Eating And Fucking

. What a fuck-fest that was! Except when we wolfed some sandwiches from room-service, there was barely a moment when Ira didn't have his tongue, or his fingers, or his prick in one or more of my orifices; and eating was an extension of the sex. We didn't wash our hands - after all, our mouths had been everywhere, and you could tell, from the way our eyes kept meeting as we ate, that whenever we licked our fingers, we were really eating each other.

At one point, I'm on the bed, head down, offering my upturned ass to his face. My hands are tugging my bum-cheeks apart, so everything in between feels stretched to the max, and I can feel his hot breath there, and hear him murmuring, 'Oh my god, look at you, how lovely.' And he thrusts his tongue deep inside me, exploring every nook and cranny, while his mouth is making these wet, sucking sounds like when you eat a mango; and I feel the end of his nose polishing my asshole; and his teeth are gnawing at the taut, stretched muscle in between. I can't think that I've ever been so aroused, my excitement growing as I become increasingly desperate to have something inside me bigger and harder than his tongue.

And then, as if he's read my mind, he replaces his tongue with the tip of his penis and tells me, 'Open it wider.' And I do. And suddenly, without any warning, he nails me. It feels like I've been ripped open by a lightning-bolt. I cry out -- whether from an intensity of pain or pleasure I can hardly tell -- and it takes all the self-control I've got to stop myself from collapsing under him.

'Christ Jess, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?'

'It's okay,' I tell him, 'Don't stop' -- because after that first assault, his thrusts, though still forceful, feel lovely; and, in total surrender I bury my face in the pillow and push my ass back as far I can, and concentrate on being a receptacle and nothing more. Any woman will understand how wonderful that feels!

But then Ira pauses. 'Give me your hands,' he says, and grabbing them, impales me again, holding me close against him for a long delicious while, before relaxing his grip. Then, with my arms still stretched behind me, my butt in the air, and my torso suspended above the bed, he starts hauling me onto his prick again and again. With each slap of his flanks against my ass, I feel my breasts swinging, and when my nipples start snagging on the crisp, rumpled sheets and sending electric shocks pinging down to my fluttering vagina, I know I can hold back no longer. The slaps are coming harder and faster, there's a familiar juddering in my cunt, and I hear him groan and imagine his semen, like an incoming tide, merging with my juices.

You might think we'd need some time to recover but that's not how it was with us. We understood each other's bodies so well. We weren't about to stop fucking just because we'd both come a few moments before; we would keep going for as long as Ira had a hard on. And let's face it, whenever we were alone together, Ira always had a hard on.

Ira backs me up against a writing desk fixed to the wall and enters me, but then, immediately withdraws. He's noticed the edge of the desk cutting into my behind. He grabs a pillow and wedging it between my backside and the desk, enters me again. His hands are everywhere -- caressing my face, my breasts, my belly; stroking my clitoris; steadying my hips to receive his thrusts. I'm caressing him too, and by now, there's hardly an inch of our bodies that's not smothered with our juices. Then he lifts my butt onto the sloping desktop, and I'm grateful to have the pillow between the desk and my back as I slide down, till his cock is in to the hilt, and I can't slide any further.

I was so full of spunk I doubted Ira would be able to add to what he'd deposited in me earlier. But I underestimated him. He's watching my face intently, as I'm watching his, and suddenly I'm yelling, 'Oh my god, it's coming again!' And, although I know it sounds farfetched, I honestly believe I heard, between my wailing cries, the zit, zit, zit, of his ejaculation.