0 comments/ 21988 views/ 4 favorites My Sunday With You Part 1 By: Gaucho Sunday morning. I awake to the exquisite sensation of you mouthing my cock. For several minutes I lie there, savoring the touch of your lips and tongue. Your movements are unhurried, almost deliberate. It’s as though you’re practicing an erotic form of Tai Chi, each motion enacted with a timeless devotion for perfection. Every gentle swipe and lick from your tongue, each delicate buss from your lips, is done to a quiet rhythm, its beat known only to you. There is no urgency or need as your mouth descends and my cock slides deeper and deeper until it comes to rest in the confines of your throat. This is, after all, only the beginning of our day together. I open my eyes. The covers are drawn back and you have positioned yourself on all fours, facing me. With your long, luxuriant hair splayed like a fan, your face blankets my loins, hiding them in a dark, feathery cloud of moist delight. Your hair slopes over your shoulders; beyond, your back narrows just above the rounded sweep of your buttocks. Your legs straddle one of mine and only now do I become aware of the cauldron of slick heat that perches lightly atop my knee. It’s clear that you have arranged your tableaux with great care, knowing exactly the imagery you wanted to greet me with. I press upward gently with my knee and your throat muscles vibrate around my cock as you chuckle. You raise your head and, like a cork from a bottle, your mouth releases me with a muted popping sound. Your eyes meet mine and your smile is flanked by cheeks that glow with a special fire. Is it the excitement alone, I wonder, or are you blushing, surprised by your own wantonness? “He wakes,” you murmur. For a moment you lean back, grinding your swollen clit against my knee. Your eyes close and a series of sighs escape your mouth like exclamations. Then your smile broadens into a grin and you crawl towards me. Your full breasts bob and sway, the distended nipples lightly grazing my chest. Your hair trails behind you like a net of gossamer thread. I reach my hands through the silky strands and curl my fingers against your scalp. Your breath warms my cheek. “Mornin’, lover.” The words are spoken into my mouth and your tongue follows them with abandon. For a moment – the briefest of moments – my mind recalls a line that I’d read somewhere (“I wasn’t kissing her. I was whispering in her mouth.”). Then all conscious thought is gone, replaced by your overwhelming warmth and passion. Our tongues dart and mingle like newborn pups and I taste my scent on your lips. You moan as my fingers dig into your shoulder muscles before gliding down your spine to cup your ass cheeks. The heat from between your legs radiates like a flame against my fat, twitching cock. Your hips swivel from side to side as you seek to join us together. Your mouth leaves mine and your tongue lashes a trail circling my earlobe. “Hitch me up, honey,” you breathe into my ear. “I wanna go for a ride.” The last word is drawn out, lingering in the air like the musky aroma of your sex. My fingers stroke the outer folds of your cunt, spreading them wide for my leaky pole. I’ve never felt you this wet before; your juices cover your ass cheeks and the inside of your thighs like grease. Your wetness excites me so much that my cock jumps and brushes your clitoris. You cry out at the contact and a jolt of electricity surges through us both. For a split second we pause, staring at each other. Then we are both giggling like schoolchildren. Our first laugh of the day. In the moments it takes us to recover – not hurriedly, to be sure; like so many moments of today, this one seems to take on a dimension of its own and time does not intrude on it – I reflect upon the sound of your laughter and the joy it brings me. For me, it is like music from heaven. Our second attempt at coupling succeeds in lodging the head of my penis securely inside you. Before I can start thrusting, you stop me. Placing your hands on my chest, you raise up into a sitting position. You balance there for a moment, your thighs like bands of velvet steel. You close your eyes and your tongue races over your lips. Slowly, very slowly, you gobble me inside of you. The sight before me is so incredible that my first wish is for a camera. If only you could share this, if only you could see how beautiful – how sexy – you look. Your outer vaginal lips are stretched taut and your clitoral hood is drawn back, leaving your love mound completely exposed. Little by little, your slick outer folds suck me into your darker mysteries. Your breath catches as you absorb each new inch of my meat. Your fingers become claws and rake down my chest. At last I disappear inside you and your cherry walls subside around me. Nothing is visible now except for the dark curls of our pubic mounds, matted with your honey. You open your eyes and smile, leaning down to kiss me. “I wish you could know how this feels,” you say. You wiggle your ass, sighing as you do so. “I’m so full!’ Without rising up, you rotate your hips forward and back, grinding your clit against me. “Oh, God!” Your eyes are closed again and I can tell from the way your legs are shaking that you’re going to come quickly. For the moment I stay perfectly still, allowing you to use my hardness as you see fit. At times like this, a small voice will sometimes whisper inside my mind. “Look at her!” it says. “She’s gone – lost in her own little world. You’re not even here. It might as well be a vibrator or a dildo or even another man’s cock inside of her!” And I wonder: Am I the only one possessed of such weakness? Or do all men suffer the same reptilian insecurities? Of course, I know better. We are soul mates, joined in so many subtle ways that our sexual coupling serves only as the most obvious form of our union. It stands as our public and private offering to the gods of love and good fortune, for we are forever indebted to both. It is my cock that you crave. Just as for me, there can be no honeyed temple but yours. And in those moments our bond is so strong, that even as the voice hisses lizard-like in my mind, you will know. Lost in the throes of your orgasm, a part of you will still be aware of me and my self-induced frailties. And in my mind, your sweet voice will whisper, “Je t’aime, my darling. I am yours forever.” A moan slips from your mouth. “Oh, God. Yes!” You lose control as the climax spreads through your body. Your face grows flushed and the skin around your breasts darkens as your heart struggles to handle the rush. Beads of sweat pop up on your skin only to fall on me like languid drops of fire. Once again my wish is for a camera to capture the moment. When you come, your face glows with an inner light that begs description. Framed by the canopy of your dark tresses, it bursts from your pores and swirls around you like motes of sunlight. As it dissipates, your body crumbles against mine and I hold you tightly. Your breath is hot and ragged on my neck; your back and shoulders slick with sweat. Gradually, your breathing slows and becomes more rhythmic. For a time we lie so still that I