While Dawn worked days finishing off the last week at her job, I designed several different versions of what might become her website, working formats so the uploading of the actual content we created would be a snap. At night, every night, we created more content, which meant any number of redhead scenarios that began with the ordinary, only to heat up into explosive orgasms, on and off camera. The name Scarlet stuck, so we registered for the domain name smokinghotscarlet, and got it. I worked up a main page with a faded background image plucked out of her shower video, right at the point where her breasts turned the pelting water into hot steam on contact. I wondered it it might be too cheesy, the tagline, “So hot she burns!” But Dawn loved it, or Scarlet did, embracing the cosplay role.
I often took photographs of Dawn before we started filming, because filming always led to sex where I eventually abandoned any hope of remaining apart from her. We got tired of always filming in her small apartment, and so would go someplace where we might be undisturbed enough to get some provocative tease photos or escalating masturbation action. We shot one of my favorites at the school library late at night, with Dawn, as Scarlet, dressed as a research book nerd, which she kind of was. It was a real transformation, with a plaid knee-length skirt, tall white socks and eyeglasses. And, most importantly, a white Oxford shirt, too small for her chest with just the right kind of tension placed on the distressed buttons at tit-level. I filmed her as she perused books down long aisles, heating up her tits at various moments to elicit enough deep breathing that the buttons began to pop. I kept at her tits from the inside until she was masturbating on the floor, and might have fucked her there if there had been any chance of us being quiet enough. SInce that was impossible, I kept her breasts in a fuck-me state the whole walk back to her apartment, where nerd-girl—still with the glasses on, I loved that—did the do-me decimal dance on top of my aching hardcover.
I remember having a weird dream that night, something where I was out in the plains of Kansas, seeing two tornadoes dance around at different locations on the horizon. They moved in the way I imagined a tornado should move, kind of aimless but also strangely purposeful. Though separated by space it started to dawn on me that they were connected above the clouds, and what I had first thought of as two independent funnels were actually performing some kind of tornado duet. I wondered what would happen if they ever collided—did tornadoes ever merge together to create a more powerful or larger funnel? I was thinking about that when the suction from one tornado pulled my dick out and hardened it, the wind and rain stroking me so that I thought I might cum right into the storm. I blinked my eyes open; it was Dawn’s mouth providing the suction, and we created our own sheet-tossing whirlwind in bed.
I don’t think either one of us would have known what label actually fit our relationship—we were definitely lovers, maybe boyfriend/girlfriend, model/videographer, seducer/seductee, brujo/super-sexed gland goddess, magician/rabbit. All of which fell under the greater umbrella of fucking like rabbits, so all was well.
After seeing how sexy she was when she got all worked up in front of the camera, Dawn abandoned her initial ideas about keeping the material to a modest form of tease, embracing not only the explicit masturbation but also the magic heat that sometimes emanated from her tits. Maybe Dawn could never go there as herself, but Scarlet was willing to show her entire body doing all her body could do, even the stuff a woman’s body shouldn’t be able to do, and grew more comfortable with the camera’s presence every time we filmed. Though she got lost in the heat, she kept it straight in her head that modeling her tits and cumming for a website wasn’t a ten-year career she wanted to pursue, only a creative strategy for raising more money than she could think to get by other means. The agreement was that we’d split whatever the site made fifty-fifty, and I had no doubt the sight of her hot body and those steamy—sometimes literally—fits of abject breast-lust would end up melting silicon chips even before people had a chance to enter their credit card info into our secure server.
There were some logistical life issues we had to deal with as this was going on—we were both at the end of our apartment leases, and didn’t want to renew them. So we left off the filming and screwing every now and then to search online for sublet spaces that had the right configuration of look and privacy for the noisy wall-pounding lifestyle we would inevitably lead.
I think it’s important to say here that I believed Dawn would be a temporary partner, and I assumed all along that she thought the same thing. Emotionally it was a weird place to be, because I really did love being with her, and I’d always been attracted to the idea of long-term relationships. Working together was easy—she had sometimes lacked confidence but was getting over that, and she was never in a bad mood. It didn’t hurt that she had an insatiable appetite for sex, which wasn’t natural, of course, and that was the thing—I had little experience of Dawn in her natural state, and didn’t even know if such a thing were possible now. For her part, Dawn’s intention was to shut the website thing down as soon as she had enough money to pursue her dreams, living the life she’d always known she should lead, in Italy. I was sure she hoped I’d at least visit a lot, maybe doing the very long-distance relationship thing. My life plans were too amorphous to know what I’d want to do, and some of that had to do with the way I continued to feel other invisible strings tugging at me, connected to other women’s tits.
