A Flame In The Night Ch 14

THE NEXT DAY (Act 3 of 3): THE SLIPPERY PLAN

"Oh yes, of course I liked it." I smile broadly, and reply, "You know I love eating breakfast." Then I swirl the tip of my tongue around my lips, confirming how I enjoyed our morning foreplay.

We are still nude and happen to be standing next to the bed, where we enjoyed ourselves this morning.

"Look at how messy I am." You put your hands on your hips in disbelief. Then, after pouting your lips, you ask, "Did you taste any of that chocolate?"

"Oh, I tasted plenty chocolate." I smirk. "And it was the best. No other chocolate is quite like it."

Curiously, you lower a finger and dip into the slit of your pussy. Then you lift away some of the remaining chocolate syrup and taste your chocolate coated finger. "Mmm, yeah. Seems about right to me."

Seconds later, you shimmy your hips and lean closer to me. "Here, have some more."

Before I can answer, you place your finger into my mouth and offer me another taste.

You nod your head up and down, saying, "There you go. This chocolate has special flavor."

I couldn't agree more. After having used chocolate syrup to decorate your pussy, I enjoyed eating it from your snatch as an early morning breakfast snack. And so, what a perfect way to kick start the day. Except, now my head is buzzing from all the sugar and from lapping up so much of your womanly essence. I'm feeling kind of high and exhilarated, as though I just downed a couple of caffeinated energy drinks.

Continually my eyes are drawn to stare at your crotch. That messy clutter, that unsightly puddle, that chocolatey coated entryway of yours is making me flighty. Urgently now, I want to dunk my dong into the topping plastered thickly about your passageway. And it makes matters worse that I remember what you felt like when you were recently orgasming. It still seems to be on the tip of my tongue. At that time, my face was pinned up so tightly against your syrupy frosted pussy and my tongue joyfully licked the nutritious glaze from your mounds.

Indeed, as I ponder that clutter, my cock is getting prickly and warm. Dang it! I want to fuck you this instant. I want to dip my sausage inside you and thrust it about swiftly. Right now, I'm eager to feel some penile erosion and have some sensual friction against my cock, while its encased intimately within you.

But I don't do it. Not quite yet. That's not the chosen plan, so I need to stick to the original intention. After all, there's something else awaiting us. It's an opportunity for a new, altogether different experience. In particular, perhaps we should get really, really slippery.

* * *

"Well, let's see." I look toward the table in our room. "Yup, I think it's a good time for that."

Still nearby our bed is a large goodie bag that contains one more surprise for us inside. However, this time, instead of the marshmallow cream and the chocolate toppings, which we've already played with, there is something else we can smear. Thus, from the bag I pull out a thick glass bottle filled with silky ginseng scented massage oil.

"Now what do you have?" you ask. "What else is in the bag?"

"Yep, this should work nicely," I remark. "Some say it's good for the skin and good for the libido."

You see the bottle label, and say, "Mmm, ginseng. Great!" Then you lift your finger in an upwardly vertical motion. "This should make that little man twice as hard... and big as a cucumber."

"Well, I'm ready!" I wink, thinking how novel that would be. However, I pinch my chin between my thumb and fingers, considering the massage oil. "But watch out with that ginseng. I think your energy Qi will double. Even 'the birds and the bees' are gonna blush if you get too much of this stuff."

"Ha ha, funny boy." You grin, cheerfully. "But that's okay, you're my hero. You can take anything I do to you."

So with that, you pull the bottle from my hands and twist the top off. Then you let your nose float slowly around the opening, inhaling the scent. "Hmm, that smells really good. I'm gonna enjoy this."

I also sniff the contents of the bottle. "Yeah, I like it too. Let me help you with that."

We move closer together and I pour oil into your cupped hands. You reach to my shoulders and start smearing your oily palms around my neck and throughout my upper region. Then, with your hands gliding across the broadness of my shoulders, you work the oil well into my skin, attempting to comfort me.

"Relax your muscles, dear. You're too tense." You rub more oil along my chest and along the lengths of my arms.

"I'm trying to relax," I say, "but I have a lot on my mind. I have a lot of YOU in my head."

"Silly, soon you'll have even more of me." Invitingly, you squint your eyes and tilt your head. Smiling slyly, you ask, "You want more of me? You want me in your head, around your head, and all over your thing?"

