Page 35 of All You Want
“Ohhhh…” she moans so long and loud, or is it me?
I’m almost afraid I impaled her to death. Fortunately, she’s alive enough to slather her lips over mine and kiss me to oblivion, blowing my brains while rocking and rolling on my lap.
“Tami…” A groan strangles in my throat as her hot pussy clasps around me, a perfectly tight fit, but wet and slippery, sending jolts of passion through my body, rendering me entirely speechless.
Lie back and enjoy this dream, I tell myself. Don’t fight it. It’s her gift to me, and it doesn’t mean we’re involved.
I’m not really thinking of any consequences, not when her body’s bobbing up and down, and her flesh is surrounding my meat, twirling me up and down the pole of pleasure. My nerves are sizzling, shooting pleasure signals over my entire body, and I want this to last forever.
My fingers tighten around her buttocks, and my hips swivel and jerk, out of my control.
“I, I, uh, going to kuh-kuh-come.” I strain, sweating, trying to recite the police call codes. Everything slips my mind but the fact my dream goddess is riding my dick.
Except I’m not sure what I want her to do. Stop?
No way, but still, I can’t shoot into her—can I?
“Baby, it’s ee-ee-enough. Can’t stop.”
Sheesh, I sound douchey and pathetic at the same time, calling a woman “Baby” when she has my cock deep inside of her. I hope she won’t remember, and she doesn’t take this as a term of endearment—only desperation. A man should be excused in the throes of ecstasy.
I’m trying to be a gentleman, but my balls have other ideas, priming themselves to spew, tightening with that zinging sensation and determined to father millions of babies—what the heck? I don’t have a condom on.
I grip her hips and try to push, but Tami’s more determined. Her breasts slap against me, and her belly rubs up and down my chest. Her sheathe tightens around my pole, and I’m guessing she’s about to come. I can’t stop now, can’t pull out and I don’t want to—not when she’s pulsing in the throes of orgasm.
The old rocking chair shudders and the floorboards creak like a chorus of squealing skunks living underneath. The huffing and panting steams the air with the balmy sexy scents of musk. She keens like a Greek chorus in the clouds, and her incessant clenching sends cataclysms from my tightening balls to the pulsing tip of my expanding cock.
“Baby!” I’d rather not catalogue the embarrassing sounds gurgling from deep within my throat. At least I didn’t shout out undying love or propose. That would be even more disastrous than all my love pulsing and pumping and coming all over the gateway to her womb while I’m practically sobbing with pleasure and ready to surrender all my future “L” words to the altar of Tami of the Tremendous Orgasm.
I’m a blubbering, sloppy mess, and I have to get myself together as she slowly rocks swelling billows of adoration over my sodden heart.
Her half-lidded eyes lock onto mine, letting me watch in full glory as she kisses me with both her upper and lower lips. She smiles like she’s won the lottery, when it’s my heart that she’s hooked, lined, and sunk.
“Thank you, Sheriff Naughty-Ham,” she says. “For saving me.”
The next thing I’ll admit to, I’m wiping myself clean. I hurriedly tuck my parts away, and zip up. Before anyone can discover me, I pull the afghan over my lap and lean back on the rocking chair. I hope no one heard the loud creaks in perfect rhythm with my hard, fast, and desperate strokes.
In a state of sated contentment, I close my eyes, the better to bask in the afterglow and listen to the sweet voice singing from the bathtub. “She’ll have to sleep with Toddkins when she comes…”
I yawn, snugging up the afghan and stretching back, and I wonder how she’ll come around the mountain when she comes.
* * *
~ Tami ~
My skin is pink and wrinkled, and my vocal cords are raw and scratchy by the time I’m presentably clean. I’ve scrubbed and scraped, rubbed and rinsed pretty much every inch of my body and filled and refilled Todd’s clawfoot tub too many times to count.
Poor dear. I wonder what he’s up to. Probably mad as heck that I commandeered his bathroom. But hey, he offered, and he’s right about one thing.
My parents would have freaked to see me covered in a blood-colored substance. Dad would have blamed it all on Todd for not being there quicker, and Mom, bless her heart, would faint and declare the red-light district unsafe for me to run my business.
Why can’t you stay in town and have a craft store or sell pretty things like quilts and tea towels?She always suggests that whenever she thinks my ideas are too grandiose.
She’s content to run her family’s original homestead as a bed and breakfast, cooking in the morning and spending her days ironing and making beds. Even though she married into wealth, she still pinches her pennies and acts like a thrifty housewife. The only exception is me. She bought me everything I wanted, dressed me up in pretty clothes and went around serving me like she was my maid.
Of course, I can’t go home all messed up and expect her to bend over the bathtub and clean me up.
I finish draining the tub and step onto the bathmat. My ruined clothes are lying in a heap on top of a plastic garbage bag, and I realize I have nothing to wear.
