A Flame in the Night

THE FLAME (Act 3 of 3)

Our adventurous night has been filled with dancing and candle-lit lovemaking. There's even a large bag full of many sensual things. Though for now, the bag sits closely nearby us with more things inside it, most of which is still unbeknownst to you. But thus far its contents, including a candle and restraining ware, have added an exciting element to the evening.

However, presently, we're lying on our sides and resting on the bed with the lights on. Indeed, I need this dearly beloved and precious time because, seriously, I need the opportunity to recover. Currently I'm limp everywhere. And in some places it's even worse, as I'm much limper there than anywhere else, having unioned our heat and having shared our passion.

Essentially then--and all too clearly to me--we were frantically going at it, and humping like happy rabbits in a carrot garden. And to me, it seems like it happened only a few, mere, Twitter-length seconds ago; so believe you me, I need the spacing of seconds, minutes, or hours to refurbish myself. After all, a man's gotta have a little time to loll, laze, and relax once the deed has been completed, otherwise ... measurably, ... he's upwards to nothing! He's pointless in length, and both useless in width and volume.

Thus frankly now, my cock is a total downer. And therefore, ... hardly, ... I haven't anything stiffer or longer to work with than what a female has got. So ignoring all dickless and penisless fetishes, and dismissing any small bulge, little dude obsessions--a guy having a slack, willy beansprout for his sex unit--well ordinarily, this isn't how a woman wants her man in the bed.

Consequently, then, although the elapsed duration feels far too brief for me--for you, on the other hand--the game is in overtime! There's some unfinished business and an unsettled outcome. Time is accruing and it's severely delinquent; hence, you've got account receivables that badly need a lengthy audit, and perhaps, a large goodwill deposit. So, like an expired library book, you're ready to be renewed and reread. And the last thing you want now is for your pages to be sitting around getting untouched, as if you've been lost on an old neglected shelf.

Therefore, with nothing better to do, in the moment to entertain yourself, you gently chuck your leg up against mine and lightly let it slide and ease down my slope. And you do it without any particular cause, reason, or intention--you're just restless. Then, by and by, after a while, you start touching me and caressing me with your soft, caring hands. And little by little, at first, then with increasing focus and desire, you feel more playful with every sweeping pass and every loving stroke you paint on my body.

Conversely, as we're facing one another, I'm responding to you laggardly, at best. I'm dopey and slow, and having more than enough trouble following your playmaking; however, I'm trying to mind you and return some of my attention, but unfortunately, I'm shot and spent. And I feel so awfully, awfully tired!

Nevertheless, you pinch my chest and in a cozy, sportive voice you say teasingly, "Mmm ... what's the matter? Aren't you in the mood for me?"

My brain is ready for a holiday, or at least a good siesta. So I pause before answering since, really, all I'm trying to do is survive. Like I'm treading in deep water, I want to stay afloat for a while, thinking somehow, someway there'll be a rescue. But that question you posed might be hair-triggered and loaded; surely it could lead to trouble, if I'm not tactful how I respond. Except with all my weariness, I'm coming up blanks with any original ideas, though maybe, I hope, some satire will calm you. I inhale a large breath, and lightheartedly, I try crooning out in song:

"Girl, ... I think about it every night, and day ... I'm addicted, wanna jump inside your love." Then I wag my index finger left to right and whimper aloud, saying, "Only, ... just not right now, okay?"

"No, no!" You spank my ass and shake your head. "Sorry, so sorry, dear. Black Eyed Peas won't be showing up here to help you."

Later, you lean in and give me a peck on my cheek, but adversely soon afterwards, I begin to close my eyes again, at first blinking them at half pace, until eventually they shut completely. I attempt to settle into napping, trusting you'll see I'm doggone tired and ignore me as I succumb to the long night that has shipwrecked my effectiveness.

Yet, despite my obvious and apparent impoverishment, you're beginning to enjoy the challenge of trying to reignite my spark. Therefore, you relocate your body closer to mine and gravitate over to kiss my chest. Then, what's more, you skim your fingers ever so slowly along the upper perimeter of my side. And likewise, you allow your fingertips to take a stroll, and walking them inch by inch, finger by finger, they casually tread atop the vertex of my waistline.

