Tingles Three free porn video

TINGLES THREE! By Katharine Sexkitten Tuesday found me at work again, and in panties again. Under my boring boy pants. And thigh-highs too. I'd shaved my legs and groin last night so I was sexy smooth. I couldn't wear a bra today, as the weather had warmed up and no sweater was needed in the office, but I did wear a silk shirt my ex had bought for me years ago, one that I'd never dared to wear before. It must have cost a bunch back then, because it was gloriously expensive silk and therefore exquisitely smooth and white and almost see-through. With a tie it looked like a normal office shirt, but it slid across my smooth skin like the gentlest of breezes, and instantly made my nipples hard, which showed in the most obvious way. Which made me proud, and shot my excitement level up a notch or three. Lovely tingles. I would be walking around all day with hard nipples, and I didn't care if anyone noticed or not. This was pleasure, this was sensual, this was joy, and there was no way I was NOT wearing it. I found myself walking into the office with a lilt in my step. I'd never been happier, never felt happier. And I'd never felt sexier, what with sexy feminine lingerie caressing my skin. I'm sure I had a sway to my hips as well, and I really wished I was wearing some sexy heels. The bounce in my step must have reflected in my personality, and my demeanour, because a couple of people that I said "good morning" to commented that I was in really great spirits. And I thought, who wouldn't be? Having had my entire world turned upside down over the last seventy-two hours, discovering my true nature and sexuality and sensuality and life spirit! Discovering my abject love and veneration for romance and passion and femininity and a big strong man holding me in his arms and making me feel safe and loved and desired by the evidence of his big cock pressing into me! Finding out that life was so much more than I'd ever imagined, and all I had to do was follow my dreams, my heartbeats. My tingles. I couldn't tell anyone, of course, due to propriety, but still. I did feel in the greatest of spirits. The spirit of cross-dressing femininity. The spirit of unrestrained passion for having a manly man kiss me and hold me and caress me and then give me his delicious seed after sucking him and then taking me to his bed and gloriously making love to me, fucking me over and over again until I couldn't see straight or think straight or walk straight. Funny, I thought. I was no longer straight. In anything! The spirit of cock. Erect, hard, throbbing, masculine, dripping, hypnotic and alluring. And cum. The sweetest most addictive elixir known to the universe, and something I knew I needed every day from now on to quench the hunger in my soul. My new-found love of cock, and cum. Add to that, I'd spent a fair amount of Monday evening sliding my newest dildo in and out of my sexy lubricated ass pussy. YUM!!! I was learning to really enjoy it, every sweet second of it. The anticipation of the first slight opening as the head met my pussy lips, then the glorious thrill of that sweet mix of slight discomfort and massive pleasure as the shaft begins its journey into me, into my body, into my core, and of course the unearthly passion of building up to finally taking eight inches from tip to base over and over again during a session of deep-fucking, the dildo suction-cupped on the floor, me in silky stockings and bra, bouncing with all my might up and down and spraying my own cum all over my living room floor without touching my little cock at all. A sissygasm. I relished every moment, every second of physical and spiritual intensity and joy and pleasure. I realized that of all the other things in my life that I enjoyed and wanted to pursue, this dressing and allowing my feminine core to come to the front was by far the purest and most joyful of feelings. It was like I was finally free. Finally myself. Finally alive! Once in the office, I opened my laptop and began my day, just like any other day. I read some emails and replied to a few, and forwarded some others. But my mind was a million billion miles away. I was contemplating the 'tingles'. How I had discovered them, Saturday night at Brad's party. How those tingles led me to touch his wife's panties, which led to him finding me, which led to him revealing his own tingles to me, which led to me wondering if perhaps tingles were always there, but maybe it took coming into the same physical area as someone else who might be in touch with their own sensual and/or sexual soul to have the tingles ignite, or ramp up. I mean, I was certainly feeling tingles right there and then, a low-level tingly joy from wearing the sexiest of lingerie under my male business clothes. I was cruising along on a quiet plane, tingles pulsing through my entire body in a soft, delirious way. And that level of tingles had been with me since Saturday night when Brad told me to slip on Carol's panties. The simple act of sliding them up my almost-hairless