Mountain Girl Come Home

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Redfaced, huffing, holding her pale hamstrings apart and high in the air, I thrusted myself in and out of the blondehaired girl below. Her face contorted anxiously, excitedly as I felt the folds of her narrow lovetunnel reluctantly and moistly part to accommodate my lengthy and granite invasion. Back and forth and slow and slick with delicious little pops I plugged the opening, sometimes remaining inside her and still for a longer period so as to savor our consummation, to relish the knowledge of her insides being transmitted to me by my throbbing cock. Impatient and tortured by my languorous and indulgently slow deliberations, she twisted and thrust her hips sharp up at me like a disco dancer, biting her slightly swollen red lip hard with her teeth and looking up at me with an ultimately seductive and devilish smirk. Her eyes were fiery and laden with raw teenage lust, twin vacuums which held me and soon consumed me and locked me helpless into the fiercer rhythm that was cogent to her desire. In moments I was bucking into her almost without control, she still a step faster and ahead of me, wildly rotating her hips in a swirling vortex of blenderlike intensity: hot, tight, wet vagina snagging a lengthy cock and rotating it through three hundred and sixty degrees of geometric ecstasy, me withdrawing only slightly so as to feel more acutely the sensation of complete consummation to the hilt when I jerked back in.

In her every action and expression the shadows of her tragedy lingered – like the blight of a stubborn pimple that governs the makeup of a woman, so too did the inexorable weight of her suffering direct and determine (and moil about her physical form as a ceaseless wraithlike reminder) the course of her actions. Her father was a meth dealer from Knoxville Tennessee, and she had left her little sisters in the care of her mentally ill mother near the Cherokee Indian Reservation to search out the father and bring him back home. She needed him to help raise her little sisters; they were running out of money faster than she could scrounge it up without spreading her legs.

She did odd jobs on the road – such as the job she was doing on the day I met her, freshly nineteen and just months graduated from high school. The scene: a crispy dry gray Appalachia day with brittle leaves that crunched underfoot, me out for a run barechested through the countryside and her chopping wood with an axe for an elderly couple. Fate, someone once told me, swings to and fro on tiny hinges; had not something in her stare not reached down to plumb the depths of my desires and twanged something in just the right way that made me think of having sex with her, I would have never turned around, would have never pretended to ask directions nor accepted the glass of water nor invite her to dinner that evening, would have never once known the taste of salty lust on her lips when she plunged them into mine, would have never truly known the near apocalyptic and epileptic event that the orgasm of a woman properly sated could become.

And perhaps I triggered something mechanical within her, her who had an empty space within her where no male had ever been, where she had never allowed a male to be and thus did not know what could happen when she opened that space to outside violation. And that was what I did, I violated her, I violated this tortured and suffering and lovelust starved mountain girl with good wide hips and a good right amount of muscle and fat on her, and it was not just that which I fucked, but also all of her scars, the endless scars and many of them still open wounds, and the weight of her entire traumatic life, all of that was held on her skin and around her feminine curves and well-maintained rugged outdoor body, and inside her too, up inside the narrow empty space between her legs where no man had been before me and inside her anus too, which I also screwed hard per her command and remorselessly, indulgently.

Outside the gray day raged, dun colored clouds and constant fronts of rain washing over the windows bahis firmaları and seeming, with each successive squall, to renew the insatiable coital instinct within her. To say I fucked her would be true, but not as true as to say that she fucked me. She enjoyed watching me on top of her, liked to penetrate me with that stare and those great big green girl-woman eyes laden with lust; enjoyed, the friendly way I used to enjoy beating my friends in basketball, watching me suffer as I tried to match her movements, her intensity. It was if she knew the task she had appointed me were hopeless; for every five times I spent a load in her, she came once. But our frantic collisions were about more than just stamina and flexibility, they were a competition of passions, a match to see who could race to their most primal selves first and most completely, to see who could slip behind and take refuge in the sexual cocoon of primordial lust.

Of course these competitions were never close, and today was no exception. This was a machine of sex who knew that she sought lust for escape, and yet still did not do it haphazardly, nor destructively, but rather with a sort of indulgence that eased the darkness and the suffering which seemed a permanent part of the architecture of her expression . An architecture which typically remained predominant until she was in the throes of, or at least clearly proceeding towards, one of her near-epileptic fits of orgasm.