One string, sometimes loud and almost clear, belonged to Laura, and there were times that I brooded on that. The second day that Dawn went to work and I had to wait for her evening return, I walked the city and found myself on Laura’s street, and damn if I didn’t have full access to her breasts from several blocks away. She lived in a ninth floor unit, and it kind of blew my mind that her tit-field or whatever could extend out so far, like the fact that we’d been lovers before had given us a connection greater than the norm.
I didn’t do anything with them that afternoon, only put myself inside for a bit and tried to picture what she was doing. She was braless, definitely, which for her meant one of the oversized T-shirts she sometimes wore when she didn’t intend to go out. Her breasts, the finest on any girlfriend before Dawn, were warm, their weight pulled by gravity towards the bottom. The only movement was from slow easy breathing—sitting up working on her computer, then, or reading in a chair, or talking on the phone.
Something about being inside her breasts made me feel uneasy, like they were tied to an ill omen or something. Maybe it was that I wasn’t sure what I wanted from her, now that I was perfectly happy fucking Dawn. A few days before I’d been certain I would use my ability to draw Laura back into a sexual relationship, and damn her rumored engagement to what’s-his-face. The way she ended our relationship had left me feeling for a few weeks like I was walking barefoot on broken glass, but she wasn’t a bad person, more a case that we just had different life goals. For Laura it was security and family; for me, I had no clue. When it became obvious to her that we weren’t compatible for the long run and so weren’t going to become a married couple, she’d jettisoned me and gone right into the arms of what’s-his-face, with his high-powered Wall Street job and his family money. He had it; I didn’t, unless “it” was a bizarre sexual titnotic ability. I could see Laura having three kids and playing tennis at a country club up in Greenwich in five years, the whole works. I could see me... I don’t know, luring and fucking a whole lot of women who looked something like Dawn.
I didn’t think of myself as a vengeful person, but being dumped so unceremoniously by Laura still ate at me. By the time I got back to Dawn’s apartment, I had this whole daydream fashioned where I’d tune into my ex’s tits like they were homing devices, and I’d follow her, learning her schedule, where she was when, what she did when. I wouldn’t invade her space in any visible way, but I’d be there, going inside her breasts and turning her into a quivering mass of untimely orgasms at unpredictable intervals, always at the worst possible time. Or—this idea must have come from a much darker part of my soul—what if I followed Laura in that same way, and specifically waited for the times when she and what’s-his-face intended to have sex? I’d be able to feel when her tits got excited or touched, and it should be possible to do the reverse of all I’d done with Dawn, draining Laura’s breasts of energy, turning them insensitive or limp-nippled, which would have to suck the life out of their lovemaking. Here’s your great-looking Barbie, Ken; a shame her breasts are as perky for you as a plastic doll’s, giving her a tit-inspired headache every night.
Really devious thoughts, those, with stalker written all over them. Thing was, I wondered what the point of either action would be when I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. And yet I felt drawn, like I just had to be close to Laura again and get inside her tits for close inspection. It didn’t make a lick of sense and I saw that, but there was nothing to do other than to begin my semi-stalking. I knew the places she liked to go, and chose the most likely and least complicated option, by frequenting a gourmet coffee shop called the Big Red Stove near her apartment.
The first morning she wasn’t there, but she was close, I could feel it. I thought of leaving and seeing if an invisible string could pull me to her, but somehow the feeling wasn’t right, so I waited and went back the next morning.
She was close again, somewhere to the northwest, but the weird thing was that a different string was giving me a few hard tugs from the opposite direction. I sat there at the long oak communal table with a café au lait and a croissant, and tried to get a sense of this new awareness. Unless I was misreading something, the unfamiliar breasts calling out were actually rather small. I got several hits of them, and then Laura’s were coming, coming fast, coming here.
