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Subject: Mandala (FM, rim)
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The following erotic tale contains material not meant for minor eyes, which
means, among other things, this: if you are younger than eighteen years of
age, do not read any further.
Mandala
Mandala Winters had the most delicious ass. I mean that literally. She
loved all parts of her body, but she most fond of her ass, taking every
opportunity to capitalize on its exquisite beauty.
She stunned me the first time I visited her home, a little refurbished garage
with a startling view of the parking lot. I had been inside for no less than
five minutes when, without warning, she began stripping out of her clothes,
boring into me with her blue-gray eyes, smiling calmly as one piece after
another came away from her skin and landed in a small pile on the couch beside
her. "I prefer to be naked," she said. "I hope you don’t mind."
I must have muttered something. I don’t recall. After she stripped, Mandala
went about her business as if nothing had happened. She went into the kitchen
and poured us a couple glasses of wine. I watched her from the front room.
She walked gracefully, her ass a perfect heart on the long stalks of her legs.
Though her breasts weren’t large, I could see the small scars arcing along the
bottom of both areolae: beautiful breasts, why ruin the smooth skin? I could
tell she shaved her pubic hair around the labia. Her pubic patch was darker
than the blonde hair on her head. Her lips were sensuously thick but not
exaggerated, her eyes unfortunately covered with dark make-up.
Everything about Mandala ran counter to my tastes and preferences in women,
but I wanted her badly, undoubtedly because of her uninhibited pride in her
beautiful, long, slender body.
When she came back with the wine, she sat on the couch and pulled her legs
up beside her, making no movement to cover herself. I stood foolishly in the
middle of the room, wondering if I should strip naked as well. When I started
to suggest just that, Mandala announced, "You can keep your clothes on. I
like it better that way."
I sat down at the other end of the couch, sipping my wine perhaps a bit too
rapidly. Small talk would be virtually impossible, and luckily Mandala had no
desire whatsoever to participate in the usual nervous patter of first dates.
This could hardly be called a date anyway.
"It’s okay if you stare at my body," Mandala said, taking a sip of wine,
apparently noticing my overwrought and averted gaze. "I like the feel of eyes
on my body." That said, she turned to lay on her back, still facing me, and
let one leg dangle over the side of the couch, giving me a full view of her
sex. "Do you like my pussy?" she said matter-of-factly.
I whispered, "Yes," lowly and hoarsely. I swallowed again.
"My lips are so soft and tender," she said, running the tip of her finger
along her labia, brushing a fingernail slightly over the hood, then tracing a
seductive line through her pubic hair. "And my nipples are sensitive," she
said, bringing a finger to one then the other slightly erect nipple. "Do you
like my tits?"
"Yes," I whispered again.
"Good," she said, then, turning over smoothly, she added, "How about my ass?
I like my ass best."
On her stomach now, she spread the cheeks of her ass just a little, showing
me her aster: smooth, not the slightest hint of a pucker. Simply marvelous.
"You can lick it if you want," she said, "I really like that." When I
hesitated for a moment, she said, "Don’t worry, it’s clean."
I placed my wine glass on the coffee table and bent down to her ass, her
scent a delightful mixture musk and perfume. Her labia glistened. I
stretched out my tongue and placed it against her aster, licked lightly and
casually. "Mmm," she purred. "Your tongue is like wet velvet." She moved
her ass in small circles, lifting it to me. I pressed the tip of my tongue
into her and ran my hands over her firm ass cheeks. I felt drunk with it. My
head reeled. I pressed more firmly, and my tongue tip penetrated her softly,
firmly. She moaned in response, arching her back further, pressing into me as
if to swallow my tongue.
I kneaded her cheeks more aggressively and pushed a little deeper, flicking
my tongue in tight circles. She let out an animal growl to urge me on,
pressing up and up with her ass. Grasping her ass in both hands now, I
plunged my tongue deeper and deeper, an inch inside her, probing and flicking
in piston rhythms, so intent on my ass licking I hardly noticed she had pushed
her right hand between her legs and was now working her clitoris in steady,
muscular circles. I plunged and plunged, licked around her aster, pressing my
face into her as if nothing else in the universe existed besides her
delicious, wonderful ass. I felt her sphincter relax completely then, and her
fingers began moving in earnest, her breathing hoarse and low, panting and
groaning. I could hear that she held her tongue out as she responded to my
probing, breathing through an open mouth.
My jaw scarcely had time to grow tired. Within minutes, her orgasm started
up, I felt her entire body grasp, concentrated on the centers, tensing as the
wave broke. Her body flailed wildly and nearly knocked me away from her, but
I held fast to her hips. She let out a scream that startled me with its
sudden violence, its tortured release. When I felt the wave cresting, she
said, "Don’t stop, please," through ragged breath. I plunged again and again,
getting as deep as I could, and not one minute later, her body tensed in
another climax. "Ahh, ahh," she said with each jerk of muscle. Each crest
caused her anus to lock on my tongue, then relax, then lock. I had never had
the experience of having my tongue milked, but it was one of the strangest,
most exotic sensations of my life.
Mandala Winters rode the waves for a full ten minutes, allowing her orgasms
to sneak out, peak around the corner, before she brought it back under
control. The effect was either a succession of little orgasms or a drawn out
power come. Either way, it was the most erotic display of physical control
I’d ever witnessed, especially from this angle. At last and without the
slightest warning, Mandala virtually sprang away from my tongue and crawled
over the arm of the couch, her glistening ass and pussy rising and falling
over the side. Seconds later, her wickedly grinning face appeared just over
the arm, and she rested her chin against the fabric. Her body was a solid
mass of small aftershocks and twitches: even in afterglow, if that’s what it
could be called, her naked body was a live wire, an exposed filament.
Her eyes were ablaze with lust. She grinned into me viciously, and I knew
intrinsically my night was going to be a frightening test of limits.
End
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