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Color me nuts, but there¹s nothing I enjoy more after sex than eating strawberries. Giant, ripe, burst in your mouth ones from California. I¹m talking right after: take ’em out, cold from the fridge, rinse and indulge. Strawberries and a nice Cab (’95 Milat, aged two years); mmm… sweet aphrodisia.
Saturday afternoon, kicked back, nothing to do but eat fruit, smoke Dunhills, take in a few more chapters of the new Bret Easton (doubt I¹ll ever finish it, with my schedule). Live the life…. Oh, and screw, whenever we get the inclination. Which is often.
Some weekends, you¹re happy doing anything but work, period… strawberries. Haven¹t had official sex, today, but I want them. Food; anything. I¹m hungry, distracted. Grocery shopping tomorrow¹s a must — remind me. The 24-hour at Harvard and Pike is close enough. Or, better yet, that market on First, down by the piers. That¹s the place to go when it¹s fresh veggies, citrus and all things produce you¹re after, I have it on good authority. Yes, a trip is definitely in order, because we¹re almost out of —
“Yo, dancing queen,” Lisa startles me. “What¹cha doing all by yourself?”
“Nothing, just…” I say, adjusting my hair.
“I think we broke your husband.”
I look over my shoulder, where Michael is laying on the bed, flaccid and pensive. I half-smile, “Nah. Just a breather.”
“How long should we give him?” she asks, close to me now, her bangs and cutesy-dot nose at the nape of my neck.
“Um,” I say, still adjusting my hair for no reason whatsoever, “dunno. We¹ll play it by ear.” Smack my lips as though I were wearing lipstick; the hell¹m I doing? “Get those clothes off pronto, missy,” I instruct, exiting the bathroom, brush a hand across her cheek in passing, “er else.”
“A to the K” by Cypress Hill is thumping, in the bedroom, and I feel like dancing. Not for practice, nothing I¹ve done a hundred million times for a paycheck. Just dumb, naked at home shyte. Twirl around, hands on my hips, lift my hair kinda sexy-like; you know.
Lisa, naked on demand, has laid herself over Michael¹s legs, watching. “This song makes me wanna smoke pot.”
I grin, in recognition, cos… well, me too. Curl my finger for her to come join me, and she gets right up. I hold my arms her direction, moving, dipping with the music, and she walks into them and we become two entwined femmes, au naturel. Michael¹s watching us, lonely and unattended-looking; someplace in that gray area between attraction to these two vixen strumpets, in their catty prance, and likes what he sees, I hope, but uncertain whether additional participants¹d be welcome.
“Michael,” I beackon. He sits upright, on call; such the little minion. “We have any coke, left?”
“Oh,” he says, full hangdog tone. How adorable. “Check the dresser, bottom drawer.”
Lisa¹s in no big hurry to let go of me, but tuff. I drop to my knees, pull open a drawer, begin the search: underwear… white-gold bracelet with the LOVERS4LIFE enscription I sometimes wear for luck… condoms, from back when Michael wasn¹t remembering to pull out in time, before I started using the pill… where is it, where?… socks, pink ribbon (pink ribbon?), stockings… Ahh — goldmine!
“Mind if I smoke?” Lisa asks. I don¹t answer, and she doesn¹t tarry for one. Walks on over, takes a pack of Merits from the pocket of her jeans which lay in a pile with her shirt and bra by the bathroom door.
“Baby,” I call, for my love, “need you.” He walks over, during my rather futile attempts to form even, separate lines of the coke on this puny tray thing without the benefit of a razor, or any other utensil specifically designed for cutting, which I¹m too lazy to commit to any more searching for. “Can you do something with this?” He takes the tray. “Like her..?”
As if he has to think, “She¹s…” he looks back, Lisa by the bathroom dancing with herself, wrist limp, cigarette amid for and middle finger, “nice.”
I shoot him a don¹t-shit-me look; we both know. “Sexy?” Can¹t tell if this is me putting him on the spot, and wonder if I should bring up the camera.
“I¹m not saying I wouldn¹t… wanna…”
“Me, either,” I chime in, getting there.
“You either, what?”
“Want. To.” He appears to be baffled, by what I can¹t begin to figure given the events of the last twenty minutes. “Michael. Sweetie. There are three adults, completely nude, in the same room — you, me and that hottie in the corner. Do the math.” Oops, easy on the Œtude. I retrieve the tray, break our fleeting bit of tension, and gingerly sprinkle the caine on my chest. Have to arch my back a little so it clings and even then some falls in a tiny white cloud; yeah, this probably wasn¹t the most efficient method, was it. Anyway, I hold my arms out like so, exposing my powdered bosom to Michael, who leans in and sniffs between my breasts.