My pulse quickened, partly nervousness at seeing her again, partly because... I wasn’t sure what. There was something wrong, something that gave me an icky feeling deep inside. I had the advantage of knowing that Laura would walk in a good thirty seconds before it happened, and as I waited I tried to compose myself by guessing what she’d be wearing from the feel of her tits. The tops of her breasts were getting air, but not a direct hit—a scooping blouse? No, wait, they were tightly compressed, and there was a salty sheen of sweat.
She’d been to the gym, or had been running. Healthy girl, only... Not healthy. Crap, not healthy.
Just a few seconds later there she was opening the glass door, in black leggings and running shoes, with a sports bra under a tight-fitting pullover and a thin nylon jacket over that, partially zipped. Laura had a naturally athletic build, with dramatic planes to her face that made her look striking as well as lovely. Her fine brown hair was longer than before, and having it tied back in a ponytail set off the strong shaping of her jaw and neck. She had a good butt, clear to see in the form-hugging leggings, and even with the jacket you could also tell that she had those excellent tits.
A real looker. A heartbreaker, and she had been that for me not too long before. Now... Damn, what was I supposed to do now?
She went straight to the counter without noticing me sitting there. She placed her order, pulled a few folded bills out from the jacket, paid. It was on the way to the big red stove, where the milk was kept cold in ice buckets, that she caught sight of me.
It was fascinating how so many emotions could be expressed in the space of one or two seconds. Surprise and recognition, attraction and caution, suspicion. I thought she was mildly happy to see me, unless I was there specifically to see her, in which case she wasn’t happy at all.
She turned her back as she fixed her coffee, and the heartbeat pumping beneath the breasts was beating at a rapid pace. I couldn’t read her specific emotions, but could sense, through her breasts, that she had several different ones coursing through her system. She took a few deep breaths, her tits lifting and falling, and when she turned she had a familiar set to her angular jaw, and she kept her eyes on mine as she approached.
“Is seeing you here a coincidence?” she asked, standing close.
“It is,” I lied. “I can leave if you feel uncomfortable with...” I shrugged my shoulders, and decided what the hell, warming her breasts just the littlest bit near to her heart.
“No, no. I just wondered... Mind of I sit down?”
“Not at all. It’s good to see you, Laura. Really, an unexpected pleasure.” And in saying the words I could see what was true in them—it was good to see her, not in a scheming way but as something like old friends. I know people who say it’s impossible to be friends with an ex; maybe that’s true, or maybe there are different kinds of friendships. Whatever the case, she was here, her transparent tits were here, and I didn’t want to fuck around with her—the opposite, really, which had me thinking I might know why I’d felt called in that tugging way. Only how did you go there with someone?
“Same, Martin. How’ve you been? You graduated, I know.”
“Yep, I’m done. How are things with you and...” Over her or not, I did want to call him what’s-his-face, I really did. “...Stuart?”
“Good, good. In fact... I hope this doesn’t come as an unpleasant shock, but we’re getting married.”
Without being so crass as to shove it in my face, she moved her left hand forward, and there was the ring. I didn’t know how I could have missed such a thing—I was a complete idiot when it came to engagement rings, but this one was a rock.
“Congratulations!” I said, not giving away that I’d already heard the news through the grapevine.
“It’s all so fast I know...”
“When is the wedding?”
“July, at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.” Laura made a face just then, that I could interpret as wishing she hadn’t just divulged those details. What did she think I’d do, show up uninvited and make a scene? “It’s okay, Laura. I know I’m not invited and that’s completely right.”
“Thank you, Martin. I mean you still mean a lot to me but... I mean...”
A coincidence, all the “mean” words in there? Like an invitation to be that way? “I take it you two are extremely happy,” I said, trying my best to be gracious.
“He works too hard and I had too much course work there at the end, and too little time for things like this.” A sweep with her hand to indicate her running attire.
“Well you’re looking great. How are you feeling?”
Her eyebrows expressed surprise at the question, but she shrugged it off as one of those awkward moments. “I’m doing great. And you’re looking good, too. Like...”
“I shouldn’t say it.”
“Say it. Whatever it is I won’t mind.”
“I just thought... You have a certain look when you get enough sex. Relaxed and... good. So I wondered, that’s all.”
“Wow, you should think of becoming a detective. I have a new girlfriend.”
“Excellent! What’s her name? How did you meet?”
