A Sense Of Purpose free porn video

Today was the day Jonathan would turn his life around. He liked to claim his boring, unfulfilling life wasn't his fault. He blamed processed foods, distant parents, addictive video games and an under stimulating education. Maybe under different circumstances he'd have become someone fit, popular and outgoing, with a trendy place and a devoted girlfriend. Maybe. But no amount of wishing changed the fact that the Jonathan that existed was a fat, lazy, lonely and above all unhappy misanthrope. He had any number of excuses for how he got here, but for once he felt like he could improve. For all his self-loathing he knew there was someone he'd rather be inside him, somewhere. The rest of his family was attractive and successful, and his weight problems had made him a black sheep from a young age, compounding over the years as the foundation for the lack of motivation and low self-esteem that made him the man he was today. But not forever, he'd decided. It was time to change. The plan wasn't overly ambitious. Jonathan had taken a long weekend, enough time to clean up his disastrous apartment and maybe start planning a regular exercise routine. Maybe he'd take a trip to the bar and practice being social. He'd kept this first step toward self-reinvention simple, open and short, to acclimate himself as painlessly as possible. He'd even let himself spend the whole morning relaxing, destressing and mentally prepping rather than immediately getting to work. But that was over, and now cleaning the bathroom was the obvious first step. Tossing out old junk and scrubbing through months of built up grime would be a minor but notable transformation for his apartment, the first part of what he hoped would become a major, life-changing effort. No sense trying to take better care of himself if he couldn't care for his apartment, let alone trying to bring home a girl if depressing squalor was all he had to show. He thought about girlfriends as he spent the better part of an hour scraping off petrified soap scum and sweeping up a disturbing amount of discarded hair. To have someone who loved him, wanted to be with him, appreciated everything he was... he'd give anything to be in that kind of relationship. That was the real impetus for the cleaning spree. He felt like he had too much self-loathing to become a better person simply for his own good, but was certain he could manage it for someone he truly cared about, someone to work and grow alongside him. Of course, he had to find that someone first, and had to be someone worth wanting even before then. Scrubbing was boring and his knees hurt and his computer called to him, promising fun and relaxation. Jonathan gritted his teeth and ignored the temptation. No giving into escapism until he was done. The desire to quit grew when he worked up the sink and got to the mirror. He forced himself to look at his reflection, something he rarely did days. His blonde hair was thick and full but unkempt and greasy, hanging lank just above deep but dull brown eyes. The nose they surrounded was strong and handsome, but its potential appeal was ruined by the surrounding dough, which hid any complimentary bone structure and made it just seem garish. A thick pair of pale, humorless lips frowned over several chins. He looked sweaty and tired and bored, and he hadn't even really started. That sapped Jonathan's willpower, told him this whole charade was pointless. But something else welled up inside him, with a different message. It was slightly alien, but it reminded him of what he'd thought before, how he could change, how he wasn't doomed to be the lumpy sack in the mirror forever. It told him this effort was the first step in becoming someone new, someone he'd rather be, someone successful, happy, beautiful. That last descriptor struck him as odd, even beyond the uncharacteristic positivity. Yet the wording sounded appealing, perhaps even more than handsome would have. Determined, Jonathan stared straight ahead as he sprayed and wiped off the mirror. He could be better than this. He was better than this. Today's work was a reflection of that, just like the face in the mirror. If he could prove his worth to himself, he could prove it to anyone. That revelation brightened more than his mood. The mirror seemed nicer when he finished cleaning it, with a thin gold trim he'd never noticed. It made the whole room seem warmer. The rest of the bathroom also changed as work continued. The thick blue rug, which had become frayed and ratty, looked more vibrant after he finished shaking it out. The toilet shifted from an old, blocky off- yellow model to a sleeker, more modern design in shining white. The cracks in the ancient floor smoothed over as they were scrubbed, and the tiles took on a simple but pleasing striped pattern. Various bric-a-brac seemed to materialize in clean areas when unobserved, including a silver holder with a pair of toothbrushes. All of these things Jonathan barely noticed, registering them just long enough to justify that the room had