T29 A Fireplace in LA {Titmouse} (MF, rom)
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WARNING NOTICE:
The following story is erotic fiction and includes
descriptions of explicit sex. If you are a minor or
if such things may offend you, quit reading now.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Fireplace in LA
by Titmouse
(C)1999, All Rights Reserved
He came up behind her as she stood on the balcony
looking down at the river of freeway light flowing
through the night into the center of Los Angeles. His
arms wrapped around her, enfolding her, giving her his
warmth. She nestled contentedly inside his cocoon and
nuzzled the top of her head against his cheek.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said.
"But cold."
"LA or the night?"
"Both, maybe. The night for sure."
"Yes." But she was in no hurry to move, enjoying the
view and closeness. Besides, with his arms around
her, she wasn't cold anymore.
"Come inside, hon. The fire's beautiful, too."
She turned within his arms and slid hers up around his
neck, tilting her head back and seeking his lips. He
bent to her, met her, nibbled at the corner of her
mouth, licked his tongue across her lips and then
pushed it deep between them. She opened to him,
welcomed him, caressed his tongue with her own.
His arms pulled her to him, her breasts beneath her
sweater pillowed against his chest. He slid a hand
down her back to the base of her spine and pressed her
inward to him. She wrapped herself around his legs,
climbing high against his thigh. He pressed back, the
bone of his leg nestled in softness. She wriggled
like a pinned butterfly, pushing and relaxing with her
hips.
"Mmmmm," he said after a while. "I don't feel cold
now, but I still want to go inside."
"Why?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"Because the neighbors might object if I bent you over
the railing."
"How much would they object?" she said, as if she were
considering possibilities.
He laughed, turned and opened the sliding glass door,
escorted her through it.
They sat on the sofa in front of the fire. Before
long, she kicked off her shoes and slid down to
stretch out on the clearly fake and very comfortable
tiger rug, where he watched her bask in the warmth of
the fire for several minutes before snuggling up
behind her. It was not long after that that he kissed
her over her shoulder, nibbling his way down her
cheek, and she kissed him back, turning her head to
meet his lips. His hand, at first on her ribs, slid
upward to cup her breast. She pressed into his hand
eagerly.
He kissed her ear, her throat, her neck. She let her
head loll back while he nibbled and sucked and kissed
her throat. She sighed and shifted her body to
encourage him not to neglect her other breast. He
slipped his hand under her sweater and trailed his
fingers up across her ribs to cup the soft fullness.
He could feel the lace of her bra, that mystical
garment, holder of the holy. He swept his thumb
across the front and felt her stiff nipple respond.
Pulling her backward, he urged her to lie down on the
rug and then straddled her torso with his arms. He
let himself down toward her, reached for her lips with
his, found their soft silk, and kissed them gently.
His tongue slipped out only a fraction, traced across
her pouty lower lip, and withdrew. It returned,
licked lightly at her lip again, then teased her upper
lip. She held still, barely breathing. His lips
pressed hers more firmly, insisted, begged her to kiss
him, but still she held back. He ran his tongue over
her teeth, put his thumb at the corner of her jaw and
pressed, and when her teeth separated, ran his tongue
into her mouth. And now she kissed him back.
The fire was warm and so were they. He raised her up
and pulled the sweater up over her head. She shook
her hair, reached behind her back and unfastened her
bra, pulled it forward off her shoulders and let her
alabaster breasts fall free. She lay back again,
smiling slightly, letting him look at her. He took a
deep breath, a sigh really, and lowered his lips to
the tops of her breasts, cupping them beneath with his
hand, each in turn, while he kissed the soft tops,
kissed their outer sides and the fragrant valley
between them, ran his tongue under them.
Her nipples were soft buttons against his cheeks as he
nuzzled her breasts. At last, he moved to them. For
a moment, his mouth was suspended above one rosy tip.
He blew a breath that felt hot to her. Then his
tongue licked the nipple and blew on it again, and
this time it was cool. Her nipples hardened to
pebbles, so turgid they almost hurt. He took one in
his lips gently, and the soft caress was soothing and
intimately erotic. The tip of his tongue teased the
nipple's surface. She strained her breast toward his
mouth, wanting him to suck it all into his mouth,
nurse at her, drain her, use her.
He slipped a hand between her legs and cupped her sex.
She could not help but rise to his touch, seek it, let
him know he could have it, let him know she was
thinking of him being there where his hand stroked
along her pussy lips through two layers of clothing,
thinking of what it would feel like when he put
himself in her and began to pump it in and out. She
moaned and hugged him as his fingers pressed inward,
pressed her already damp panties into her moist slot.