“Ooh, me next,” Lisa squeals, probably having overheard our conversation about her but she doesn¹t bust us. She takes Michael¹s place in front of me. A hand cupping, massaging Michael¹s scrotum, the heel of the other avcılar escort hand rested on my left shoulder, her cig in slow-burn, Lisa chooses one of my tits and snorts the coke in a circle around the nipple. In conclusion, she licks and nibbs my nipple, which was already erect before that.
“Hey,” I cry, in spurious protest, more because I¹ve made our drug entirely accessible to everyone except myself, than anything.
“What? You want some?” Lisa says, looks at me with schoolgirl baby blues. She scoops up a spot of white on her finger, and holds it under my nose. I vacuum the line. “Get it?”
“Got it.” Sniffle, sniffle.
“Good.” She kisses me. Another drag off her cig, paper crackling to the filter, and she trots off to locate an ashtray.
Michael helps me do more coke, and I him, til it¹s fini-tay. We get wired and skittish, and I pull him to me because I all I want at the moment is our bodies pressed together, and kiss him. Lots of tongue.
Lisa clears her throat, from somewhere behind us, turning our heads. “So. Who wants this pussy, first?” Michael and I look at one another, crack up.
“I¹ll go,” I say, kissing him. “You watch us, and get hard for it,” another kiss. “Jerk off, but don¹t come,” another kiss. “Promise me?” He nods. We kiss; deeper, longer. “Put on some music. Quiet¹s killing me.” One more of those kisses. As we go separate ways, our hands touch, parting at the tips of our fingers, and I can¹t help finding it suddenly very romantic. Could be I¹m just really, really buzzed and hypersensitive and kind of nervous and have this generally warm, cheerful feeling that¹s crept from my spine to my brain and keeps spreading through all my internal organs, one by one, and right as our fingertips disunite, my heart and some belly receive what I¹ll moniker Œthat pleasure-burn¹. Ohh.. fuck; shiver.
“Overcome” by Tricky is Michael¹s selection. Sets the mood, instantly. I move onto the bed, on my knees, begin at Lisa¹s pelvis and lick my tongue upward, over her smooth, tanned skin.. washboard midriff.. breasts — hands on her size C¹s — to her throat, and finally her lips, in one, long, continuous slick trail. As expected, Lisa¹s mouth opens the second I get there, and I plummet my tongue inside, and we carry on as such, maybe too long: our tongues collide, attack mode, wrapping together, whipping, almost violent, mouths open because there wouldn¹t be enough room if they were shut so I¹m sure Michael can see our aggressive pink-moist snakes dueling it out. I lick toward the back of her mouth, swirl my tongue over her¹s several times, and she¹s moaning well as she can with an outstretched tongue, her hand on the back of my head. Our lips connect, breathing done through nostrils so our tongues can maintain their intimate assault. This is the longest kiss of my life. I try to pull away, because I¹m able now because her hands have gone to my ass, but as my head moves back her¹s comes forward, successfully keeping her as yet unfulfilled tongue entrenched in my mouth, prolonging the kiss; there¹s no escaping. Have to be forceful, so I push her back down on the bed, but then want more, myself, and fall on top of her again. This time, I lift her head from off the pillow, get my face against her face as close as I can get us, and bury my familiar tongue deep into the confines of her mouth. This is the best kiss of my life. So good, I actually squirt on her stomach. She breaks from the kiss, looks down between us at the mess I¹ve just made, and rubs my juices all over herself, tasting her wet fingers afterward. Turned on, I swoop my head down to her chest and begin licking my come from her breasts, a finger or two of mine inside her.
I roll over on my back, pulling her onto me, kissing, tasting myself. Slap her on the ass which, somehow or another, she instinctively understands means to get that luscious pussy over my face. Lisa makes the climb, her knees bent at either side of my head. I reach up, and put my hands on her hips, and — wait. This won¹t do. I scoot back on the bed until I¹m against the headboard, sitting up just enough to where I¹ve got direct oral aim at that cunt. She moves forward, along with me, and then I¹ve got her. Or, she¹s got me; depending. She has hands full of my red hair, kind of slowly grinding her snatch into my face, looking down to watch while I get my first taste of her. She is bland; clean, non-offensive (shaved.. which is my one bias), but nothing special. I think merely the fact that I am eating another woman out — any woman, out — is sufficient. Anything sexual, bring it on. As I lick and suck at her tender inner flesh, she gets a little mist going down there. I lick it up. More replaces it, and I lick that, and soon I¹m drinking her.
“Eat it,” she groans, licentious. I have no intention of stopping.
