More Stories - Satin Slippers
Synopsis: The stress of a busy week melts away when two
lovers enjoy an evening tryst on the beach.
By Doxy Wringer ©
Click the play button to listen to an audio excerpt
Author's Note: This story may not be duplicated or re-posted on another
website or in any medium without the written consent of the author.
It is a work of fiction, and intended as a pleasure derived from the
viewpoints of both the most tender and the most carnal hungers
that swell within the human animal.
|It’s been a long, hard week and we agree via teleconference that we both need to release the pent tension from our sinews. Just before I hang up, you say to meet you at our place by the beach. And I know right where you mean.
There is a small niche at the shore not far from my apartment and I sit, lounging on the county-provided picnic table, my legs dangling over the edge while I watch the waves crescendo and retreat and anticipate your arrival.
Season is over, and the Canadians and other touristy snowbirds have all departed, providing me solitude while the sky folds over orange and purple. My blazer is hung loosely over the back of the driver’s seat of my Cherokee, leaving me sleeveless in my willowy silk blouse of cream. The short, but professional cut of my skirt wanes from silvery blue to purple in the first yawning beams of moonlight. And I hug myself against the soft summer wind. My high-heels lay haphazardly beneath me in the sand with my pantyhose tucked neatly into them. I wiggle my bare toes in childish delight.
Your hands find my shoulders before I hear you. And I feel your face press gently into the cradle that is the back of my graceful neck. You tell me how much you like my perfume, knowing full well that I only wear it for your pleasure. Hot male breath, a brush of lip, a flick of tongue and I’m shivering by the time you draw me wholly into your arms.
The twilight has gathered us into its dark embrace as you haul slowly back, drawing me like a magnet to your masculine force. Until I am taut against your body – my small feet atop your work boots. Your palms guide my hips until my bottom grinds against the swell of your crotch.
I feel your insistent cock through the materials of your denim and my linen and I incline my rear back, relishing a wicked thrill from the low, guttural sounds that escape you.
“Take me this way.” I murmur to you in the soft shadows. “Take me from behind, lover.”
You don’t hesitate to lean me forward over the table, my silk-clad belly flat against the wood that has known buckets of sand with little plastic shovels, hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Only now it supports my torso as you lift my skirt and tear at my panties. They were some manner of white lace, which presents no challenge for your ardent grasp. I feel the soft breeze glide up against my now naked bottom, hear the ripping away of the last of my lingerie, and then comes your labored breathing while you work the fly of your jeans open.
One of your hands slips into the long length of my dark hair, tugging my head back as your raging cock presses hotly against the firm plum of my fanny. You growl, commanding me to tell you what I want. And I suck my bottom lip up against my teeth before I answer:
“I want your cock, lover. Inside me.”
You are only too willing to oblige, thrusting that swollen, thick length against my slick cunnie, molesting my wet, tender flesh with your iron.
One push and you’re sheathed within me. Deep. Balls deep. In one thrust. Filling me to the hilt. Still, your fist stays in my hair, pulling and tugging while you caress my scalp. The other hand has slipped around my hip and reached low against my trimmed muff to find my tingling clit. The little button, so sensitive, hides in its pink hood, but your touch is as lusty as your forceful cock. I buckle while your thumb and forefinger squeeze my swollen core in unison with the push and pump of your driving dominance.
I flatten down, unable to muffle all my screams. Being fucked, caressed and taken in the most vulnerable, arousing position. You. Resolute behind me. One wall of masculine muscle spreading me with each dive into my body. I am sopping wet shaking sinews; at the mercy of your relentless caress and your primal plunge.
I waver and pant and squeal and wail and thrash and flail. And cum. Escaping around the occupation of your cock, my honey drips into your hand.
But you’re not finished with me yet.
Your fingers withdraw from my satisfied puss and slide along my slit – still stuffed full of you – and I feel you press between the cheeks of my ass, the hot juice of my orgasm trickles like milk, providing lubrication for the act to follow.
Hard, and engorged, you extract the exquisite pleasure of the hardest part of you from the softest part of me and give another pull on my tresses.
I do not hesitate to tell you what I want now.
“Give me your cock, lover. Fuck my ass, my darling.
The groan purring out from your lips is feral, and I feel that push. The head of your cock forcing its way along the path inside me. Through me. Tight, clenching, vulnerable, clutching. The insides of me are plundered by your invasion. I’m so full of you - of your piercing, rigid length, rolling and rotating inch by inch while my supple flesh yields to accommodate the burden of your incursion.
Pain. Pleasure. Both so intense they interlace and mingle. And I hear you…roaring now. Calling my name, yanking on my hair with every stabbing thrust.
Slamming. Ramming. Driving. Thrusting. Fucking.
You bellow aloud in one ungodly howl and I feel a surge and a rush within the cove you occupy, and suddenly, I’m flooded with you…filled with you. Oh lover, I‘m overflowing from you.
Lifting me, your arms are now as gentle as they are potent. Drawing me back, you ease your softening cock from my tender places and nuzzle my moist, quivering shape against your wet heaving might.
Removing your shirt, you whisper something about refusing to sit bare-assed on the sand and I giggle. We use your flannel as a blanket, and I slink about you, absorbing your musky heat. My flushed face nestles against the tightness of your throat while you determinedly unbutton my blouse, discard my bra and tell me how you intend to fondle me for the remainder of the night, until I call your name to the heavens for mercy.
Gazing upon moon, I laze on your lap and release one long, exhausted sigh.
I know well that you can drive me to such passions. Every portal of my form throbs from the memory of your presence within it.
There’s really only one flaw in your adoring logic.
I’ll never want mercy, lover. I’ll only want more… and more… and more...
Of your push, and your sweet torture, and your oh-so-good vibrations.
BACK TO TOP