Help Me Rhonda

The Way the Sunlight Plays upon her Hair

With military precision he stripped himself and her, and while his intention was to conduct this first time as an elegant carnal ballet, when he had her beautiful body naked beneath him, squirming, knees splayed, full, firm breasts pressed into his chest, fingernails digging into his skin, and that sound, part whimper, part sigh, all thought of going slowly melted like ice on an Albuquerque afternoon in August. He fisted his cock and placed the head at her opening, slipping in, as she jammed her hips up into his. And then her heat and tightness were too much for him. He thrust into her hard, slicking deeply, thoroughly into her.

His hot rigidity was undeniable, unrelenting, the stretch perfect and then too much, her body responding as never before, and when he withdrew slightly to plunge back into her, filling her belly, nudging her womb, she could only thrust back with delirious pleasure, hands scrabbling on his shoulder and bicep, a tremor starting deep inside her. “Ohgodjackohgodohgodohmygod,” she said, the tremors becoming pulses, her muscles tightening and releasing and tightening and releasing, spasms drawing him deeper inside her, C4 behind her eyes, her breath short and rapid, her hips rampant against his, even as he pulled back to drive hard into her again.

The suddenness of her orgasm, the ferocity of it, the way her body pulled on him, her wordless, repetitive cries, pushed him so far beyond his control that he snapped. He began to pound into her, seeking his own release even as hers escalated to a heart-stopping crescendo, bringing him to the edge and gleefully pushing him over it. He felt as if something foreign was boring through him, racing down his spine, burrowing into his balls and out through his cock, a boiling, burning projectile payload, flung from within him, and so thoroughly out of his control, that it seemed to be happening to some other man, except for the bone-crushing, agonizing pleasure of each hot, pumping spasm of his cock within her.

Pulses continued to rip through her, slowing, and finally stopping, even as he began to soften inside her. “Holy shit!” he said, his voice no more than a rumble. “Is that...? I mean... Are you always like that?” he finally managed to ask, rising above her to look down at her lovely face.

“That's never happened before, Jack,” she said, more a purr than anything. “You're going to have to work for it next time,” she said, a smile curving her lips.

“As you wish,” he said, rolling off her, a huge smirk on his handsome face. She stretched, her long legs reaching, toes pointed toward the fire, her toned arms raised and extended above her head, wrists entwined, the light golden on her skin, the very picture of erotic bondage, her eyes darkening as she looked at him. And without conscious intention he reached for her breast, his long-fingered hand caressing her softness, the nipple tightening, until he just had to taste her, his hot mouth enveloping the aroused peak to suck and bite her flesh.

Her fingers threaded into his hair to hold him to her, arching her back to push more of her sensitive tissue into his mouth. He pulled her nipple between his teeth, tugging it, stretching it, letting it pop out of his mouth, wet with his saliva. He scootched closer to her, reaching for her other breast, moving over her body to abuse the other little peak with his lips and tongue, his cock stiffening, elongating across her belly, still glistening with their combined fluids. He rose from her breast only when he'd marked her skin, his teeth and lips turning her nipple rosy and swollen, and he smirked with satisfaction as he looked at it in his hand.

His eyes followed the lines of her body. He wasn't sure how it was possible at his age to be this responsive, but he wasn't going to question it. His body craved hers, and as long as she would let him, he would indulge himself. He rocked back onto his side, his head propped on his hand. “Carter?” he started, conversationally, “I'd like to see you on your hands and knees.”

She blinked at him, her body humming from the effects of his mouth. Each tug and pull on her nipples, his hands kneading her breasts, had been like a hotwire to her clit, an electrical connection that made her rock her hips back and forth with need, unwanted sounds rising from her throat. So when he told her what he wanted, she complied, as she always did, following his orders, no matter how casual. She rose to her hands and knees before him.

“Turn,” he said, pointing down and making a circle with his finger, wanting to see her smooth flanks, her graceful shoulders, the way her breasts shifted behind her arms as she moved in the amber light. “Stop!” he said, when she'd turned almost completely around, so that her ass was in front of his face. He reached out and slicked a big paw over the smooth surface of her rump. “Beautiful,” he said, rising, kneeling behind her, cock in hand, ready to find and stoke the heat of her body again.

He reached for her hip, pulling her back, at the same time, jerking forward, his cock slipping easily inside her, because of the lubrication provided by their earlier efforts. She was still tight, but the effect of the extra lubrication, made his penetration of her body smooth, deep. He took her other hip, finger tips denting and marking the pristine, porcelain skin, sure to leave bruises in the morning.

He slipped a long arm around her middle and pulled her back against him, perched on his lap, and fully impaled. He nuzzled her neck, reaching for her already tender breasts, tweaking a nipple here, rolling the other there, slipping his hand down her belly to her curls to find her clit swollen and sensitive, a long, low moan rising from her chest as he stroked her. “I wish I had a mirror,” he said, the rumble of his voice vibrating in her chest as she rested against him, his breath in her ear making her nipples perk, gooseflesh breaking out across her arms and thighs. “I could look in the mirror and see my hands on your body,” he said, giving her clit a short, hard pinch. She moaned again, no longer capable of articulated speech. “Look Sam,” he said, his head leaning over her shoulder, gazing down her body, one hand on her beast, the other between her thighs. And he watched as her eyelids fluttered open and she gasped to see his big hands on her.

She spread her thighs open wider, arching back against him, bringing him deeper inside her, opening herself more to his questing fingers. She raised her arms to hook around his head, to hold him as she turned to nibble his neck. “Jack,” she whispered, the only sensible word still in her vocabulary, his hands and mouth and cock having eliminated every other one.

“Bend over, Sam,” he said, urging her shoulders forward with his own, holding her as her hands dropped forward onto the surface of the duvet. “Ready?” he asked, letting her support herself. She nodded, as he grabbed her hips, the shape of her ass like a smooth, pale heart before him, and he had an irrational desire to bite her flesh and leave the mark of his teeth on it. Another time, perhaps, he thought. Instead he leaned over to line up kisses along her spine, nudging her with his hips, now impatient to thrust into her tightness.

Widening his own stance, he began to flex strong back muscles and abs, stroking into her sharply, stabbing her with his weapon of choice, jamming into her, his thigh muscles giving him force and power, grunting as the friction between them built. Sam, long past rational thought, pushed back, his shaft thick and implacable within her. She could feel her inner muscles tensing, quivering, as he rammed into her.

His hands slid up her sides to grasp her breasts, and then her shoulders as he labored over her. He returned to her hip, the other hand slipping beneath her, to finger her clit. He leaned over her, grasping her shoulder again, letting her take some of his weight. The quiver insider her intensified, his finger on her clit, pushing her further and further, until she cried out, muscles clenching sharply while he thrust within her and held.