“Nookie” by L.B. strikes up. Yeah, baby. Though, shit, now I feel like I¹m doing my routine, again, and — mmm, there goes her hips. She¹s thrusting them, pushing her cunt at my mouth and tongue, almost too hard but barely controlling avrupa yakası escort herself so my head won¹t bang against the board. I wouldn¹t really care, at this point, if that happened. I grab her hips, move my head furiously from side to side, lashing my tongue at her pussy, digging in, probing, fucking her. Her grip in my hair tightens, her face cringing. “Fuck!” I suck her hard, almost biting…
“Block Rockin¹ Beats” by the Chemical Brothers. This has become an event/contest: I am going to get this woman off, and she will experience the single most explosive orgasm ever, if she hasn¹t already…
… my thumbs have slid into the crack of her ass, and I squeeze her cheeks, and she arches her back and her thrusting become more and more erratic. She¹s coming, she says. Normally, I¹d encourage it with a dirty word or two, but I¹m too busy. Suck and slurp and suck, my hands up on her mounds, now. She holds my hands on them, sucks the fingers which are greased with perspiration. How¹re we balancing this? Michael¹s jacking off, I know it. Lisa thrusts her hips at me, couple more times, her pussy totally drenched. And, stops, holding on to what must be a monster Œgasm long as possible.
She lowers her body atop mine. We french kiss, slower, languorous. Michael has made his way to the bed, seated next to the activity. His cock is stiff as hell, so I must¹ve been wrong about that. Lisa moves to him, engaging a kiss. I watch them. Michael notices, I think asking me if it¹s ok to proceed or not. Lisa¹s arms are around his neck, and he slides his hands down around her butt. I get to my knees, again. “You ready?” Lisa asks him. I moves off the bed, and find her pack of Merits.
Lisa gets in position. “Come on,” she says, and Michael lays on her.
“Let¹s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye plays, but I go to the stereo and skip the CD; don¹t want them to have too much fun. Jealousy…? Couldn¹t be. Well, maybe just a tinge. Only natural. “Heart-shaped Box” by Nirvana; the abortion song. Yipe — too morbid, though it does rock. “Bliss” by Tori Amos; ehn.. groovy, but. Shit, just find something.
They don¹t seem to care, however. Too engrossed in eachother, in the moment. Being pretty silent, actually. I light one of the cigarettes, move around to the left of the bed and snoop: Michael is on top. They¹re, like, staring into one another¹s eyes, like they¹ve, I don¹t know, known eachother forever or at least longer than this evening. Not really moving. And then, he starts to fuck her. Shifting her, pushing her forward on the bed a little with each buck of the hips. She takes it, legs wrapped Œround his, hands on his back then his butt, grabbing him, assisting somehow. “Harder,” she craves, and he fucks her harder, his cock pistoning in and out of her womanhood. She rubs her feet up and down his legs, her hands trying to be all places at once along his backside, and he¹s not going to last. She seems to sense this, and slows the pace a bit. “Ooh, no, don¹t come just yet..” They hold the position, steadily, Lisa doing her best not to move, knowing if she does — one insignificant twitch — anything will send him over the edge; it just feels too good. Michael has bitten his lip, to prevent the premature, but not seems to be ok.
Reluctantly, cautiously, he slips out of her. She leaves him be, a moment, watching him compose himself; a gratified smile, that she¹s been proven far too much to handle all at once. What was it — two whole minutes? He never had that problem with me. Of course, cocaine never protracted anyone¹s release, either; it only heightens, never dulls. And for a man, anyway, that can be a good thing or a bad thing and occasionally both. What do I mean.. I mean, he¹s already so worked up already, add to that horny, and you¹ve got a pretty potent combination, there. Unless you practice yoga, or some sort of mind-over-matter new age metaphysical… higamajoo.. chances are, it¹ll get the better of you. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, even though the woman may want to keep going, and the man can¹t help himself, it¹s a compliment and shouldn¹t be taken as some kind of disorder. Unless, he finishes in five, and thinks it¹s all over; that¹s insulting. But, that¹s also the beauty part of men: guaranteed orgasm. It¹s why they compare sex to pizza. Women, it gets a bit convoluted. Not so easy to come, except in rare cases (and, I consider myself one of the lucky 6 %), but more often than not some major doing is needed to aid the female come.
Lessee… how far off track have I gotten….?
Lisa has moved on top of Michael, careful with her body parts. Goddamnit. I¹m horny. Are we supposed to be taking turns? He¹s my husband, after all, and… now, I sound possessive. But, hey — I had her, who¹ll be here in the morning, anyway, huh?, and he needs his fun. Oh, just copulate and get it over with, already.
She extends a hand behind her, my way. I¹m there. “Put him in me.” I smoke, pore a few things over in my mind; should I? Sooner, the better. I gently take hold of his cock, guide it to her opening. bağcılar escort Rub the head — which is kind of pale from having come once, already (why do they do that?) — against her pussy, a little, then I wipe her moisture off his dick and lick the fingers I used to do so and replace her juices with my saliva. Extra lube..? So, he can take some of me with him? Don¹t know. Put him in her.