always looked like that. Together they made the bathroom seem out of place in the rundown apartment, a well-appointed and -decorated room amid a lifeless, aging space. The changes even reflected ever-so-slightly in the man himself, the mirror showing a spark of interest in his eyes, dimples forming in his cheeks. His enormous ass had started shrinking, portending a similar effort from other parts of his body. While he wasn't aware of what was happening, Jonathan felt more satisfied than he had in years. He decided to go through the heaps of old storage containers that were scattered across the apartment next. Looking at the sheer number of disused books, magazines, and broken bits of electronics within was embarrassing, like he'd never really lived here. He piled them in the living room to be sorted. If he was going to sit and sort, he needed to sweep and vacuum first. The dust would be hell on his asthma otherwise. He gathered discarded clothes and other debris off the floor, adding it to the pile of boxes. Jonathan then worked a broom rapidly and rhythmically, in short quick motions to make sure not a particle was missed. He mused about how the work was making him feel better already, lighter, more energetic. Even his breathing was easier. He then moved on to the living room rug, vacuuming up months of buildup, imagining at how impressed his future girlfriend would be at his spotless apartment. Every now and then he paused to bring his belt in a notch. When the work was done the floor was pristine, and the patchy old hardwood had become glossy and smooth in a dark, even color. The vacuum had left a completely different pattern of carpet where it treaded, its color scheme clashing with the old couch in the living room. The man proudly surveying his work was changed too, still heavy but not so morbidly obese, his posture bearing a touch of confidence rather than permanent defeat. He wasn't fit, but no longer gave the appearance of someone on the verge of a heart attack. Riding his newfound enthusiasm, Jonathan attacked the pile of garbage he'd built up by the storage bins. He sorted through and tossed paperwork and old food alike, occasionally pausing to further tighten his belt. By this point he felt no sadness as he tossed old books and mail, fully lost in his desire to discard his old life. In his mind he was making room for his lover, who he knew would enter his life soon. The thought filled him with determination, and he started to feel like he could run a marathon. Hell, he felt the urge to start training right then. He was filled with pride as he walked outside and easily threw the first garbage bag in the dumpster. He noticed a woman from another apartment staring at him on the way back, and wondered why she was looking. He was unaware that enough fat had faded to give him a handsome face, with a strong jaw and chiseled features. He also failed to notice how his shirt was starting to tent off his shoulders, hanging loose as excess fat and skin simply ceased to be. Dealing with the contents of the bins was by far the biggest task at hand, and Jonathan spent more than two hours digging through and deciding what to keep. Unlike the garbage that had strewn the living room he was still torn on many items. Still, every object he recognized as unnecessary improved his spirits. By the third bag the trash felt noticeably lighter, which he attributed to his growing eagerness, not how a thin but powerful layer of muscle had formed under the remaining body fat. He also failed to notice that, upon his return, the mildewy second- hand couch he'd owned since college had become a brand new microfiber couch and loveseat set that matched the altered rug. One final layer of fat refused to fade, instead evening out and making his now-wiry body smooth. He didn't check to see how his body hair had vanished. He ignored the slight soreness as his facial features started to soften. By the time Jonathan had piled up the empty bins and started putting away what he'd kept, the combined effects were staggering. He looked like an effeminate teenage boy in a fat man's clothes, his oversized jeans barely held up by his belt's tightest notch. Changes continued as Jonathan found new homes for his rescued knick- knacks and started piling books near the shelves in the bedroom. His lively eyes seemed to grow bigger face as his nose became more delicate, the bone structure of his face growing rounder while his lips took on a stronger curve. His jawline remained became gently sloping, perched on a long, elegant neck that betrayed no Adam's apple. High if flat cheeks and small, nicely shaped ears completed the outline of a face unmarked by scars or stubble. His new look was familial, but it wasn't shared by any male relatives. Each time he bent down Jonathan had to brush hair out of his eyes, pushing away thicker and longer locks that grew lighter as he worked. He was just about ready to put his now golden blonde hair in a ponytail when it was finally long enough to be held back by his shoulders, neatly solving the problem. By