When my friend Victoria Blisse asked would I like to participate in a blog to celebrate sex in the great outdoors, naturally I said yes! Here it is summer, and isn't everyone thinking about being outside, making love to that special someone? And it just so happens I have a scene from one of my books that is about just that!
I am not the only author participating in this blog hop. And there will be prizes!
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, your finger!”
he moans, and I know what he wants. I touchmy fingers to
my cock, where the pre-cum is already oozing, and I spread it over
my digits, lubricating them, before moving my hand behind him. He
leans closer over me to make it possible. I slide between his
asscheeks, feeling for his pucker, thrust my finger in, without
warning, all the way to the knuckle. Which is what he wants.
“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.
“Louder!”
“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.
