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Her Peculiar Desire
I hadn't been inside the barn in almost ten years when we decided it time to finally clean it out for and yard sale most of it. Forty cubic yards of boxes and furniture covered with ten years worth of dust as well as running into the occasional mouse-chewed box corner was didn't quite make me feel like I'd cleaned out the Aegean Stables, but I was a sweaty, filthy disgusting mess. It was a cruel joke to me after eight hours of hard labor that the Great Architect had seen fit to position my olfactory center in such close proximity to my arm pits.
Let state right off the bat, I don't get women. I don't understand what drives them, I don't understand how they make the choices the make, use the "logic" they use, or find beauty in the least appealing packages. I can't account for any of these things, and I have no idea on God's green earth why such an unbelievable stench could cause such a strong and obviously primal response in my girl, but it does. Thank god it does.
I was sitting in the shade on a low stone wall, catching my breath after toiling in that ninety degree barn all day. My head was hung low with exhaustion and all I had left on my body was a pair of gym shorts, underwear, socks and sneakers. I'd sweated so hard you could have wrung any of them out like a sponge after washing your car.
My girl came over with a glass of iced lemonade for me and some words of praise for the work I'd done. She handed me the glass and I just pressed it to my cheek without even looking up at her. She dr*ped her arms around the back of my neck and hugged my face into her midsection. I looked up at her and smiled weakly and warned her about my stink rubbing off on her. "Too late" she said and she smiled back down.
She started stroking my sweat-slicked bald head and her smile faded. I'd seen the look in her eyes before, I knew what was happening, I knew the beast was waking up. Her hands were stroking further down my back pushing the sweat down it like a squeegee on a pane of glass. She slid down my body into my lap and I could see that her red tank top was already soaking up my sweat. She ducked her head into the crook of my neck, her cheek sliding over my day-old beard. Her lips pressed against my shoulder loosely then closed. She'd drunk me before and I was well aware that there was no turning back from here. I weigh more than twice what she does, but this would be like trying to stop a train with a Prius.
She went down onto her knees before me like a supplicant. Her palms smoothed down my thick, matted chest hair and her fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of my shorts. If I hadn't lifted my hips, I'm certain she'd have shredded them. She had a mission, an objective, failure was not an option. Once she had me naked from the ankles up her face was buried in my crotch. She grabbed my cock and balls and smeared their sweatiness all over the side of her face. She burrowed her nose into the crevice between my scrotum and thigh. She was inhaling and licking and sucking, possessed by her own greed. Once she'd permanently affixed my stench to her, she grasped the base of my now-hard cock and looked up into my eyes. With her free hand she reached between my legs and slid her four fingers into the crack of my ass, pulled my violently forward and crammed my dick into her mouth.
She was practically frothing as she sucked and stroked me. She consumed me as if she were a ravenous dog and I was nothing but a fresh, meaty bone. I guess that's really not far from the truth. Her true needs ran deeper, though, lower than her mouth, right in her center.
She suddenly stood and pushed me back. If I hadn't known her to be ready for it, I'd likely have cracked my skull on the stone wall, but I'd seen this side of her. As I was laying back on the grass, she was tearing at her own clothes. I'd barely settled back when she was on me, straddling me, feeding me into her. As she sunk fully onto me she pushed my arms above my head. she road on me with the chaotic abandon of a rodeo star. Her chest and head were laying flat on my body, though, because she needed to get as much of me on her as possible. With her hands, she started combing through my arm pits, wafting a putrid cloud up, drugging her further into her into her haze.
When we make love, she makes these polite little rhythmic and predictable moans. She cums two or three times, and it's fantastic and we love it. When she is fucking me, though, she grunts, she growls, she practically snarls. She takes what she came for and I am just the cock, just the instrument she's using to extract her most base pleasure. She was grunting and snorting on top of me, she was drooling onto my chest and it was running down into my armpit. Her hair was a messy pile and it was swirling into the soup of hair, sweat and grime on my sternum. Her grunts were becoming more animalistic, and her preppy Ivy League demeanor had devolved into something of a cave woman.
She was pulling herself up and down my shaft, each thrust abrading her clit against the tangle of hair at the base of my dick. She raised up slightly to optimize her angle. Her delicate fingers grabbed two fists full of my chest hair, the only leverage point she could use to push her her further onto me, to engulf every sliver of my sex. She then out a wail which turned into a shriek. She clamped hard on me with her thighs, her cunt, and her hands were slowly tearing the hairs from my torso and her entire being was in a complete state of tension.
I'd learned over time that these occasions of demonic possession were one-shot deals. She got hers and mine was my own problem. This has cultivated in me a Pavlovian orgasm, because if I didn't get it then, she was a useless and feeble invalid when she was through. My barbaric cry was half-attributable to my orgasm, and half to the flesh being torn with the follicles. Shooting into her was an absolutely exquisite agony. And then her body completely gave out before I'd even fully spent myself.
I carried her into the farmhouse like a deflated tire, our combined orgasms draining from her cunt leaving a trail almost up to the door. I laid her on the quilt in the bedroom and drew her a bath. I've got to do all the work around here.
End of Story