Stepping Out

Occasionally she'd pulled back, until the rim of his helmeted head had rested just inside her lips, and let her tongue swirl over and about his glans, before plunging forward again, taking him fully and deeply into her throat. He'd whimpered in his urgency as she played him like a harp, until, finally, his breath had become ragged, his hips'd begun to buck; his cock twitched and shuddered.

Although it seemed impossible, she'd felt him swell even more. His hands had gradually, as if moving on their own accord, fixed their grip over her ears. Slowly but firmly he'd pulled her onto him and held her tight. The orbiter had landed! At that moment he'd begun pumping, spurting quantities of semen into her gullet. Threatening to drown her, it took all her resolve to stay focused – stay with the program. And it went on and on, torrents of seed, filling her pharynx, backwashing into her mouth, menacing her back nasal passages.

Still, the liquid warmth hitting her throat and flowing into her tummy, had ignited a huge orgasm that had built inside her, roiling up and down her spine, intensifying with every splash of cum, gushing into her. Gwen had felt herself convulse uncontrollably. Hanging off and spinning around his peg, she'd seemed to be jetting away from the present, into some other plane. In retrospect, she was surprised she hadn't bitten him – or torn him off.

Flopping about between his legs, she'd returned ever so slowly to earth. It had been an oral orgasm for the record books, at the very least. Eventually they'd resurfaced together, and glancing up at his face – his white smile gleaming sheepishly down at her, she'd gently resumed bobbing, dragging her lips up and down his cock. After a couple last, lethargic shudders, he'd been still. Gwen noticed that he'd hardly gone down at all. Finally pulling off him, she'd stared at his still rampant prick. Even now, she was impressed at how little of its integrity his erection lost.

After paying homage to the persistently upright woodie, Gwen recalled, she'd shuffled her knees up his hips and swung her legs over to impale herself on his throbbing sword; eager to try it 'cowgirl' again – a recent addition to her repertoire of sexual positions. Her pussy dripping and ready, she'd engulfed him fully in one swift plunge. And there was a bit of palpable magic when she pushed her waiting pussy onto him. The now-you-see-it, now-you-don't of his glistening blackness slipping into her, seemed surreal. He'd filled her nicely, and by his responses, both active and verbal, he'd appreciated it.

She had played her white fingers across his chest, twiddling and pinching at his nipples. He'd cupped her pale breasts with his dark hands, in turn mauling and caressing, playing with her stiff buds. The attention to her breasts had been just like blowing gently on a flame to get a fire underway. Rising and falling, raising and lowering, up and down, Gwen had fucked him at an almost leisurely speed. There was no urgency, now. It just felt good, for him, too – she knew it, and she could see it in his eyes.

Eventually however, her thighs had begun to flag. As wonderful as it was, she'd needed to change position, so she had taken his shoulders and rolled, like a wrestler, to the side, dragging him over and on top of her, without releasing his member. Pulling him into, so-called, missionary position, she'd thrusted her hips to seat him fully once more, then begun rocking and squirming beneath him – her mission was to fuck him and fuck him well! She had felt him jerk and shudder as he'd regained the path to climax, and she'd felt herself blazing the way – her pre-ignition sequence, quickly getting well underway. The snapping and sizzling of sparks, along her nerves, criss-crossing and pinballing helter-skelter within, had promised a satisfying climax, soon.

Gwen had hooked her heels over his lower back and held him tight, relaxing as he'd retreated then pulling him in hard as he'd reinserted. Plunging and withdrawing, he fell into a dynamic rhythm that worked. Gwen had controlled the speed, communicating through her fingers at his shoulders, and varying vaguely the intensity of her pelvic thrusts as she rocked her hips to meet each push. Working on his second climax, he had demonstrated a bit of staying power, so they'd thrusted and heaved for many minutes – the beast with two backs, convulsing on the bed. He'd managed one more orgasm for himself – vocal and frenetic, gushing profusely, and filling her up – as well as couple of mild ones for her. He had been satisfied – so had she.

In the final analysis, while he was neither the biggest nor the best, he was still pretty damn fine! And to be fair, he was just a week after her first experience with anal intercourse – and there was another story!

