chrysoscelis

== Results from http://bdsmtest.org/ ==
100% Bondage Giver
89% Degradation Giver
87% Sadist
83% Dominant
80% Primal (Predator)
71% Exhibitionist
71% Master/Mistress
71% Non-monogamist
71% Voyeur
55% Primal (Prey)
54% Switch
30% Vanilla
29% Bondage Receiver
15% Degradation Receiver
9% Masochist
5% Submissive
4% All-Rounder
4% Slave
See my results online at http://bdsmtest.org/result.?id=380806

She was small and dark, with the fierce pride of a woodland hawk. She did not understand compromise, everything she did was an all out assault to reach her goals. Her eyes cut through flesh like razors, seeing what lay beneath. Very few could hold her gaze, but somehow, I was one. Perhaps that is why she chose me, I cannot say otherwise. I became her One. She would do anything to pleasure me, try anything to see if she could please me more. She seldom let me cum inside her, preferring instead to wear my cum proudly upon her person, like a badge of honor. She loved the taste and feel of my jizz upon her skin and would massage it into her breasts and face. Too be so petite, she had amazingly generous breasts, which she most often hid under loose fitting clothing, unless she dressed up for my pleasure. She would enter a chic nightclub, dressed to the nines and drop dead gorgeous, wearing my ejaculate still splattered across her face and hair. She had absolutely no shame, did not even understand the concept of it. She would seduce other women and bring them to our bed if she thought this act might enhance my pleasure. There was nothing she would not do.

I was young and ambitious, I lacked enough experience of the world to appreciate just how unique she was. My lofty dreams to change the world carried me across the sea, far away. I returned years later, humbled and broken by failure and corruption. I limped back home, serving as cook on a freighter, seeking only to find a quiet place to hide until I could salvage what was left of my confidence and esteem. I told no one of my journey. How she learned of it, I do not know, but there she was, waiting at the quay when the freighter berthed. She took my hand and began to heal me with her eyes.

Estella has been silently pouting in her corner for some days, weeks? now. I do tend to focus very intently upon the task at hand, and my latest project has required my undivided attention for an extended period of time. But all is about to come to fruition, as I solder the last electrical connection. The time has finally come to test my latest creation as I make one last check on the government surplus Cray supercomputer running in the next room in its enclosed controlled environment. I've often wondered just which agency let such a jewel go, and what tech they must have used to replace it. All systems go! I hand Estella what appears to be a black stocking cap with a cable running from it and request she place it upon her head. She can't really see the microcircuitry, sensors and electrodes imbedded in the cap, but she knows they are there, because she has borne witness to their installation. She complies without comment, although I do seem to notice a certain flash in her eyes and her nipples are protruding rather prominently through the thin fabric of her uniform. I don a similar device and let the systems initialize and calibrate to our individual physiologies. After an eternity of waiting (possibly five minutes), the ready light turns green.

I begin my first test by slowly trailing a fingertip down Estella's spine. I gasp as I feel the sensation through her brain and into mine. It works! There is a slight delay, but nothing major, only a few milliseconds. There is no sound or sight, it was simply too much bandwidth, but I did manage to include the senses of smell and taste as well.  I test this by kissing Estelle full on the lips, I pick up the aroma and taste of the strong coffee I have been liberally imbibing to see the this project to completion. The echoed feeling of my lips upon hers, the scratching of my five o'clock shadow upon her cheek are almost too much to process. I feel the warmth from each of our bodies as I pull her tightly to me, feel my arms encircling her from her point of view, feel the ache in her nipples as they rub against my chest. Her eyes widen and I realize she is feeling my throbbing erection from both sides. We tear at one another's clothing like wild beasts, buttons and zippers savagely rent to get to the other, mirrored half of our collective self. She jumps up, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling my cock inside her at the same instant. My God, to feel what she feels in this moment. The feedback is astounding, beyond my wildest theoretical dreams when I began this project. The intensity is almost overwhelming, feeling myself deep inside her from both perspectives. I feel the wall hard against her back as I maneuver her against it for more leverage. She gasps at the sensation as I manage to drive my cock yet another fraction deeper inside her. Her nails rake at my back, trying to pull me deeper still. Neither of us can maintain our control for long at this rate, the sensations are simply too raw and intense. She roars in triumph as she climaxes, very unEstella-like, but I am too lost in the moment to do other than make a vague mental note of it, as my body responds to hers in kind.