then organization was done, and Jonathan surveyed the living room with a feminine grunt of satisfaction as he gave his full mane a toss. He was happy with his progress, but hesitated before taking the next obvious step. The computer desk was a mess of discarded takeout and soda cans, a shrine to the lifestyle he was trying to shake. It was also dangerously comfortable, with his big, well-worn office chair and a machine full of games that were, even now, far more entertaining than cleaning. It was already on and, after all, he'd already achieved so much. What harm could a quick break do? He pushed the thought aside as he took a seat. Not right now. Not until the apartment was spotless. He was feeling good, true, better than he had in months, possibly even years. But he felt like he wasn't done yet, and not just in cleaning. As he began digging through the mess on his desk, perhaps the single largest symbol of his old lifestyle, the single largest symbol of his old body began to wither and change. Jonathan remained unaware, perhaps blissfully, as his scrotum tightened, his testicles pressed up against his pelvis, and his penis shriveled and shrunk. The only sensation he registered was growing sense of relief and a strange anticipation. He didn't know what for, only that it felt nice. He wanted whatever was coming. When the trash was cleared, Jonathan trusted himself to put the computer to use. He loaded up some music, turned up the speakers, and gently shook his body to the rhythm. His torso grew even slimmer as he danced, reaching girlish proportions. As he got into the music he began singing along in a lovely soprano. A voice that, while obviously untrained, was delightfully on tune. The sound of it only made him sing louder, not bothering to wonder why or how his rough rasp had been replaced with something so melodic. Jonathan kept working, carefully sorting stray CDs, piling up books and returning various tools to his junk drawer. With each minor victory for order his member grew smaller until it was all but vestigial, a tiny nub up against his pelvis, even smaller than what remained of his testes. By then his waist had taken on a noticeable indent, and he had to constantly pull up his pants. The computer remained unchanged. Unlike the rest of the house, it had its place in Jonathan's new life. Organs shifted as Jonathan headed to the kitchen for the next phase of his cleanup. He attributed the odd sensation in his abdomen to hunger, but he wasn't going to stop. He'd already eaten lunch, if a meager one, and now there were dishes to clean and counters to disinfect. His morphing physiology wasn't affected either way. His testicles were already well on their way to being ovaries, waiting for their opportunity to rise into their new home, and his pelvis forming a muscular cavity and preparing for the final leg of this most drastic transformation. Jonathan turned on the sink, filled it with hot water, and caught himself just before he started. He should be wearing gloves! His hands were so pretty, with long, slim fingers and perfectly curved nails, and he'd hate to ruin them. He didn't consider himself prissy, god no, but he still took pride in his appearance. There was no sense irritating the smooth skin to save a slight inconvenience. He put on a pair of purple dish gloves that hadn't existed several seconds earlier. Properly attired, Jonathan continued singing and dancing as he scrubbed. The plates put on the drying rack weren't the ones that got washed. They were larger, plainer and made of porcelain, the dishware of someone who had regular guests. The glassware was likewise transmuted, a mishmash of drinking vessels washed and a uniform set of crystal cups set to dry. Even the process of putting them away was different, Jonathan unconsciously following a new pattern in cabinets that looked freshly finished rather than peeling and food-splattered. While this happened he continuously adjusted his stance, subtly shifting his weight as his pelvis widened and his frame completed its journey from girlish to womanly. His ass re-expanded with his hips, deliberately this time, growing round and pert rather than lumpy. His dance moves started incorporating this, emphasizing his behind as he gyrated. Soon his testicles forced their way up a newly opened but not yet functional orifice, his ovaries nestling in their new home as they became anchored to his growing womb. Jonathan gasped slightly at the oddness of the sensation, like something squiggling up and inside him, but didn't grasp its consequences. By the time the dishes were finished anyone who saw Jonathan would have assumed they were watching an attractive, young and biologically female person in ill-fitting clothes sing to herself as she scrubbed and rinsed. They would have been right, because Jonathan's vagina chose that moment to blossom to life. His penis was now a clitoris, his scrotum had stretched to form a labia, and pubic hair grew around his altered genitalia's new home. But even if Jonathan was physically female, even if he recognized