“Dawn, and we met because she works at the campus supply store. Or will until Friday.”
“Dawn, Dawn. Pretty name. Wait, not the Dawn with the, you know...” She made the big boob gesture with her hands, her eyebrows up.
“That’s the one.”
“Damn! I mean, I guess I should say congratulations or something. She’s lovely if you like... Well, obviously you do. Are you both staying in the city?”
“Looking for a place together. A sublet if we can find that.”
“You think that’s fast? We won’t be getting married next month.”
She might have gotten pissed at that one, but laughed instead. “Touché. Stuart and I are moving quickly, I’ll give you that. Sometimes it works out that way, that you meet somebody and know in two minutes that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with them.”
“I’m learning that, too,” I said, silently thinking about being drawn to certain women’s breasts by an intelligence I didn’t really understand. That, and that lifetimes aren’t always as long as we assume they’ll be. “Really, Laura, congratulations. I hope you’re happy together.”
“Thanks. And listen, I really will keep my ears open about apartments. Actually, I’m meeting someone here who might know of something. She’s... Martin? Are you alright?”
I said I was fine, and I was and I wasn’t. There was the problem of what I’d seen inside Laura, and now the other breasts that had been broadcasting so strongly were nearby, almost upon me. They made me feel horny in a way I’d never even imagined I could feel, and it was a struggle to keep that from showing on my face.
“Here she is now,” Laura said, as an extremely cute young woman entered the café, all blonde locks and a bright wide smile. She had a body that was even more put-together than Laura’s, only more petite and with smaller breasts than any that had spoken to me thus far.
Those breasts, what the fuck was going on with them? I could feel the heart beating into them the same as with Laura’s, but each beat had a ka-boom quality that seemed to exist on, what, a different plane or dimension? Laura stood and gave the new arrival a hug and introduced her to me as Bonnie, her personal yoga instructor, and I managed a smile and offered a simple hello. Though my mouth and voice-box moved like they were supposed to, it all felt like mannequin motions because the life I was attuned to, the confusing life, was going on inside Bonnie’s tits where neither of them could see it.
I went deep inside the new arrival’s breasts; I mean I had to, just to try to understand them. Again it was like a double-edged world, completely normal pulse and flesh and blood on the one hand, but a fucking dynamo chugging in there on the other. I didn’t try to change anything; in a way I was too wigged-out to even think about it.
I lost track of what the women were saying for a few seconds, tuned back in and Laura must have mentioned that I was looking for a place to sublet.
“There are a couple of units in my building that might work for you,” Bonnie said. “Condos that got bought up by Europeans when the Euro was so strong to the dollar. I can think of at least two couples who’ll be spending one or two months back their homelands, and they’ll be looking for someone to take their place while they’re gone.”
She explained that the building was across the East River in Brooklyn, and punched my cell number and email into her iPhone. I felt overwhelmed, not by the apartment stuff but because Bonnie’s tits were getting inside my head, like if I didn’t go inside them with my awareness, they reached out and pull me inside. My cock was going almost painfully obelisk in my pants and I said I should be off, only I thought better of it because my erection was currently hidden from their view under the big table, and I really didn’t want to leave with a conspicuous boner right there for Laura to see. Plus, didn’t I have to find a way to say something to Laura? There was no way to do it gracefully, but I couldn’t just walk away and let it slide.
And so I sat there, a confused and anxious and horny third-wheel, until the two women finished their coffees and said they had to be getting on for Laura’s yoga lesson.
Bonnie shook my hand as she stood, and I think I flinched because there was a flash of light when we touched, only not visible. My cock felt like it had eaten Popeye spinach, pulsing so much it wouldn’t surprise me to hear it hum. She looked at me curiously, her cheeks red, and said she’d call if any of the lofts in her building looked like possibilities.
“Thanks, but... Laura, could we have a minute in private? It’s important.”
Her expressive eyebrows communicated that she didn’t think that was a great idea. I insisted, and the two women exchanged wary glances. But then Bonnie said she’d be outside, and Laura sat back down.
I took a moment to look up at Bonnie, and for the first time ventured to stimulate her nipples, saying, “It was really great meeting you.”
The muscles in her face stiffened as her nipples jutted out, and she blew out a little gust of air before saying, “I’m always looking for fresh yoga students. I don’t know if you’d ever haven an interest, but think about it.”
