Madam I m Adam
- 2 years ago
- 46
- 0
Exploring Adam 7 free porn video
I have never had, either before or since, such a sex-drenched cluster of days as that visit from Adam. It was an ecstatic experience in both the literal and figurative senses of the word--a prolonged orgasm, it sometimes seems to me in my memory, as making him cum was just as delirious an experience as when he did it to me.
I felt outside of myself for the entire time, and yet so fully sheathed in my flesh and the pleasures it could bestow. Whatever my cock-centered fantasies had been before came to seem trite as Adam and I went so far beyond what I had once only tentatively imagined. I lost track of the times he came in my mouth, my hands, my ass; I lost track of the times I came in his. Never again would I be able to sustain that frequency of sex and orgasm without my cock becoming a hollow, aching pole. But always, however much we had sucked and fucked in the preceding hours, my cock was ready again, springing to hardness at the mere thought of his body, his skin, his mouth, his cock. And his own beautiful organ was just as ready and willing.
Rereading the installments I've posted here, I hope I haven't slipped into mere pornography ... it feels at points that this saga has become an exercise in "and then we fucked in THIS room in THIS position."
Certainly, it gets a little repetitive, but I hope I've managed to communicate some of the endless novelty and newness that those acts had for me. However often I sucked his cock in those three days, it was like I was coming to it again for the first time, that it was always this tremulous and exciting adventure. That certainly was what fuelled our constant fascination with each other--at no point did I ever get bored, at no point did the prospect of him sucking me or fucking me or vice versa ever feel rote. Each orgasm was its own little universe of ecstasy that only left us wanting more.
Which is not to say we didn't strive for novelty... every position we could imagine we tried, every place in the apartment, every surface that could bear our bodies. He fucked me from behind, missionary style, spooning; I rode his cock facing him, facing away, sideways; we were tender and loving, slow, whispering endearments; we dominated each other, demanding submission and worship, making each other beg for the cock we wanted, needed, to be fucking us; we lay beside each other, not touching each other's cocks, and wound each other up describing what we wanted to do to each other, until we practically came from mere words, and then we would enact the scenes we had described. We sucked each other endlessly, sometimes fast and hard and hungry, sometimes excruciatingly slowly.
We 69'd for an hour and a half on one of the days, licking and nuzzling, backing off when the other was close, finally making each other cum simultaneously in ecstatic explosions in our mouths. We came on each other's faces, chests, bellies, backs, asses. We used our semen as massage oil, as lube, as flavoring. He wrote his name in his cum on my chest and then ate it off me. We learned the rhythms of each other's cocks, came to know what each twitch and pulse and swelling meant and used the knowledge to torture each other. I kept him on the brink of orgasm for twenty minutes with the tip of my tongue tapping on the skin just beneath his cockhead; when I ran my fingernail up the underside of his shaft, it was enough to make him spurt on my face.
Our vocabulary came to run the gamut between gentle endearments and cruel commands. But it centered mostly on a small collection of verbs and adjectives, as most sex talk does, with "fuck me" being the most frequently uttered command or request or plea. We found new ways to worship each other's cocks in words, new ways to describe how hard the other was, how delicious his shaft, how delectable his cum. But again, as we approached orgasm these words narrowed to a small selection, barely coherent, expressing the simple need and want we had in the presence of each other's skin.
I could go on. But I also don't want this story to simply become a string of pornographic sex acts (well, more than it has already). I hope everyone reading this saga has enjoyed it--I hope you have gotten hard while reading and, finding a passage you found particularly arousing, fumbled your belt and pants open and sat rereading my words as you stroke yourself to orgasm. I hope, perhaps, you did not reach for the tissue when you came but let yourself spurt ecstatically on your bare stomach. Because, and this perhaps goes without saying, writing these chapters has had very much the same effect on me.
It takes somewhat longer to write than other pieces of the same length, given that certain moments overcome me and I have to paused and loose my pants and close my eyes as the memory of those moments ten years ago. I cum and fall into a reverie of happy remembrance and have to put aside the story for a few hours while I recover. Alas, the masturbatory effect of these memories does not have the same perma-erection effect of the original experience... which, I suppose, is to be expected. Without Adam before me in his nubile, almost-eighteen-year-old, newly sexually awakened state, my cock needs its recovery time.