But regrettably, even with all the ribbing you do to me with your fingers, I'm still not behaving to your liking and satisfaction. Thus, haphazardly, you snap your head in my direction and flog your hair strands into my vacant, uncooperative face.

"Oh, stop it!" I open my eyes and mutter lightly, attempting to be gentle with my rejection. Faintly I'm grumbling beneath my voice and complaining of exhaustion: my fuel cells are low and shoddy, and I just want to recharge myself by sleeping. And after considering my condition here--that is, if I were to first describe the way I'm feeling, I'd say I feel like a mummy, wound up in wraps and unable to move. But on careful and broader review of the situation, I'd be better told and even believably accurate to say that I'm feeling like a mouse--being stalked and cornered like prey!

Like a nosey kitten, you rub your whiskery-smooth face in my skin and peek at me with those mischievous feline eyes. Plus, you stretch out your paws to fondle my genitals, and while annoyingly smirking, you use those cat-like mittens to molest my balls and dangle my cock. Then, with a condescending look, you play around and tussle with it, and momentarily, you admire your 'golden' jewel piece as if it were actually scented with catnip. And surely, it does satisfy your curiosity--for a tad, until you've become bored with my inactive limpness. Hence, a little later, your hands are roaming again, and they drift around wherever they want, making soft, grazing brushes that cover the entire span of my front.

However, soon after, you see my eyes drooping and growing comfortable as I'm about to take a snooze. So then, abruptly, you shove me over and level me out on my back. And as I look upwards at you, with my tired, bleary eyes, I can almost see the claws in your paws as though you're preparing to pounce on your new mouse toy. Yet, before you bushwhack my plaything, you opt to grapple my nipples and test my resistance even further.

I continue making weak defensive blocking swings, praying this will discourage you from being a pestering nuisance. But by now, I'm convinced there's something more to this. Something is spurring you to be very persistent. Thus, I'm left with no favorable choice but to beg for mercy.

"Please, no more!" I yawn and express even more of my tiredness. Then I barely lift my arm and spread my hand, while weakly protesting, "Give me five minutes. ... I just need a little more rest."

But rather than that, you straddle over me and drop your hair into my face. And while your head is still lowered, you start running your tongue all over my nipples.

I feel like I've got to scratch, or itch, or perhaps shoo you away like you're a gnat in my face. Again, I try ignoring you--for as much as I can--but your soft touch tickles me!

And with that, I'm forced to use more of my valuable and scarce energy reserves. But even so, I nudge you away once again. However, all too evidently you're still not done with me yet!

You crouch back and sit into your hindquarters, seemingly getting ready to take flight and spring. And just before striking me, I sense you giving me forewarning, but then, quickly you 'leap' to my rib cage and arrest me. Thus, as you're pinning me down and restraining me from getting away, you seize control of my will and torment me with long, stroking licking patterns that haunt the extreme limits of my senses. I shudder and tremble as your damp tabby-tongue laps all around my belly, cleaning my abdomen and searching for new ways to provoke me. And while you're at it, repetitiously you're heckling me, and saying, "Come on, come on! I want to play with little brother."

For me the harassment is much too intolerable. Dearly me, I just can't get any sleep! So once again I retaliate and push you off my gut. But dreadfully this time, I know I'm in trouble because, indeed, the pussy's on the hunt. And when you move closer towards my ear, I swear I hear beastly whirring tones that nearly sound like you're purring. But actually, in fact, you're just necking in my ear and whispering, "Baby, baby. I wanna play!"

Sadly, my body's not in the mood to play, or move, or do anything useful. However, after hearing your perky voice, I get cold shivers all the way down to the base of my spine. Surely then, I know exactly what you require and it simply frightens me.

As a consequence, I corral enough strength to kiss you, wishing this will buy time and cool you off. And we kiss for a bit; except, my plan to slow your pursuit doesn't work well. You're all played out of that romantic, sentimental nonsense. You've moved on from kissing my lips and from tongue washing my anatomy. Better than that, with full and ample breaths you inhale and exhale and blow hair-raising breezes into my lazy flesh and lifeless bag of bones. And again and again, you declare out, "I want you!"