Bonnie’s retreating form commanded my attention as I tried to figure out what to say to Laura. Perhaps it was yoga that had helped shape that great backside, with the really rounded ass and the inspiring narrowness at the waist, like a nearly perfect hourglass. She was fucking gorgeous, a compact curvy muscle-tone girl who looked like she could hump all night.
“What is it, Martin? I really do have a yoga session scheduled with Bonnie right now.”
How did you go there with something like this? “I was wondering... How is your cousin doing? Becky, wasn’t that her name?”
“She’s in remission, doing really well. Why? I didn’t know you two had gotten close.”
“I was just thinking about how important early detection is. Like, how long has it been since you had a mammogram?”
“I know this must sound crazy...”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Something tells me... It might be a good idea, that’s all. To get checked out, your left breast specifically.”
I knew what Laura’s eyes looked like when inflamed with fury. They were much like that now, but with a twist like she also thought I’d gone mad.
“Martin, I... I just don’t know what to say. Honestly, how am I supposed to react to... Did I hear through the grapevine that you went to South America to trip on some jungle weed?”
“It’s a vine.”
“And it must still be wrapped around your brain. Honestly, what kind of ploy... I’d think your hottie with the big rack... Look, I have to go.”
“I was just trying to be helpful,” I said, knowing it had gone way too weird and she’d never take me seriously.
“Well, you aren’t. In fact, I don’t know what you are anymore. Be well, okay?” she said, looking concerned and flustered and pissed, all in one.
I could empathize, because I didn’t know what I was anymore, either. An accidental tit-whisperer, right. An unlikely gringo brujo, maybe. No, make that definitely, now that Dawn’s tits could become burn units that burned selectively. And now I was a perambulating mammography machine, what the fuck was up with that? Because Laura had something like a pre-lump spot deep in her left breast. It wasn’t a problem yet but it would be, I was sure of it.
I left the café in something of a daze, walking in the general direction of the two pair of breasts I could still sense ahead of me at a distance. I had no idea what I should do about Laura, if anything. I’d revealed more to her in trying to help than I should have, only it hardly mattered when it just made her suspect that I was tripping on jungle juice.
And I wondered: Was this why I had been so drawn to see Laura again, because of her health? Or was it that she had a gorgeous yoga instructor whose tits lacked size or “oomph” on this earthly plane, yet seemed to have far more punch than any I’d run across on some other wavelength?
Maybe the answer was, both. Was that what the tribal brujo had been talking about—you go out to seduce a girl and end up helping someone, or you’re determined to help a girl, and end up tuned into the tits of her hot friend?
At least, like the vision-goddess had said, I knew.
She just never finished the sentence, it seemed, that what I’d know was squat.
My energy was off during the private yoga session with Laura, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that my energy was on, like I had far too much of it. The day had started out normally enough; I met the sunrise with a productive meditation and an hour of my own yoga work, but at some point it became obvious that I needed sex really badly, to the point that I was distracted and uncomfortable in my own skin for the rest of the day.
Laura wasn’t advanced enough in her yoga studies to know that I was only going through the motions with her, my mind drifting elsewhere. I kept replaying the ten or fifteen minutes in the Big Red Stove, where I’d found her with her old boyfriend, Martin. I’d met Stuart, her fiancee, and the two men were hardly anything alike. They were both just shy of six feet and easy enough on the eyes, but Martin dressed casually and was quiet or shy, whereas Stuart was pure Wall Street, always sharply dressed and annoyingly talkative.
I got the feeling that Martin was more nervous around me than he was with his ex, like maybe he found me too attractive and didn’t want Laura to know. Even when I engaged him in conversation about his apartment search, it was almost painful the way he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I didn’t feel dissed; more like intrigued. I found him unusually compelling, and I was sincere about asking around to see if I could help him find a temporary place for the rest of the summer.
That would have been the extent of it, until I was almost overtaken by a surge of pure desire when it was time to leave. The impulse shot into me like a dart, and I found myself looking at Martin like polishing a pole, something I’d only done twice in my life, might be just the way to celebrate the summer.