legs had set me on a tingle journey that hasn't stopped, because I had been wearing lingerie almost every second ever since. So I understood tingles. I was having them all the time now. But, I reasoned, when my tingles go absolutely ape-shit ballistic, so far it has only been when I'm around a masculine man, who lusts for my kind of femininity (whether he knows it or not), or when I'm dressed in the finest feminine lingerie and luxuriously fucking myself with my dildo. Sex. My tingles were a prominent force now in my life, but became my driving force when sex was in the air. I had discovered that I was one of the lucky few who could detect those vibes, who was in touch with my sexual primal core, and on the great cosmic level was in constant search of others like me. I realized that only when I'm in the vicinity of another sexual being would those tingles amplify. And therefore, when they do amplify, I must follow my new-found hunger for feminine sexuality. I made myself a promise, there and then. When those tingles are a-strutting, this gurl is a-slutting! Just after eleven in the morning my reverie was broken slightly when I received a call from my building manager, from the condo unit I'd bought into after my divorce. Mr. Bozek. Vladimir Hugo Bozek. He'd told me often, his full name. His whole life story. He was from Hungary, originally. He was a huge man, imposing physically, and dominating personally with his deep loud voice and his brazen outwardness about everything and every subject. He'd been in the army, and then defected to the west, years ago. I had always assumed, based on his great physical condition, that he was in his early fifties. One day he mentioned that he was in his mid-sixties. I remember being awed and amazed. He was in fantastic shape for someone of his age. He was always talking to me, whenever we passed in the halls or on the property, always complimenting me on my hairstyle or what I was wearing, or reminding me that he was more than willing to help out if I needed anything done that required great strength. He used to smile at me in the most intimate of ways and almost whisper that there was no shame in what he was saying, and he didn't want me to think as such. He'd explain that he was just so obviously much bigger physically and that it made sense for him to offer his help to someone of 'my size'. Plus he used to add in a sweet baritone voice that he hoped we could become the best of friends. I'd just smile and make some excuse, usually. He'd always intimidated me, I suppose, with his massive body. He stood six-six and weighed over 270 lbs, with a full head of wild sharp mostly salt but some pepper hair that looked like steel wool, dark eyes under a serious forehead, a bent nose and huge lips, a square jaw and gigantic shoulders and a massive deeply- tanned barrel chest with huge round nipples and a flat stomach and strong golden thighs that seemed muscled enough to hold up the world, and long legs. And, to be truly honest with you, one other thing. One very noticeable thing. A man with, what I saw, around the pool when he was wearing speedos, as he did most of the year, always always always looked like a monster-sized cock. Huge. Thick. Like he had stuffed a small rolled-up area rug into his tight silky swimwear. Truly large. I took a second to realize that yes, I HAD always noticed the size of his cock, every time, but I'd always shrugged it off before, as the good "straight" man should. But now I had new truths in my life, and my entire paradigm had changed. No more lies. No more being ashamed of my true nature. The truth. Unadorned. I'd always noticed the size of that mans' cock. I HAD ALWAYS NOTICED THE SIZE OF THAT MANS COCK. Always. How it massively filled out his speedos, how it couldn't have been ignored if I'd been legally blind. Its snake-like bend, its formidable length, the fact that it was just so perfectly huge, which fit his body size, and which always made me both envious and jealous all at the same time. The straight guy I had believed myself to be always wished I could have half of his length. And thickness. I was probably more like an eighth of him. And as I thought about his cock again, it made me start to breathe heavier, and I realized that a medium-level surge of tingles were beginning to wave through me. And then I remembered the way he'd always comment on someone of 'my size'" when offering help, and how it always seemed to affect me. Sure, he was pointing out the obvious difference between us. Anybody with a working brain could see that. But now, I realized that there was always something in his tone that had suggested that he loved 'my size', loved the idea of being with someone of 'my size'. Like he adored 'my size', and adored saying it. He said good morning to me, quite sweetly, and then said in his Eastern European accent that a number of packages had arrived today with my suite number on it and my last name, but with the first name of Jessie, instead of the first name he knew me by. So he was very