think you must have fallen asleep, and at that thought my cock jerks in disappointment. After a moment, you lift your head. Your smile is playful. “Hey, horsey,” you say. “Is that all the ride I get? I thought I had me a buckin’ bronco, not an old gelding. I may have to complain to the management.” Your tongue traces a line around my lips and flicks at my teeth. An involuntary spasm jerks my hips upwards, driving my cock against your cervix. Your eyelids flutter and you suck at your lower lip. “What’s this? Is there some life in this stallion yet?” My hips start to thrust, slow and steady. You roll with the gentle motion, every inch the horsewoman astride her favorite steed. “C’mon,” you say. “Is that the best you can do?” I pick up the pace a little, my hands still resting lightly on your back. Your breasts bounce in time with the beat and I realize suddenly that I haven’t yet given them any attention. I cup them with my hands, flicking at the nipples with my thumbs. Full and round, your tits overflow my palms. Luscious fruit with nipples that pop out, full and dark, begging to be sucked. Before I can do so, you lean over me again and fasten your lips on my earlobe. “Have I ever told you,” you whisper, “how I love the way your thick cock feels inside of me?” You pause briefly for another swipe at my ear and then continue, “And did you know that I can tell the exact moment when that big, fat cock of yours starts to fill me with come?” You lean back to look at me; fully aware of the effect your words are having. My cock starts to pound you now; each thrust is like a jackhammer. Your eyes close and your head rolls back. “Oh, yeah!” you gasp. “Good horsey! Do you think you can buck me, horsey? Huh? Do you think you can get me off?” A growl forces its way from my throat. Two can play this game, I think. I grab your breasts and hold them in front of my mouth. I clear my throat and utter my first words of the morning. “I already got you off, baby! This is my turn!” Each word is separated by the punctuation of my cock sliding home. I pull first one nipple and then the other into my mouth; my tongue whips them mercilessly. “Oh, yesss!” Your moan becomes incoherent. My lips fasten on a fat, lush nipple and suck hard. “God, yesss! That’s it!” Finally, because I’m about to come and because I know what you want, I carefully slip your nipple between my teeth and, while lashing the bud with my tongue, I bite down. The effect on both of us is electric. Your moan escalates into a scream of pure lust. My cock explodes inside of you as spurt after spurt of my seed fills your syrupy tunnel. Shockwaves roll through us; surges of pleasure that threaten to make us lose consciousness. We hold each other, riding the joyous waves together. We kiss, at first passionately and then, as the pleasure begins to subside, with tenderness. Exhausted, we lay back on the sweat-soaked sheets and are still. I don’t know how long we stay like that. At length, however, we stir. Light, feathery touches and strokes mingle with silky kisses. At some point, a semblance of reality finally intrudes. You kiss me lovingly and then push me off the bed. “You,” you say, pointing to the kitchen. “Go make coffee. And get the paper while you’re at it.” But you’re smiling as you say it. To Be Continued... My Sunday With You Part 2 Our Sunday has begun with you awakening me, not with love’s first kiss, but by hungrily sucking on my cock. This leads us into the perfect way to begin any day, a playful romp that culminates with a thunderous climax for us both. Now, while you relax, I go in search of the next two components of a perfect Sunday: coffee and the Sunday paper. * * * * * I walk naked into the kitchen, grumbling about being demoted from stud to houseboy. The day outside is dark with the temperature somewhere in the teens. The forecast is for snow later. More shoveling and scraping in store for me, no doubt. Oh, joy. But not today, I muse as the coffee maker gurgles happily and the first few drops of coffee splash into the pot. Today is for other things. While the aroma of Irish Crème fills the room, I head towards the front door. The blast of arctic air that greets me when I open it threatens to suck my ball sac into my lower intestines. Even more depressing, the paperboy has missed the porch by a good ten feet. Again. I shrug my shoulders and slip into my boots. Yes, real men get the paper naked. I silently curse the paperboy as I step into the yard, hoping that one morning he’ll bump into Hannibal Lecter on his route. The bushes are high, so I’m not worried about prying neighbors. I grab the paper (at least he remembered to put it in a bag this time!) and discover one of the odd realities about cold air. My nipples are now larger and harder than my penis. Back in the house, I flavor two mugs of steaming coffee and carry them into the bedroom, the paper tucked neatly under my arm. I walk to the edge of the bed and face you. When you don’t stir, I lift my arm and let the paper drop onto the bed. You open your eyes, staring directly at my now miniscule penis. “Oh, my God!” Your eyes widen. “Did I kill it?” “Don’t flatter yourself. I had a little accident with the paper.” “The paper did that?” “Yeah. But look!” I point the mugs at my nipples. “Now you can fuck these instead.” “Oh, Madonna!” You giggle. “I love it!” You look back down at my cock and purse your lips. “This simply won’t do. I have plans for you, little man!” You lean forward and flick your tongue back and forth. Like a groundhog seeking its shadow, my cock head pops forward, bright and glistening. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” This time you open your mouth and press your lips flat against my pubic hair. Your tongue swirls around me rapidly and it’s all I can do to keep from spilling the coffee. My cock swells in your mouth, and as you pull your head back, revealing more and more turgid, gleaming flesh, the effect is that of a master magician. Once again, my mind recalls an association from long ago (“Hey, Rocky! Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!”). By the time your lips are clear, my erection bobs in front of your face like a diving board. You smile at your handiwork. “If you keep that up, you’ll be wearing this coffee instead of drinking it.” You look up and notice the mugs for the first time. “Well, it’s about time!” You shake your head. “The nerve of you, to keep me waiting like that.” I hand you a mug and you inhale the aroma. “Oooh, Kahlua! What, are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?” “No,” I say, lifting my knee onto the bed. “I figure at some point you’ll fall asleep and I’ll get some rest. Scoot over.” The next hour or so is spent in pleasant comfort, reading the paper and sipping our java, as the day gradually takes shape around us. There is no strain in our relationship, even in silence. The warmth of your body pressing against mine, the way that you laugh at the funnies or frown at the editorials, the touch of your hand as it playfully tugs at the small tufts of hair around my navel; all of these things form part of an unspoken and continual dialog between