PROLOGUE:
WHEN SEX IS NOT THE ISSUE...
He matches the grinding of his hips to the rhythm of his tongue in her mouth. She lifts her legs almost involuntarily up around those hips, and it's the "hug" his body has been waiting for.
"Nnnh. Just a little while more..." he admonishes himself and rides the wave of her Venus Mons, the base of his cock rubbing one out on the little button of love fully exposed by flower fully open. The quicksilver shudder of her loins and the squeeze/squelch of love's most tender muscle around his shaft foretoken hot liquid girl cum. He would think it's just in time, but thinking has been done for a while now. He feels the twitch fatale and a dollop of ecstasy so sweet descends onto his dick that it lifts one of his eyebrows in an agony of acknowledgement. "Damn it!" is all his mind can give him grinning all over its face. He's losing it, hunching into her just deeply enough and so close the kiss of her nether lips to the base of his cock is audible. She's killing him, and what he wouldn't give if that were only the all of it...
That she had reason to stray doesn't sanction the act of it. Ditto for what he does now. It is the classic two wrongs, but there is no living with his end of it. You don't just work through murder. First of all, it's too one sided a process, and a second of all is impossible to see at the moment. Her eyes tell him she loathes him most for the violence. She actually disdains him and for some reason this makes him smile.
It's an odd thing for him to do right here, right now, but it's the only honest thing he's done in such a very long time. In everything else, including choking her at this very moment, he has been the cheat in as much as he was the first to deceive long before anybody put their hands on anybody else and it all became so damned unforgivable.
With his hands now completely around her throat, he can feel the percussion of the very air he breathes. It has a concussive affectation of near psychic proportions. It is air with an aura, if you will, a shimmering green aura. He can see it, and it is like being hit with a pillow in the chest over and over just trying to breathe; yet he is breathing all the while.
"Shit." A shiver of voluptuousness catches him off guard. Although in the midst of whatever this is sex should be something of a non sequitur, he is way more than almost there. Even if those disdainful eyes are fast losing any regard whatsoever for his presence and even though her life has begun an all fight for itself, he simply can't hold back a second more.
He relinquishes what's left of his control and lets the fast churning pleasure of release over take his groin in totality. Convulsing the muscles of his abs and buckling his hips is a fluid staccato of fucking and penetration so deep his dick gives an "amen." He feels... love. He feels aflame. Gripping her throat even more tightly, his every sinew contracting and straining toward this rippling and perfect delight, he feels a heavy happiness; happiness he knows must last him the rest of his life, though without her by his side, he is not so sure how long that can be. But it's first thing in the morning and there is a whole day spread out before him.
Leaving his mind behind, he walks naked outside their home into an exactitude of perfect sunlight. His senses are filled with the radiance of her he has loved like no other. And at the precise moment his heart is sol filled to overflowing with that love that he thinks he might cum again just from the vision of her in his heart, his head is ripped from its neck. The ghost of his satiation escapes its confines, wisp-ing as a tendril into a faintly green ether of hunger that would have loosed his mind had he had it with him when he left the house. What's more, he would swear to God, if he could, that his ears can hear the soft whoosh slap of outsized wings.
--the book is Xxxombies: Start Now. Neat, hunh?
WHEN SEX IS NOT THE ISSUE...
He matches the grinding of his hips to the rhythm of his tongue in her mouth. She lifts her legs almost involuntarily up around those hips, and it's the "hug" his body has been waiting for.
"Nnnh. Just a little while more..." he admonishes himself and rides the wave of her Venus Mons, the base of his cock rubbing one out on the little button of love fully exposed by flower fully open. The quicksilver shudder of her loins and the squeeze/squelch of love's most tender muscle around his shaft foretoken hot liquid girl cum. He would think it's just in time, but thinking has been done for a while now. He feels the twitch fatale and a dollop of ecstasy so sweet descends onto his dick that it lifts one of his eyebrows in an agony of acknowledgement. "Damn it!" is all his mind can give him grinning all over its face. He's losing it, hunching into her just deeply enough and so close the kiss of her nether lips to the base of his cock is audible. She's killing him, and what he wouldn't give if that were only the all of it...
That she had reason to stray doesn't sanction the act of it. Ditto for what he does now. It is the classic two wrongs, but there is no living with his end of it. You don't just work through murder. First of all, it's too one sided a process, and a second of all is impossible to see at the moment. Her eyes tell him she loathes him most for the violence. She actually disdains him and for some reason this makes him smile.
It's an odd thing for him to do right here, right now, but it's the only honest thing he's done in such a very long time. In everything else, including choking her at this very moment, he has been the cheat in as much as he was the first to deceive long before anybody put their hands on anybody else and it all became so damned unforgivable.
With his hands now completely around her throat, he can feel the percussion of the very air he breathes. It has a concussive affectation of near psychic proportions. It is air with an aura, if you will, a shimmering green aura. He can see it, and it is like being hit with a pillow in the chest over and over just trying to breathe; yet he is breathing all the while.
"Shit." A shiver of voluptuousness catches him off guard. Although in the midst of whatever this is sex should be something of a non sequitur, he is way more than almost there. Even if those disdainful eyes are fast losing any regard whatsoever for his presence and even though her life has begun an all fight for itself, he simply can't hold back a second more.
He relinquishes what's left of his control and lets the fast churning pleasure of release over take his groin in totality. Convulsing the muscles of his abs and buckling his hips is a fluid staccato of fucking and penetration so deep his dick gives an "amen." He feels... love. He feels aflame. Gripping her throat even more tightly, his every sinew contracting and straining toward this rippling and perfect delight, he feels a heavy happiness; happiness he knows must last him the rest of his life, though without her by his side, he is not so sure how long that can be. But it's first thing in the morning and there is a whole day spread out before him.
Leaving his mind behind, he walks naked outside their home into an exactitude of perfect sunlight. His senses are filled with the radiance of her he has loved like no other. And at the precise moment his heart is sol filled to overflowing with that love that he thinks he might cum again just from the vision of her in his heart, his head is ripped from its neck. The ghost of his satiation escapes its confines, wisp-ing as a tendril into a faintly green ether of hunger that would have loosed his mind had he had it with him when he left the house. What's more, he would swear to God, if he could, that his ears can hear the soft whoosh slap of outsized wings.
--the book is Xxxombies: Start Now. Neat, hunh?