Nervously, I'm not sure what I've started. I pour some oil into my hand and rub it along the tops of your shoulder and along the sides of your arms. But after a while, I find my nerves calming and I'm getting into a rhythm, as we begin to sync our rubbing movements. Like a collaboration of house painters working on assignment, we dab our outer shells with the fragrant, soothing ginseng oil. Except, it's not work or even a chore, at all. It's a team-building learning exercise. Rather than painting, getting the emollient all over our bodies is getting awfully fun, and certainly more fun with two.

So, we continue spreading the oil, enjoying the work, and collaborating, as we reap the benefits of our partnership. We remain standing, intimately close, and slowly progress our massaging and layering of oil to cover more of our bodies. Eventually, by and by, we cover our arms, chest, and most of our front.

"That's right, dear." You point to your belly. "Don't miss a spot."

I rub your belly with my oily hands and along the sides of your waist, as I admire your figure. You take notice that my eyes have been lowering and wandering away from yours. Rigorously, you start groping my biceps, exclaiming, "Look at these muscles!"

I feel your grip and continue rubbing your sides and stomach, practically ignoring you. "Yeah, what about it."

In contrast, you draw attention to your own arms. "Oh, dear," you sigh. "You're so much stronger than me." And playfully you start flexing and striking poses, showing off your arms and legs. "See, I hardly have any muscles."

"Oh hon, don't fret about that. You've got something nicer than muscles." I run my hands up and down the contours of your hips and sides. "See baby, you've got curves!"

"You mean some of these?" You point your fingers toward your rear, aiming them at your shapely tush.

"Well, of course." I chuckle. "Those are curves and better than mine." I continue massaging your tummy and mid-section. "Scientifically it's proven those lovely, powerful curves are doping me. So, naughty bad girl, right now you're drugging my mind and making me have awful crazy thoughts."

"Ooh yeah, baby!" Suddenly, you start bouncing and shaking your body. Intentionally you're making your boobs jiggle, round and round. "I wanna be light and greasy and you can squeeze and hold me every day."

"Whoa, please stop!" I exclaim. "I'm on duty here. Don't you see I've got a job to do, which means I'm trying not to get excited."

"That's okay," you assure me. "Be as excited as you wanna to be." Then you grab the girth of my puffy, semi-erect penis and swiftly slide your hands down the entire length of it. "You've got a new job now... and it's to point that hunky thing right at me."

It's not easy, but I remind myself of that original plan-to get us completely oily and slippery. So, I knuckle down and implore myself to be chill and mellow. And to conform to that ideal plan, I must pace this through leisurely and orderly. Then, if we pursue it, we'll enjoy the impeccable scheme I envisioned for us-in other words-we'll have a sweet, serene and very harmonious alliance.

And indeed, you seem to be living it up, painting the town, and luxuriating in the massages. Meticulously, you are covering and rubbing every spot of me. While more or less I play the role of junior-level workmate. I'm learning, experimenting, and mimicking your detailed thoroughness. Thus, overall, we're doing quite well as body painting colleagues. And while jointly working, we've gradually covered our torso, legs, and much more. So notably, we're now very greasy and very saturated in rich erotic oil.

Eventually, I refill my hands again to add an extra shot of that rubbing emollient. I apply a refreshed coating along the tops of your shoulders. However, I discover that perhaps I use a little too much. I added a bit more than was needed.

Suddenly, I gasp at my error. My eyes become locked and loaded on to an excessively large bead of oil that has leisurely descended down your front. I zero in and fixate about that ample bead's sinking path, as though my higher thinking is stalled hauntingly in time. Nervously now, I'm estimating, calculating, and following the steady trajectory. Down and about it travels, dripping down the slope of your breast it goes. As if its shape has formed the head of an arrow, that oily bead is clearly pointing downward. And seemingly, according to my speedy assessment, soon that blob of oil will run straight over the center of your nipple.

Holy Cow! Jiminy Cricket! I feel like Pinocchio, caught in a lie. Except it's not my nose that's growing a woody. My heart thumps and my blood rushes, as though my sexual urges demand I give in to my primal instincts. So, I grab those stupendous fun bags. I fondle your oily squeeze pillows and cup them in my hands. I lift them up and support them, as if I were carefully appraising the weight of your spongy melons. Your tantalizing shaped orbs are tender and supple, and the goosebumps rising in your skin show every indication they are easily excited by my touch and attention. Thus, I press and amuse myself with your silky caressable busts. I rub my palms across your aroused, quivering nipples, wishing I could spend hours enjoying your lovely, silky bosoms.