concerned about signing for things that might not be mine, putting me out or possibly inconveniencing me. Plus, he added, there were so many of them that he had to move them to his condo, for safe-keeping. He couldn't leave them in the lobby, by the concierge desk. Someone might steal them. "Oh Mr. Bozek," I said, suddenly embarrassed and slightly ashamed, "thank you so much for your concern, and thank you so so much for storing them for me, that's so amazing of you and kind and lovely, but first off Jessie is my middle name, and I've always liked it so I've decided to use it, and, yes, I did order some new clothes, and..." He laughed again. "Some? There are many boxes here! A lot of new clothes, yes?" I continued. "Yes, Vladimir. I'm treating myself. Anyway, I realize I owe you a huge apology because I should have let you know in advance they were arriving. You know, so I didn't put you out, or inconvenience you!" He had a throaty laugh. "No, edesem, no, no need to apologize to Vladimir". "Edesem?" I asked, genuine curiosity ramping up in my mind. I remembered at that moment that he'd said that word to me in the past a few times, and now I was really intrigued as to what it might mean. "Edesem," he replied, "from my language of Hungary." "What does it mean?" He laughed again, with mirth. "One day, szexi lany, I tell you, perhaps." These new Hungarian words sounded like "zezzy lan-ee", and I instantly made the decision to google it as soon as the phone call was over. "I'm so sorry, again, Mr. Bozek.." He interrupted. "No, edesem, Vladimir. Please." I relented. "Vladimir, thank you for being so nice to me." His voice became softer now, although unmistakably deep and masculine. "That is what friends do, no? And I would like to be very good friends with you, szexi lany." He paused. "Jessie." The way he said it sent my tingles into lower orbit. Not quite soaring through the stratosphere yet, but damned close. "When your work is over, just come knock on my door, and I will help you get all these many boxes to your place. Yes?" I nodded, to no one, and realized my tingles were soaring on an open ocean now, cruising along without any fear or turbulence. The way I was sitting at my desk, with the phone in my left hand and both elbows on the desk, meant my right arm was tucked in, and my right thumb and forefinger were deliciously rolling my left nipple back and forth, varying each time how hard I squeezed down, sometimes lovingly and light, sometimes with passion and quite hard. AND I WAS LOVING IT! Right there, in the out and open, where anybody walking down the hall could peer in even casually and see me rubbing my own nipple in to exquisite harness, the other almost as big and puffy. I promised Vladimir I would see him the first second I got home. He sounded like he was never happier to hear that. I really wanted the work day to be over. This man was giving me tingles in a huge way, and my newly-released sexual soul was imagining all sorts of delicious scenarios, all of them more or less ending up with me getting overwhelmingly fucked by that huge man and his absolutely gigantic cock. And my newly-realized mantra was foremost in my mind. When those tingles are a-strutting, this gurl is a-slutting! We said our goodbyes, and I went back to work. Except of course, I did no such thing. I got onto google and looked up what "edesem" meant. I wasn't entirely sure how it was spelled, in case there were silent letters I didn't know or weird letters with marks and notches above them. So I did it phonetically. Ed. E. Sem. That was more or less how he'd pronounced it. Then I sat on bundles of nerves for the few nanoseconds it took google to render the result. Would it be something normal, average, every day? Something completely boring and bland? Or might it have deeper meaning? My synapses were in overdrive. Then the beacon of pure open joyful sexuality shone down on me, in the most wonderful and breath-taking way. Edesem. It meant "Sweetheart". So I looked up "szexi lany". That one was a little trickier, owing to the spelling. I experimented with a few different phonetic possibilities, all to no avail. I was frustrated, full of tingles and unable to fully determine if he wanted me. I was almost overwhelmed with feelings of YES YES YES, owing to his tone and words and his storing my packages for me, which could be an obvious invitation, right? But of course I was smart enough despite my soaring horniness to know that I could be wrong. What if he didn't want me? What if I was reading this all wrongly? What if I show my true self, only to offend him? He could literally beat the shit out of me with one swing. He was huge, and I wasn't. If I could confirm my suspicions, if szexilany was some sort of follow-up, then I'd be laughing! I'd be in heaven! Then I thought, hmmm, let me see... Maybe I should switch things around. Maybe I should learn a couple of words or phrases in Hungarian! Something to finally determine where this might be going? So I did. After work, I raced home to the underground