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Gwen reflected on the multitude of 'firsts' this new chapter of her life was collecting: first – affair? No, well, let's call a spade a spade – first adultery; first anonymous sex; first multiple orgasms; first ... what? – prostitution? – okay then, we'll call a spade a fucking shovel – first whoring; first black lover – well, not lover exactly, but sexual partner; first swallowing; first anal; first time fucking in several novel and imaginative positions. Gathering new experience upon new experience, she wondered what would be next.

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"Yeah," Gwen recollected, a smile creeping onto her lips, her first anal intercourse, last week, had been wild, to say the least.

They had been fully involved, actively doing it doggy-style, and super-aroused. He'd been diamond drill rigid, pounding into her upturned quim, as she'd rocked vigorously back against him, soaring higher and higher towards an orgasm, that, when it had hit, had drained the strength from her arms and dropped her head and chest onto the bed – leaving her heaving and panting and moaning.

He'd paused, as she'd hung there, like a puppet, dangling from his erection, her hips wobbling over shaky knees, then, with a sudden slap on her buttocks, he'd pulled out abruptly. As she'd tried to clear her head enough to complain, he'd peremptorily pushed his rock hard bullet against her rosebud, pulling her hips back towards himself. Weak and relaxed in the after-throes of her climax, Gwen had felt her sphincter give way, lubricated only by her fairly copious pussy juices coating his staff, she'd felt the oddness of his thick woodie, sliding in – and it'd felt more like a log than a cock. And while he had probably only pushed less than an inch in to start, she remembered thinking it'd felt more like a metre.

"Hey! No! Owww! Stop!" She'd squirmed and protested. It really had hurt, at first – but not as much as she'd expected. Yes, she'd complained for a bit, but he'd held her tight and persisted – shoving hard – a couple more inches pushed in, then he'd paused and eased back an inch or so. The moment he'd stopped, Gwen had felt a shift in sensation. The agony / ecstasy line blurred, and suddenly she didn't want him retreating. Rocking her hips, she had pushed back with her arms, chasing the fleeing erection. It had only taken an instant, but it was she who'd resumed the intrusion!

With a slow, inexorable pressure, her client had finally reached full penetration. Seating his groin flush against her buttocks, his pubic hair had flattened against her cheeks, and filled her crack. In that last quarter inch, as the rigid incursion was completed – Gwen had felt a hitherto unknown switch get tripped. Tingling flashed explosively into a further climax. Bucking back against him, she'd fallen into the grip of a huge, on-going orgasm. Crashing through her previous experiences, the overwhelming intensity of sensation had seemed to tear holes in her psyche. Her whole being felt like it had been ruthlessly exposed and left quivering. The thrill had run like shivers up and down her body. It had been another "best ever" or, more specifically "best yet" at that time; perhaps "best thus far" would be a better designation.

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But by then, she had already realized that the least of her climaxes were almost as intense as her current 'best ever', and that they very often equaled or surpassed her current personal best in intensity. Mind you, at the time, the very best was still categorically exceptional.

Lying quietly in the gloaming, the recollection of some of her recent erotic experiences banked the growing glow of her anticipation. She marveled at the multitude of cocks she had already had – the variety of shapes and sizes – and the range of skills of the various operators!

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Two – nearly three weeks ago, Gwen recalled, she had taken her biggest cock yet. Another anonymous assignation – another nameless client; however, this trick was a true swordsman. His massive cock had been apparent even before he'd undressed. Still flaccid, it'd lay like a giant serpent, coiled in the front of his briefs; released, it had hung, swinging limply, part-way down his thighs. As he approached to bed, and Gwen's waiting nakedness, it had come alive, thickening, twitching, growing visibly, almost rearing up to look around. And, once erect, it was huge – like a wrist-thick truncheon. Although, even as he'd climbed onto the bed, and poised himself to enter Gwen, it had not yet reached full rigidity.

He'd paused, allowing her to appreciate his impressive member, now jerking and wobbling of its own accord. Pushing herself up onto her elbow, Gwen had reached with her other hand, as if to give the beast a handshake. As she'd taken his meat into her grip, she'd found she couldn't close her fingers – it was that big. Applying pressure, she had felt it get stiffer – hardening and still lengthening as she'd watched in awe. Its owner had smiled down at her proudly, before pulling back out of her reach and lining himself up with her glistening pussy lips.