We collapse into a crumpled heap upon the carpet, breath rasping in our chests as we seek enough oxygen to continue. I feel aftershocks continuing inside Estella, as I gaze into her liquid brown eyes. Our bodies are soaked in sweat, which slowly begins to evaporate as we lie together, still entangled in one another, my cock still inside her.

"You have outdone yourself, master", she finally says, "You must forgive my boldness, but there is one thing I have always wanted to know..."

With these words, she slid off of me, repositioned her head upon my thigh, and inhaled my cock like a drowning victim finding her head suddenly above water.

I admire her pleasing form across the elegantly set table in the very exclusive restaurant I have selected for this evening. "What is your status?", I inquire. 

"I am very wet and ready to receive you, sir" is her reply. I smile wryly.

"Not just yet, I think. I want you to masturbate for me. I'd enjoy seeing you make yourself cum." I detect only the slightest hesitation as she obeys my instruction, glancing casually around the uncrowded, but far from empty space to see if anyone is taking notice. I hear her gasp as her fingertip contacts her clitoris. I sip my wine and observe a striking brunette on the far side of the dining room who appears to be aware of our little game, but is being extremely cautious not to stare in our direction. Interesting. My dining companion's nipples are now protruding obviously through the fabric of her black silk dress, as her hand works its magic between her thighs. Her head begins to tilt backward and her eyes glaze. She is a thing of beauty, living artwork, but constantly evolving under my careful tutelage. Her carefully composed breaths are becoming increasingly ragged and I watch her face closely as she drops over the edge of the orgasm and becomes completely lost in its midst. I glance at the brunette across the room and catch her absently licking her parted lips. I instruct my companion to lick her fingers clean, very slowly and deliberately teasing our voyeur. She is tall and very well made, even across the distance separating us, I can see her eyes widen at this deliberate provocation.When my companion has completed her task, I instruct her further.

"There is a very tall, striking brunette sitting behind you and to your left on the far side of the room. I wish you to approach her and kiss her. If she accepts your kiss, you are to invite her up to our rooms for an after-dinner aperitif. Do you understand your instructions?"

The soft, waxy coconut oil melts slowly into your skin as I apply it, working my way upward from your toes. The smell of it reminds me of a beach, far removed in both time and space. I leave a thick coating of the oil on your skin as I work my way up your calves, protection from the ordeal ahead. I pay particular attention to your knees, before working my way up your thighs. I oil your orifices with equal attention, then continue higher up your body. Your stomach and lower back next receive my ministrations, followed by your luxuriant breasts. I fondle them perhaps longer than strictly necessary to accomplish my task, before moving on to your shoulders and upper back. Your neck and face are next. I have a brief internal debate about your scalp and hair, before I decide in for a penny... I run my greasy fingers through your rich, dark-red hair until it is thoroughly saturated to your scalp. The time is drawing near now, as I cuff your hands behind your back, then lead you to the door. I open it, then thrust you out into the deep snow outside. I slam the door closed behind you. An hour later, I step outside to join you, hearing your teeth chatter, feeling the goose bumps which cover your skin. I shove you roughly down into the deep snow, thrusting my hardness deep into you. You cry out, whether in pain or pleasure or some combination thereof, I cannot tell and don't especially care. I take my pleasure from you as I will, using each of your holes in turn. I feel the coolness of your flesh beneath my fingers as I use you without mercy or concern. I finish with your mouth, forcing my hardness down to the depths of your throat again and again. As my breathing becomes ragged, I pull out of your throat, spraying my semen over your face and tits. Stream rises from the cum and your gasping breaths into the frigid air. I return to the cabin, slamming the door behind me. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the snik of the lock slamming home, stranding you alone in the dark and snow.