and accepted this as normal, he was not yet a woman in mind. In fact, Jonathan felt a vague sense of dissatisfaction despite his newfound positive demeanor. Something was still missing. Not his breasts; he wasn't even aware that he should have them. No, some vital piece of his life, something dear to him beyond material possessions or physical beauty, wasn't here. He pondered on this as he cleaned the kitchen counters and organized the dining room. He still wasn't sure what was missing when he finished, but decided to move on. He was feeling good, and knew everything would work itself out. For now, it was time to shower. He'd been cleaning all afternoon and the filth had worn off on him, like a thin film across his whole body. The horrible clothes he was wearing certainly weren't helping. His hips were barely wide enough to support the belted jeans, and he was swimming in a giant t-shirt that was too threadbare for even a day at home. As he turned off the music, he marveled at how he'd failed to notice how poorly they fit all afternoon. As he walked to the bathroom, hips swinging in his new gait, Jonathan surveyed his work. The place looked pristine, the untouched bedroom aside, and he had to resist the urge to start skipping. He felt so full of life. He knew he still needed to go for his daily jog, and that maybe it would be better to get sweaty and work off some excess energy before showering. But no, no excuses. There was still cleaning to be done. He could always go for a run before bed. Jonathan examined his clothes as he stripped in the bathroom, even more puzzled about their origins. The shirt had a mostly-faded slogan he couldn't make out. He hadn't worn anything like it since high school, almost a decade ago, and never in that huge a size. The tattered jeans were likewise enormous, and he'd somehow put on an oversized pair of boxer shorts as well. Had his laundry gotten mixed up with someone else's? Well, no matter. He shrugged as he turned on the faucet and started his shower. He could toss the stuff later. A minute later the water was warm and Jonathan was basking in how it felt against his velvety skin. The layer of grime washed off with ease as he scrubbed with his baby blue loofah, loving the way it felt along the contours of his body. The spray of water felt particularly nice against the little pink pencil erasers that were his nipples, which grew hard in response to the attention. He absentmindedly returned to wash around them several more times as they steadily pushed outward, soft tissue pooling behind them as the final curves of his svelte but feminine figure came into their own. When Jonathan stepped out of the shower to dry himself off, there was nothing male remaining in his body. He was careful not to overstimulate his modest but well-formed breasts as he toweled off before bending down to dry his slender torso, tight bottom, and long legs all the way down to his hairless feet. He admired how fit he was, the proud owner of an athlete's body, built for endurance as well as beauty. He blow dried his hair, falling into what was now an everyday routine. It was a pain to brush out the tangles as he worked it dry, but he loved the way it framed his face and brought out the color in his eyes, and the possibilities for styling were endless when he was in that sort of mood. The trouble was worth the effect. Once that was done he picked up his discarded clothes to get dressed, starting with a simple but perfectly-fitting pair of cotton panties. Next came a comfortable and unadorned bra, with Jonathan buckling the strap and lifting his breasts into the cups as though he'd been doing it most of his life. He put on a pair of black slacks, tight up high accentuate his butt and gradually growing loose near the ankles. A long, light grey sweater was his top, snug enough to show off his rack, thin waist and respectable hips as it hung over his thighs. It also left the front half of his forearms bare, putting his willowy arms and elegant hands on display. Despite his eagerness to get back to work, Jonathan couldn't resist the urge to check himself out in the mirror. Some might call it arrogance, but he looked good, he knew it, and he loved it. He smiled. From the white teeth behind those curvy lips to his strong yet gentle nose to the big, lively dark brown eyes that hid under full lashes, his was a face of joy. His shoulder-length blonde hair reflected a variety of hues as it caught the light at different angles, from nearly brown to platinum. If he really wanted he could complain about how his lips were rather pale, how his flat cheekbones made his cheeks look a bit fat, or how for all their perkiness his breasts were still small, but Jonathan knew better than to take his looks for granted. Besides, it wasn't like these flaws couldn't be covered with makeup or the right top, and even calling them flaws was a stretch. If Jonathan were honest he'd call himself the luckiest man alive, for reasons besides his beauty. He couldn't quite say why, he just knew something was coming, tickling the