I have one more chapter to write after this little interregnum, to describe the bittersweet end of those unreal three days with Adam. But don't worry: there is a sequel, and if these chapters have proved pleasurable and enjoyable, I will definitely write about re-encountering my divine lover five years later. But I am vain and horny by nature, so please let me know how much you've enjoyed this story so far--and whether it inspired a "break" from whatever work you were doing before sneaking a peek at Lush. Knowing these stories have pleased and aroused readers is a huge part of the pleasure of putting them out there. I have loved getting all your comments and messages, and like any addict, I want more.
Like I said, I have one more chapter to go after this, and hopefully I can end on a particularly hot note. But for those who have read this much of my little introspective entr'acte, here's your payoff:
The morning of the day before he had to go, I woke up to feel his hands roving over my chest. I was lying on my side and he was spooning me; his lips were at the nape of my neck. The room was still dim--it must have been before six in the morning. He was pressed up against me, and his cock was hard and insistent, resting in the cleft of my buttocks. He had fucked me before we drifted off to sleep a mere few hours ago, and it was still slick with lube and cum. So was my ass, for that matter, and I felt my hole twitch in want as he slowly ground his shaft against me.
I pretended to still be asleep, murmuring as I might through slumber. His hand dropped to my cock and, finding it getting hard, circled it with his fingers and gave it a squeeze. I had to suppress a moan; I had to resist the urge to press my ass back against him. I wanted to see what he would do with my sleeping self, and my heart suddenly raced at the thought of "waking" with him fucking me.
His hips became more urgent, and he slowly stroked my cock as he licked and bit and nuzzled the back of my neck and my shoulders. I could hear his breathing getting ragged, and I wondered for a moment if the friction of his cock in my crack would get him off. But after a moment I felt his hips shift. His hand squeezed my cock, and I felt his slide down my crack, seeking, stopping as the head came to rest in the divot of my anus. Again, I had to resist a moan, settling for a sleepy whimper. With a long, ecstatic exhalation, he slipped himself slowly into my ass and my muscles there involuntarily squeezed him as he entered me.
By now, he had fucked me over half a dozen times, as I had him. My ass was still tight, but no longer painful if he entered me slowly. And after two days of fucking, my nerves were alive to the sensations. Twice more I had cum to the simple feel of him fucking me, to his amazement and envy. I would have called myself by then a born bottom if I didn't love fucking him so much too. Even now, though my eyes were closed and my face turned away, I knew that his eyes were slits of desire and I knew the expression he wore, his mouth slightly open and his lip twisted at one corner.
He paused as his cock slid home, and then began to fuck me in long, slow, delicious strokes. His hand matched the tempo of his hips, and soon I was leaking enough precum that he could slide his hand easily up over the head. Time to slowly wake up, I thought, and moaned, pressing myself back against him when he thrust. I matched his movements as he fucked me, bringing my ass down on his cock a little faster and a little harder every time.
"Oooohhhh ..." I moaned. "Yessss."
He licked the nape of my neck. "You like that?"
"Fuck yes. Fuck me."
"Fuck you how?"
"Fuck me hard."
"Like that?" He thrust hard and deep, holding it there, and I cried out in pleasure.
"Oh, fuck yes. Just like that. Make me cum."
He sped up his hand's stroking. "Only if you make me cum."
"Cum in my ass."
"Yessss. Fuck. I love your ass. So fucking tight."
"I love your cock. So fucking big. And hard."
"Oh, fuck. Yes. Right there. I'm going to cum soon."
"Yessss. I want you to cum. Fuck me. Fuck me."
"Ohh. Oh. Fuck. Are you close?"
"Yes. Fucking close. I want to cum in your hand. I want you to cum in my ass."
"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Yessss. Yes. Yes. Right there. Ohhh, fuck."
"Oh yes. Fuck me. Fuck meeee..." Shuddering, I rammed myself back on his cock and came in an ecstatic burst in his hand.