She thinks her breasts are too small, unworthy of affection. She feels they should be punished for betraying her with their diminutive size. Who am I to judge, I muse to myself as I affix the breast pump to each of her nipples. I twist the vacuum adjustment selector switch to a higher setting and hear the hiss of her sudden intake of breath as her tender nipples are pulled further into the clear cups.

I inspect my handiwork briefly, considering what should come next. I already have her neck and wrists in a set of low stocks, her nose a scant fraction of an inch from the floor, her ass high in the air. I drag the tip of my index finger slowly, lightly down her spine, briefly teasing her asshole before continuing onward to feel her incredible wetness. I am indelibly impressed by this phenomenon, her juices flowing freely down the insides of her thighs, though we have only just begun our evening's explorations. I massage her clit gently, just because I can. It seems a shame to waste such magnificent lubrication, so I slip in behind her and slide slowly inside. Her moan reminds me to dial the breast pump up another notch on the dial, and its rhythmic pulsing becomes louder, more labored. I slowly stroke in and out, but the angle is all wrong... Being the flexible and adaptable sort of fellow that I am, I rectify this unfortunate geometry by switching holes. Ah, that's much better, tighter too. She begins to moan in counterpoint to the rhythm of the milking machine. I move inside her much more slowly, hitting perhaps every fourth beat.

Once more I turn up the vacuum pump, which now sounds urgent and desperate, as if it were the one seeking release. I pick up the pace slightly, to every third beat, as I contemplate having her nipples pierced. So many possibilities there for one who desperately needs to have her breasts abused... She begins to pant hoarsely, low animal sounds escaping from deep in her throat. I begin to stroke with authority now, my balls slapping her sodden cunt with each thrust, yet still maintaining my pace. I wonder about the strange landscape that exists inside her head, how her body image became so warped that it requires penance of this nature. I wonder what this says about my own psyche and if I  really even want to go there. I feel her drawing up, the orgasm welling up like water from a spring, washing over her, washing her clean and whole through some mode of action far beyond my ken. I turn off the vacuum pump and release the stocks, knowing that there will be tears in her eyes. Not tears of pain or humiliation, but of some half-understood spiritual rejuvenation.

I withdraw from her, still fully erect, walk over to the bed and collapse onto my back. She soon wriggles her way up between my thighs, her eyes still wet, but with the fire of excitement and arousal in them. She takes my cock deep down her throat with no preliminaries and no hesitation. She pleasures me slowly, varying her timing and depth. I know full well that she can keep this up for hours, once again in some sort of obscure compensation for her small breasts. If she really wanted larger breasts, they could be surgically enhanced, I know, but would I continue to benefit from her self-perceived shortcomings then? I watch her breasts as she slowly sucks me, observing the distended nipples and expanded areolas left by the breast pump. I wonder what she would say if I ever told her what I really think, that her breasts are the perfect compliment to the rest of her long, lithe body...

Estella, as always, is my able assistant as I troubleshoot a slight malfunction with one of the modifications I have made to the new bed. Some of my friends have commented that she is the female equivalent of P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves, only with benefits; however, I consider this to be a slight exaggeration of the true state of affairs. Aside from "Yes, Master" or "Yes, Mistress", she rarely speaks, having gone for weeks at a stretch uttering no other words. This is not due to any lack of intellect, indeed, I rather think that she has one of the sharper minds it has ever been my pleasure to encounter. It is simply that she doesn't talk unless she has something to say. When she does speak, I have learned to listen closely and give her my complete and undivided attention and to carefully consider any suggestion she might make.

My idea was to make the bed vibrate. Not the "Magic Fingers" type of vibrations, but something more along an industrial scale, like a vibrating conveyor or vibrating table for handling waste materials from industrial processes. Most of these devices are speed adjustable and can easily shift tons of material per hour. Which leads to the current problem...