Her comings were something entirely inhuman, a thing of legend, of fantasy beyond fantasy of the most imaginative and creatively nymphomaniacal young male. They exceeded even the deepest and most twisted deviations of my own often perverse imagination. In the moments immediately preceding her orgasm her entire body would turn ultra-sensitive and electric, emitting some kind of aura or pheromone which almost immediately triggered my cock into spasming and spraying her cervix with my seed. As this happened, despite my semiconcious state, I was still aware of the entire universe seeming to shrink to only her body and its rapid and violent quakes, the heaving bosom, the teeth that would dig into the muscle of my neck (and more frequently than not, draw red blood), the long lustrous legs that would lash out like wild horses, the vise-like clench of her vaginal muscles holding my spurting length absolutely immobile, like two slick and soft squares of rubber superheated and slammed together rigidly about the cone that has been eagerly trapped between.

Now I paused, feeling my testicles begin to tighten and my cock buried and well enveloped deep within her vagina. She let me stay still for a moment before flipping us over; her period of lusty observation and gameplaying was over, and another veneer was to be peeled back from the animal within. As she remounted me and began sharp violent thrusts of her hips which nearly yanked my cock from its socket, I thought back again to that day I had met her.

That first night we did not talk very much. She was reluctant to – not shy, not scared, just reserved, as though the process of trusting me and opening to me were one which must be undertaken very slowly if at all, for fear that she should unravel too quickly and too absolutely under any verbal foreplay, any witty or charming flirtations which she could have elicited from me with a bit more of a smile from her perpetually wet red lips. Instead she watched me, carefully and not unkindly, levering upon me that same stare which had made me turn around when I ran past her in the countryside, a stare which flared with intensity as the night wore on, as she watched my sincere attempts to understand her, get to know her, as she understood who I was, understood that I would not lie or deceive or cheat anyone and most especially not her. Never before had anyone ever stared at me with that sort of focus, intention – certainly it was sexual and seductive, yet too there was an element of surprise, as though she had been startled to find something pleasant placed immediately before her. kaçak iddaa

I joked with her endlessly, for what seemed like years, within those hours that we sat at dinner and walked about town and eventually back to my apartment. I made one move, one gesture to hold her hand when I thought I’d been particularly successful with some stupid punchline, and she melted. Her hand slipped around mine firmly and when we stepped inside the door to my apartment she used her other hand to steady my chest against the wall and slip her tongue deep into the back of my mouth.

Electricity ran through me, something about this reflective, tragic, carefully withheld girl – woman – was more intensely sexual than even the most outrageously pheremonic and busty supermodel. My gear shifted from wanting her to open her heart and soul for me to wanting her to open her legs for me (in reality, the two were inextricably linked). We tore into one another in the half dark, stripping rapidly and with trembling fingers. I laid her on my bed, naked and breathing heavily, my hand over her vagina, my penis pressed against her warm uplifted hamstring and migrating slowly towards that tightened puckered slit-place just inches eastward (where it would (unbeknownst to me) one day find something that was literally beyond my own fantasies), when she placed her hands on my chest and pushed me back.

Too easy, she said, her breasts heaving, her red lips red and wet in the dusty arrows of moonlight that slipped through the shades. Too quick.

What? What do you mean? My mind raced. I thought of pleading, cajoling, even outright begging; to be on the doorstep of sweet penetration and be denied is one of the crueler fates girls choose to bestow upon a male they truly despise.

Too simple. Not enough fun, she said, licking her lips. She flipped us over and smiled devilishly. How bout this. If I can make you come without touching your dick, you are never allowed to enter me. If you’re able to last more than ten minutes, I’ll let you pound me silly without a condom on.

Wow, I said. Deal.

With that she made me lay back on the bed, pushed apart my legs wide, reached down with her head between my legs and swiftly took both of my testicles into her mouth. Almost instantly I felt the blood rushing from all parts of my body to my penis, which shot straight into the air, missing the bridge of her nose by an inch. She grinned and sucked in deep and swirled, hot and wet and honeylike probing my balls with the length of her tongue. I do not remember how long it took for long ropes of sperm to snap out of my penis and splatter on the wall behind my head, but it was certainly less than ten minutes. I remember distinctly the way she held my hands down on the bed when she felt my distress in preparing to orgasm – it was as though she had read my sudden urge to take my cock in both hands and rub that untouched flesh as hard as I could to will it to explode – yet she denied that to me. All that juice came from her nibbling on my scrotum, my dick left electric with the need to fuck something.