us. My stomach rumbles loud enough for us both to hear it. “Another country heard from,” you murmur when our laughter subsides. “So, what are you going to make us?” “Me? And just why is it my job to make breakfast?” I glance at the alarm clock. “Well, brunch now, technically, but still – “ You lean over to me and squeeze my balls. “Because,” you whisper wetly in my ear, “if you do, I’ll suck your cock again.” You milk my cock gently with your hand. “I might even let you come in my mouth.” “So, what do you want?” I ask, barking my shin on the nightstand as I hustle out of bed. “I don’t know. Surprise me.” You yawn and stretch contentedly, your muscles bunching under smooth, milky skin. Winter, I reflect, looks good on you. Combined with your wild, dark mane of hair, the effect is that of a lioness relaxing after a fresh kill. Like the untamed Queen of Beasts, you are beautiful, dangerous, arousing and never, ever to be taken for granted. “One surprise coming up.” I hesitate a moment. “Of course, this means dinner is your responsibility.” “Oh, really.” You finish stretching and roll onto your back, lying sideways across the bed. Your head slips just past the edge and dangles there, facing me upside down. “And just what do I get for agreeing to that mundane little chore?” I crouch down next to you, sliding my hand under your neck and lifting your head to mine. “Tongue lashings,” I breathe softly. A drop of saliva rolls to the tip of my tongue and I massage it into your lips. “Multiple tongue lashings.” You clap your hands and giggle. “Oh, goody!” The truth is that breakfast – or, in this case, brunch – is one of my favorite meals and one I don’t mind fixing at all. In no time, I am rummaging through the fridge for ingredients and banging pans on the stove. The cheddar has been grated, the Canadian bacon is just starting to sizzle and I’m cubing some of the melon when I sense your presence behind me. Seconds later, I feel your fingers lightly brush my buttocks. “You know,” I say without looking at you, “you really should be careful how you approach a person with a sharp object in his hands.” Your touch becomes bolder and I can feel the warmth of your breast against my arm. “Well,” you chuckle, “I was just wondering if your ass felt as good as it looks.” “And does it?” “Oh, yeah.” You squeeze my cheek and then give it a slap. “That’s some nice ass you got there, Felix.” “Thank you. The boys in the cell block will be pleased.” You laugh and say, “Now that you mention it, that’s something I’ve always wondered about.” You slip behind me and now your breasts are like soft pillows with diamond points as they press against my back. Your bristly pubes squirm between my ass cheeks and your hands target my nipples with grasping fingers. “Is this what it feels like to get fucked?” Your hips thrust forward, grinding me against the counter. I carefully set the knife down and press backwards, wiggling my ass. “Not exactly. I think something’s missing.” One hand reaches down and strokes my now fully erect cock. Your fingers discover the pre-come oozing from my cock head and slather me with it. “Oooooh! Hey, Mikey! I think he likes it!” You give my nipple a hard pinch, making me wince. “Should I go get my strap-on?” Your dueling fingers make it hard for me to concentrate. “At this rate,” I manage, “the brunch will be ruined.” After a moment, your fingers ease up. “Oh, you’re no fun.” I feel another slap, harder this time. “Cute butt, though.” The pressure on my backside eases and I start to relax. As I reach for the knife, the pressure returns, even harder than before. This time your hand slips between my legs to cup my balls. “Wait a minute.” Your breath is hot in my ear. “How do you know what it feels like to get fucked? Is there something you haven’t told me?” I surprise myself by blushing. “Well, I was in the Army.” Your fingers tickle my ball sac, squeezing just hard enough not to hurt. “Once or twice, that is. I mean…oh, all right. It was dark, he was cute and he smelled good. Okay? But it wasn’t serious. He never even gave me his phone number.” You tighten your grip and then let go. Your fingers scrape lightly over the sensitive flesh between my balls and my anus. “You liar,” you say. “If some guy tried to split these cheeks with a loaded dick, you’d shit cupcakes, wouldn’t you?” I sigh. “You know me too well.” “Now me, on the other hand.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Well, I might just like it.” I close my eyes as your fingers continue to play with the hairs between my ass cheeks. Finally, your hand pulls away and, giving me a last swat, you say, “Hey, Popeye. You’re burning the bacon.” With the warmth of your body heat gone, the cool air rushes over me, raising goose flesh. I open my eyes and I find myself staring at my cock, leaking pre-come on the edge of the counter. I grab an apron, muttering to myself, “It’s her own damn fault if it stains”, before tackling the spitting bacon. Shortly after, I resume cubing the fruit. A quarter of an hour later, mugs refilled, I walk into the bedroom laden with full trays. To my chagrin, the television is on and you are catching up on your soaps. You hardly glance at me when I set the tray down; instead you pick up the fork and begin shoveling food into your mouth, your eyes never leaving the screen. I debate about making a comment before deciding against it. Long ago, we reached a truce regarding our TV viewing habits. I agreed not to question your emotional maturity for watching the daily soaps and you agreed not to doubt my intellect for liking Xena. Of course, having watched Dark Shadows as a teen, I know just how addictive soaps can be and I’ve admitted as much to you. In fact, I told you once, if they’d only allow those gorgeous women to get naked once in awhile and throw in some hardcore sex, I’d watch them with you. You just smirked and replied that I didn’t get it at all. When I pressed you about it, you just pointed to your heart and said that if it didn’t touch you there, all the swinging dicks in the world wouldn’t make you watch it. For now, I content myself with finishing the sports section of the paper and satisfying my empty stomach. The food disappears from my tray in rapid order. Laying aside the tray, I settle myself more comfortably under the covers. Before long, the sounds of the TV recede and I fall asleep. When I awake, the room is silent. I’m not sure how much time has passed but from the amount of light in the room, I can’t have been out for long. Half an hour, maybe. The trays have been removed and the covers pulled back. And for the second time today, my cock is taking a bath in the succulent depths of your mouth. You realize that I’m awake and you lift your head to look up at me. “Just having some dessert.” You smile, a mixture of saliva and pre-come dotting your chin. “Go back to sleep if you want.” I shake my head. Your tongue snakes out, rimming my mushroom shaped helmet. I groan and lean my head back as your mouth engulfs me once again. Twice in one day, I think, to wake up to this. What an idea for an alarm clock! My mind whirls in a kind of delirium and I can hear the salesperson say, “Would you like the ‘spit’ or the ‘swallow’ model? And for just five dollars more, we have the deluxe, deep throat model. Guaranteed not to gag, or your money back!”