Estella is riding me in a reverse cowgirl position, the bed bouncing us up and down several inches per cycle, riding my cock with that exquisite ass that so frequently distracts me from the task at hand. And once again, we fall off the end of the bed, landing on the pile of pillows Estella placed there after our first trial went awry. With some sort of ninja suction, Estella has managed to retain my cock inside her, and I feel the peristaltic waves of sphincter muscle contractions which are the only indication she ever gives of orgasm. Her self control is extraordinary. I belatedly reply in kind, pumping my seed deep into her beautiful ass. Perhaps if I reverse the position of the pair of shackles on this end of the bed, a pair of phenolic resin springs which prevent the bed from bouncing to pieces...

"Hand me a nine-sixteenths socket and combination wrench, please," I request, halfway under the recalcitrant bed. Estella already has them in her hands, waiting for me to ask for them. As I begin to work on the second shackle, I am pleasantly surprised as she takes my cock into her mouth. Estella doesn't need to use words to ask for sex. She has found a much more effective means of communication. By the time I emerge from underneath the bed, my task complete, all systems are go for another test.

"Hopefully, this time, it should bounce us to the middle instead of the edge."

The round bed is definitely overkill. The ten foot diameter was a bit ambitious for the size of the bedroom, but I wanted you to be comfortable as you slept between my legs each night. Then, of course, there were the custom alterations I had made after it arrived, but I felt it only proper to surprise you with these. The suspension rig hanging over the precise center of the bed, while evident, still held a few highly-engineered secrets of its own. Estella awaited your arrival home with well-concealed anticipation, kneeling in her usual corner. She had her orders.

You arrive with your customary flood of enthusiasm, the relentless tide of a life lived at full volume, impossible to evade or escape, even if one so desired. You pretend to admire the bed with the slightly patronizing air of a woman for a man and his toys. I think perhaps that this toy might just grow on you. I relax in my armchair as Estella arises to prepare you for our evening's treat.

You kiss her fondly as she disrobes you slowly, massaging your shoulders, kissing that spot I showed her at the nape of your neck, the one that makes you shiver and your nipples grow firm. I watch with feigned indifference from my chair, as first your dress and then your panties find their way to the floor.

Estella kneels before you for that most intimate kiss. You manage to endure her ministrations but scant moments before I see your knees begin to quaver and you slip backward onto the new bed. Estella never misses a lick (so to speak) as she follows you onto the bed, a slave of immeasurable talents. Your rapid, yet deep breathing brings a smile to my lips, as I know your time is drawing near. You grab fistfuls of Estella's long, dark hair, cursing and calling her filthy name, demanding that she perform obscene acts upon your person, to which she willingly, perhaps almost eagerly, complies. The air is rent by your orgasm, as violent as a thunderclap.

In the aftermath, Estella arises and slowly begins rigging you into the sling which will then attach the the suspension rig above. By the time you begin to regain your senses, you are already airborne, your legs displaying that amazing flexibility gained by years of training in gymnastics.

As I rise from my chair, Estella helps me to undress, then takes my member deep down her throat to assure that I am well-lubricated. Estella is indeed a wonder! I slip onto the bed and slide slowly beneath you. When our sexes are aligned to Estella's satisfaction, she presses a button on the remote, and, ever so slowly, you begin to descend. She presses a second button and the entire bed, myself included, begins to rotate slowly beneath you, inside you. Everything happens so slowly, yet inexorably. Estella watches us with fascination, her lips still moist with your cum. She licks them absently, tasting you yet again.

After a lifetime, our pelvises meet. Estella changes your course and you head heavenward just as slowly as you came down. In my orders to Estella, I had given her carte blanche to control the mechanism as she saw fit. Perhaps our slave is a closet sadist? But she does know us better than we even know ourselves...

