Strings by Kendall Grey Page A

wrapper opening. Good. Something wet and
cherry-smelling drizzles down the mound of my butt and beelines for
the crack. My pussy opens like a flower in front while I spread my
backside. I wish he could see me stretched wide for him. I take his
index finger, swirl my tongue around it, leaving a good bit of spit
behind, and guide it into my ass.
    Visualizing us somewhere else where there’s
plenty of room and light, I release my breath gently and close my
eyes. I rock my hips to give his finger better access, tighten my
ass muscles, squeeze him.
    His rough chest presses against my back,
scratching it. His breath ruffles the hair over my ear. One hand
gropes a tit while the other ass fucks me. He adjusts his angle and
increases his pace. The world transforms from beautiful black and
white to vivid, raging color. Oh my God, the tip of his finger hits
the underside of my clit, teases that throbbing love nub slowly.
The pleasure is agonizing, constricting, and freeing at the same
time. Fuck, I’m gonna come.
    I wrestle free of his grip. He brings the
finger to his mouth and sucks my ass off it. Holy fucking
Jesus.
    That’s it. I assume control of his lubed,
condom-covered cock and spread my cheeks again. The head of his
dick alone is huge, not to mention the length. I drool—literally
drool—at the thought of his ten inches filling my ass.
    The clit stroking resumes. Arching my back,
I push my hole against his mighty wang, and open up.
    The pain rips me, and I let go of a gasp.
His cunt-diddling hand covers my mouth. My tongue darts out for a
taste of myself, and my pussy responds with another flood. Oh my
God, his cock is about to split me in two.
    And I love it.
    I slowly shift my hips forward. Back. A
little deeper that time. Forward. Back. Deeper still. Forward.
Back. He squirts more lube onto our love connection, and that’s
when I have a breakthrough of the erotic kind.
    I take his cock—all ten inches—balls
deep.
    My breath rushes. I try to quiet it. I’m
fucking dizzy.
    Lips hit my neck, and chills climb my spine.
Teeth graze as he rocks me to a new song, a Shades-and-Letty
lullaby. His thrusts are gentle, perfectly timed, and Christ, his
rocket rams the underside of my clit just like his finger did
before. The temptation to scream his name and cut the fuck loose is
too much.
    Fuck the band.
    I moan. He stops. Someone sighs from one of
the beds. His rough hand covers my mouth again. I inhale through my
nose and let out my breath slowly. We lie like that, with his dick
fully engaged in my backfield for several minutes.
    The waiting is agony. I want more of him. I
need him moving, taking, imbibing. I remember the taste of his cum
on my tongue in the hotel room, the rapturous expression after I
finished with him, the way we passed out afterward.
    Much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s my
sexual soul mate. No inhibitions. No fear. No boundaries.
    And tomorrow I have to go back to pretending
I don’t give a shit.
    He uncovers my mouth and resumes his gentle
thrusts to the pulse of my throbbing clit. I’m spread as wide as
the small space allows. Vulnerable. Naked. I should hate him for
forcing my hand with the birthday vow, but I could have refused,
and I didn’t. I guess that says a lot about me.
    I draw up my bent legs to give him wider
access, and his thrusts roughen. He yanks my face toward his and
goddamn it, he stares at me while he fucks my asshole into
oblivion. Lips fall on mine, softer than I expect. His tongue eases
inside my mouth, stroking with that delicious silver stud.
    I finger fuck myself. My
clit screams for release. My ass burns with fever. Come on, motherfucker, make me come. I put my hips into it and assume control of the
thrusts, impaling myself over and over on his glorious rod the same
way he did when roles were reversed. He squeezes my tits so hard,
these bitches will probably have bruises tomorrow. Still kissing
me, he pauses a second as his lower half halts all forward
movement. I can