. Your finger massages the flesh just under my ball sac and I groan again, louder this time. Almost without thought, I begin thrusting up into your mouth and your answer is to increase suction. Once, not long after we’d become intimate, you’d confided to me that there were times when sucking a cock satisfied you almost as much as a good fucking. And during those times, the circumstances and the inherent power in the act would combine to bring you to orgasm without a single touch. I remember you following this confession by looking at me with a lopsided grin and asking if this qualified you as a slut. I replied with sincerity that it didn’t, but admitted that if word of it ever got out, you’d never lack for a date on a Saturday night. We both laughed and I wondered aloud if you’d ever find the satisfaction you needed with just one person. You stared at me for a moment before resting your head on my chest and I barely heard you whisper, “Yes.” I’m thrusting harder now, in part because I can’t help myself and also because I know it’s what you want. It won’t be long now before the cock you teased so unmercifully in the kitchen explodes in your mouth in a torrent of come. I raise my head; this is one finale I don’t want to miss. Your face gleams with a sheen of light perspiration. My legs start to spasm and my movements grow more frantic and clumsy. In contrast, your actions remain sure and skillful. Your hand grasps the base of my cock with light and steady fingers. Your mouth absorbs the erratic rhythm of my strokes with a shallow suction that hollows your cheeks. And under my ball sac, your knuckles ride my tender ridge like a rolling pin, flushing the boiling jets of semen from their hiding place. At the last second your eyes lift to mine, savoring the giddy expression of joy on my face. And then the first thick, syrupy missile erupts onto your tongue. At the moment of orgasm, each sensation is one of exquisite torture. Le Petit Mort, the French call it. The Little Death. My cock begins to squirt like a runaway fire hose and your movements slow down and elongate, isolating the convulsive spasms into intimate explosions of infinite duration. Long, ropey spurts fill your mouth as your suction eases me deeper into your throat. Each blast thunders in time with my heartbeat. All too quickly my tempest subsides and I am brought back to reality. I start to soften and you lay your head on my stomach, holding me encased in your liquid warmth. My chest continues to thump erratically and I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. You groan as I lift your head from my loins and pull you up to lie alongside me. My knee slides between your legs, pressing against your engorged sheath. I kiss you tenderly, relishing the spice of my seed mixed with your tongue. We shift positions; now you are on your back with my head resting between your breasts. It surprises me that your heart pounds very much like my own and I remember your words from before. And I realize now what I should have known all along; that your climax has nothing to do with the act itself. It has to do with your depth of feeling. Your words had been meant to tell me, in the safest way you knew, just how much you had come to care for me and how vulnerable it made you. And being a typical male, I’d missed it completely. I plant a kiss on the soft layer of skin that protects your loving heart. I follow it with another kiss just below your rib cage. Slowly, my mouth paints a trail down your stomach. My tongue jabs at your belly button and you giggle. Your fragrance is getting strong now, an intoxicating aroma that lures me into the wiry tangle of your matted bush. I lift my head and pause for a moment, allowing you to unravel your legs from mine and shift your hips into a more comfortable position. I grab a pillow and slide it under the small of your back. I slip now between your legs, my hands supporting your buttocks. I stare at your hidden treasure, now moist and open, awaiting my kiss. Your lips are full and pouting and your clitoris seems to throb in anticipation. I inhale deeply and sigh before covering your swollen hood with my mouth. My tongue lashes out, light as a feather, and your moan delights me. “Ooooh!” Your hips buck at my touch. I flatten my tongue and slide it down the length of your slit. “Oh yes! Mmmm!” With deliberate and careful swipes, my tongue anoints your holy altar. Hard, it probes your depths like a miniature cock; soft and curved, it laps at your folds like a silken brush. Your fingers clutch at the strands of my hair, grinding my face against your pubis. Your breathing is getting ragged and each time my tongue nears your clit it causes your hips to spasm. Not yet, I think. By controlling the pace and following your cues, I’m able to back off each time you start to go over the edge. Your moans become more insistent and interspersed with mewls of pleasure you plead with me to let you come. “Yes! That’s it! Right the- Oh, Please, don’t stop!” I lift my head, my mouth and chin glazed with your juices. Your eyes glare at me, desperate and pleading. My sudden smile must seem wicked to you. “Roll over.” You stare at me, lost in your need for release and for a few moments I’m not sure if you’ll do it. Gradually, however, a smile dances at the corner of your lips and you shift your body weight. Then your pearly, rounded ass cheeks are swaying lazily before me. I run my hands over them, squeezing the soft flesh. I give one a playful slap and you wiggle your hips, moaning into the pillow. I kiss first one cheek and then the other, letting my hand slide lightly between them. You tense at this first caress of your asshole. I remember your words from the kitchen. Now me, on the other hand…well, I might just like it. My head dips forward and at the same moment my mouth fastens on your puckered anus, I shove three fingers into your sopping pussy. The pillow muffles your scream as you come in a gush, washing over my fingers and trailing down your legs. Your legs quiver and your chest heaves as the pent up force of your orgasm hits like a sledgehammer. I continue working my fingers in and out of your wet cunt while my tongue rims your little brown button. I raise my mouth quickly and my thumb slips inside your asshole, using your come to massage the tight inner ring. I pull my fingers from your dripping pussy as my thumb wedges into your asshole past the first knuckle. Moving behind you, I slide my cock into your open pussy in one smooth thrust. Your head comes off the pillow. “Yes! Oh, God! Fuck me hard!” I start pounding you, long, rhythmic strokes that ram deep inside you. My thumb is all the way into your anus now. You brace your arms and shoulders on the bed and slam your ass back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. “Yes, dammit! Give it to me!” My hand strikes your ass cheek; a stinging slap that leaves my palm print outlined in pink. “Yes!” I slap your cheek a second