After an eternity of slow teasing, Estella begins to fuck us in earnest, activating the air-driven piston that bounced you up and down on my cock, a spring catching and slowing you just at the right moment, before propelling you upward again. She also increased the rate of rotation of the bed. As your face passed through my line of vision, I saw your eyes begins to roll up into the back of your head and I knew we were due for a massive quake. I felt your muscles lock around me, almost pulling my hips up off the bed as you screamed something primal. Unable to hold back any longer, I exploded inside you, triggering another temblor.

Estelle at some point let you down and crawled out onto the bed to unharness you. After she was done, we both took her in our arms and demonstrated repeatedly and at great length just how truly fond of her we were.

I have decided that you would benefit from some classical conditioning, something similar to Ivan Pavlov's dogs. Of course, I do not inform you of this course of action. I investigate various fucking machines until I find one which meets my specifications. After it has been delivered and set up, I have you straddle it, then cuff your hands behind your back. I attach a line to the cuffs which runs through a pulley in the ceiling, allowing me to adjust the angle of your upper body by simply pulling downward on the free end, causing your arms to rise behind you. I complete my work by installing a rope-grab device sold by ship chandlers for the purpose of controlling the set of a sail.

Now I can set you in a similar fashion. I plug in our new toy and adjust the remote control to my satisfaction. Your eyes go wide in response to the stimulatory vibrations. I know from experience that your first orgasm of the night is not far off, so I lube up my cock and slip in behind you. When I sense you beginning to cum, I slide my cock up your ass until it bottoms out, as I feel the orgasm rippling through your body. Once you relax, I pull out again, awaiting the next one.

I play with the speed of the remote, adjusting it faster or slower as I read your body language; and, when you begin to cum again, I again slip my cock deep inside you. I estimate that we can repeat this process 5 or 6 times a night, at least. I wonder how long it will take until all I have to do to make you cum is slide my cock in your ass.

I hear gravel crunching under tires in my drive. Moments later you stand in my doorway, leather collar around your neck and leash in your outstretched hand. I do not take it from you, but invite you inside. It is evident from your body language that you are very nervous and excited. I take your coat and show you into the living room. I ask you to stand upon the coffee table and you obediently comply, twisting the leash nervously in your hands. I ask if you enjoy dancing, and when you nod in the affirmative, I ask you to dance for me. You begin self-consciously, uncertainly. I ask if you would like some music. You nod again and I begin flipping slowly through the music channels on the television. I see it in your eyes and movements when I hit the right channel. you find your rhythm and your body begins to flow in time to the music. I take a seat on the couch and watch you dance for me.

Most men do not look at you twice, but they cannot see the organic truth that lies just beneath the surface of your skin. You take my breath away each and every time I see you. After watching you for a lifetime or two, I ask you to strip for me. You remove your clothing slowly, teasingly, putting on a show for me alone. All too soon, it seems, you stand upon the coffee table dressed in nothing but high-heeled Italian pumps with matching leash and collar. At my request, you begin to run your hands over your body, pinching your already rock-hard nipples, running your fingertips down across your mons and inner thighs. I hear your gasp of pleasure as you cup your beautiful breasts in your hands. I can smell your need as I order you to rub your clit, watching you closely as you edge ever closer to orgasm. Finally, you can stand it no more and begin to buck against your fingers, moaning. The shudder seems to emanate at your toes and roll upwards, shaking you like a rag doll, even though you have not received permission to cum. You begin to sway precariously in your heels upon the table and I stand to catch you before you can fall.

I sit back down a little hard, holding you in my arms and covering you with kisses. Your eyes are the color of a stormy sea and I lose myself in their depths for a time. I see the desire rising again within them and my hand seemingly moves of its own accord to seek out your need. You moan with pleasure as you wrestle open my fly and find my eager cock awaiting your soft lips, gentle tongue and talented throat. You continue to suck me even after I explode deep down your throat, knowing exactly how to keep me hard for more. You slide my cock deep up your ass as you face me, moaning softly, stoking your clit again, knowing how watching you masturbate makes me crazy. Soon you begin to rock slowly, riding my cock as the pressure builds within you. I grasp the leash and pull your lips roughly to mine as your cascading orgasm overtakes us both, triggering my own. You slump against my chest, spent, our heartbeats thundering in our ears like crashing waves.