Suddenly, and without additional warning--you make your finishing descent. With your mouth graciously opened wide, you swoop lower and go for the kill. There, you proceed to draw me in while devouring your incapable man-mouse. Emphatically, you suck my limp, dangling meat until it's completely within your lips. And as you engulf my snubby little pacifier and consume my member whole, impatiently you wait, expecting your toy thing to grow and inflate to a more competent dimension.

But, disappointingly, I'm a flop! I'm failing Sex Ed 101. I haven't produced the chain reaction that's sorely needed. However, things are altogether different now. Upon feeling the smack of that dive and the slurping jolt of your face chowing on my noodle, I'm certainly more awake. In fact, I discern new life in my brain--and in my drowsy organs as well. So there's no need or desire to be pushing, swatting, or blocking you away, and surprisingly, I'm much more receptive to your tenacious henpecking and nettlesome foreplay.

Hence, I settle in and behave myself like a good host, and let you nurse me back to my health. And although I was tardy in appreciating your efforts, I'm more than happy now to be lounging about receiving your stimulation. But, everything is not fine and dandy yet. There's a small problem that still persists: My staff isn't flying! That erection isn't there! It's stubborn, diminutive, and slow to get going.

Meanwhile, you run your hands steadily on my torso and give consummate kisses all over my privates. Again and again, I encounter your turbulent, orally-powered vacuum, as you seem to repeat the sucking routine that you've created. After wandering around the 'diamond' and exploring the 'ball field', you circle back to home-base and suck the root of my bat, fiercely and earnestly. With a touchy persuasion and a firm resolve, you're determined to fortify my puffy penis. You go on and on, tonguing the crown of my dick and downing my stem to the very end of the base, until then, finally, you feel it--you see it--it begins to swell! And now, anxiously, you wait for it to expand even bigger.

With my energy level out of the red warning zone, I can drop the zombie act. I'm breathing and functioning, so I can return to the living world and start doing my manly chores. And as the male of this household, my immediate duty is to--lie back, relax, stroke your hair softly, caress your shoulders gently--and let you repair my saggy, broken-down penis. And within time, the results become obvious: the sucking and licking, over and over, has hardened my valuables. I'm geared up and prepared for the task. I'm packing mass, with just the right length and stiffness for the gigging.

Consequently, your persistence has paid remarkable dividends, up to double or even triple fold! And to be compensated for that fine labor, you're eager to be rewarded. You're wet and ready to do some romping. Hence, you guide me up and lead me to the other side of the room where there's an unarmed chair. This is where you want to 'dress up' and play housewife.

So in haste, you sit me down in the chair, and in nothing flat you're ambushing me. With your legs straddled over my erect, soaring pole, you drive your wet fuck-hole into my voluminous cock.

"Let's fornicate!" You cheer out, being filled in high spirits. You look into my beat, bloodshot eyes and again you say, "Fuck me where you wanna!"

I feel my manhood gathered up by the angry tornado in your snatch. And as you funnel that storm onto my big capybara, you make yourself at ease sitting on top of me. Your thighs and arms are wrapped all around my physique, while you hold me down for ransom. Then, as you seesaw back-and-forth on my hard, elongated member, I'm held nearly motionless while your body is smothering me and your boobs are smearing into my chest.

But I like having you pressed into me. And being in your stronghold is particularly delightful. Forcefully you're directing your pussy to thump me strong and heavy as you thrust your hips onto me and nail me into the chair. And while I can't move much when your aggressive cunt is squeezing tightly and bucking against my hard-on, I try my best to reciprocate the intimacy by kissing your chin, nibbling your ear lobes, and tasting your neck.

However, when I get stuck gazing at your sexy hair, over and over--which, by the way--is still tied flirtatiously in twin ponytails with bright, loony ribbons--I'm now captured by another means. Your hair makes me feel sinfully guilt and overly amorous. I just want to run my hands through those lovely, lovely hair fibers and remain firmly seated inside your dandy, savory ditch.

Plus in return, as I brush and comb your hair with my fingers, you accelerate the bouncing and bucking. Even more fervently you knock into me and relentlessly offer your busts to my face. Then, while you're getting busy blanketing me with those inflamed eye-charmers, my hands perform exploratory overtures along the entire length of your back.

