Page 49 of Southern Comfort
“Open the damn door, woman!”
“Ow!” I laugh at the picture we make.
My pussy is on fire and I need the hose.
Once inside, we move through the living room, into the hallway. He stops my forward movement and turns my back against the wall. He kisses me with such passion I almost melt in a puddle at his feet. In his eyes I see the desire rise like lava before the release. The intangible almost has a taste and smell. It is lust and the excitement of knowing we can satisfy it.
His hands reach for the billowing skirt of my long dress, and he bunches the fabric high. My delicate thong and bejeweled heels are on display. Dark chocolate eyes lower and take in the view.
“I’m hungry.”
My panties are removed, but the shoes stay where they are.
“Ready?”
Before I can answer, he lifts my entire body, resting my back against the wall, and puts my legs over his shoulders.
“Oh God! Don’t drop me!”
“Just enjoy it. I’m going to eat that sweet pussy.”
My ankles cross and I squeeze tight. Arms lift to the ceiling.
“That’s right, babe. Hold on.”
With hands firmly gripping each leg, he takes the first taste. It is me who is rewarded. Yes. Yes. My hands lower to his head and take fistfuls of his thick dark hair. My grip doesn’t stop the pleasure coming in waves as he tongues and licks. I am not sure if this is as great for him as me. I mean other than thinking I may fall to my death. It is not the easiest position to hold. Landon is the best pussy eater in the history of the world. I’ll tell him as soon as speaking is possible.
“Want to move to the bedroom?”
Opening my eyes, I see the man wants me to answer yes.
“I may have pulled something,” he says, chuckling.
I don’t want to be insensitive, but I start laughing. He thinks it is funny too and takes an exaggerated bite of my nether regions. Then he laughs, makes a painful expression and slowly returns me to earth.
“Poor baby. Where does it hurt?”
“Right here,” he says, waving his cock my way.
“Being in bed will help. I can give you some specific exercises for a stiff muscle.”
“I may have bit off more than I could chew, so to speak,” he says, leading the way.
“You are the sexiest man I have ever known. No kidding.”
He smiles and chews the inside of his cheek, in the good kind of embarrassment. He climbs on top of the soft spread and I follow.
“Be my cowgirl.”
No response is necessary. I save a horse and Landon’s back, and ride.
I wouldn’t call it a talent, but I am pretty secure in my “riding” abilities. God, that sounds like something a narcissist would say. But I only believe it because of past reviews. My giant pool of past lovers came to the same conclusion. All three of them. I outride all other cowgirls and it makes a woman feel a kind of power. It is a small vanity, I know.
Positioning myself atop his penis, I meet his lustful stare with a naughty grin. I lift and part my lips. Then I lightly sit, with Landon’s hard cock between them. Like a hotdog in a pussy bun. He takes to the idea and puts hands on my waist as I slide forward and back. Happily, my natural lubrication is making it slippery.
“Oh yeah. Don’t stop.”
It is more a plea than a command.