gated parkade. I parked in my slot, and ran for the elevator. I took my coat off, so by the time I got to the first floor lobby and down the hall to his unit, my nipples would be very large and very noticeable. I knocked on his door. A few moments later, the door opened. At first, to nothing. But then it swung fully open and there he was. Vladimir. All six foot six of him, his spine straight, his body erect and hard and full of masculinity and energy and sexy tingles washing over me like a river. My breathing started rising. I went hard in my panties. The tingles were overwhelming me! SO HE MUST BE A TINGLER TOO! He was in a white terry robe, untied. Underneath, he was wearing only his red speedos, the one he seemed to favour around the pool and hot tubs most of the year. I had always thought he dressed that way to vainly show of his body and the size of his cock to the stares of some of the older MILF's and divorced ladies that lived in the complex and often seemed to make the pool and patio the center of their world. At that moment I was certain he dressed that way just for me. "Ah," he smiled, "my edesem," he winked, "come right in." I was trembling, my tingles fairly overtaking my normal grasp on sensible behavior. He'd called me sweetheart again! "You catch me on way to sauna," he added. I nodded, trying not to stare too much at his cock. It was an almost impossible task. Up close like this, I just couldn't look away, and lost myself in thoughts of how it must look naked, how the skin must be so taut and pulsing with life, how his balls looked super-sized, appropriate to the mind-numblingly expansive pole of bendable meat just so damned close to me now, how he towered above me, how every part of him was just that much larger than me, his arms, his legs, his fingers, even. Then I imagined one of those fingers lubed up and slipping into my pussy, my ass, my fuck hole. Or two of those fingers! Or more! And how much I wanted that to happen. "Vladimir," I began, "I hope you'll allow me to repay you for your kindness, storing my packages for me. Thank you." Before he could say anything, I spoke again. "Koszonom, jokepu ferfi," I added, striving to get my pronunciation exactly as I'd practiced it most of the afternoon at my office. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the biggest smile came on his face. "Jessie, do you know what you just call me?" I nodded, and then giggled. "If I said it right!" "You think I'm handsome?" I nodded, my eyes never leaving his, my tingles catapulting into waves of pleasure washing through my body, cell by cell. I felt like I was riding an invisible wave of elation, of pure rapture. "Thank you, handsome man. Did I say it correctly?" He nodded. And I saw the large lump in his speedos shift, his cock stretching a bit, getting slightly harder. Because of me. YUM!!!! We took to getting all my packages to my suite, one floor up from his and down the hall. He carried two boxes for every one I carried, and his were all the heavier ones. He always made me walk up the stairs in front of him, and I realized after the first trip that he was holding back behind me so he could stare at my ass, which even in my masculine office pants must have looked tantalizing to him, because they were tight and like a second skin, and especially with the visible panty lines I realized he could see when I swayed my hips just a little bit. Which I did relentlessly after that. He whispered the word "edesem" several times. Finally, after the last box was up, I stood in the doorway to my condo and prepared to invite Vladimir in, when he suddenly started moving away, back to the stairs. "I be right back," he said, "Vladimir forget one thing!" I moved into my now-crowded living room, and started looking at boxes, imagining all the delicious feminine things inside just waiting for me to experience, to love, to cherish. To drown in. One box in particular caught my eye, and from the label on the box I knew it to be the one with all my new toys, my new dildos and butt plugs and vibrator and a cock ring too! Plus, an enema kit, with instructions. Something there and then told me I wanted, no, needed, to be clean inside and out. Vladimir came back a few moments later, his terry-cloth robe flowing open around him as he moved. His chest was massive, like chiseled granite, and liberally covered in hair, most of it gone grey. It just looked so sexy to me, and my tingles revved a bit. Our age difference and body size difference became overwhelmingly obvious, and my mind drifted slightly to consider them. Obviously, judging from my tingles and my little hard cock in my panties, I loved our differences. He was probably older than my own father, by a few years, and the gray hair all over his body was enticing to me, attractive to me, and had me breathing a little heavier and wondering if perhaps I had a thing for something I'd seen on the wet. Did I have a 'Silver Daddy' fetish? "Jessie, my szexi lany, I forget this box, which come damaged from shipping, and partly