time and again you cry out, wriggling your ass for more. Dimly, I become aware that we have crossed some threshold of desire and intensity; that our groans of passion are now sounding more like grunts of animal lust. And even as the realization sinks in that we have entered into the realm of Caveman Sex, I know that there is only one thought on both of our minds. More. Give me more. I wrench my cock from your pussy and, coating it with as much of your slick juice as I can, I place it against your asshole and shove. Despite the efforts of my thumb earlier, the puckered ring widens grudgingly. My bulbous head disappears and your cry is louder than before – so loud that I pause, fearing that I’ve hurt you. “Wait!” you cry. The cords on your neck are standing out. “Oh, Jesus, I think you’re gonna split me in half!” I start to pull out. “Do you want me to-“ “Stop! Don’t pull out! Just wait! Let me get used to it.” You take a couple of deep breaths and then push back against me and I slip in a little further. “Okay.” Your voice is calmer now, less shrill. “Now, just take it easy for a minute.” Slowly, my cock inches forward. “Wait!” I pause until I feel your pressure once more and then I gingerly continue feeding my cock into your asshole. The sensation is different than fucking your lush pussy; tighter and yet less clingy somehow. My cock is flushed a deep, crimson red and it looks enormous as it hides between your milky cheeks. Finally, the shaft disappears and I’m buried to the hilt. After a moment, I let my cock slide back, leaving only the thick head inside. Forward again, until my balls gently slap the juicy folds of your cunt. “Oh, fuck!” you moan. “I thought I was full before!” My Sunday With You Part 2 I hold that position, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on the back of your neck. My hand slips under you, cupping your breasts and flicking at your nipples. “So tell me,” I breathe in your ear, “How’s it feel?” You try to chuckle but what comes out is a groan. “Well,” you manage, “let’s just say I know how a pig feels when it’s on a spit.” I laugh and you wiggle your ass playfully. “Okay. You got that monster in there. Are you gonna fuck me with it or just enjoy the view?” My answer is a sudden jerk of my hips and your body shudders like a thoroughbred after a good workout. With lazy strokes, I start my exploration of your dark highway. I start to pick up speed and soon we’re in rhythm again. The feeling of tension is indescribable and I know it won’t be long before I come. There’s just one more thing that I can think of to raise the intensity level. I reach up by your neck and grab your long, flowing hair. You feel my touch and your ass backs up even harder. “Yes! That’s it!” My cock is pistoning in and out of your ass now. Just a few seconds more. I’ve got a good handhold, just behind the nape. “Oh, yes! Please! Do it!” One more thrust. I tug on your hair. Hard. Your back arches as your head is pulled back and your scream ignites my orgasm. “God, yes! I’m coming!” The power that rushes through me is so strong it’s all I can do not to pass out. My cock spasms, filling your back tunnel with what remains of my jism. I let go of your hair as my muscles go out of control. The pillow muffles your cries again and your body crumples beneath mine. With one last thrust I collapse, as well. We lay together on the bed, still joined, both of us completely spent. Somehow I manage to draw the covers over us. And with the last ounce of energy I possess, I throw my arm around you. I need to feel your touch, to know that this is what you wanted. Just before I drift off to sleep, I feel your hand grab hold of mine and kiss it. Then I am asleep. To Be Continued... My Sunday With You Part 3 Following brunch, you have opted for a special dessert by once again sucking on my cock, this time bringing me to a sweet explosion in your loving mouth. Instead of dampening my lustful urges for you, this only serves as a springboard for a first time, rough and tumble bout of anal sex. Now, as the afternoon sun starts to set, you are probably thinking that our relationship can’t get any better (or hotter) than it already is. But about that, you couldn’t be more wrong. * * * * * It’s later now; from the amount of darkness in the room it must be late afternoon. My mind lurches with a mental vertigo that is common for me when I awake from a hard nap. The warmth of your body snuggled against mine brings me back to here and now. The earlier events of the day begin to roll through my mind; a highlight reel of lust and love that quickens my pulse as I relive it. You moan softly in your sleep. Your head thrashes on the pillow and your legs tense, your bottom urgent against my loins. A moment later you relax, burrowing deeper into the blankets. My hand is trapped neatly between your cushy breasts and your heart beats a quiet tom-tom on the tips of my fingers. I raise my head up to gaze at you in the waning light. The waning sunlight is harsh as it bathes your face. Casting you in its cold relief, there’s no hiding the lines and marks of care that living has chiseled on you. But through it all, your face retains softness and a child-like quality that I find most endearing. In repose, you look now much as you must have looked as a child. Sweet, gentle and very, very lovely. I love to watch you sleep. I don’t think I could explain to you the comfortable feeling I get when I see you at rest like this, your body spooned with mine, the warmth of your skin radiating through me like the summer sun. It’s only at times like this that I can truly relax, knowing that you’re safe and we’re together, and that, for this moment at least, all is right with the world. I lower my head and kiss you on the cheek. I linger there, breathing in your natural perfume. Your scent reminds me of a gardenia, subtle yet powerful, and laced with promise. Your eyelids flicker and you stir. For a few seconds, you struggle with the same sense of disorientation as I had. Then, your arm tightens around mine and your body lengthens in a contented stretch. “Mmmm,” you hum softly. This is followed almost immediately by a groan. “Ohhh my God!” You wince as the muscles in the back of your thighs and buttocks clench. You turn your head enough to look at me, your eyes a question. “My memory seems to be failing me. Was I hit by a truck earlier today?” I chuckle, sliding my hand down to caress your soft flank. “No,” I reply, “but I guess you could say you took a couple of heavy loads.” “Ooooh,” you groan again. “Wide loads are more like it.” You roll onto your stomach, your ass cheeks quivering under my hand. “God, I’m not sure I can walk and I don’t even want to think about sitting right now.” “Awww,” I can’t help the grin that splits my face. “What’s the matter? Did horsey play a little too rough for you?” Your answering chuckle has a serrated edge to it. “Look, Pocahontas. I’ve got a friend named Leroy who’d be glad to bend you over a sofa and play tonsil-hockey from the back side, so be nice.” I manage a bad lisp. “Oh, you are such a tease!” You groan once more, lowering your face into the pillow. I stare