"Ahhhh..." He thrust hard as I ground back against him, and I felt his cock grow and pulse, felt him explode deep inside me.
"Oh, Jesus..." I murmured as he clung to me, panting. "God, I love morning sex."
I felt outside of myself for the entire time, and yet so fully sheathed in my flesh and the pleasures it could bestow. Whatever my cock-centered fantasies had been before came to seem trite as Adam and I went so far beyond what I had once only tentatively imagined. I lost track of the times he came in my mouth, my hands, my ass; I lost track of the times I came in his. Never again would I be able to sustain that frequency of sex and orgasm without my cock becoming a hollow, aching pole. But always, however much we had sucked and fucked in the preceding hours, my cock was ready again, springing to hardness at the mere thought of his body, his skin, his mouth, his cock. And his own beautiful organ was just as ready and willing.
Rereading the installments I've posted here, I hope I haven't slipped into mere pornography ... it feels at points that this saga has become an exercise in "and then we fucked in THIS room in THIS position."
Certainly, it gets a little repetitive, but I hope I've managed to communicate some of the endless novelty and newness that those acts had for me. However often I sucked his cock in those three days, it was like I was coming to it again for the first time, that it was always this tremulous and exciting adventure. That certainly was what fuelled our constant fascination with each other--at no point did I ever get bored, at no point did the prospect of him sucking me or fucking me or vice versa ever feel rote. Each orgasm was its own little universe of ecstasy that only left us wanting more.
Which is not to say we didn't strive for novelty... every position we could imagine we tried, every place in the apartment, every surface that could bear our bodies. He fucked me from behind, missionary style, spooning; I rode his cock facing him, facing away, sideways; we were tender and loving, slow, whispering endearments; we dominated each other, demanding submission and worship, making each other beg for the cock we wanted, needed, to be fucking us; we lay beside each other, not touching each other's cocks, and wound each other up describing what we wanted to do to each other, until we practically came from mere words, and then we would enact the scenes we had described. We sucked each other endlessly, sometimes fast and hard and hungry, sometimes excruciatingly slowly.
We 69'd for an hour and a half on one of the days, licking and nuzzling, backing off when the other was close, finally making each other cum simultaneously in ecstatic explosions in our mouths. We came on each other's faces, chests, bellies, backs, asses. We used our semen as massage oil, as lube, as flavoring. He wrote his name in his cum on my chest and then ate it off me. We learned the rhythms of each other's cocks, came to know what each twitch and pulse and swelling meant and used the knowledge to torture each other. I kept him on the brink of orgasm for twenty minutes with the tip of my tongue tapping on the skin just beneath his cockhead; when I ran my fingernail up the underside of his shaft, it was enough to make him spurt on my face.
Our vocabulary came to run the gamut between gentle endearments and cruel commands. But it centered mostly on a small collection of verbs and adjectives, as most sex talk does, with "fuck me" being the most frequently uttered command or request or plea. We found new ways to worship each other's cocks in words, new ways to describe how hard the other was, how delicious his shaft, how delectable his cum. But again, as we approached orgasm these words narrowed to a small selection, barely coherent, expressing the simple need and want we had in the presence of each other's skin.
I could go on. But I also don't want this story to simply become a string of pornographic sex acts (well, more than it has already). I hope everyone reading this saga has enjoyed it--I hope you have gotten hard while reading and, finding a passage you found particularly arousing, fumbled your belt and pants open and sat rereading my words as you stroke yourself to orgasm. I hope, perhaps, you did not reach for the tissue when you came but let yourself spurt ecstatically on your bare stomach. Because, and this perhaps goes without saying, writing these chapters has had very much the same effect on me.
It takes somewhat longer to write than other pieces of the same length, given that certain moments overcome me and I have to paused and loose my pants and close my eyes as the memory of those moments ten years ago. I cum and fall into a reverie of happy remembrance and have to put aside the story for a few hours while I recover. Alas, the masturbatory effect of these memories does not have the same perma-erection effect of the original experience... which, I suppose, is to be expected. Without Adam before me in his nubile, almost-eighteen-year-old, newly sexually awakened state, my cock needs its recovery time.