I thought I saw something pass in his expression at the same time. Perhaps he felt the same flutter of excitement I did? It was there even when we’d shaken hands, the touch like a static electricity spark inside. If Laura hadn’t been there I might have sat back down and pulled out the old flirting-with-the-opposite-sex playbook, and maneuvered my way into a future engagement inside Laura’s ex’s pants.
Laura wouldn’t say what they had spoken about at the end, but she was visibly upset. As I led her through our ninety-minute session in Central Park, my mind kept wandering, at first to that meeting and then inside myself. Usually that meant my inner spiritual core, what some call the Qi and others the body of light; today, however, going inside meant riding the energy emanating from my nipples. They felt extremely touchy, and that had me picturing my relatively new playtoy, Mirabella, she of the long dark curls and the exquisitely full breasts. And once Mirabella had come into my mind I was a wreck at working with Laura and my afternoon class both, because all I could think about was nightfall, when Mirabella and I would hook up and I’d be free to suck on her beautiful nipples to my heart’s content.
So the entire day was a waste anyway, all yoga form with no enlightened content, no discipline, no sense of wholeness. I liked to speak about approaching a yoga practice with what the Sufis call a “heart of fire”, but in truth it felt like all the fire had leaked out from my heart into the flesh contained by my sports bra. My nipples chaffed against it every time I moved, but in a way that had me making unnecessary movements, my body wanting more of that teasing friction. A few of my students assumed that I was showing a new technique of quick movements to compliment the stillness at the center that I always stressed, and when I’d ushered the last stragglers out of my loft, I called Mirabella and pleaded with her to get the night started early. I was hornier than I could ever remember being, and every time I touched my breasts, even a slight brushing when showering or fitting into a new bra, it felt like the growing damp between my legs was ready to turn to rocket fuel.
We arranged to meet at Penelope’s Pleasuredome at nine, two hours earlier than originally planned. The club, one of the city’s most happening girl-girl pick-up joints, never got unto full swing until after midnight; even so I had to make my way through a small sea of dykes and girl-dolls before I located Mirabella at a booth near the back, seated with and entertaining a small crowd of admirers.
There was a lot to admire in Mirabella. She was dressed to attract attention, in a red leather skirt and matching boots, and a red and black horizontally striped top that clung to her considerable curves. My nipples, stiff and throbbing since early in the day, helped my pussy to applaud her outfit with liquid cheers that threatened to run down my thighs all the way to my knees.
I took the hand of one of Mirabella’s new friends, a lovely lass with hair dyed almost the same shade as my genuine blonde locks, and drew her up until our noses almost touched. There was surprise in her brown eyes but also appreciation, either for my looks or my forwardness. Her ruby red lips parted, inviting a kiss; instead I slipped past to the vacated spot right next to my lover. Not even giving Mirabella a chance to greet me I took her jaw in my hand, turned her head to me and stuck my tongue deep inside her mouth.
“Slow down!” she gasped once our lip lock ended. “We have all night!”
True, although I had no intention of waiting any longer than necessary. As Mirabella introduced me to her small contingent of new friends, I placed a hot hand on her thigh where the leather skirt ended, and let my fingers do some talking closer and closer to the promised land.
“Bon, control yourself!” she whispered into my right ear. “We’ll spend a few hours here, and later I promise...”
“You wore stripes,” I whispered back, my hand under her skirt pressing into silk, and the contours of what lay underneath.
“I wore stripes because I know you like the way my figure bends them.”
“I’ve got stripes, too. You might not see mine but I’m a tiger tonight, Belle. And you’re the one I’ve chosen to strip the invisible stripes right off my skin.”
Mirabella’s eyes met mine but they didn’t stay there. She looked down at my breasts and inhaled sharply.
“Holy fuck you’re advertising!”
I glanced down my front; my nipples looked bigger than thimbles, and just as hard. “They’ve been like this all day. I’ve been dying for hours and hours... We should go.”
“You haven’t even gotten a drink yet.”
“I’m drinking from right here tonight,” I answered with a crook of my finger past the rim of her panties, touching moist flesh.
Mirabella breathed heavily, her mouth hanging open, head bent to stare down. “I swear you look like someone rubbed cocaine all over your nipples,” she said, her voice gone husky.
“I don’t need any artificial stimulants to burn. Now are you going to say good-bye to these also-rans, or am I going to have to crawl under the table?”