Wrapped in each other's arms, they hugged and kissed
deeply and tumbled farther down into that special sex
dimensionality where the real gradually dims and the
urgent, tactile, desperate world of mating becomes
everything. The smell of the wood fire blended with
the smell of them. Up close, scents were magnified --
the faint perfume at her throat, the very different
perfume left on her hair by her shampoo, his
antiperspirant intermixed with volatile scent from his
armpits, the fragrance musk of her moistening sex. He
smell/touch/kissed her breasts, and she inhaled his
glistening presence.
When he began to unfasten the front of her slacks, she
did the same to him and did not stop even when his
fingers were faster and slid, cool at first, into her
panties and through the covering scrub of hair and
found the damp slot. Her breath caught in her throat
when he slid his finger downward to nestle between
those wet and sensitive lips, but she released the
button and hook that held his pants together and, as
the sides parted, slipped her hand under the waist of
his white cotton shorts and found his rigid, straining
erection thrusting to meet her moist palm. She held
him, slid her hand up and down, which prompted his own
ragged breath in response.
His finger felt for her hole, found it, and easily
slipped in to the big knuckle. She was wet, slick,
aroused. Her hips urged him to push his finger the
rest of the way in. She strained to get more when he
reached deep. She wrapped both hands around his pole
and jacked it toward her stomach.
He pushed his face away from hers, down over her neck,
her breasts, her ticklish middle that pulled away from
his kisses into a shallow basin framed by her hips.
He kissed her stomach and bellybutton. He kissed the
top of her bush and the very beginning of her legs,
the valley of her groin, pushing her slacks and
panties down as she lifted her hips to help him. He
slid his face farther down and nibbled lightly near
the top of her sex. He pushed her pants and panties
down around her ankles and helped her take them off,
then turned and began to kiss his way up her legs.
He kissed lightly over her calves, and even more
lightly in the soft flesh behind her knees. He trailed
his tongue over her thighs mixed with intermittent
nips and kisses until her reach the valley where they
joined. Pushing her legs up and out, he spread her,
pushed his finger into her again, gnawed on each of
her outer lips and thrust his tongue as deeply into
her as he could.
Finally, when she thought she would explode with
tension and longing, he slid his tongue upward just a
little more and, stiffening and lengthening it, traced
around and around the bump at the top of her opening.
What started as a sigh of relief rose up in her throat
to a whimpering cry that faded off into a shuddering
moan. Her hips squirmed involuntarily and then she
pressed them forward, consciously and eagerly,
inviting his tongue, seeking his tongue, demanding his
tongue.
"Oh, jeez," she sighed. "Oh, god, that feels good."
Still his tongue avoided the tip, rolled around and
around it instead, almost touching, then dipped
downward and plunged into her again, pushing and
reaching, then slid out and upward to roll around and
around the path that circled her clit. She tried to
guide his tongue with her hips, reaching for it,
wanting it against her there. His hands, which were
on either side of her pussy, holding her open to his
attack, pressed down and forward, pinning her to the
floor and preventing her from succeeding. Instead, he
dropped downward, avoiding what she wanted. He pushed
his tongue into her again, slathered it inside her
like a blind, slimy thing slipping and sliding in
their mixed juices as it discovered her shape by feel.
And then he moved forward suddenly and dragged the
rough velvet of his muscular tongue right across the
most exquisitely sensitive top of her button. Her
entire body jerked like she'd been punched in the
middle, and her hands flew down to bury in his hair.
She thought she was going to push him away, but by the
time her hands actually found his head and twined in
his hair, she could only for a moment hold him away
and keep him from pressing in, but just for a moment
before her will and fear collapsed and she shifted
like a sail changing tack and pulled him into her,
reveling in the feel of his tongue as it chased and
traced and lashed back and forth and around and around
and down and across -- Oh! Oh! -- across again.
She heard a whine in the distance and it was seconds
before she realized it was her own voice, and even
though she tried to stifle it, even though she
clenched her teeth and clamped her lips tight, the cry
fought its way up and out of her nose, rising in pitch
and volume. It turned into a series of panting,
quickening breaths, which she realized dimly -- as if
through cotton, through layers of blankets -- that
those sounds of another woman in another room crying
out her passion were her. Because she was coming, and
she had no time to worry about sounds. Right there,
in the magic spot at her center, the waves of pleasure
-- though pleasure is such a weak word for it -- the
waves of pleasure that had rolled up and out and
through her suddenly reversed course and pulled
inward, from her toes, which thrust and released like
a ballerina seen sideways, and from the top of her
scalp, which tingled and crawled and sent electric
shocks downward. The waves flowed up her legs and
down over her shoulders, then quivered her thighs and
convulsed her stomach muscles. And then everything
clutched and contracted and collided and exploded
outward in a blinding flash like the birth of a
universe, and she was coming and crying and coming.