back of his mind. The nagging grew greater as he cheerfully strode into the bedroom to finish the day's cleanup. Its metamorphosis had already taken place, and familiar as it already looked Jonathan felt like he was missing something obvious. The bed was now queen sized with fresh if unmade sheets, and indented pillows at either side. Something about that in particular seemed important. He wondered about it as he gathered his clothes, tossing bras and panties into a hamper, along with more tops, pants, a couple dresses and quite a few sports bras and exercise outfits. Nothing he owned was particularly revealing, though much of it was chosen to show off his figure. Amid the feminine accoutrements were boxer briefs, button down shirts and other masculine pieces, which went into a different basket. These didn't register as strange to Jonathan, though he wasn't sure whose they were. The problem clung to the back of Jonathan's mind as he pushed the full hampers aside, made the bed, and vacuumed the rug. It stayed with him as he organized the books from the living room back on the bookshelves. It was still bothering him when he heard rustling at the apartment's front door, then a slight creak as it opened followed by a dull thud as it closed. Curious, Jonathan carefully piled the remaining books on the bed and went to see who had arrived. As he stepped out into the hall he saw a tall, handsome man precariously balancing a number of paper bags in his arms. The man's eyes lit up as he saw Jonathan. "Hey babe, mind giving me a hand real quick?" he asked. Jonathan paused for a moment before recognition ran through him like an electric current. He all but sprinted to take some of the groceries before Lars dropped something fragile and made a mess of the clean floor. The man's insistence to never, ever take more than one trip was kind of endearing, but it could be incredibly aggravating. That said it was tenderness and devotion, not annoyance, which Jonathan felt as he grabbed a few bags. He swore his boyfriend pulled stunts like this just to impress him, and it was sweet. Mostly. Regardless, Jonathan wasn't about to complain about food. "Thanks for grabbing these, I thought we were gonna starve," he said as he carried his share of groceries to the kitchen and plopped them on the counter. He didn't register that the sense of something missing had disappeared, replaced by happiness that his partner had returned. "I've been eating like crap all day. Felt like some sad sack living alone in squalor." "I know, what would you do without me?" Lars teased as he dropped off the remaining bags. "Without me to feed you and take care of you and love you, you'd probably be a 300-pound slug. What an awful world that would be, without such a fine ass in it." Jonathan rolled his eyes and coughed in mock anger. "Keep telling yourself that, tiger," he said as smiled. Lars smiled back as he drew in close and wrapped his arms around Jonathan, who reciprocated. He sighed, feeling his heart race as they hugged and shared a quick kiss. He felt so present, so very in the moment. Then Lars' hand struck like a serpent, sliding under Jonathan's sweater, rubbing his firm stomach for several seconds before mischievously shooting up his torso, pulling up the top and revealing taught midriff as it snaked under Jonathan's bra and gently, lovingly squeezing a breast. "Hey," Jonathan started, ready to admonish his boyfriend before cutting short. Lars had taken a handful of pliable flesh and was massaging while making the nipple grow hard with attention from his thumb. Something was off about this, more so than the dozens of little oddities that had been popping up all day, but it felt so good, so right. Jonathan had so many reasons to complain, but he didn't want it to stop. "Relax, babe," Lars said. "You've been helping out around the house all day, let me do my part." Jonathan nodded and silently worked a response with his lips over Lars' shoulder, eyes closed. He felt warm breath on his ear as Lars spoke. "And if you like this, there's plenty more waiting in the bedroom." That promise, the pleasure coming from his nipple, having his man so close, it all made Jonathan feel so... wet. He could feel it at his groin, a moistness that was briefly alien before being completely familiar. A space that he knew he wanted filled, but that needed to wait. He was still determined. He'd taken this day to get things in order. Fun would come after everything else was sorted. "That sounds wonderful, babe," Jonathan said. Lars was nibbling at his ear while their embrace continued, making coherent thought difficult. "But, but can it wait until after we eat? I still got a couple more chores to finish, and I haven't jogged yet. I've been cooped up in here all day. If we get all cuddly and claustrophobic I'm gonna lose my mind." Jonathan felt rather than heard Lars' sigh. He wanted it as badly as his boyfriend, but the place wouldn't be clean until the last of the books were shelved and the groceries were put away, then dinner had to be made, and he couldn't