at you for a few seconds and when I speak again, my voice is quiet and serious. “You know, for a moment there, I thought I’d really hurt you.” You lift your head and the darkness prevents me from reading your expression. Finally, you say, “For a moment, you did. But once you were inside me and I was able to relax a little, it felt good. Really good. And then when you pulled my hair…I don’t know that I’ve ever had an orgasm like that. It was like a series of fireworks, exploding one after the other, draining all the energy from me. It felt wonderful. But now…” “Maybe,” I lean down and run my tongue around your earlobe, “you just need a little more practice and then you won’t be so sore afterwards.” “Hmmm.” I take that as a yes and continue bussing your ear, alternately sucking and licking the tender lobe. Your stomach issues a low rumble and I stop. “Oh, shit,” you say. “Not likely,” I answer and we both laugh. When we’re both under control again, I continue, “Last time it was my stomach announcing meal time and now it’s yours. Fitting, no?” “No! Not when I have to make it.” Your voice turns pleading. “You’re not going to hold me to that, are you?” “Yes, I am. But I do think a quick shower is in order first. Deal?” “Deal. Now, if you’ll just pick me up and carry me to the shower…” “Not on your tin-type, young lady.” I throw the covers back and give your ass a quick kiss before rolling off the bed. “Last one there loses out on the hot water!” With that, I pad quickly into the bathroom. The deliciously hot water is coursing over me when I feel the rush of cool air as you open the door. “Hey, slowpoke!” I growl. “Don’t let all the warm air out!” You say nothing but the door shuts, trapping the steam inside with us. As I begin lathering my hair, the curtain parts and you step into the shower. I feel something cold and hard press against my butt cheeks. “Bend over.” “No way, baby.” My eyes are closed and I’m not sure what you’ve got aimed at my bottom. “We had this conversation before. My asshole is a dick-free zone, remember?” “Yeah, but I want you to know what it feels like.” Your fingers spread my cheeks and there is a sudden, sharp stab at my anus. “Oww!” I turn quickly, opening my eyes. You step back, laughing. In your hand is a plastic bottle. I stare at you, wincing as the shampoo runs unheeded into my eyes. “You’re going to fuck me with a bottle of shower gel?” “Oh, you big baby.” You open the bottle and squirt gel onto your hand. “This bottle top isn’t half as big as what you shoved into my ass. C’mere, you big wuss.” You start soaping my cock and balls with the gel. I lean my head back and rinse the remaining shampoo from my hair and face. “Maybe not,” I say as you work your way up my stomach. “But with my luck, you’d get the damn thing stuck in my ass and I’d end up in the emergency room.” You step next to me, rubbing your breasts over my soapy skin. “Yeah.” Your lips brush against my chin. “But think of how clean you’d be.” I kiss you, first lightly and then harder as your arms slide around my waist. I spin you around and then the water is cascading over us like a waterfall. My cock hardens between us and you playfully rub it with your belly, teasing me. In all the time I’ve known you, your kiss has never failed to produce an instant, raging hard-on. I lift your leg and my cock slips into your silky crevice. Suddenly, you stiffen and push me hard; my purple head popping free like an angry jack in the box. “Ouch!” Your cry breaks our kiss. Your face is pinched, your lips drawn tight to your teeth. “I guess I’m in worse shape than I thought.” Your hand pats my dick gently. “Down, Simba,” you sigh, “I think mommy’s had enough for one day.” You kiss me again, your eyes searching mine for signs of disappointment. Finally, you smile and turn to face the stinging spray. “But as long as you’re here,” your hand squishies your hair down the front of your shoulder, “could you do my back?” I rub the gel onto my hands and start lathering your back. My cock is poking you in the ass cheek so I step back and my fingers accidentally dig into the soft muscle above your shoulder blade. You moan loudly and I stop, asking if you’re all right. “Yes.” Your voice competes with the roar of the shower. “Just sore all over, I guess.” I resume washing your back, keeping my fingers light and gentle. An idea begins to form in the back of my mind. I’m soaping the small of your back, just edging into the swell of your buttocks, when you stop me. “Okay, big fella,” you say, turning around, “I’ll take it from here.” I rub my soapy hands under your milky globes and tweak your nipples with my thumbs. You lash at me with your wet hair. “Behave!” I hold my hands up in defeat, letting the shower spray rinse the remaining soap from them. I blow you a kiss and step out of the shower. Though the air in the bathroom is thick with steam, it’s still several degrees cooler than the water. I towel myself briskly; thinking of June, open windows and soft, summer breezes. I’m working on my hair when the curtain rattles behind me. “Hey?” Your disembodied head sticks through the small opening. “You’re not upset, are you?” You glance down at my cock, still semi-hard and shiny with precum. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m so – “ I stop you, pressing my fingers gently to your lips. “No, I’m not upset.” Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “Really, I’m not.” And besides, now I’ve got other plans. I grin. “Right now I’m more interested in food.” Your head disappears behind the curtain. “So, don’t dawdle in there.” I dodge the spray of water that jets at me over the curtain and make my way out of the bathroom. Throwing on a terry robe, I stretch out on the bed, letting my mind play with this new idea it’s found. As I visualize, letting the scenario in my head expand and unfold, my erection once again grows thick and hard, pulsing in time with my heart. I hear the shower spray stop and a few minutes later you emerge, wearing a robe that matches my own. Your hair has been wrapped in a towel and is piled high atop your head. You lean over the bed to kiss me lightly on the lips. “Okay. So what do you want for dinner?” You stop and notice my expression. “And just what are you grinning about?” “Surprise me, “ I say, sticking my tongue out. You stare at me. “Are you up to something?” “What? Besides dying from hunger?” “Oh, you!” You grab a pillow and throw it at me. “Lucky for you we don’t have any dog food!” “Woof!” I say to your retreating back. After waiting ten minutes, I quietly enter the kitchen. Engrossed in your preparations, you don’t notice me. I stare at you for a few moments, admiring how even the terry robe can’t hide your lush, womanly figure. I wait until I’m sure you won’t drop a dish or cut yourself and I sneak up behind you, planting a wet kiss on the back of your neck. Before you can react, I slip away and open a cupboard. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Just setting the table.” “Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d want to eat in bed and watch some TV. Isn’t Xena on tonight?” I try not to rise to your bait. “Just because I have a thing for a certain tall, dark-haired Kiwi doesn’t mean I need to watch her while I eat.” I walk by you, juggling plates, silverware and glasses. “Of course, I’d love to eat her while you watched.” I’m too slow to dodge the spatula that whacks my behind. Even through the thick robe, you pack a wallop. “Hey, if I break anything, you get to clean it up! “We’re eating at the dining table, “ I continue, “so dress appropriately.” “And just what the hell does that mean?” “Dress naked.” Your bray of laughter follows me out of the kitchen. Forty-five minutes later, we’re seated at our dining table. The setting is deliberately romantic and I can tell you’re both pleased and a little puzzled. You smile as you survey the scene: The room is dark except for two tall candles standing at attention in the center of the glass table. The muted light penetrates our setting with quiet perception. The glint of the silverware contrasts with the bubbling glow of the wine glasses and our shadowy reflections make it seem as though we’re entertaining company. The CD player adds a background of soft jazz. It turns out that I’m not the only one who’s hungry and we both attack our meals with gusto. I can’t help but notice the gentle sway of your breasts when you reach for your food or wine. My cock, which has remained willfully sullen since leaving the shower, lolls twitching against my thigh like a fat, drunken worm. Every so often I catch you glancing at it and I’m rewarded with the sight of your nipples pebbling in response. When you are about finished, I excuse myself and leave the room. As I head down the hall to the bedroom, I’m not sure which pleases me more; your baffled expression as I stood up or the lustful peek you stole at my restless cock. My preparations take no more than ten minutes and when I return I find you sipping the last bit of your wine. I help you to stand and, grabbing your robe, escort you down the hall and into the bedroom. “What’s this?” You gasp when we reach the master bath. “I believe it’s called a bath.” Your elbow is swift and hard in my ribs. “Hey! Now is that called for?” I do my best to sound aggrieved. “You said you were sore and there’s nothing better for sore muscles than a nice, hot bath.” You remain silent, staring at the tub with its mountainous bubbles and steamy water. The tub is ringed with candles and their flickering light dances in your eyes. You turn to me, your eyes suddenly moist, and you start to object. “But-“ “No buts.” I hang your robe behind the door. “In you go. Believe me, you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” Not to mention sooner, I chuckle to myself. I hold your hand as you step into the piping hot water. You wince when it touches your bottom and then you’re in all the way. I position a towel to support your neck and you close your eyes, a Cheshire cat grin settling across your face. “Hmmm, this feels heavenly!” “So will this.” I wave a snifter of Grand Marnier under your nose. You open your eyes, squealing with delight. I kiss you on the nose and ask if there is anything else I can get for you. You shake your head but before I can stand up you cup your bubbly hand around my chin. “Have I ever told you that you’re much too good for me?” You run your fingers over my moustache. “No,” I say, laughing. “But I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later.” I stand up, leg joints popping in protest. “I’ll check in on you from time to time to make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown. Otherwise, call me when you’re pruned enough.” Cleaning up our mess in the dining room and doing the dishes takes no more time than it should and when I return to the bath I find you relaxing with your eyes closed. Your glass is half empty. I brush your cheek with my fingertips. “I’m awake,” you say, without opening your eyes. I notice with amusement that the bubbles in the middle of the tub have receded to the point where the outline of your breasts can be seen clearly, bobbing like buoys. Your nipples and areole lie above the water line, harbingers of the milky bergs lurking below. I bend over the tub and blow softly on your exposed skin. I grin as your nipples bead obediently. Then I’m backing hastily away from your answering splash. “Okay, okay!” I wipe my face with a towel. “I’m leaving.” You wave me imperiously out of the bathroom. In the bedroom, I make my final preparations and then lie on the bed, staring at the muted television. I’m always amazed at how much less annoying Mike Wallace is with the sound off. Just when I start to nod off, I hear the water start to drain in the tub. I switch off the TV and moments later you emerge, your skin flushed and still moist from the heat. Once again, you pause and take in the scene that I’ve staged for you. Pillared candles perch on the nightstands and the dresser. The bed linens are crisp and fresh and the heavy blankets have been folded back to the foot of the bed. The CD changer is on and I’ve loaded it with a mix of our favorites. You walk slowly to the bed, more bewilderment on your face. But before you can say anything, I rise and cover your mouth with my hand. I loosen the tie on your robe and gently tug it from your shoulders. Taking your hand, I lead you to the bed and instruct you to lie across it, face down. Once you’re comfortable, I remove my robe and climb on top of you, straddling your back with my weight balanced on my knees, my buttocks resting just atop your own and my balls gently nudging the small of your back. I sweep your hair to the side, leaving the back of your neck and your shoulders bare. Leaning forward, I place my hands lightly on the back of your head and I begin your massage. “Ohhh!” you moan as my fingers slide over your scalp. I start with the area just above and behind the ears, my grip pressure light but steady. I whisper for you to relax your neck muscles and let your head roll with my hands. With slow, practiced movements, I work my fingers in behind your ears, rolling my thumbs over those tension-filled muscles at the base of your skull. As the music flows around us, time disappears and we are lost in sensation. Elton croons to us: Oh, how it feels so real Lying here, with no one near Only you And you can hear me When I say softly, slowly… On to your neck, fingering, probing, finding and releasing the knots of soreness under your skin. Your moans are low and constant now, a continual sigh of ecstasy. I take my time rubbing you. Squeezing. My cock is like a Roman candle pressing against the middle of your back. This is not a race, I remind myself. There is no finish line. I could do this forever. Moving on to the heavy muscles above your shoulder blades. Your moans get louder. My mouth replaces my fingers on your neck, planting featherlike kisses wherever my hands have been. My tongue burns as it lashes your heated skin. Hands sliding now, my thumbs working the beads of sweat into your skin like oil. Yes, that’s it. Your sigh is like honey on my cock. Now it’s Sting’s voice: I could be lost inside their lies without a trace But every time I close my eyes I see your face… Your shoulders