Thought for the day: Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Your first attempts to deep throat my cock had gone poorly, very poorly, if the truth be told. But I do have to give you an "A" for effort, as you dry heave on the floor at the foot of my chair. It seems as though you have quite the gag reflex, I reflect ruefully. Well, I suppose there is no time like the present for some appropriate remedial action.

"Come," I say, as I rise and pull you to your feet, admiring the Italian pumps which are your only article of clothing at present. I stop at the front door, remove my old trench coat from the coat rack, and hold it for you to slip into. It's too large for you, of course, reaching down almost to your ankles and tending to slide down off of either shoulder and expose much of your magnificent breasts. You look at me curiously, wondering what is going on in my head, as usual, but you have learned better than to ask.

"Time to do some grocery shopping," I reply to your unasked question. Now you truly look puzzled, as I pause to wipe a speck of drool from your lip, before leading you out the door.

We return an hour later and I take our small parcel to the kitchen sink and thoroughly wash the seedless red grapes we have purchased, even though they were organically grown. You have hung my coat back upon its peg and are once again clad only in Italian leather. I smile, thinking about our outing.

"Everyone we met suspected you were nude underneath that coat," I say with a laugh, "I don't think we fooled anyone." It is evident that the thought excites you. "That young red-headed cashier blushed most admirably when I caught her staring at you," I say, "Perhaps there is a seed of an adventure there yet to be explored." You manage a rather respectable blush of your own at the thought.

Finally, the grapes are washed to my satisfaction and I transfer the cluster to an elegant china dish before returning to my chair. You kneel at your accustomed place at my hand, as I place the dish of grapes on a walnut side table. The grapes are a still life of richest red, varying in size from only slightly larger than a pea to a handful scarcely smaller than ping pong balls. I select one of the smallest. "Open," I say. And obediently, you part your luscious lips for me and allow me to place it upon your wantonly sensuous tongue. "Now, swallow."

We repeat the process leisurely, gradually working our way up to larger and larger grapes. I see tears in your eyes once or twice, but you manage to swallow them all whole, without gagging or choking. Without realizing when exactly, we suddenly become aware that you have crossed some threshold, that your gag reflex appears to be extinguished, at least for the moment. I stand and you unzip my fly.

"Open..."

After you disrobe for me, I cuff your hands above your head in an arched doorway lit only by oil lamps. After tying your ankles widely apart, I slip the blindfold down over your eyes, leaving you vulnerable and helpless to resist what is coming next. I give your anticipation time to mount before I slowly begin to caress your body with a peacock's feather, pausing between each stroke to observe its effects. Your nipples quickly grow hard under my ministrations as I vary the timing and placement of each pass to maximize your anticipation of the next. You gasp and break out in goose flesh as I trail only the faintest wisp of contact ever so slowly down your spine.

Soon you body begins to quiver uncontrollably with every faint touch, yearning for firmer contact as your body arcs with pleasure, attempting to increase the sensation, to rub yourself against the diaphanous feather and you moan with frustration as it lightly slips away yet again. You feel the wetness between your legs as I tease the insides of your thighs, feeling the pressure building as your pelvis thrusts outward in response to my incessant teasing. I decide to introduce a joker into the deck and cut you hard across the backs of your thighs with a riding crop, only to resume teasing you with the feather again seconds later. I am pleased to note that other than a rather loud intake of breath, you made no sound.

I vary the timing and application of crop and feather to defeat any possibility of your predicting which might next touch your tender flesh, or where contact might occur.  Finally, your body reaches its threshold of stimulation and you begin to cum wildly, maddeningly, endlessly orgasming again and again, laughing and crying simultaneously as orgasm after orgasm pulses through your body, burning like an electrical current. As your wrists are released from their bindings you sink to your knees in exhaustion and exhilaration.

