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Quisse
by Kristi
It's a northern tale.
She's trapped in a Texas field of irrational non-sexual politics of redneck snakebites, and he's a northern tail. Ass high, black cheeks made for spanking, he's so cool, so utterly hot that her spit sizzles on him, rolls over him, dances to the floor. It's not the same with Texas boys who wankle country-style, dogey style, harassing the sheep out in the pasture that baa for a different reason at night. Homeboy's sneaking out the window at bedtime to the green, green fields and rutting. Oh, the rutting. It's really, really not for her, not that homeboy thing. Oh, no.
But he's different. She found him watching her at the store, his long, muscular body fine-looking against the outside railing that once supported three horses. He looked into her eyes and she knew he wasn't from Texas. She raised her eyebrows and flirted. His black face and brown eyes bespoke worlds to her and as she held her grocery bag, he offered to carry it. Without a word, she beckoned him to follow her.
He kisses her country lips. His hands light and smooth making her naked body tingle, his tongue unlike other tongues, rough and possessive, thick and demanding. His brown eyes close when she feels him through his khakis, through the briefs, a thickness unrelenting pushing hard against her hand. His dark mouth is hot on her white breasts, hot on her shoulder, her arms, her belly and back to her breasts, his red tongue flicking roughly the pink nipples until they're twisted to a point.
Mahogany skin, light and breezy attitude flung at her and she runs her hands over the lighter marks just below the pants line, along the smooth, hot hips. Her small, white hands tremble every slow inch over his tight, tight muscular ass. Her other hand, really just one finger, run down the line between hip and balls toward the center of heat. Her eyes narrow to the mushroom head as her body finds purchase on the floor, kneeling, her head resting, squeezing between his thighs, the part on her head clear from above.
His long, elegant fingers pull the blonde hair back, pull it out of her face and back over her small shoulders. The shaft speaks for him, attentive to the long, red tongue flicking first over the tiny hole on top of the thick head now gorged with an anxious waiting, his torso unable to control the slight swaying, slight fucking motion as her lips part, imparting heat, imparting contact, sex, patience when he exudes impatience.
Her large lips, red with gloss, come closer to his body and retract again and again, her hands wiggling between his balls and ass. Moving closer to the anal rim she feels him squirm, hears him hiss because she invades him with the first finger inside him while her mouth possesses the head, first slow, now flicking, flicking, flicking over the underside, under the mushroom where the nerves cross.
His face contorts with painstaking pleasure, his hands grip her head and pull her mouth over his penis, his whole body shifting from receiving to taking and hers shifting from active to submissive, her eyes running up his body to the brown rippled belly, the black hairs on his chest in and out of focus as he takes her mouth, he takes her, he takes her lips. Her eyes wander upward to his long, smooth neck and the stubble of beard, the tense lips and mouth and face and cheeks. He is not a country boy, the lines of his face hard and not corn-fed beefy or wide. No, not at all.
Her lips linger, pulling out to kiss the thick, soft testicles, her whole mouth engaging them, her tongue heating them as she sucks gently for a moment before returning to the head. He looks at her as if she was insane, pleading with her to return to the focus of his being.
She shifts below and removes the finger from his anus, removes the pressure and she hears him sigh, briefly. He groans but gently tugs on her head to renew the friction and heat and moisture on his sex. He wants it faster and she obliges, her red mouth willing.
The intensity rights his body, flexes his long, brown legs. He undulates faster into her mouth and his lips suck the air in and out over and over as if breathing was harder than anything in the world.
Suddenly his face loosens, his mouth opens in a scream and she takes it in, sucking and licking, wet with him and wet below, one hand ravaging her own sex so she can come with him and she does, her eyes rolled in the back of her head, her mouth screaming when he is inside her, still, his hands hard on her head, jerking her to him to a finish, one of her fingers plunging deep into his anus, counter to his sex.
Her pink flesh below remains hot to the tongue, hot and wet, her juices flowing, pouring from her as she leans back, hard against the floor, her legs tingling and the lips of his mouth on the lips of her sex, sucking hard, sucking like no country boy, flicking the tiny head until she must arch up, the desire becoming too much until she does it, until she does it again, her mouth bellowing out a torrent of pleasure, a rampaging pleasure that surges through her, taking her far away from Texas and far away, even, from the fine mahogany man in front of her.
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