When she came to her senses, she felt his warm tongue
licking her folds gently. Although he carefully
avoided her supersensitive clit, it was still too much
for her, too much after too much, and she pushed
tenderly at his forehead to let him know that, however
wonderful it had been, she'd had enough.
He lifted his head from her middle and looked up, her
face framed by the valley between her breasts.
"God," she said, "that was wonderful. But I can't
take any more right now."
"Sure you can," he said, contradicting her. He raised
up farther and slid his body along hers until he could
slip a hand under her neck to cup her shoulder and
roll her toward him. His lips sought hers, and she
welcomed them, smelling herself in the soaking wet
hair of his beard. Their tongues met and they kissed
deeply. The fire was warm on her back, and he was
warm against her front, and she could have cuddled
like this for hours. Perhaps, she thought, they would
wake in the middle of the night, or perhaps the next
morning...
His cock was trapped between their bodies, strong and
throbbing. She felt bad, because he had been a most
considerate and satisfying lover, and she resolved to
make it up to him next time, whenever it was. She
buried her nose in the hollow of his neck and snuggled
closer.
"You weren't thinking of quitting, were you?"
She sighed. "Well...yes. I mean..."
"Tough," he said. "It's my turn."
"But..."
He rolled on top of her, his legs wedging between
hers. She didn't want to be hostile, so she relaxed
her thighs and let him in. He nestled his straining
manhood into the damp notch and slid it up and down
between the lips, which were relaxed and open to him,
despite her attitude.
"Mm.," she said -- a complaint, not a moan. "No,
honey, later. Please."
"Screw that," he said. "I want you. Now."
"No, please..."
He ignored her. He slid a hand down between them,
cupped a thigh, and slid farther down toward her knee.
He pressed outward and lifted her leg at the same
time, which spread her open and raised her middle to
him. Letting go of her, he guided his thick cock to
her notch, rolled the head in her juices, and pushed
downward into the soft grasp of her opening.
She sucked in a breath as he pressed inward,
stretching her. She was still very wet, but also
still very tight, and he had to back and press and
back and press as he worked it into her. She was of
two minds -- pissed at his insistence but turned on by
his desire. He wanted her, badly. He was going to
fuck her -- he was fucking her -- whether she wanted
it or not.
His cock pushed up deep inside her, finding her depth,
pressing at her cervix, filling her. He let his
weight settle onto her, spreading her thighs widely,
letting his body drive his pulsing tool as deep as
possible. His balls rubbed against the cheeks of her
ass, hair tickling the sensitive skin around her rear
opening.
"Yes," he said, "that's better." He rolled his hips,
making his cock turn inside her, pressing against the
top of her gash and her clit, which was no longer so
sensitive that the pressure, the touch, was
unpleasant. But, still, she thought, it was too much
work. She decided just to lie back and let him.
Slowly, by millimeters, he pulled back. His cock
jerked and twitched inside her as he dragged it
outward ever so maddeningly slowly. Her insides
seemed to collapse with suction as the plum-like head
moved backward, the thick part of his column moving
upward, a noticeable bulge pressing outward against
her tightly grasping tunnel as it slid oh so slowly
out. She tried not to care, tried to think of
something else, but she was overcome with a growing
sense of loss, of desperation. Her hands gripped his
shoulders, her nails clawed inward and pressed into
his flesh. He was leaving her; she was losing him.
He would go away and never come back. The feeling was
going, going. There was a catch at the back of her
throat and a sudden moistness in her eyes.
He came out all the way until the head slipped through
her outer lips and finally stopped with just the tip
still inside her, the lips pursed outward like a kiss.
He paused there while she took a ragged, sighing
breath, and then he began to sink it into her again
just as slowly as he had left her. She gave a little
cry of gratitude and spread her legs wider to welcome
him, opening but not pushing back, letting him control
the slow penetration, the soul-cleaving knife of his
manhood slicing into her flesh, the burrowing,
tunneling reach of his cock as it spread her, opened
her, took her completely.
He reached bottom and still pressed forward, rooting
into her even deeper than before. She felt a dull
pain as he pressed too hard against her cervix, but it
was a remote feeling, like pain at the center of the
earth. She clasped him to her, raised her arms from
where they had lain passively on the floor to wrap
them around his shoulders and pull her breasts up to
press against his chest. The hair of his chest
brushed her nipples like small electric whips. She
raised her legs, gripped his waist with her thighs and
locked her ankles behind his back, pushing her glove
up onto the fat finger.
