Karnal Combat

Her interior was so neat, it looked unlived in. The kitchen and bedroom were her most used areas, she said, kicking off her shoes and leaving me in the livingroom a few minutes. When she returned, I was examining the framed photographs on the mantel over a defunct fireplace.

"You have a picture of us," I marvelled, lifting one from amongst those of Denise's family and friends. Captured on film, the kids smiled—the girl brightly, deceptively innocent; the boy half-heartedly, a residue of dread in his eyes.

"Of me, about third grade. I liked the blouse. It's a clear picture."

"Yeah, those are some snazzy Toughskins I'm wearing, but I don't want a copy."

"Okay, give it here."

Seconds passed, as she tried to snatch the frame I kept maneuvering out her reach. Then, straightening up, she went expressionless. After a pause, she slipped to her knees, unbuttoning my pants. "Hmf! I was beginning to think you couldn't afford drawls," she said, wrenching all down.

Cuffing my ass, Denise steered my half-mast into her mouth. Guided so well by just tongue and lips, her hands rarely aided her oral; the most one ever did was rattle my balls round like dice. She usually sucked me deep, but now her envenomed lips rolled slippery round my bulb. Sitting back on her heels, and casually unbuttoning her blouse, she didn't lose me once.

Though a little too fucking playful, I nevertheless solidified. I grew so hot, I started peeling out my clothes. So weak and reeling, I had to hold onto the mantel. Denise's adjusted position strained my full cock down to a four o'clock angle. Delirious from agonizing pleasure, I slowly realized I was thrusting myself, fucking my old buddy in the mouth. As gradually as I bent over her, so she leaned back, till laying on her forearms, on the rug. Holding myself over her, in push up formation, I continued to grind deeper into her mouth, more frantically every time she hummed for less aggression.

But, instead of forcing me out, her one hand clutched my balls, tickling the fire throughout the nerves of my aching johnson. When finally I faltered to one knee, Denise assumed control, craning her neck and twisting her head wildly, her hair whipping round my waist, the sound of sloppy slurping accompanying the full of my tenderest skin being scraped along the scaly roof of her mouth.

Then, she pulled off—a slow suction as her lips slid from my base, along the shaft, and popped off the dome. Such a wreck, I mindlessly obeyed commands to move down to her exposed tits. The center of the smooth ovals had checkered with goosebumps; and, a glistening perspiration highlighted a smattering of freckles, while accentuating a perfume's fragrance.

Denise sat up, as I knelt in front of her. My silky rocket, aimed to the ceiling, fit right between her grand mams. When she closed them round it, only the tip showed, and she tongued it when possible. Alternating between my scrubbing and her crushing, I reached behind me, under Denise's skirt and panties, and curled three fingers into her pulsating pudding. Her every muscle contracted, and a forced intake of air choked her. I tugged on her a little, and she had to rise with it. To counter it, she drew back, bending my own flexed muscle, still secured between her mashing rack, then released it, leaving it to bob violently, slapping me across the gut. Stinging enough to send me falling back, she laughed, her jugs jumbling to a halt. She removed her skirt and panties, then lay back completely, her knees bent, stockinged feet flat. Her spread legs revealed the full of her dewy fresh fruit.

Denise tweaked her nipples as I crawled over. Kneeling over her right leg, I hauled the left over my shoulder, and swung my petrified lumber into her hollowed-out hole. A burrow so finally forged for me, by me—the exact key for such a temperamental lock—I slid in and out with just enough resistance to sustain a fluid motion.

Denise liked this more than anything, the steady and constant friction shredding her salad. When not smiling crookedly with each transaction, and breathing peacefully with that slight crackle in her throat, she whispered my name softly, affectionately, one hand caressing my muscular thigh. I carved her open with nice, even strokes, and cooed back at her like a bedtime story. It was work for me, because Denise's potential spasms were strong in her legs—I had to control that raised one, or risk a sudden seizure tossing me clear. Otherwise, it was gentle music, my stick slick across the bridge of her violin. Our every essence numbed against the other's.

Jolted by forthcoming paroxysms, I fell scalding belly to belly as I sped up the tempo. Both of us teary-eyed, Denise hitched up her lovely breasts, and I dove into them, sucking the salt of their nipples. Her legs clamping my waist, I knew she was ready. I flushed myself into her system, straining to remain entrenched, continuing to pump my slowly shrinking member. Simmering to a sweet purr, Denise stretched her arms over her head, and accepted all the dwindling punishment I could muster. Finally, I collapsed, utterly spent, into our first session of cuddling.

"Oh, y'know, I think your frame broke when I dropped it."

"Wha? you're such a dumb ass! you broke my shit? get the fuck out!—I said, get the fuck out!"

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