Chris Simon - A real hot number

"I guess so, yeah."

"What about your love, Allen? Doesn't she have a cunt good enough for you?"

"There's nobody special," I lied. "I just fuck around."

"You just fuck around," she repeated, doing a little dance in the greenish light. The storm was closer and the lightning illuminated the room with each flash. It was ice cold and wet. I was shivering all over, but my prick was as hard as could be and I wanted to fuck her more than anything. Or be fucked by her. I didn't really want to be there.

She slipped her hands up under her crotch and spread her hot pussy apart. It should have been hot, anyway. I felt her cold hand grab my cock and fondle the sore head, and then she maneuvered her pussy over it and rubbed my prick head in the wetness of her cunt. It was like ice-water!

But I didn't draw away. I was mesmerized by her dance and I lay motionless as I watched her working her self around and around over my prick, just letting the tip of it touch her snatch.

"Now I'll take you in, Allen. I'll take you into my cunt where I hide my secrets. I'll fuck your big cock until you cry for me to stop."

She threw her head back and as the lightning flashed she lowered her body onto my prick. I felt the coldness creeping over me. It descended down my shaft as she swallowed it with her cunt. My balls had begun to warm up again, but now they turned to ice. The chill went down my tail bone and spread up my spine, finally reaching my skull and making my hair stand on end. I lay gnashing my teeth while she worked up and down my stiff prick.

"I'm freezing!" I yelled.

I heard her laugh deep down in her throat. "I've always been frozen. I'm cold like the earth, wet and damp."

She pumped her body up and down on me and I felt that I was getting weaker and weaker. I tried to reach up and grab her, but she swayed and I couldn't touch her. My movements were too slow, I was slowing down. I thought that I must be feeling what it's like to freeze to death. Yet, my balls were working through it all. My prick was hard and tingling, and I could tell that she was getting close to a climax. She was breathing hoarsely, deep down in her throat.

"Cum! Cum inside me, Allen. Fill my frigid cunt with your cum!"

"No! I won't let you! Let me up!" I cried.

"I'm fucking you. YOU can't get up."

I reached up again and this time I was able to grab her by the collar she wore around her neck. She pulled back and the collar came off with a snap. There was a fiercely bright flash of lightning and I saw the scars around her throat that the collar hid.

"What are you!" I screamed.

"I love you, Allen," she moaned. "Tell me that you love me."

She looked at me with her eyes, boring through me. The room swayed in the damp green light, and our bodies swayed with it. My head was swimming in green, in dampness and cold. My body was slowing down and I was going to come, that was certain, I was cuming.

She drove herself down onto my body again and again, "Tell me you love me!" she wailed like the wind.

"NO! NO! I LOVE PATTI!" I screamed. "PATTI."

Then it was over. I was alone in my bed.

I was making love to Patti. I mean that literally. With Patti, the act is not sex, or fucking, or screwing: it's an act of love. A spiritual, emotional, romantic thing as well as a physical thing.

We were on the bed, and she was in my arms. She was resting her head on my arm, and I was half-leaning over her, kissing her. My mouth was still closed, and I was kissing her slowly, sensually, rotating my lips. We were both fully clothed, because that was the way she wanted it; the only way she could ever fully enjoy it.

I had to make love to her: win her over and seduce her. We couldn't just enjoy sex together on a physical level. I had to tell her I loved her, and assure her that it was her, my woman, that I desired. She had to be more than a cunt: she had to be a love object.

This time, however, I found myself not minding it too much. I did it her way, because I found it exciting. I found Patti exciting. I hadn't made love to her in nearly a month, and I found her body exciting me as it always had in the past. Our memories were working through our bodies, and she moved when I wanted, touched me when I needed, and responded exactly as expected. Our bodies were familiar and the act was well-practiced and coordinated. We knew each other through years and years of sexual practice, and we knew how to act, and how to make love. There was a smoothness, and finesse of technique that was missing with all the other women I had had during the month. Patti and I were good together sexually.

Patti lay in my arms passively; her yellow hair, short and closely cropped, splayed slightly across my arms and touching the pillow. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing gently. I kissed her as sensually as I could without using my tongue. My lips were open slightly, and they were wet. I pressed them fully against hers, allowing my wetness to touch hers, and I moved my lips slightly, slowly against her. I felt the slightest response under me: a return of pressure against my lips. Her lips parted, and I felt the tickling thickness of her tongue against my lips.

That was my sign that we had successfully reached the next level to our love making. She was responding because I was doing it her way: slowly, romantically, winning over her body through love.

I opened my mouth and permitted her tongue to wind itself into my mouth. It felt like a slow, hot thickness touching my teeth and licking my tongue. She moved it carefully, playing it over the roof of my mouth and rubbing it up and down against my tongue. Her lips were still full and thick, and she continued to press them softly against my lips, rotating her mouth with the same subtle motion.

Patti moaned slightly, and I slid my tongue over hers, pushing myself into the wetness of her mouth. I tasted her sweetness, and felt the gentle sucking pressure that her mouth was making as I entered it. Her breath pulled into her, as though she were imprisoning me. I ground my mouth against her lips, pressing slightly harder against her lips.

It was time for the next move.

My left hand was on her stomach, kneading it and caressing it as I kissed her. As I increased my tempo, I began to slide my hand up her body, towards her breasts. I moved my hand slowly – very slowly – so that she could savor the exquisite sexuality of anticipation as my hand drew closer and closer to her tit. At the very last moment, I touched the base of her breast, the swollen roundness just above her bra. I rubbed my fingertips against her softness, making slow, shallow circles against the material of her dress.

Patti moaned again. Her breasts were extraordinarily sensitive, and just the slightest touch made her react with pleasure. Her greatest enjoyment came from my licking and sucking on her breasts. I'd always believed she could reach orgasm from just my touching them, but we'd never tried it. I'm sure it would work if we had to patience to try.

Today, however, was not that time, and I slipped my hand up over her breast, touching it fully. Her breasts were rather small, but very firm and pert. Her tit filled my hand nicely, and I felt the stiffness of her bra and the underlying softness of her breast under my hand. I squeezed and she moaned in my mouth, screwing her body tighter against my hand and her lips and tongue deeper and deeper into my mouth.

I squeezed her tit as I might a firm, rubber ball. I tightened my fingers around its softness and squeezed in and out with my fingers. I enjoyed feeling the flesh swell and shrink under my touch. I pressed Patti's tit down against her with my hand, and began to rotate it as I crushed it down against her. I moved my hand with a circular motion as I moved my lips against hers. Both our bodies were geared to the same sensual pitch of pleasure; everything was coordinated.