However, I don't get long hours and hours of free time to fondle your brazenly exposed pillows. Rather, far too soon you're pretending as if you've lost your balance. Unexpectedly, you make an abrupt turnabout to lean your backside against my front. You remove my hands from your boobs and, instead, gather my arms to wrap snugly around your chest. And once you've got me hugging you, you reach behind yourself to grab my hips. Then, liberally, you wiggle your fleshy buns into my slick, neurotically moody cock.

Pressed there tightly, you mold your rear side into me, while lowering your voice and sighing. "Oh, I like rubbing little boy-man all over my body." Then, like a clock or a windmill, you whirl your bottom, round and round, bumping and grazing your ass upon my cock, exclaiming, "Dear, we should do this every day."

For a short while, I press back and hold my ground as your slick rump continually swirls and rubs against my warming cock. However, after contemplating your provoking suggestions and having your moons orbit all around on my growing eagerness, I feel that whale of a walloping animal awakening. There's a sudden upturn in my heat and budding momentum in my arousal. And just when I'm about to give in and be carried away by wantonness lust, I promptly remind myself to keep hanging loose and resist the temptation.

"THE PLAN! THE PLAN!" I yell to myself, recalling the self-made mission to get the maximum use of this special oily situation. I catch my breath and attempt to regain my composure, so the highly volatile circumstance doesn't become unruly and out of control.

With our fronts greasy and finished, you lay me down onto the bed, facing forward onto the soft protective mat covering the mattress. You saddle over my butt so you can lubricate the span of my upper torso. Your hands caress into my firm muscles and ligaments, while thoroughly covering my entire back. My hamstrings are especially tight, but again, you mindfully take care of my soreness. And cheerfully, you knead with your hands and bury your forearms into the ripples of my dense muscles, making my fibers relax in every place of my body.

"Mmm." You lower your head to kiss the center of my back. "You smell good. I like it."

Obviously, I attribute my welcoming scent to the ginseng aroma. And similarly, the trace of herbal tonic ginseng is intriguing for me, as well.

Later, when you have completed my backside, I switch places with you. And likewise, with equal courtesy, I put you on the bed with your stomach facing forward into the mattress. Then, starting with your back, I provide you a deep and relaxing massage. I continue rubbing and massaging your arms, thighs, and calves until I sense all your stresses are fading.

Sometime after, I return to your back where I mildly knead and caress your fine glistening surface. I apply light percussive, repetitive strokes using the sides of my hands. Peacefully, I beat my hands all over your body, making soft, short thumping taps, as though my hands were comforting little drummer sticks. After a while, I lean over your hard-working posterior and begin blowing small circles up and down your spine. Then I begin licking your skin and tasting the oil off your back.

Your playful state of mind is bolstered by the tranquil endorphins that are flowing. "Honey," you giggle, "today you've already eaten me with chocolate. I'm not sure if ginseng will taste well after that."

"Dou Fu. Sweetie," I reply. "You know you taste good with anything."

You tuck your hands under your chin and nod. "Mmm, okay."

Then I pour a little more of the ginseng onto your backside and, carefully, blend the oil into your naked, velvety skin. My fingers open like large butterfly wings that gently glide over the openness of your exposed slippery back. Before long, your spine eases, your anxiety is lifted, and your soreness dissolves, as though a magical healing has put you in a perfect mood.

"My dear Romeo," you sigh, "I feel really good and I like how you touch me."

I kiss your back again, and say, "Yeah, and it feels good for me to touch you too."

"But you know what, dear," you continue, moaning in a faintly demanding tone. "Please, right now, ... I wanna play with naughty little brother."

I won't deny what you require. I roll your body over to face forward and to face me. Momentarily, I admire the beautiful, sensuous presentation before me. Your whole body is shimmering in the morning light. The glimmering finish of your oily, greasy skin is irresistibly lavishing and intoxicating. Again, I scan you from head to toe, but my eyes are obsessed with your slimy, wickedly messy muff. Oh, no more procrastination! No more waiting and storing up patience. I want-oh, how I need your fuck-hole.

