But wait, there's more!
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So, let's talk about sex in the great outdoors. Back to nature. Doing what comes naturally. Yes, I confess to having had sex outside, a long time ago, granted. One time in a swimming pool. My neighbor's pool, actually, but that's another story. Gosh, some of my stories are as X rated as my books! lol
So here's my excerpt. It's from To the Max. Max and Richard are longtime lovers. Max is under a lot of pressure, so one day, Richard surprises him by taking him on a trip to their piece of land on the Big River... and you'll see what happens. Enjoy!
I doze off a little bit, and when I waken he has lunch already laid out, merely waiting for me. And he insists on feeding me everything with his own fingers, pampering me and spoiling me outrageously. The cheeses and the bread. The fruit. And the chocolate. And wine. I eat it up, naturally. The attention, I mean, along with the food. And while he feeds me, he reads to me. And compares me to a summer day. How beautiful. How sublime.
But still I want more.
“When do I get my dessert?” I want to know.
“You want more chocolate?” he asks, giving me his innocent look.
“No, dammit, you know what I want.”
He reclines beside me, so much like a Greek god, one hand behind his head, the other holding a cigarette, one leg crossed lazily over the other. I have given him special dispensation to smoke around me today. Normally I don’t tolerate it, at least not in enclosed spaces. Not that he listens all of the time, but he tries, I’ll give him that much. And I try not to be quite so anal retentive, but it’s a matter of my heightened olfactory senses, the smoke is just very hard on my nose.
I never get tired of looking at him; he is just so incredibly gorgeous. Is it any wonder that I am also jealous? He can get anyone he wants, and I know it. They all— male and female—flock to him like
moths to a flame. And yet he is with me. Go figure.
He takes a last drag from his cancerstick and stuffs it down the neck of the empty wine bottle, where it sizzles and drowns in the dregs of the wine we have left behind before opening the second bottle. I won’t allow him to toss it in the river or on the beach, and I made my feelings known years ago about not tossing butts out the car window onto the street, so now he doesn’t do it, at least not when we’re together. I can’t be sure what he does when I am not there.
I kiss each of his lovely knees tenderly, maneuvering in between them in one lithe motion, on my own knees. And then I bend my head and nuzzle his beautiful cock, running my tongue over his balls. He shivers. “Is that all you want?”
“It’s a start,” I reply before taking those lovely creamy balls, so firm, so nicely packed, into my mouth and lave them most lovingly.
“Yes, it’s a good start,” he concurs, his fingers lightly caressing my hair as I work on him.
This is what I have been waiting for. There is something about making love outdoors, and especially with the added element of possibly being caught at it, that serves to heighten the sensations that even now run rampant through me. Being with Richard makes me forget everything else. And everyone else. They all recede into that nebulous region of some other time, deal-with-it-later land. My mother, her bigoted boyfriend, Amy, her coquettish nephew—not here, not now. Now there is only Richard and me.
I move my attention now to his big lovely cock, and my tongue makes patterns on the shaft, swirls and loops and numbers and such. He tightens his grip on my hair, so I know that he is pleased. “If you get that wet enough, we won’t need lube,” he murmurs softly. My own erection grows even bigger at that, knowing exactly what he means, what he intends to do. I reach up and twist his nipples, not too gently, not too hard. He groans his appreciation.
I make sure now that my tonguing is getting his cock nice and juicy, so it will slide smoothly inside of me—not that it doesn’t always do that, it does; my Richard is a master cocksman, after all. And I go no further with that thought, determined not to let anything spoil this day. I make sure to tongue his slit, ’cause I know he likesthat. I know everything my baby likes. After more than twenty years together, I should, after all.
“Yes, oh yes, Max,” he moans, “suck on me, my little wolf, suck harder,” he encourages, and I oblige, more than willing to do that for the man I love so much. I tickle all his favorite spots and even graze my teeth along his length, just the way he likes. But just as I feel that he is on the brink of his orgasm, he pushes my head off. “No, Max, stop, not like that, I have other plans.”
He pulls me up toward him and rolls me over on the blanket, his hardness pressing wetly against my stomach, where I have juiced it up. He leans down; his breath is warm in my ear, and his voice alone is making me tingle.
He brushes his fingers over my lips, exploring their contour, maneuvering around each and every curve, even though he knows them so very well. “Suck on these, baby. Do your thing to me,” he moans, and I take his fingers inside my mouth and moisten them for him. Suck on them like they are mini-cocks. When they are wet enough he pulls them out, kisses me sweetly, and then moves his hand between my legs. “Spread your legs, honey-child,” he murmurs, “daddy’s got somethin’ for you….”
I would tell him to forego the stretching, but I know he won’t listen, so I save my breath. Richard is always a considerate lover, not wanting to harm me in any way, not physically anyway. He insists on making sure that I am prepared to take him. Today is no exception. He pushes his fingers inside of me carefully, one at a time, pausing to let me adjust to the feel of each one, to relax that ring of muscles that stands guard against unwelcome intrusion at my entrance, which he is not and never could be. And at the same time, he moves his finger around inside of me, trying to ring my bell.