open." I smiled at him. Beamed at him. "Szereto," I whispered, pronouncing Zer-et-o as best I could remember, "please tell me what that means. Szexi lany. What does that translate to?" I did my best impression of a gurl asking a boy for a something special, with the big smile and bright eyes and flitting eyelashes. "Please?" Vladimir came closer to me, still holding the box. I noticed that it was open, by quite a bit, but I couldn't see what was inside. As he neared, my tingles increased on a direct parallel. It was heavenly. I was clenching the cloth of my own panties in between my asscheeks, feeling how delicious they were to my soft hairless skin. "You know," he said, his eyes boring down into mine, "Szereto means lover. Yes?" I nodded, proud and smiling. "Which is not true, yes?" I nodded again. Without the smile. Disappointed. "No," I paused, pouting my bottom lip for a moment, and then morphing into the biggest smile I have ever mustered. "Not yet." It was part of the delicious dance, the gentle roleplay. The tingles were there, loud and proud and blaring and soaring, rocketing through the universe. From both of us. I knew it. He knew it. "I see, inside this box, some of new clothes you buy for yourself. I look at them and say, these clothes are not for man, though. Are they?" I shook my head. He continued. "Vladimir say, these clothes for lady. For feminine lady. For woman. For beauty and grace and being playful kitten, and being a szexi lany. I loved the sound of those words. Zezzy Lan-ee. My tingles pulsed again, even louder. I had to know what he was calling me. "Szereto ," I whispered, "I'm dying to know. What does Zezzy Lan-ee mean?" I waited for the answer. "It means," he paused, teasing me with anticipation. "Means what? PLEASE!!" I begged. "It means...sexy girl." He barely had time to drop the box of lingerie he was holding before he found me in his arms. I raced at him, at breakneck speed. I flew into his bear hug, his protection, his safety, the massive architecture of his body holding back all of eternity, leaving only one thing. Us. Masculine and feminine. Man, and his lovergurl. Raw animal passion and the sweet give and take of yin and yang. My arms around his neck, his around and down my body, cupping my ass cheeks in his hand, my feet dangling, no longer on the ground, my fingers slinking through his thick hair, his massive penis moving against me, constrained somewhat by his speedos, his hairy chest expanding and contracting with each snort of air through his nostrils. Our lips joined, and open, his tongue gracefully and assuredly in my mouth, possessing me in his grip and his love. He was tasting me, devouring me, gorging himself on me, and me to him, with nothing and no one in our universe. Just me and him. And our tingles exploded. It was quite probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but after several dreamy minutes of kissing, being in his arms, feeling his love and passion, I broke the kiss and he put me back down on the floor. I made him promise me he'd come back in one hour, no more and no less, so I could have time to get ready and dressed for him. As a woman prepares for her lover. Those were my words to him, and his joy was radiating off his face. He left, with a soft kiss to my outstretched hand, and a promise to be back in one hour exactly and to bring some very good brandy with him. I barely had enough time, but I got what needed done done. I cleaned myself inside, and then outside. I applied some eyeliner and shadow and mascara and blush and made my lips as red and shiny and kissable as I could, slipped into the most gloriously sexy bra/panty/garter set in a bright royal blue, added charcoal grey stockings and strapped them, found the perfect little black dress, one of three I'd bought, and finished off with a pair of two strap sexy midnight black pumps with four-inch heels. It would make me much taller, but still nowhere near Vladimir's height. And exactly one hour later, just as I had slipped into my wig, the one I called Jennifer Aniston from Friends season five, he softly knocked on the door. I opened it to him in his robe and speedos, holding a bottle of brandy and two snifters, and his joy showed immediately. He approved. His cock moved in his speedos again, very noticeably. That made my tingles roar. We spend the next forty-five minutes sitting together on the loveseat in my living room, the lights down low, some candles lit, and Michael Buble crooning softly out of my speakers. We kissed for almost all of it. Soft gentle romantic kisses sometimes, gentle grazes sometimes, full out tongue-duelling spit swaps too. Whatever our mood dictated. Whatever his passion and mine wanted. The whole time he held me in his arms, and mine were around him, when they weren't wandering. He caressed me, almost every part of me, and when he wasn't kissing me he was nuzzling my neck, nibbling on my earlobes and whispering "edesem" gently over and over again. His hands travelled everywhere, his passion and ardor radiating through