I have one more chapter to write after this little interregnum, to describe the bittersweet end of those unreal three days with Adam. But don't worry: there is a sequel, and if these chapters have proved pleasurable and enjoyable, I will definitely write about re-encountering my divine lover five years later. But I am vain and horny by nature, so please let me know how much you've enjoyed this story so far--and whether it inspired a "break" from whatever work you were doing before sneaking a peek at Lush. Knowing these stories have pleased and aroused readers is a huge part of the pleasure of putting them out there. I have loved getting all your comments and messages, and like any addict, I want more.
Like I said, I have one more chapter to go after this, and hopefully I can end on a particularly hot note. But for those who have read this much of my little introspective entr'acte, here's your payoff:
The morning of the day before he had to go, I woke up to feel his hands roving over my chest. I was lying on my side and he was spooning me; his lips were at the nape of my neck. The room was still dim--it must have been before six in the morning. He was pressed up against me, and his cock was hard and insistent, resting in the cleft of my buttocks. He had fucked me before we drifted off to sleep a mere few hours ago, and it was still slick with lube and cum. So was my ass, for that matter, and I felt my hole twitch in want as he slowly ground his shaft against me.
I pretended to still be asleep, murmuring as I might through slumber. His hand dropped to my cock and, finding it getting hard, circled it with his fingers and gave it a squeeze. I had to suppress a moan; I had to resist the urge to press my ass back against him. I wanted to see what he would do with my sleeping self, and my heart suddenly raced at the thought of "waking" with him fucking me.
His hips became more urgent, and he slowly stroked my cock as he licked and bit and nuzzled the back of my neck and my shoulders. I could hear his breathing getting ragged, and I wondered for a moment if the friction of his cock in my crack would get him off. But after a moment I felt his hips shift. His hand squeezed my cock, and I felt his slide down my crack, seeking, stopping as the head came to rest in the divot of my anus. Again, I had to resist a moan, settling for a sleepy whimper. With a long, ecstatic exhalation, he slipped himself slowly into my ass and my muscles there involuntarily squeezed him as he entered me.
By now, he had fucked me over half a dozen times, as I had him. My ass was still tight, but no longer painful if he entered me slowly. And after two days of fucking, my nerves were alive to the sensations. Twice more I had cum to the simple feel of him fucking me, to his amazement and envy. I would have called myself by then a born bottom if I didn't love fucking him so much too. Even now, though my eyes were closed and my face turned away, I knew that his eyes were slits of desire and I knew the expression he wore, his mouth slightly open and his lip twisted at one corner.
He paused as his cock slid home, and then began to fuck me in long, slow, delicious strokes. His hand matched the tempo of his hips, and soon I was leaking enough precum that he could slide his hand easily up over the head. Time to slowly wake up, I thought, and moaned, pressing myself back against him when he thrust. I matched his movements as he fucked me, bringing my ass down on his cock a little faster and a little harder every time.
"Oooohhhh ..." I moaned. "Yessss."
He licked the nape of my neck. "You like that?"
"Fuck yes. Fuck me."
"Fuck you how?"
"Fuck me hard."
"Like that?" He thrust hard and deep, holding it there, and I cried out in pleasure.
"Oh, fuck yes. Just like that. Make me cum."
He sped up his hand's stroking. "Only if you make me cum."
"Cum in my ass."
"Yessss. Fuck. I love your ass. So fucking tight."
"I love your cock. So fucking big. And hard."
"Oh, fuck. Yes. Right there. I'm going to cum soon."
"Yessss. I want you to cum. Fuck me. Fuck me."
"Ohh. Oh. Fuck. Are you close?"
"Yes. Fucking close. I want to cum in your hand. I want you to cum in my ass."
"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Yessss. Yes. Yes. Right there. Ohhh, fuck."
"Oh yes. Fuck me. Fuck meeee..." Shuddering, I rammed myself back on his cock and came in an ecstatic burst in his hand.
"Ahhhh..." He thrust hard as I ground back against him, and I felt his cock grow and pulse, felt him explode deep inside me.
"Oh, Jesus..." I murmured as he clung to me, panting. "God, I love morning sex."
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