck, you’re in fucking control,” Dylan tries to convince me, as he’s panting, that I’m in the driver’s seat.
He’s still thrusting, but I’m way more in control than I’ve been yet.
I could get very used to this indeed.
For one, I like how ravenously fucking passionate it’s making me. The more of Dylan I feel, the more that I want, and I have the means to embrace that as much as I damn well want to.
And, for the moment, I damn well want to a lot.
As Dylan keeps going, and I keep going, we find a steady trajectory of speed and motion. It feels like we’re slowing down, and that might be the case, but the far-reaching mists of divine pleasure keep growing heavier.
They’re growing so fucking heavy that it might just be time that’s slowing down, not us. The sensation of the two of us locked in intercourse is at the route of this sense-scrambling pleasure, but it’s no longer the focal point.
The focal point is Dylan, and it’s me. It’s the two of us, together. That’s what really feels so fucking good about it.
Time really is slowing nearly to a halt. This single moment crystallizes as an expression of what’s in our hearts, and the way we’re showing that to each other.
In this crystallized moment, it’s just us, just our eyes locked in the heat of desire and adoration...and love. That’s all there is in this eternal point in time, and nothing else—not even our two bodies humping away, although they still very much are.
But in the eternal moment we’ve created, it’s just our eyes—Dylan’s and mine—locked in that look that’s become a secret language and is now solidified for all time.
We live in that moment, the mountain dweller and myself, for a few minutes or an hour, or maybe more or maybe less before we leave what we’ve created and float back into the real world.
Back in the real world, we’re still fucking. We’re going at it tenderly, a bit delicately still, but it still feels so fucking great. And we stay in that moment, fucking on the bed in Dylan’s new cabin for a little while, until we both come with the usual full body surges of bliss.
Then we lie there, surrounded by all the pine in the room, our feet still dangling off the edge of the bed.
“So, what do you think of the new place?” Dylan asks me.
I consider the question carefully for a minute.
“You know what? I like it. I like it quite a bit.”