proportions weren’t humongous. He told me, “I don’t normally like to do it standing up.”
“Really?” I would have thought humans did it standing up all the time.
Jack’s lips pressed against the skin just under my earlobe. He whispered, “Really.”
I felt myself melting at each successive little peck he placed in a trail that ran down my neck, back up, along the edge of my jaw, back to my ear, and downward. Down to the upper curve of my breast. By the time he got there, I had my hands on the back of his head, and urged him toward the shore. He wouldn’t budge, though. Not more than a few inches. Just enough to get my breasts out of the water, so that he could bend a little and suckle them. All the while, he looked up at me.
You really can’t help who you are. My eyes flashed. The feral beast in me came to the fore. I didn’t shift, exactly, but I did change. I felt a conscious urge to keep the shift from happening. Beat it down, so to speak.
Oh, my Gaia. I had never had a creature, nor any man or wolf of any kind suckling from my breasts. I could have gone on with that all day long, I think.
Jack certainly spent a fair amount of time doing it. I wonder how he knew what that would do to me?
Here’s something that bothers me a bit about Jack. It’s like he knows how to maneuver me. I didn’t even remember lifting my legs, but the next thing I remember is my legs wrapped around his waist, and him fucking me in the water, sucking my nipples the whole time, gripping my breasts, turning them upward.
Of course, I couldn’t reach orgasm like that. I don’t know why. But, when I realized how close he was, I started insisting, “Stop. Stop.” I even grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face, so I could kiss him--stick my tongue down his throat.
He stumbled backward, and somehow we landed on the shore with him flat on his back. That didn’t last long, though. He rolled me.
Talk about intensive penetration. The thrusts of his tongue mirrored what he was doing with his cock. His fingers cradled my face, and I felt him grunting into me. I think he was putting the force to me, because I’d liked it before.
Funny, but in human form, roughness seems...overdone. Too much.
I think he realized it, too, because he gentled his thrusts and his kisses, withdrew his tongue, and returned again to the little pecks, the trailing puckers that made my skin shiver. He’d withdrawn from me, and teased us both with the head of his cock knocking gently at the door of my womanhood.
My swelling lips.
I gloried in the lovemaking between that man and me, as a woman. I didn’t care that we were in the mud by a dirty stream. At least, it was dirty after we kicked up the bottom.
What I cared about was the tenderness he showed me. The sensitivity to me.
And, oh my Gaia, when his lips worked down past my breasts and nipples again to my navel, I writhed beneath him. First, I felt the abandonment of his cock from my cunt. And that, I had a real problem with. Second, the urge to feel his kissing lips lower--that simply drove me. I think I pushed his head down further.
But he obliged me. Buried his nose. Reached in with his tongue.
Had me tip my pelvis so he could get in better. Deeper.
He knew when he hit the exact spot, grinding his upper teeth against my pelvis--not biting, but trying to get an angle where his tongue could reach that place--because I went wild.
I’m sure I howled with pleasure.
I know I bucked with the spasms of orgasm.
And I know that he couldn’t help eating that up.
After all, what power there is in making another person oblivious to the real world, if only for a few seconds, or a couple of minutes. Before I could recover, he was upon me, in me, fucking out every drop of his juice, coming inside, deep, deep
“Really?” I would have thought humans did it standing up all the time.
Jack’s lips pressed against the skin just under my earlobe. He whispered, “Really.”
I felt myself melting at each successive little peck he placed in a trail that ran down my neck, back up, along the edge of my jaw, back to my ear, and downward. Down to the upper curve of my breast. By the time he got there, I had my hands on the back of his head, and urged him toward the shore. He wouldn’t budge, though. Not more than a few inches. Just enough to get my breasts out of the water, so that he could bend a little and suckle them. All the while, he looked up at me.
You really can’t help who you are. My eyes flashed. The feral beast in me came to the fore. I didn’t shift, exactly, but I did change. I felt a conscious urge to keep the shift from happening. Beat it down, so to speak.
Oh, my Gaia. I had never had a creature, nor any man or wolf of any kind suckling from my breasts. I could have gone on with that all day long, I think.
Jack certainly spent a fair amount of time doing it. I wonder how he knew what that would do to me?
Here’s something that bothers me a bit about Jack. It’s like he knows how to maneuver me. I didn’t even remember lifting my legs, but the next thing I remember is my legs wrapped around his waist, and him fucking me in the water, sucking my nipples the whole time, gripping my breasts, turning them upward.
Of course, I couldn’t reach orgasm like that. I don’t know why. But, when I realized how close he was, I started insisting, “Stop. Stop.” I even grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face, so I could kiss him--stick my tongue down his throat.
He stumbled backward, and somehow we landed on the shore with him flat on his back. That didn’t last long, though. He rolled me.
Talk about intensive penetration. The thrusts of his tongue mirrored what he was doing with his cock. His fingers cradled my face, and I felt him grunting into me. I think he was putting the force to me, because I’d liked it before.
Funny, but in human form, roughness seems...overdone. Too much.
I think he realized it, too, because he gentled his thrusts and his kisses, withdrew his tongue, and returned again to the little pecks, the trailing puckers that made my skin shiver. He’d withdrawn from me, and teased us both with the head of his cock knocking gently at the door of my womanhood.
My swelling lips.
I gloried in the lovemaking between that man and me, as a woman. I didn’t care that we were in the mud by a dirty stream. At least, it was dirty after we kicked up the bottom.
What I cared about was the tenderness he showed me. The sensitivity to me.
And, oh my Gaia, when his lips worked down past my breasts and nipples again to my navel, I writhed beneath him. First, I felt the abandonment of his cock from my cunt. And that, I had a real problem with. Second, the urge to feel his kissing lips lower--that simply drove me. I think I pushed his head down further.
But he obliged me. Buried his nose. Reached in with his tongue.
Had me tip my pelvis so he could get in better. Deeper.
He knew when he hit the exact spot, grinding his upper teeth against my pelvis--not biting, but trying to get an angle where his tongue could reach that place--because I went wild.
I’m sure I howled with pleasure.
I know I bucked with the spasms of orgasm.
And I know that he couldn’t help eating that up.
After all, what power there is in making another person oblivious to the real world, if only for a few seconds, or a couple of minutes. Before I could recover, he was upon me, in me, fucking out every drop of his juice, coming inside, deep, deep
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