and upper arms beg for my attention and my hands are unrelenting in applying their sweet torture. As I shift my weight, my cock spreads a trail of pre-cum on your back. On further, to your forearms, wrists and hands. Sucking on your long, slender fingers. Laving the spidery mons between thumb and index finger. Not one inch of your velvet skin goes untouched. Concentrating on your back now, rubbing my pre-cum in with your sweat. Changing positions, my thigh muscles starting to burn. One knee between your legs, the moist heat flowing from your pussy warming my skin. Following my hands down your spine with my tongue. The small of your back tightens under my fingers. My touch is soft but insistent, working the muscles up and down over your buttocks. Gradually, your tension starts to ease. Digging in to your meaty ass cheeks. Such soft, luscious, perfectly rounded skin. I can’t help myself. I plant a gentle kiss on the puckered brown halo I so recently ravaged. My tongue rims you, a gentle suitor to sooth your need. I lap at the bottom folds of your cunt and you cry out, raising your ass from the bed and holding it firm to my lips. Your hamstrings are like taut piano wire, defying the pressure of my thumbs. I continue with my oral assault, my tongue whisper-soft as it roams your tender valley. You cry out again and a shudder rolls through your body, crashing against my face like a giant wave pounding the shore. I cup my hand under your pussy, catching the sweet cream as it spills out and rubbing it over your clit. You jerk and twitch under my touch, a marionette without strings, helpless to control your actions. Your convulsions slowly subside and you relax once more. I slide back, my hands inching past your hamstrings, down through the hollow behind your knees. Finally I reach your calves. My thumbs glide over the supple tendon that stretches to your heel. Your relaxation is almost complete. Perfect. I stand up, giving your bottom a swift pat. “Roll over.” Now the fun really begins. I stare at you for a moment, caught up in how lovely you are. A woman aroused is a beautiful and humbling sight. At this moment, you are beauty personified, the goddess made flesh. The swollen luxury of your pussy draws my jutting cock the way true north tugs at a compass needle. How can I not worship you? Donald Fagen gives voice to my thoughts: My Sunday With You Part 3 Well the danger on the rocks is surely past Still I remain tied to the mast Could it be that I have found my home at last Home at last… This time I start at the bottom, kneeling next to the bed and massaging your foot. Again, there is no hurry. Patience is a virtue and my treasure is within sight now. You groan and thrash your head as I thumb your sensitive arch. The ball of your foot is next. My mouth suckles your big toe and your cry becomes a sob. I chuckle as I listen to the catch in your voice, remembering the nursery rhyme from childhood. (This little piggy went to market…) I give your other foot the same loving attention before moving on. Your musky scent is so strong now that it’s all I can do not to bury my face in your love mound. Kneading you powerful thighs, I bend down, inhaling deeply of your womanly essence. I pause long enough to blow a thin stream of air over your slick curls. My fingers edge past your hips and glide over your panting stomach. Your legs part as I kneel at the entrance to your sex. My cock, flushed and full with need, towers above your dripping cunt like an ancient symbol of primitive worship. Your voice is whispering, pleading with me. “Oh, please! Come inside me, please!” I cup your breasts with my hands, sucking your hardened nipples. Your juicy buds taste like cherries, pliant and tender, bursting with the flavor of spring. I feel your hands on my head, your fingers entwining through the strands of my hair. In this position my cock rests on top of your pubic hair, my balls snug against your clitoral hood. Your hips thrust upwards and your heels dig into my buttocks in a vain effort to couple us. Reluctantly, I release your luscious tits from my mouth. I rise up and stare at you, awestruck by the succulent feast before me. Your eyes are open wide and tears are streaming down your cheeks. The flood of emotion through me is so strong I can barely contain it. The feelings are deeper than lust and want, richer than desire and need. They swell through my heart, threatening to overwhelm me, and I cling to the words of Don Henley for support: I dropped down and I called out to heaven ‘Send me someone to love’ And heaven shot back, ‘You get the love that you allow’ And everything is different now… You are my altar. I reach under your legs and grab your buttocks. My grail. I raise your hips and at the same time I roll my hips forward, impaling your grasping slit with my cock. I have nothing to give you but my heart. Slowly, I draw you to me, my engorged offering stretching the walls of your hallowed temple. My soul. Our loins meet and I pull you up until you are seated in my lap, your ass cheeks resting comfortably on my thighs. My life. Our eyes are locked together and we are joined more deeply than we have ever been. There are no words to describe how much I love you at this moment. I hold you close as I slide my legs out from under me. There. Now we are both seated. Our bodies pressed together, my cock rooted deep inside you, your nipples like stones against my chest. Your legs are wrapped around my waist and your full weight rests upon my lap, but to me you are no heavier than the gossamer snowflakes that fall outside our window. In this position there can be no urgency, no frenzied thrusting. And though your pussy squeezes me in its hot, buttery vise and my cock throbs in response, our bodies are now trapped, ensnared together in this tantric embrace. This time, our release can come only from the heart. Not that it will take long. My trigger is near, very near, and as I stare into your deep, fulsome eyes, I know just what will send me over the edge. I hold your face in my hands; my lips brush against the downy softness of your cheeks and the warm hollow of your eyelids. Your tears are like nectar on my tongue. Your lips, in turn, caress my skin with butterfly kisses. So close now, we are so close. Anita is singing now, caught up in the rapture, and we’re right there with her. Our lips touch and I feel the rush begin. Your tongue darts inside my mouth, caramel soft and melting, filling me with the taste of you. I cling to you, feeling my orgasm building inside me like a thunderhead about to burst. I know it is the same for you. Our tongues are racing together, two slick otters slipping and sliding over a waterfall. We cry out at the same time; anointing each other with the flood of our passion. I am in you. You are in me. We are one. Our Sunday is over now and you are sleeping comfortably beside me. Though my body is exhausted, my mind is still flush with the events of the day. A very special day, it’s true, one to cherish and remember. Some people never experience a day like it. The darkness can’t hide my grin. Me, I’m the lucky one. Next time, I get to wake you up. FIN