Leaning back in the office chair my thighs spread open wide accommodating to your body as you kneel between me. It almost feels like you are examining my anatomy the way your fingers and tongue explore. Your licks cause me to swell, making my clit sharp, pronounced and electric. From this position–almost hovering over your face, your fingers working from gentle to a cadenced bang is a sure way to make me pour all down your hand and face.

“I want to make you cum.”

Music to a woman’s ear.

“Do you want to watch something?”

Because it was not really planned or part of our play and I was certainly ready for you to make me cum I did not want surf around to find something that would work to get both of us off–so I went for one of my old stand-bys, one that never fails to make me cum with sweet agony, force and quite often a flood.

The screen glows, you drop between my thighs, I watch you lick and fuck me with everything but your cock. In and out I drift from flicker of solid cock hitting juicy soaking pussy to tilting  my head back into my own lost pleasures. The sounds of fucking and ambient groove drone fill the room. You bring me to these peaks, then back down, your tongue relaxing and ecstatic simultaneously.

When you look up at me to joke about how my clit is a “grower not a shower” your face glistens covered in me, wet and dripping from your lips.

“Kiss me.”

I reach out, bringing your face to mine, for a taste of me.

Back down you go. I drift and the porn becomes noise, and only and momentary images filter in through my sexed out slits of eyes.

“Cum on me.”

Yes, you have figured out, how mentioning cumming drives me closer and closer to that point. My ass begins to rock into your hand, filling your mouth. I know if I watch the screen long enough I will see our young starlet spray all over that huge rock hard cock of  a co-star.

As your face gets lost, I watch, and mutter words of cumming.

“oahh I’m gonna cum, gonna cum.”

Reassuring myself that I will cum and some sort of attempt to give you some warning of what is about to happen from within me. Harder you fingers hit, two deep inside pushing that spot, while you fist hits the fat flesh of pussy meat I have become and your mouth and tongue continue devotional devouring. Fuck Yeah... for that moment I am the happiest, lost in my cunt and in this man. The porn is gone, everything is fuzzy except the two of us–clear, focused, my cunt on fire and thumping.

“I’m gonna cum.”

Lifting your face a bit, you hand pounds harder into me and I meet each with a thrust of my own, and cum hard onto you. Because your hand and fingers are filling me I cum in slow driving river down your arm, grinding as much of your into me I can get. That moment is when I feel like you could just about shove your whole fist and arm into me and I would happily fuck it, all of it. But as soon as I come down from the heavens of my soaking cum, my pussy becomes ultra sensitive.

“Slow, slow,”

I mange to moan out.

I am a spent, wet mess of a girl, the towel under my ass, the floor, your hands, arm, face nicely covered in me.

In my sweetest post cum, I promise to be a good kitty voice…

“will you lick me some more”

Perhaps it is something about age, wisdom, a lifetime of sexuality finally in fruition–or perhaps it’s my simple assertiveness, but I am fascinated when I slip into that mode–that mode of “my turn.” My turn, to ride you, to use your cock, to show you how I like to cum.

During breaks between fucking, we play, laugh talk– but your hard glossed cock is always bouncing somewhere near my pussy. It is my favorite time to grab your shaft with a nice grip (I like a cock I can grab with my firm handshake). I cannot resist your round head this close to my lips, my pussy open from being fucked–with my grip I rub the head into me. You drip. Rubbing your cock all over my slit making the precum pour in those little silver strands I love so much.

We lay side my side your fingers and my fingers between my pages, getting me wet. I feel my self slipping into that other plane.

“put your fingers inside of me.”

Slowly you hook up, hitting the spot, my fingers work my clit and full fat lips. I am wet. The feeling of I want to cum washes over me and I take control. My hand on top of yours, your hand and fingers becomes mine, I finger fuck myself with your hand, imaging it is your cock.

Closer and closer to the edge I rock my cunt on your hand devouring it, the fist portion rubbing into my puffed out cunt. I can feel it consuming me, the fire that starts at my toes and rises slow and low over my entire body.

“oooohh I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

Whenever I say words, I cum, it always brings me there.