Lifting her legs to hold them straight up he'd moved in slowly, seating his baseball-sized head tenderly between her already slick, puffy labia. Pausing for just a split second, he had gradually increased the inward pressure, slowly but surely separating Gwen's lips, gingerly entering her moist tunnel. The helmeted head had slipped into her, past her vaginal opening with a pop – perhaps not an audible pop, but certainly a tactile 'pop'. And he'd shown consideration – and composure – in pausing his entrance frequently, allowing Gwen time to stretch and acclimatize to his colossal intrusion.

Eventually, gradually she took most of it, pushing up against the end of her womb, pressing against her cervix. Unlike what she'd later experienced in her introduction to anal sex, there was no explosion of sensation. Initially, she'd only felt over-stuffed, barely coping with the inexorable stretching, and, if it wasn't exactly painful, it was definitely unpleasant. Gwen had felt that at any moment she would feel something tear. Ready, in fact, to call a halt, before she was injured, she'd noticed that, ever so slightly, the intense unpleasantness, was morphing into something else – a curiosity? a tingle? a stimulus? What, she couldn't quite determine. Notwithstanding, the battering ram, that lazily, relentlessly had begun sawing in and out, was now causing interesting sensations. Pleasure had come by degrees, proceeding from mildly pleasant to moderately arousing, as her client settled into a rhythm of long, slow strokes.

Gwen had, she recalled, begun building, ever so gradually, toward a climax, when he'd pulled out suddenly, without warning. And she'd felt, in that instant, bereft, gypped, robbed of the orgasm she thought she'd already earned. Before she could complain, however, he'd flipped her, silently; then, with a wonderful smoothness, stroked his baseball bat of a woodie swiftly into her now well-prepared cunt.

He'd obviously known that doggy-style better facilitated full penetration, for his insertion didn't stop until Gwen had felt his pubic hair against her bum. He'd then pulled back immediately and begun thrusting, picking up speed and intensity. And every stroke became less of an "I think I can, I think I can" ordeal, and more of an "Oh my God!" sort of building block. With every thrust his urgency seemed to increase, until finally his scrotum had slapped her clitoris.

Then came the explosion – Gwen's orgasm had hit like a missile. Her awareness had flared out into space before shrinking to an intense black-hole that bounced between her throbbing fundament and her disintegrating consciousness. At the exact instant of Gwen's climax, her conqueror had pulled himself tight and motionless, into her as far as possible, and with a guttural yell, had begun spewing what seemed like gallons of cum deep into her quim. Gwen had felt, at the very edge of her fading perception, the giant cock buck and jerk as it emptied itself into her.

Time had taken its time before it returned to the moment. As they both regained their awareness, Gwen had flopped forward onto the bed, trying to catch her breath, and pulling free of her genital support in the process. Looking over her shoulder, Gwen had had to check to see if it was really real. What she had seen was a massive tree-trunk, barely even drooping, shiny with their combined juices, and dripping semen from its still pulsing head.

Eventually, smiling wordlessly down at her, the guy, the owner of the wondrous weapon, had collapsed sideways onto the bed. His erection, standing proudly upright out of his pubic forest, had wobbled and waved, and stayed, amazingly erect.

After a bit, while Gwen had closed her eyes and bathed in the warm afterglow, he'd whispered, "Hey." Opening her eyes, deliberately moving her focus from his flagpole to his eyes and back, she'd seen his hand gesture at his hips, indicating she might try straddling him.

Gwen had known what he'd wanted although she'd never, ever done it before. She knew the position he wanted, but didn't know it was referred to as 'cowgirl'.

So, lethargically to start, she obliged – "After all, that's what I'm getting paid for!" she thought. An interesting tinge of sadness had brushed across her mind before she had turned her thoughts back to her present. After swinging herself over him, to kneel on either side of his hips, she'd had to rise up fully just to clear his swollen cockhead. Reaching beneath herself to guide him to the opening, she'd slowly lowered her still slick pussy onto his staff, carefully impaling herself.

Inch by inch, ever so slowly, his cock piercing further and further into her, she'd delicately settled onto him. It amazed her how it kept going – deeper and deeper – deeper, even, although it was hardly possible, than doggy-style. As her pubes had begun to entwine with his, she had felt his knob push, almost uncomfortably, against her cervix. It'd felt like he was trying to tickle her tonsils from within. But, that being said, he'd touched something no one else had ever touched.