I smile at you with a hungry look which reminds you of the way the cat looks at the canary. "Did you remember your bag?" I ask.
You pull it out of the back seat, and look at me with a wicked grin of your own. "Right here," you say.
"The storm should be here soon," I remark, looking at the darkening sky. We hurry through the parking lots and across the campus to reach our building of choice. My bag is slightly larger than yours, with an odd, bulky protrusion. As I hold the door for you, the first drops begin to fall and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance.
Your eyes dance with excitement and anticipation as you study my face closely. Not one you would describe as handsome, exactly, but lots of character in the lop-sided grin and intense brown/green eyes. A few lines and a hint of gray in my mustache and at the temples of my closely-cropped hair, but you can't believe that this guy is really forty-six. More like mid-thirties. "It's the stairwell by Room 215," I say. "Think you can make it up eight floors?"
"I'll wait for you at the top," you riposte smoothly, as we find the stairwell door and begin the climb to the top, "Old man." I swat you on the butt playfully and let you take the lead, more to admire the view, than because I'll have any trouble keeping up. We both reach the top together, only slightly winded, and pause to study the door to the roof. "Is it alarmed?" you ask.
"I was told not" I reply, removing a plastic card from my wallet and impressing myself at any rate by successfully loiding the lock on the first try. "Ready?" Your sparkling eyes are reply enough. As we walk out onto the graveled rooftop, we are greeted by a flash of lightning, closely followed by an amazingly loud boom. The freshing wind ruffles your hair playfully and your nipples become even more prominent, as we hurriedly strip off out clothes and place them haphazardly in the plastic bags. It begins to rain in earnest now, large lazy drops which are surprisingly cold. I pull the bulky object from my bag-- a self-inflating sleeping bag mattress-- and open the valve. As it does its thing we admire the view and each other.
You see six feet and two-hundred pounds of male with a rather pronounced farmers' tan, reasonably well-muscled, but from work rather than time spent in a gym. A slight thickening around the waist seems almost inevitable. My erection is impossible to hide, even if I were so inclined. No huge, slightly longer than average, perhaps slimmer than most. As our eyes meet, we move together for a full-body contact kiss, heedless of the building storm around us. I tease your lips with my tongue, rather than just trying to thrust it as deeply as possible into you. My lips seek out the soft hollows of your throat while my hands caress your now slippery wet back and buttocks.
Our urgency increases as thunder crackles all around us and my lips find your proud, hard nipples, sucking them hungrily, greedily. Slowly, ever so slowly, my mouth works its way ever lower, teasing the soft hollows between hip and navel with slow flicks of my tongue and gentle, tempting kisses. The wind whips around us, driving the rain against our exposed skin, the sensation just short of stinging as my lips pass over your mons. My hot breath against your lips is a dramatic contrast to the coolness of the water flowing in streams over our bodies. I inhale your incense as my tongue parts your moist lips in the most intimate of kisses. You moan loudly and press my face into your clit, wishing my hair were longer so you could entwine your fingers in it. I lick you slowly, deliberately, bringing you ever closer to release. As lightning strikes somewhere nearby, I feel your spasms radiate outward and your body begins to shudder uncontrollably. You push me onto the pad and mount me violently, taking my full length with the first thrust of your hips. You ride me urgently, desperately, grinding your pelvis into my soul as your breath catches in your throat. Your orgasm grips you like a seizure as your scream is carried away by the wind.
Desperate now to make me cum, you maneuver me into a standing position against the parapet wall and drop to your knees on the mat. You take my cock deeply down your throat, watching me to gage my reaction. It must have been favorable, because you did it again, taking me still deeper. Your hands find my balls and ass, squeezing and burying your face in my sodden pubic hair. As you sense my peak approaching, you pull back, allowing my jizz to splatter over your face and breasts, only to be instantly washed away.