Which he almost always manages to do.
“Richard!” I gasp, jumping when he finds my prostate. Again. And again. I am arching my back now, pushing against his three fingers, which fill me so completely, although I know there is more to follow. My hand goes to my painfully hard cock, but he pushes it away with a small growl. “No, mine!”
I whimper, but I don’t argue. I never do; I allow him to do as he will. It is the nature of our relationship. It is and ever has been our way.
He pulls his fingers out now, and now he is positioning himself between my legs. He takes my legs and moves my hips up so that he can gain better access. I shiver in delicious anticipation as he pushes his cock just to my opening and pauses. “Richard,” I whimper.
“What, my little studmuffin?” he teases me, running his fingers over my chest, across my hardened nipples, squeezing them briefly.
“In me, please,” I moan rather needily, not caring at the moment how I sound, only knowing that I want to be filled with him—now.
As if this is the sign he has been waiting for, he pushes completely into me with one swift move, skewering me with his cock. I gasp as I receive him. No matter how often we might do this—and I assure you, that we do this often—the first feel of his cock inside of me produces the same reaction. The same sensations wash over me as they did the first time that my Richard made love to me, if anything, heightened over the years, with practice. “Is this what you need? What you want? What you crave?” He punctuates each sentence with his cock, thrusting into me again, and again, and again….
“Yes,” I manage to get out, “yes, what I want… unhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” I simply lose my words and give myself over to the pleasure of him inside of me.
Sometimes making love is tender and sweet and drawn out, while at other times it is fast and hard-hitting and almost pleasurably brutal. It doesn’t matter which it is, as long as we both agree on it. We always seem to be of one accord, one mind, when it comes to most things, and sometimes no words need to be spoken to communicate what and how we feel. We are truly one soul with two bodies; this I do sincerely believe.
Sometimes it is both ways in a single day.
He pulls himself nearly completely out, only the very tip of his cock remaining inside of me, then suddenly slams back inside in a move that is calculated to take my breath away. And it does! “Like that, baby?” he coos as he feels me jump.
“You know I do,” I moan. “More, Richard, more!”
He slams back into me again, so hard that his balls slap against my ass with a wet sound. God, how good that feels.
“Want that, baby?” he croons throatily.
“Yes, yes!” I beg and plead for more. Again he pistons inside of my tight channel, setting a frantic pace, a driving rhythm. His hand wraps itself about my cock, and he strokes my hard-on in time to that same driving rhythm. His blond hair falls in a veil across his face, his eyes closed in concentration now, as he works at pleasing me, and a light sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. That motive alone would be enough to please me, much less what he is doing, the wonder that is him inside of me. It’s a feeling that never grows old, never grows stale, and at moments like these, I know we will last forever.
“Max!” he screams my name, and I am gratified by the deep lust in that voice, the pleasure that is derived from me and me alone. “Harder!” And I push in more, until one whole finger is engulfed in his tightness.
He grabs my mouth, pulling my lower lip almost brutally into his mouth, biting it so hard he draws blood. I move my hips in an effort to match his pace, twisting my finger, touching his pleasure zone. He arches against me, in me, around me. We are so firmly enmeshed that we are one. I am oblivious to all around me, and I’m glad that none of our friends ever come down here unannounced, for they know they do so at their own peril.
He sucks at the blood as it spills from my lip, a little harder than usual, and when he throws back his head, it trickles down his chin. He locks eyes with me, and they blaze with the heat of the moment, and with love, yes, I know that’s what he feels for me, true love. This is something that cannot be faked, something that is truly hard to find.
“Tell me who you love, Max?” he whispers in my ear warmly.
“Richard,” I moan, pushing in again with my finger.
“Richard!” I raise my voice.
“Again!” he commands.
“Richard!” I howl his name to the skies as my orgasm strikes, my pulsating cock shooting all over his hand in great sticky ropes.
“Max!” he echoes as he releases his own passions within me, flooding me with his ejaculate deep inside. If I were a woman, the way we go at it, I’d have been pregnant a long time ago. I guess it’s lucky for me I’m not, or we’d have a lot of children by now. Or not.
And when he is done, he collapses upon me, and we are a tangled sweaty heap of limbs, tired but sated as we kiss now, softly, gently, tenderly, the way it could not be done during our wild coupling.
He whispers terms of endearment to me, croons love’s tunes, and his hands are soft and tender as they push back the hair from my brow, while I in turn caress his face and gaze lovingly into his eyes.
“Pretty baby.” He nuzzles my face, rolling me over, reversing our positions so that he is on bottom, and I am cradled on top of him.
“Close your eyes, take a nap,” he encourages me, wrapping the comforter over us, just in case someone should float by while we’re unable to hear anything.
And there we lie, taking a siesta ’neath the drowsy afternoon sun. Only Richard and me, in love to the max, and no one else to disturb this idyllic interlude.