"Changed your mind?" he asked, a hint of laughter in
his tone.
"Shut up," she said through gritted teeth. "Fuck me."
He pulled back fast this time and then shoved into
her, then gave her several short but rapid strokes
before beginning to slide the entire length in and out
of her. He began to pump her steadily, forcefully.
He wanted to defeat her, to pound her, to make her lie
back and take it, but she was catching fire again and
discovering new energy. Her hips twitched as he slid
in and out, rolled in voluptuous circles, pressed
forward and dragged back, making his cock roll and
press and drag inside her. She pushed up when he
pushed in, locked him to her with her arms and legs,
ground herself against him as he tried to saw in and
out, mashed her pussy downward so that the shaft of
his cock dragged along her clit, sending out fresh
shock waves that echoed through her body.
"Ooooh," she hissed. "You bastard. Couldn't wait,
could you?"
He grinned as he sluiced in and out of her, knowing
she was as eager as he was now. He reveled in the
tight grasp of her hole, felt her tighten and release
as he slid in and out. He loved the way she fucked
him back, opened herself to him, offered it all to him
and took what she wanted at the same time. He began
to slam into her, his hips slapping the back of his
thighs. He would come in a moment.
"Aaaaaagh," he groaned as he pulled out of her
entirely. She gave him a look of bewildered
disappointment, but he quickly laid down beside her
and pushed at her near shoulder, rolling her away from
him and onto her side. Cuddling up behind her, he
used his hand to guide his cock back to her slot and
pushed forward. He oozed back into her until he was
buried to the hilt and his wiry bush was tickling her
fanny. He forced an arm under her and wrapped it
across her chest, cupping and fondling her breast,
bending her back against him like a bow. His other
hand slid around her thigh, pulling her hips back
against him as he pushed in and out. Then his fingers
slid down into the vee of her thighs, spread her lips,
slid around his own penetrating prick for a moment,
and then sought and found her clit. The bud was
exposed by the wide-stretched penetration of her core.
His fingertip quickly found it and stroked it.
"Oh, god," she shuddered. "Ohmigod."
"So you want it?" he hissed, sliding in and out
furiously.
"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, goddamn it! Fuck me!"
He gave what she wanted and she fucked him back. For
long moments, moments from another dimension, he
plunged in and out of her slick gully -- or she rode
his proud pole, swallowing and spitting it out -- or
they both fucked each other as hard as they could.
For those long alien moments stolen from elsewhen,
they tried to merge, strained to merge, slid in and
out and over and off the other, and almost lost track
of whether he was taking her or she was taking him.
But it was definitely his fingers that were stroking
the top of her pussy, sliding over her clit and making
her whole body tremble. Her breath was loud, but not
louder than his, which huffed in her ear as he pulled
her back to him. And then she was also aware that it
was her pussy that was clutching at him, almost
vibrating, and his stiff, iron-velvet cock was pushing
in and out of her. It felt noticeably hot, like a
poker from the fire. She was on fire. Her breasts
and cheeks were flushed.
He felt her clutch at him and knew she was close
again. Suddenly, he was even closer.
"Ohhhh," he moaned, a long, shuddering sigh.
She threw herself back at him, fucking him now,
fucking herself, too.
"Oh, is he going to come?" she teased, doing her best
to make him. "Do you like it then?" She rolled her
hips around and around on his stabbing erection.
"Shut up!" he hissed. "Just shut up and take it!" He
pushed her down, so that she was almost on her
stomach, and rolled his weight onto her butt. His
hands pressed her shoulders to the floor, his body
pinned her hips, and he slammed his cock into her
pussy.
"Oh, shit!" he whined, and shot into her. She felt
him convulse, knew he was coming, and exploded
herself. She pushed back against his forceful thrusts
and then suddenly could no longer control her body as
an orgasm even stronger than the first stripped her
electrical circuits and left her jerking like a shock
victim. They twisted and jerked and slapped together,
peaked in a last convulsion, and slowly collapsed into
a puddle of limp flesh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End of 'A Fireplace in LA' by Titmouse.
Story 29
Author's Note:
I wanted to send a story to impress a new correspondent and realized
that none of my stories were the least bit romantic. Horny, yes;
romantic, no. So I wrote this to appeal to her and gain her approval.
She liked it, I'm glad to say, but now she wants to see the rest of
my stories...
I'm trying to distract her by suggesting we write something new together.
---
I welcome your comments but hate spam. Send messages to
NiteSweats@aol.com and put 'Titmouse' somewhere in the subject line.
Anything else will be deleted automatically.