Shoving your hand in deeper, pulling it in, clutching and un-clutching around your digits–I drive my self to edge and right over. With my Rocky Mountain girl growl I cum in hard thrust down onto your hand, ending in tense jerk and convulsion emanating from the core of my pussy.

Slowly you pull your fingers out of me and into my mouth. Creamy.

What a nice cum.

NYC did things to me no one else has been able to, in places of fantastic beauty and in wildly inappropriately public places.

I have been known to get a thrill from cavorting in semi public locations, such as in cars on rainy side streets, darkened door ways, Starbucks bathrooms, the alley behind the Roxie, and laundry-mats–to name a few. But never so blatantly lascivious as I behaved on the day trip I took while in New York.

We went to Storm King, a 500 acre sculpture park in the Hudson Valley. The ride up consisted of lush scenery, music, and lots of pussy teasing. By the time we got there, we were giddy on each other, maybe a bit still stoned and definitely high on the smell of cock and cunt that had been filling the car. The rain was teasing us. We found a spot under a sheltered tree for our lunch. From this vantage point we could see the green hills sprinkled with masses of jutting steel art objects as they protruded through tree tops, resembling metal monsters embarking on the land–an abstract takeover of the human race.

Under the tree we ate together. I like eating with you. Eating, fucking, laughing, crying–the end.

The rain never did rain, we walked, we kissed, we walked some more, played grab ass–innocent fun–looking at art allowing happiness to filter in.

Finding ourselves sitting on a bench in front of a small pond for a big sculpture–a Roy Lichtenstein, part of Storm Kings permanent collection. The mermaid racing boat used in the 1995 America Cup and the reflection it left was our view. Hand holding, became kissing, became handling, became want–then need. I needed to feel you on my cunt, your mouth, your fingers. Cock.

I suddenly had this feeling of nothing else around me being there. On your knees between my thighs, like a movie wedding proposal, except you pull aside my soaked panties. You lick and eat and begin that slow glorious finger fucking that drifts me out to sail. I have had these experiences only a few times–where reality and the wet oil painting meet. Where the sky is a blue so deep I will never see it again, where the trees become globs of varied shades of green shimmering wet paint.

“Put two finger in” I pleaded.

“I all ready got two in” is your response.

Slut.

“Well put in three” I demand.

I’m gone, lost, my head hangs on the back of the bench, through my slit eyes I watch the sky as it shifts, the blue mixes with clouds we don’t have in California. I am sure some sort of filth is spilling out of mouth…fuck me fuck more more right there….maybe I even say I love you, my mouth leaks like my pussy sometimes.

NYC has four fingers inside of me as I rumble the jimmyjane on my swelling pussy. I feel like I am pouring a continuous river of cum. I am embarrassed for a moment, but quickly let it go.

“Do it.”

The pain is sharp as the largest part of your hand pushes through. I can now feel your entire hand, fingers, fist rubbings my velvet walls–the pain is now all bliss and fuck delight. I have pulled one tit out of the top of my tank top, pinching hard down on to my nipple–moaning, whimpering, crying for release.

My mind is nowhere, I have definitely slipped into that other realm. I know it, I feel it–I want to cum, I need to cum. Slowly, I lift my heavy head, wanting to look down at you between my thighs.

My eyes come into focus, just in time to see on the other side of the pond a mini electric tour bus full of art lovers on their excursion of the park.

Everything frezzes.

“There is a fucking bus full of tourist right behind us.”

I see them looking at us, feel their eyes. We are scared still, fear and lust is frozen inside my pussy. With your fist still inside me I watch the little bus float by, heads turn. My first fisting has come to an abrupt end as you hand pulls out of me, we attempt to regain our composure and run for the hills or more precisely to the famous Andrew Goldworthy wall, where a couple can hide and fuck and find their sweet release they so desperately need, with a little bit more privacy.

dissemination
of a whimpering mess
give me whiplash

another cheap Saturday night
as I tried to burn down the distance
between us
ass up for your viewing pleasure
he had me spread without debate

anyway—
Fuck it!

it’s a fast fucking love story
mind fucks
mouth fucks
cunt fucks
full fucked throttle

a fast– mother fucking love story
foot on the peddle
hand buried deep
up my skirt, searching
for a fit—for blazing heat