She didn’t make me crawl, but sex that night did become a relationship with the floor, long before we ever made it into my bed. Our hands and lips were all over each other on the cab-ride to Williamsburg, and I had my first orgasm of the night in the elevator of my building. Mirabella’s fingers kept slipping under and inside my bra, and when she found my aching nipples and rolled them, something unexpected and unknown let loose deep inside me, like I’d had a capacity for getting off that had been locked away in a dark cave, and my lover’s fingers had just slipped past a barrier to let in fresh air and light. I wrapped my thighs around Mirabella and hung on for dear life as the freed energy ripped through me, not even able to scream as the force of it tightened every muscle. It was like dying a wet searing death, reality spinning away until I thumped down into the next world.
“Bon? My God, what was that? Are you all right?”
I couldn’t speak but in time my bearings partially returned. It was the elevator floor I’d thumped onto. Mirabella was kneeling beside me and bending forward, treating my watery eyes to a wonderful downblouse view of her big, creamy breasts. Even though I’d just blown a gasket that would have the elevator smelling like pussy for a week, I wanted more and I needed more.
When the doors opened at seventeen I managed to croak out that I needed help getting to my door. Mirabella managed to get me there with a combination of carrying and dragging, and though I lost my heels along the way I couldn’t care, because all I could think about was getting into privacy where I could pull Mirabella down to my level, savagely ripping her skirt off and planting my mouth around her sweet hot cunt. I normally liked to tongue-tickle and pluck at Mirabella’s dark nipples for a long time, and caress her legs and blow all manner of teasing air-kisses towards her shaved cunny before making direct contact, but tonight was not a night for art, nor misdirection and the beautiful torture of waiting to be served. Tonight was sex, sex, it was all fucking sex, now!
I went straight for pussy, no prologue. Mirabella seemed taken aback by my ferocity and tried to squirm back, but I was having none of that and literally clawed my way back in and made my girlfriend love having her sweet cunt girlhandled. I spread her labia wide with my thumbs and turned my tongue into a oil drill seeking the motherlode, ready to frack her into oblivion if that’s what it took to release a gusher. Mirabella pushed against my head at first, hinting at gentleness or restraint, but twenty seconds in she lost the strength in her arms, and her cries lost any tone of protest, and became pleas for continuation.
The beauty of it, when cries of “slow down!” and “not so hard!” are broken off, becoming confused animal gasps as something more primitive takes hold, and when language is reassembled it’s “Oh God, harder!” and “More, don’t stop!”
Her legs thrashed when she came, and the clapping sound I heard might have been a hand slapping at the floor, like a fallen gladiator signaling surrender. Afterwards we both lay in a heap, panting. I was pretty sure that something had fallen off a nearby table and shattered, but I didn’t care. I kept thinking about kneeling over top of Mirabella on the bed, and bending down to shove a molten hard nipple into my lover’s mouth.
“What... has gotten inside you... tonight,” Mirabella whispered.
To my amazement I raised myself without difficulty, and reached down to grasp one of Mirabella’s hands, pulling her up and shoving her towards the bedroom.
“Bon! We need to take a few breaths!”
I was already breathing hard enough for the both of us, and when I got her fully naked, her full breasts and swollen nipples didn’t look like they needed any more air at all. When she unclasped my bra and my own small breasts were revealed, she gasped, staring at my nipples like she had never seen them before.
“My God...” she said, eyebrows raised. “You are so horny; I can see it right...”
Too much talk, not enough action. I pushed her down onto her back, and crawled over top and pushed my right breast into her face. And when her lips found my nipple, and her tongue flicked against it...
Just like that I was cumming. Cumming and cumming like tongued tits was some sort of carnival ride into wet oblivion, a series of gushing contractions spinning out of control. The very first one sent me reeling, and before I could even register how strong it was, the next one smacked me from inside and sent my mind reeling away. It was like tumbling from one climax to the next, a thing named Bonnie buffeted and rolled, blown apart and partially put back together to be blown apart again.
And through it all I’d swear my nipples where bigger than cars, that much lust packed inside, enough to drive a whole team of orgasms across the country.
They didn’t stay still, not covering that distance by driving but through expanding, and just kept getting bigger and bigger until they must have reached the Pacific, because everything went wet and warm, so wet, so warm...
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