put off that jog forever. Lars' fondling was sapping his motivation enough; if he took a break for serious intimacy that would be the end of effort for the day. "Later, I promise," Jonathan said as he looked into his boyfriend's eyes. Even through the undisguised disappointment, love and understanding shone through. "If you unpack the groceries and get dinner started, we can get down to quality time all the sooner." Lars almost pushed Jonathan away in his excitement. "Great, gonna do a quick stir-fry if that's alright with you," he said as he started rummaging through the bags. "I'll get the rice on boil and start chopping the veg, it'll be ready by the time you finish." "Sounds good to me," Jonathan said as he turned around and started walking away. A few more books to put away, a quick dusting of the bedroom and a jog. Lars was a slow cook, so it should all be doable before dinner was ready. There was no need for another shower, either. Lars didn't mind him being sweaty, and he'd be even more drenched after their romp between the sheets. Lars spoke up. "Maria," he said. The name blasted through Jonathan's mind, instantly ingraining itself deep in his psyche. Hearing that name, knowing how his lover saw her, was the final step in rebirth. Maria turned around to see what her boyfriend had to say. "I love you." "I love you too, babe" Maria said. The words made her heart flutter. It was such a simple, obvious statement, one they both uttered multiple times daily, yet right then and there it seemed poignant, profound, astoundingly important. It was, for her, a mantra for why she considered her life so wonderful, one of the key pieces of her happiness. Maria practically skipped back to the bedroom, and the minutes it took to finish her work felt like seconds. She then changed into a sports bra and running shorts, carefully folding her old clothes on the bed, before sneaking back to the kitchen to check on her beau. Lars was immersed in his work, cursing as he clumsily hacked at a carrot, and Maria smiled. She could take it easy on her run. The apartment was beautiful as she headed for the door, the sort that made home improvement magazines. Shiny hardwood floors, tastefully matching d?cor that subtly and seamlessly blended together, and not a speck of dust to be seen. Hers and Lars' place had been nice before, but now it truly reflected their love and lives: if it wasn't completely flawless, it was close enough to not matter. It was with that thought that Maria stepped out and into the street, then got started. Jogging was catharsis. She was never as self-confident or clear-headed as when she set a firm but leisurely pace, working up a glistening sweat without pushing herself to the brink. It was a time to put things in perspective, to really examine the events in her life and how she was handling them. And despite the little oddities throughout the day, Maria felt wonderful. She had a wonderful boyfriend, a nice place, a decent job, and enough free time to go out and be social or just fritter it away on her computer, wherever her whims called her. She was successful, happy, and beautiful, and the endless energy she had while jogging was just an affirmation of this. Maria felt euphoric when she finally staggered back into her apartment. She was riding a runner's high, anticipating what Lars had in store for her later, and the smell of dinner was fabulous. She didn't care how sweaty and awful she must have looked. She and Lars were well past the point where that sort of thing mattered, and they wouldn't be together if he'd been shallow enough to get annoyed when she was less-than-pristine. Which was, admittedly, pretty often. "Right on time, babe," a call came from the kitchen. "Grab a seat and I'll serve up some deliciousness." She didn't need a second invitation. After taking a moment to admire how clean the dining room table was, Maria grabbed her seat and watched her boyfriend cart over a steaming plate of food. She waited just long enough for him to grab his own and sit before digging in. She was famished, between the workout and having barely eaten all day. Conversation was sparse and lighthearted. Maria was busy eating, and Lars was busy being amused by this. That inspired some bravado about how good his cooking was, but he was mostly content to admire his girlfriend. They didn't become more talkative as they finished their plates, either. Lars simply sauntered up behind Maria as she rinsed off the dishes, firmly took her butt in one hand, and patiently squeezed while she finished. Then she turned around and grabbed his smaller, harder butt as they engaged in a deep, long, passionate kiss. One of Lars' hands slowly made its way up Maria's body as it circled to her front, caressing her hip them her stomach before reaching the bottom of her sports bra, which it grabbed and slowly lifted. Her breasts bounced free as the tight fabric became bunched up above them, and Lars' hand began skillfully playing with them, devoting time to squeezing and stroking each in equal measure. Maria slipped one of her