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Author:

siktici
(C) 2017
As I entered my dark bedroom, he grabbed me and ripped off my bath towel. His eyes were wild, his breathing labored, but it wasn't trauma that caused his actions.

He spun me around. I felt his breath on my neck and felt his thick chest hair tickle my back. I smelled moonshine fueling his ambition, and through all of this, I felt scared that he wouldn't do what he dared.

Dropping to his knees, he sniffed my scent, slapped my ass into burning, bent me forward, and with his tongue in my man-pussy, sent me to heaven.

I felt expertly used—the kind of use that made a man close his eyes, slack his body, and expand with lust. I opened my ass like a sidewalk café—al fresco—and waited for his assault.

And when it came, there wasn’t crashing waves, no bombs bursting in air. Roughly grabbing my ass cheeks, he parted me like a loaf to scooped out my grit and funk, to smell the backdoor of my basement. Moans, impressive tongue lashings, and ravenous slobbers came together with rough treatment and profanity to only open me up more, which caused me to challenge his efforts to impose his will.

Tossing me on the bed, he pushed me into positions that defied gravity: on my back, ass up, his head smashed between my cheeks. With my hands holding me up and my head to the ceiling, he ate me like a watermelon. On my back with my upper torso off the bed, he had all-access to my now juicy man-pussy. And the piece de resistance came when he held my ass up like a punch bowl, legs up and pointing east and west to tongue-spear me until he drained my entire body of cum.

Tossing me back to the bed, still in my throes, he sat his solidly hairy ass on my face, with his squishy hole hovering above my mouth, and after ordering me to stick out my tongue, he lowered over it as if it was a big cock.

I tried to hold my breath through the long passages of his sliding up and down my tongue, but several times I had to protest the deprivation. He started rising briefly, before immediately sitting, which caused me to grab the air like a thief.

But we soon fell into agreement: I did as he ordered and got air when he allowed. He could hold off no, longer; his assring clenched my tongue with such force that it caused a bit of pain, but his impulses softened to gentle squeezes on my tongue.

I felt the first volley of cum land thickly heavy on my forehead and beyond. Then another, and another, as he bucked and pitched out his nut-blasting orgasm. And for this, I gratefully suffered deprivation, but somehow, I wanted to be deprived, because I wanted to strain from him his ultimate explosion of pleasure mixed with exquisite pain—the type of pleasure-pain that surely came from the heavens.

After the last shudder and stroke of lightning through his body, he rolled away into a mass of heaving groans that trailed to sated sighs of overwhelming pleasure while I fought for delicious life-saving air. We cooed and whispered in the afterglow until dreams took us.