Fully engulfed, she had reached the absolute limit of their union. And at that point, something snapped. Almost like a self-destruct button, an electric jolt shot up her spine to shatter her awareness, exploding her thoughts into a million shards of coloured glass. Involuntarily, she'd started to bounce frenetically on his cock, detonating mind-blowing climaxes. Yes, plural, as in more than one. Incoherent with the overwhelming sensation, she'd ridden from one climax to the next. He'd just laid there, his hands on her hips to steady her, letting her ride out her unrelenting ecstasy.

When she had finally returned to earth, she'd realized that he hadn't come during the entire time. "What about you?" she had queried.

He'd just raised his eyebrows, with an impish grin, and said, "Let's try it reversed."

Gwen had thought he meant her underneath, but in the end he'd got her positioned, sitting impaled, astride once more, but this time facing his feet. "Never done it 'reverse cowgirl'?" Gwen had just shaken her head in reply.

It was probably the record for endurance, it certainly had been for Gwen. Sometime into it he had pulled her down hard and held her firmly against his groin. She had felt him twitch and spurt, and felt a quantity of his seed ooze out of her and drip into his pubic beard. But he hadn't stopped there. Still rampant, he'd encouraged her, lifting and releasing her hips with his hands, to resume fucking. Not unexpectedly, she'd started to flag, exhaustion setting in. Sometime earlier, even before he'd turned her around, fatigue had begun to temper her climaxes. Notwithstanding, even the 'not-quite-getting-there' was fabulous!

Eventually, she could no longer summon the energy to raise herself off him, and she'd tumbled over on her side. He'd surprised her by gently cuddling for a space, before quietly leaving her on the bed as he'd dressed and left with hardly a word. With as much energy as she'd had left to consider it, his tenderness, puzzled her. And so it went.

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Lying, waiting, she marveled once again at how oddly wonderful her life had become – albeit a bit complicated. And she loved it – no, that was exactly right. She didn't love it, she craved it. It had nothing to do with love. Love was cerebral. This was primal – nothing more than primitive, brain stem sensation. She 'made love' to her husband. This was just lust – carnal and wild. It was simple fucking, or, perhaps, not-so simple.

Somehow this tangled passion had become the new normal, although there was nothing really normal about it. It was more like a new, or novel reality, though, on further consideration, it actually seemed to have very little to do with reality, either. So what had she got herself into? What had she created here? This, her current what? – experience? circumstance? whatever – it was essentially a sort of tangential reality – just touching at the edge understanding.

It was fantastic in the true sense of the word, and she was, she decided, living in a fantasy. How long it would last, she had no idea. But she suspected she was building a house of cards, and eventually some strong wind would bring it tumbling down. Still, for now, she refused to even consider that.

Interestingly enough, her best so far, that is, the experience that currently held the 'best ever' designation, had to be just last time. An excitement rumbled through her, almost like a purr, as she conjured up those most recent memories.

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The current record holder, as it were – she rarely knew names, and if she did, she quickly forgot them; she had no retention for trivia – had arrived without fanfare. In fact, it'd begun fairly benignly. He'd undressed and she'd gone down on him. Slurping and gobbling him expertly with her flourishing oral skills, she'd quickly got him fully erect. He wasn't super well-endowed; although what he had was nothing to sneeze at, he was nowhere near being a contender for biggest.

Anyway, she'd laved him and sucked him until he was standing tall, and twitching in anticipation, then she'd shuffled herself up over him, intent on exercising her abilities using her fairly recently discovered 'cowgirl' position, but he'd stopped her, and with muttered encouragement, flipped her onto her back, and drawn his quivering scepter gently to her puffy lips. It all had seemed, to begin with, surprisingly vanilla.

Oh, but he knew how to operate the equipment – fingers, lips, and tongue, as well as penis – and therein lay the crux of the experience. It rapidly became apparent, if it was vanilla, it was of the premium variety.

His expert touch had played to her arousal like a maestro – stroking her labia, while nibbling her nipples. Jolts of electricity had sparkled through her fundament. She'd felt the rolls of her vulva swell and spread and blossom with arousal; her furrow slick with her own natural lubricants. He'd eased toward penetration in missionary position. Entering her easily, with a silky smoothness, he had commenced long slow strokes. Gwen's skin'd goose-bumped and her vaginal walls had become hyper-sensitive. The drag of his penis, slowly in and then slowly out, had been like matches being struck – either direction – adding to an already intense blaze that had taken hold in her pussy and was then spreading up her spine. He'd taken her to the precipitous edge, left her teetering, then pulled back – many, many times!