hands around the front of her lover's jeans and began rubbing the hardness that greeted her. After a minute she removed it and tapped him and they broke off. Lars wore a goofy grin and stared as she sashayed toward the bedroom, not bothering to lower her top. There she pulled her top completely off and threw it with the rest of the laundry, then did the same with her shorts and panties. As Lars entered the room she walked over and kneeled down to help him with his own clothes, but he gently slapped her hands away when she started unbuttoning the jeans. "Easy now. You been working hard all day, now it's time to relax," Lars said. "Lie down on the bed, let me take care of this. If you really want, you can have at me later tonight." Maria did as Lars requested, lounging against the headboard as her boyfriend slowly, tantalizing removed his clothes. She was entranced by his abs, his muscular arms, his toned legs, and most of all by his big, beautiful cock when his underwear finally came off. Then Lars climbed on the bed and crawled toward her, spreading her legs as he drew close to her groin. Maria's heart quickened. She knew what was coming and her body reacted, moistening in anticipation. Then Lars' fingers divided her sex, his tongue plunged inside, and she felt herself lifted into heaven. She wanted to sing as he licked at her clitoris, his gentle strokes setting her pussy on fire, his tongue moving with the grace of a master painter's brush. One hand reached up and she helped guide it to a breast, where it pinched and squeezed a nipple and brought her even closer to orgasm. One of Maria's hands shot to its twin, letting it join in the chorus, while her other hand pressed against Lars' head, urging him on. Her soprano cries and moans grew louder, somehow musical, as she approached release, and the sounds caused Lars to redouble his efforts. Maria soared tantalizingly close to orgasm for what felt like an eternity when suddenly, almost violently, her body peaked. She shook and shuddered, grabbed at Lars' head, reflexively spread her legs even wider as ambrosia pumped through her veins, liquid pleasure. Lars, aware the work at hand was done, slid up his lover's body and began kissing her. It made their earlier tongue-lock seem tame as Maria channeled her love, her devotion, her utter need for this gorgeous man. She was even sweatier than before, but she wasn't ready to stop, not yet. She reached down, grabbed the rod that was so agonizingly close to her pussy, and gave it a couple pumps before angling it to enter her. She felt sorrow and surprise as Lars pulled away, but as he leaned and fumbled with a drawer she steadied herself. It was the work of moments to get the condom on, and then he was on her, in her, filling her like she so desperately wanted, making her feel more complete and wonderful and womanly than she ever had before. They broke several times to switch position, now her on top, now taking it from behind, now both sitting upright, each bringing her to orgasm again and again. Lars finally exploded as she rode him reverse cowgirl, pushing back against her prone lover with all her might. Their thrusting slowed, and Maria leaned to help Lars out of her overstimulated but incredibly satisfied vagina. She'd probably walk a bit funny tomorrow, but it was worth the inconvenience. Maria brushed long, thick blonde hair from her eyes as her lover got up and disposed of his condom. She felt incredibly alive, blessed to be here, and idly wondered what it would be like to ride that cock without a covering. She wasn't comfortable taking risks that could lead to children, not yet, so it would have to wait. The thought just made her all the less patient for Lars to propose, so she could have him every way she desired. When Lars climbed back in the bed they began spooning and spoke in whispered hushes for the next few hours, cuddling without any desire to get back up. Before sleep could claim them Maria scrambled under the sheets and brought her love's member back to life, then paid him back the attention he'd given her earlier. She sucked and swirled and caressed, tongue on his shaft and hands gently massaging his sack, delighting in how large he was. Lars, for his part, sweated and groaned as she bobbed up and down, then groaned long and loud as he felt his own release. Maria lapped it up, proudly minimizing the mess. When she climbed back to her pillow she felt a loving arm around her, and her last conscious memory for the night was a kiss, the lingering saltiness on her tongue mixing with the sweetness of Lars's lips. ----- The next morning Maria woke slowly, her body prying her from sleep she was loathe to abandon. She was still naked, and Lars was still wrapped around her, and she still felt the warmth of last night's intimacy. It mixed with a strange feeling, a combination hope and apprehension tinged with mild regret and a sense of necessity, before fading into warm, comforting contentment. She was who she needed to be and where she needed to be, and in that moment it was all that mattered.