Chris Komodo - Getting warmer

He relented, drawing my nipple into his mouth and suckling, white bolts of sensation through my nerves. Not being able to see, I quivered in anticipation of each touch, each lick. His rough breathing, the creak of his leather jacket under his legs, the wet, hot sound of his mouth on my breast, each noise and sound clear, magnified by the acoustics and visual deprivation.

My feet dangled off either side of the catwalk, my thighs pulled roughly against Rick’s waist. From time to time, he would sway, or move us from side to side and I would tighten my legs again, forced to wonder if he was, actually, being careful. My stomach did a roller-coaster flip. My breathing sped until I was panting. Sweat beaded the back of my neck, the prickle of fear along my scalp made each sensation more powerful, more intense.

Finally Rick whipped my shirt the rest of the way off. I gasped as the cool stage air kissed my sweat-damp hair. I snagged it away from him long enough to hang it over the rails — I didn’t fancy the idea climbing down the ladder half-naked to fetch it. “There we go,” I said. I grabbed the rails. I'm not bulked up, but switching drops — even with the assistance of pulleys and rope — isn’t easy. You have to ease them down, slowly, gracefully. My biceps and triceps are firm; my grip is strong; I have more upper body strength than most women.

I lifted myself up, twisting with my hips, grinding down on Rick’s cock. He jerked, instinctively seeking my enclosing heat; the tip of his prick slid into my pussy and I sighed. “Got you now,” I triumphed.

“Think again,” Rick said. He slid his hand between our bodies, using the inch or so I’d given him. He tickled along my pussy, seeking, then finding my clit. He rubbed gently, flicking the tiny nub back and forth. “Now, you stay here,” he ordered. “If you drop onto my hand, I’ll stop.”

I stared at him. I’m strong, but my arms were already trembling.

“You heard me. You’re going to torture me by dragging me up here, expect me to pay it back in spades.”

I tightened my hands on the rails; damn, my palms were already sweaty. Good thing I used to ride horseback. I squeezed my thighs, holding my body as steady as I could. Rick’s hand never ceased to move, working my clit, teasing the inside of my pussy, back to the clit. My heart pounded and within moments, I was tense and shaking. Sweat dripped down my spine.

“I can’t, I can’t, I…” I was choking the words out, nearly incoherent in lust, wanting, fear.

“You can,” he said. “Easy…” Rick slid his hand up my damp back, blew cold air along my chest, his other hand between my legs never ceasing. My skin tingled, sheathed me in gooseflesh. My nipples, already hard, prickled. I thrust my chest forward and he took one nipple into his mouth, licking and biting.

I twisted my hips violently, so close, so close. My voice came in short, hard moans, gasping cries that echoed around us.

“You can,” Rick said, again, his words muffled against my chest, the scrape of his beard against the soft flesh of my breasts. “It’s all right. You know you can.”

I lost my grip. I came so hard I bit the inside of my cheek, tasted blood. I felt the world tip under me. I was falling, falling. Vertigo took over and I shrieked, relishing the adrenaline rush. Fear and culmination blended into one unutterable sensation. One perfect moment of bliss. My muscles froze, ice and glass, then shattered. I went limp; relief that I hadn't fallen adding a piquant spice.

As always, the drop back into my body was an agony of sensation; I twisted away from Rick’s teasing fingers, desperate to regain a little bit of my self. He soothed me, nuzzling at my belly. His beard tickled along my skin; his hand stroked me, once, twice, stopped.

“That was just fine,” he said.

We rested there a while, my legs twined around his hips. I hooked one arm around the railing’s post and stared up at the ceiling. Crossed ropes and brackets lined the area another fifteen feet above. The highest lights were tucked away in the corners.

“Why thank you.”

“Aim to please,” he quipped, “shoot to kill.”

“Well, you killed me. But I see you’re still breathing.” I flexed my thighs, bringing myself closer to him. His cock jerked against my skin, twitching.

“Stand up,” Rick said.

“You think I can?”

“Get up, woman.” I stuck my tongue out at this forcefulness, then giggled. I couldn't help it; Rick was never more amusing when he tried to be bossy.

It took some effort to get untangled from him and regain my feet. Damn him, he stood smoothly with more grace than I was currently capable.

Rick kissed me, once, hard. His tongue thrust into my mouth forcefully and I inhaled, molding into his embrace.

“Turn around,” he said. I obeyed, facing away from him into the banks of stage lights. “There you go. Bend over. Brace yourself.”

I twined my arms over the rails, bracketed my hands around the metal. I stared down at the stage, thirty feet below. The cross-hatch of the catwalk never appeared so narrow before; a mere net of string between me and the hard wood floor. My inner ear complained.

Rick flipped up my skirt, baring my ass. “Beautiful,” he said. He traced the lines of my tattoo, a colorful, tribal-style jellyfish. I peeked coyly over my shoulder.

“Usually people say, ‘don’t look down’ in these situations,” Rick said.

I looked down. Down at the floor, down through endless space. My inner ear jolted and I fought the urge to stand upright. Rick wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me roughly back to him. I looked down. The slippery head of his prick thrust into my wet folds and I arched my back, straining to pull him into me. I looked down.

He thrust, hard against my softness. Heat and fire, molten against liquid smoothness. I groaned. Stretched, pulled, prodded, I gave over to sensation. I kept my eyes opened. The stage decorations were below me. Floating. Free-fall.

Cock in my pussy, snug and tight. Hard and hot. Thrusts and strokes. I was driven forward, braced myself hard against the rails and pushed back, pushed into him, pushed him into me. Liquid smooth, like warm honey, I cried out as he pumped, rocking me back and forth. His balls swung, spanking against my pussy. Rick reached around my waist, found my clit with his fingers and pressed, matching his fierce rhythm. Free-fall. Floating.

He was quiet in his pleasure; he always was. The easy, quick pants of his breath the only sounds that reached me over my cries.

Finally, he stiffened, caught his breath. Warm cum rushed into me, the throbbing of his cock matched by a jerk of fingers. I came again, white knuckled and screaming against the rails.

Free-fall.

Floating.

“Exit,” I said, “downstage left. Tumultuous applause.”

It sounded like a pretty dumb idea; a pretty dumb, cold idea. Me and Terri building an igloo and then spending the night in it.

I met Terri in the Indigenous Peoples course we were both taking as part of our first year college program. She was smart and funny and adventurous, a brown-eyed, short-haired brunette with burnished copper skin on a tight little body, sporting perky boobs to match. She said she was part Cherokee. We hit it off instantly.

“We’ll live like the Eskimos did,” she ventured, grasping my hands and staring into my eyes. “At least for one night. Just for one night,” she added, when she saw my doubtful expression.

I hesitated some more.

Then Terri kissed me lightly and quickly on the lips and said, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. What have you got to lose?”

I was wondering what I had to lose, what Terri really wanted from me spending one night in a snow castle. But I nodded, always wanting to learn more, and her warm smile lit up her pretty face and mine.