I start crying, a little, for no reason that I can rationalize the second it occurs. Feel hypocritical, and wierd; what¹s up with me? Michael groans as he enters Lisa, and puts his hands on her asscheeks, and she immediates starts pumping and gyrating her hips, getting him acquainted with her folds and walls and all. I take a step back and watch the two of them fuck, clear the tears, smoke some more. “Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode plays, which strikes me as kind of ironic since I didn¹t put it on and hadn¹t put anything on for a while and I was enjoying it. But, I don¹t make any effort to end the song or play anything else.. just look at them, listening to the sound of their humping, his skin against her¹s as she swallows the length of his cock into her vagina – raising her hips, slamming them back down – raising them up, slamming them down – over and over, moaning as he fucks her or she fucks him, thrusting his hips so his stiff penis meets each of her bounces.
Soon, Michael climaxes. He reaches down and pulls himself out of her, and a half-second later shoots his load onto the small of her back; it is liquidy, in great amount. I don¹t bother with an ashtray — just set the cigarette on the dresser, conveniently not anywhere near cloth or paper, and not rolling, and dash over to the bed. I am behind them, again, my legs spread, knees bent to either side of his legs. My hands are on Lisa¹s shoulders. I lick my husband¹s runny cum off her. Without swallowing, I then move around her, perch atop Michael¹s chest, almost zero space between myself and Lisa, and we french kiss. She finds this amazingly kinky, and spontaneous, and just a teensy bit considerate, I guess, and she accepts the kiss, licking fresh, warm sperm from my tongue. I lick back, feeding her, smearing it across her lips, our lips, sharing him, sucking tongues; whenches in mad heat. I need to get-off, now.
“I need to get-off, now.”
Lisa just smiles and says, “Do you?”
I nod, without trying to seem desperate, which I am, terribly, mostly thinking about the weaping shit that hit me out of the blue a second ago and how at least if I¹m in the throws of passionate lovemaking — no, let¹s call it sex, instead; there¹s a difference — and start crying again it might make more sense. I don¹t trust myself, at the moment.
“What do you need?”
“Eat my pussy.”
“On your back, then.”
I¹m there. Michael and Lisa both get themselves down between my thighs. She moves her hair aside, over her shoulder, so I can see her profile. No need for that, just get busy licking. Michael knows. He¹s first out of the gate, face low down; only his nose and eyes are visible to me, meaning the rest of him, what I can¹t see, is muff diving like I asked for. That¹s the most important part, which Lisa doesn¹t seem to understand. Til she does, because Michael¹s tongue wedged in the tight yet loose within of my cunt is pretty hard to miss, and she gets cheek to cheek with him. They take turns, trading licks, doing the deed, making me squirm. A good squirm. Good ones let your partner — their friend, too, in this case — know they¹re doing what they¹re doing correctly and well, and please don¹t stop, this can only get better the more you practice. So, practice: lick it. Suck it. Bite it, even, hell. It¹s all good. They know it¹s good, because I let them know. Not with words, don¹t feel much like talking, especially. But, with how I can¹t just lay still, like a board, like someone who doesn¹t realize how lucky she is to be this multi-orgasmic, and just lays there waiting for something, that isn¹t going to happen no matter how hard one or two people try to give her that powerful, warm, giddy explosion that erupts inside and continues to erupt (in me, I¹m saying) a good three minutes. Words aren¹t necessary, then, I don¹t think: nothing substitutes a woman moaning and thrashing herself in ecstacy, the ecstacy you¹ve given her; not a hundred “You know you want it”(s), or “Yeah, right there”(s), or even “Oh yes!”(s). Well, maybe a few of those…
Sorry… sorry, what??
“Jaid. This is the man of your dreams. You¹ve been in love with him forever, and just because he¹s a terrorist and blows up buildings in his spare time, he¹s not a bad person. It makes you even hornier for him. Please, show us that.”
What does being in love have anything to do with how horny you are, here? In this place. Where am I? Got the lights. Got the camera. The crew. More crew. No closed sets today. Maybe the next one. Who cares. I¹m disoriented for just a very few moments, but in keeping with usual and customary policies and egos noone waits. Tony the Terrorist flips me over, pushes his cock slowly in my anus, the rubber of his condom hurts because he has forgotten to put any lubricant on it. Director says Lift your leg (so the audience will see his balls slap against her ass). Director says Pull her hair. Talk to him, talk dirty. I can do it on a dime, having an extensive obscene vocabulary at my disposal as I do. I am articulate.
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