And incidentally, while we're on the subject, the intercourse isn't always so erratic or heedless. Occasionally, we slam on the brakes and put a halt to our sex motors. Then we woo and coo as though we're stopped at a crossing light, waiting for elderly grandma to gingerly cross over the road. We wait, figuratively, for the traffic signal to change while we nestle fondly and cuddle in our passion. And during the intermission, we highlight our loving feelings as I study your arms, caress your legs, and truly admire your breasts. Calmly and smoothly, I find what's in reach, and delicately, I touch and kiss it.

But soon, and just as unpredictably as when we came to an abrupt stop, the light changes from red back to green. Then in an instant, you're back and raring to go! Subsequently, you step on the throttle, putting the pedal to the metal, and anxiously you steer your cunt to get going. Therefore, suddenly it's like we're racing aimlessly, because you're crashing into me and banging away on my dick again.

Furthermore, as you've got me pinned down to the chair and with you in the driver's position, you become empowered to get crazy and set free your inhibitions. Wantonly and frequently, you're flipping your hair around, flaunting your body, and teasing me with your hardened, fully aroused tits. Indeed, you saddle the ride and jockey me; with a bouncing fanny and forward tilt, you lean in and take the reins, as though you're heading down the final thoroughfare to win top prize at the Kentucky Derby.

But it's all good. I'm having fun carry you around as if I were a pack mule. With you inserted onto the point of my tall, upward-pointing rigging, I fancy having your pelvic underside bearing down on my extended self. Moreover, as you continue to rock up and down on my riser, you hear me moaning and toiling, and struggling to hold back my pleasure. But those ecstasy sounds that parallel the timing of your dipping movements are increasing in loudness and significance. Badly, I'm fighting to delay what's building inside me and trying to prevent any of it from gushing unexpectedly.

"I want to come," I confess my agony and my aching desire. "I want to come inside your pussy!"

You're into this moment and that's all you needed to hear. You've been weather-beating my feeble, tired pickle, and now your self-combusting pussy is primed for a climactic event. You take my hands and place them behind my back, and careening in with the full weight of your body, you cover me with your fluffy bra-fillers. I'm thus made to adore you as you engross yourself with sexual feelings and concentrate on getting yourself to let go. And while you feel the sturdiness of my bone, bobbing inside you, plucking at your puppet strings, and taking you on a cruise, you feel your breadbasket warming your oven as though it's baking fresh batches of endorphins to spiral and permeate your middle. Hence, feverishly you begin to moan, and rough and raggedly drop your bush on my knob. Plus, notably, your little cunny appears to swell and fit tighter with each push, making that meatbone feel harder and harder. And now, suddenly you're there! You've changed! Bursting with satisfaction, you reach your wondrously coveted 'O.'

At once you try to savor it; my manly gland inside you feels considerable and perfectly blissful. So you sit on top of my tip, trying to flatten that long skyscraper that's lodged deep in your barrel. With your peak at the crest of full motion, your vagina pulsates and oscillates by its very own doing. There's a monsoonal rain in your cloud lining and it downpours within your channel like there's new breaches overrunning the riverbanks. And as your wet pussy is plunged down on my cock, you take the pleasure and play games with the aptitude and intensity. The thrill flows in your circle while you sit mostly stationary thinking about my big dick stuffed thoroughly inside your love hole. You roll your shoulders back and around, and you twist and turn slowly at the waist, angling to get my stern, sizeable stick to ravish more of your sore interior. Gently and easily then, you rock and squeeze my erection that's caught up inside you and let all the hot liveliness flow away naturally, as it should.

In addition, while your cresting snatch releases her come, over and over, I feel your watery sex fluid dripping down on my stock. It's splendidly warm and pleasing having my shaft lost and buried in your crevice. Plus, I feel your tummy molding against mine, and I'm cherishing how your bottom cheeks are smashing against my balls. And over time, your orgasm must have blended with normal everyday happiness because presently our bodies are taking our time. We're moving leisurely now and teeter-tottering passively with a slackened locomotion. Apparently there's no need to rush or do much, namely we need only to enjoy ourselves and nurture our circumstance.

But as you continue squeezing down on your hypersensitive walls and feel that trailer hitch mingling against your surface--then out of the blue, you floor me with sensual backlash! Otherwise, I suppose I'd forgotten what a woman is capable of accomplishing, such as the things she can do--which I simply can't. Because just like an all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-have buffet, you're already back in line and serving yourself to another helping.