I lift my body on top of yours and gently body-surf my frame along your sea of womanly curves. Like the motion of ocean waters, you have wonderful peaks and swells. Your oily wet exterior is buttery smooth and soft as summer rain. Hence, I drift over and over you, wanting to feel all your sensual inches. And as I 'skis' across your firm little lady bumps your nipple tips are practically tickling me.

And now for a bit we rub our bodies together, oily skin upon oily skin. We immerse and share our experience, intimately discovering our rich, smooth surfaces. Erotically, we probe our soft velvety textures and graze our hands against our skins with satin like finish.

However, as we embrace and smear our nakedness together, there is something odd. It seems to me that something is lacking or perhaps missing. As we entangle and blanket ourselves together, the friction I expect is lacking. Possibly it's hard to pinpoint, but what I think is supposed to be there is absent. Instead, I sense baffling utter frictionless-ness. There's ridiculous confounding slipperiness abounding everywhere and on anything I touch.

Consequently, in this enormous amount of slippery silkiness, you guide me to slide up your torso to grant me access to your skyward pointed tits. Here, I shift my weight to hoover my burly boner above your attention wanting ladies. And you clutch the fat circumference of my meaty log into your hands and alternate pressing its stubby head into you lovely aroused nipples.

Over and over, you flick the end of my member into your raised nubs. And again and again, I sense the height of your elevated cones crossing under my sensitive mushrooming knob. Furthermore, your bubbly, cheerful nipple tips seem to embed into my nerves, making my gland shiver. That little brother for a cock is turning red, growing stiff as a board, and becoming horribly infuriated, thanks to the tall hems and pointy edges of your tense, swollen nipples.

At last, my tolerance for this has imploded. I'm in carnal heat and turning close to being a cum-craving looney. That visceral fever has reached a pinnacle boiling point. My cock is sweltering and ready to get to the grindstone of doing some hard labor inside your pussy. All that stroking, rubbing, and petting has trained my little he-man. And now, in fact, that mighty hunk, that macho-man hero, is muscled up to his full potential. Indeed, he's outgrown his jockstrap, he's matured and seasoned, and presently, he's doubled in length and fat as a gourd.

Therefore, I realign my body to assume the fucking position. And as I've spread myself to face above you, your legs are still flat to the bed, yet parted open enough for my easy access. Thereupon, I scope my big-guy and ready myself to plunge into your hollowed inner presence. And at that right and planned moment, I launch that hardened-up sex probe. I thrust my throbbing cock between your buttery, creamy legs aimed to puncture deep into the small, tiny space of your pussy.

But oh, no-no-no! That eager cock doesn't penetrate your gash. My gung-ho sexual lance missed the big money shot. Totally, I botched the assigned goal and ruined the whole friggin' project!

Quickly, you counterbalance my blunder and execute a revised plan to atone for my untimely mistake. Tightly, very tightly, your powerful groin and upper thigh muscles clamp down on my misguided penis. And instantly, the entry door slams shut on my flattened manhood.

Moreover, my down-and-out, troubled cock is crushed between your meaty limbs. Suddenly, instead of being happy inside a soft nurturing pussy, in place of that, I'm now dismally inside the construct of an erotic torturing chamber. This phony, wanna-be pussy is not what I intended. And definitely, most assuredly, it's not part of the marvelous master plan.

Cautiously then, I attempt to pull my cock out of that leg trap. However, your arms clasp around my back, locking me in close to you. And before I know it, you've essentially wrapped me in a snug bear hug, making it difficult to inch my way out. As a result, my jailed man-root stays pinched between your thighs becoming severely compressed and feeling strained. Yet, nonetheless, in that emphatic tightness and compression, my elongated instrument is still curiously stimulated by the surrounding touch of your oily-slick, slippery surface.

Oh, how do I describe my awkward ruin and desolation. My horny weasel is crushed and oddly jammed up within that stupendously tight space. Your ravaging genitalia is pressed snug all around my vulnerable cock head. Hence, I can barely skid it in and out of this gauntlet as you tenaciously are wrenching your squishy crotch and the soft fillets of your vulva about my helpless, feeble, and inflamed dick.

Dang it! Shit! Dreadfully, I want to spill out and squirt a delicious orgasm. But I can't do it. You've got me bottled up so tight and you aren't letting me out. Indeed, I feel the clam-like grip of your inner thighs and the oyster-like flesh of your quim provoking me. And worse, you begin humping my lengthy snake within your 'Y-spot' as though you are trying to shed off my outer skin.