She let my balls pop one by one from the gentle grasp of her lips and slid her smooth naked body up along mine. Her breasts dragged along my chest and I hugged her to me. She nuzzled her head into me, lavished my neck with kisses, smiled at me devilishly, me hardly realizing that she had swung one of her long lucious legs over my lap to straddle me, settling the warmth of her groin over my semialert still-twitching member.

How did that feel, she whispered languorously in my ear.

Too good, I whispered hoarsely back. I found that I was losing my voice.

She dragged her warm and wet and bristly labia up and down the length of my sore penis.

And how about that? she whispered in the other ear.

I felt my hands unconsciously clench around her middle, my genitals still ultra sensitive from the recent orgasm. My fingers held her lower back in place, ground her down more firm on my hips.

She let her mouth fall kaçak bahis heavily and wet on my mine and then reached a hand back and rubbed a finger between my balls, the most intensely erotic motion a girl’s finger can give a man.

And what does that do? she whispered softer still.

I may have growled a little, I don’t even remember, so blurred is that period of super-heightened sexual bliss. I do know that the agreement we made before she sucked on my scrotum was the last thing on my mind, and that my cock had hardly begun to soften before it rehardened to full attention again.

What is it that you want? she said, her eyes inches from mine, that devilish fuck-demon grin on that wet red mouth, her body warm and responsive and arching and moaning into my every touch.

I want this, I said, taking hold of the base of my penis and positioning the head at the entrance to her pussy, To go in there.

Like that? she said, and sat back down on me. And with a rush of tight ecstasy we were consummated.

We came quickly that first night, quicker than now, our fucking drawn out in long and slow dribbling torturous releases leading up to the final explosion. Now as she rode me, a gyrating redlipped insatiable blur, I remembered that first thrust, the first instant of our first coitus, the way that penetrating her felt like curing myself of some long-labored illness, some disease I hadn’t even known I had. It triggered something loose within now as she humped me, and a few thrusts later she did this ridiculously erotic little dance on my dick that sent me past the point of no return.

She knew what she had done, knew it as if she had planned it out from the beginning that that little dance would be what took me over the edge, and she held my gaze as the tension and my distress grew. The biological urge to fuck my seed deep in her bowels took over and I jerked myself up sharp, going into the hilt, our hips clapping together harshly. Her lips curved upward slightly and she bent her heavy breasts over me to take a firmer grip of my shoulders, her eyes on mine all the while, monitoring with delectable perverse desire my progression towards orgasm.

And soon the room began to spin and blur and I shut my eyes as my entire being seemed to gather up and tighten in my testicles and begin its indulgent path up the length of my vagina-encased member. She began to call out; machine-like our gentials grinded out their ecstatic love; I leaned up and buried my jaw in her milky bosom, taking as much of her left breast into my mouth as I could.

In the moment of first ejaculation, when my dick spasmed inside her and slapped against her own convulsing walls, there dawned the revelation: all of my life had led up to that very instant, had been aimed at and conspiring towards this, not merely the deposit of sperm inside a woman’s vagina, but the transcendent union of two compatible creatures. I was amazed at how profoundly irrelevant the rest of the universe, the rest of everything ever, suddenly became.

Had the world been crumbling to apocalyptic pieces about us, I would have still kept pushing my hardened extremity through the thin, moist slit between her legs, because I knew then that it was what I was borne to do. To propagate the Earth, yes, to form offspring; but more crucially, to make love, and uncover basic universal truths in so doing.

We lay back on the bed, spent. I still believe my heart that she was carrying my child on that last day we parted. We had breeded maniacally for four weeks, and never once did either of us ever consider using protection, never once did I resist the urge to spasm loose deep inside her, never once did she fail to encourage me to fill her insides with my ejaculate.

In two weeks time I would be at McMurdo Station near the South Pole of the Earth beginning my research project, having just suffered frostbite and lost two toes because of it. And in two weeks time this girl would be dead and buried in a coffin in Hammond’s Cemetery on Route 1 in Georgia, thoughtlessly murdered by a meth dealer for asking too many questions. And though I know that I will never see her ever again, I still, to this day, feel that my entire existence is validated by her spirit.

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