his flesh into and through me, making my tingles race even more. When he slipped one of his giant hands up under my dress and then smoothly up my thighs and around to my ass, I swooned. Combined with his loving, romantic kisses, I was in heaven! For much of those three-quarters of an hour, my hands did wander. All over his body, of course, but they kept returning to his speedos. To the huge lump inside his sexy red speedos. The same speedos I thought were for the old ladies. Except now I knew they were for me. Finally, though I knew I could spend the rest of my life being kissed and held and caressed and loved by Vladimir, I broke from his mouth, and began a kissing journey of my own. Down his chiselled jaw, every inch of his neck, his Adam's apple, his collar bones, his upper chest, those pecs so strong and virile, to his nipples, which I adored like they were chocolate kisses and the fountain of youth at the same time. I sucked them mercilessly for quite some time, and he moaned a new word that I would need to learn. It sounded like "Ang Jell". Then I continued my oral exploration, down his body, his tummy, his belly button, an innie, his lower belly, to his speedos. Which were almost soaking wet with his precum, I found out, much to my delight, when I kissed his cock through the speedos. Soaking in precum. I fucking love precum. I adore the taste of precum. The tang, the texture, the smell. I fucking love precum. And he was near gushing it. So I immediately opened my mouth and grabbed onto the shape of his shaft with my lips and let my tongue begin roaming, sucking up as much of the delirious syrup as I could. And there was lots! Unsatisfied with tasting it through the lycra, I ran my nails down his chest and then grabbed hold of the top of his speedos. He lifted his hips and allowed me my great joy, watching that incredible symbol of masculinity and sexuality show itself, standing up unconstrained, rigid and towering and wet all over from his sweet sweet precum, which I immediately took to slurping up, brushing my lips against his pee hole, tonguing his passion juice out of his urethra, my fingers automatically running over his hairy ball sac, measuring his size, gently feeling every inch of skin as I massaged his balls, as big as eggs from the supermarket, moaning in feminine delight at the knowledge of the delicious cum inside and how I would have it all, and soon. My lapping up of his precum was all over the bulbous head of his cock and down and all around the shaft, which was so thick, so dense, and so around. I marvelled at its girth as I made his cock wet, up and down and all around my tongue and lips danced, occasionally enveloping part of the head in my soft wet lips and absolutely freaking with tingly delight at his moans when I did it. At that point I considered the glorious task ahead of me. His penis had an enormous head with an enormous flare at the tip, and I realized that I'd have to open my jaw and mouth more than I had for Brad, my one and only previous cocksucking experience. I knew I'd have to really stretch to suck Vladimir's' cock. And I never wanted anything more in my life. My senses were on overload and running at a cruise-missile pace. So in one second I reached my left hand and grabbed his shaft, wrapping my fingers around it as best I could. The next second I looked him in the eyes, his bearing down on me, boring into me, showing me his desire and lust and passion and need. Then I stretched wide and swallowed the entire head of his cock. It filled me unlike anything else, ever. His head shot up, his eyes clenched, his mouth opened wide, and he screamed out my newest favorite word. "KURVA!" I came off that life-altering cock, while running my left hand up and down the shaft, spreading his precum and some of my saliva all over his shaft. "What does 'kurva' mean? He looked back down at me, a bigger smile I've never seen. Then he shook his head. "Vladimir would not offend such a beautiful lady," he whispered. I shook my head, and licked at his cockhead again, slurping up some more precum. "You can't offend me, szereto. Tell me what 'kurva' means, please?" I watched him make his decision, while I stroked his cock and lovingly massaged his balls. Then he smiled again, huge and beaming. "It means 'slut'." I have never felt prouder. Some may think that word to have a negative connotation, but I disagree with that entirely. To me, at that moment and ever since Saturday night, I considered it to be an honour. A tribute. The highest level of existence any human being could aspire to. I AM A SLUT. At that moment, and to be honest every moment since Saturday night at Brad's party, I wanted to yell that at the top of my voice non-stop. Over and over again. To anyone and everyone. So I did. "I AM A SLUT!" I belted out. "And right now, szereto, I am your slut. Everything that goes with being a slut, goes to making a slut, that's what I am. Wonton, unrestrained, passionate, romantic, desirous, enticing, alluring. A sensual and sexual creature who refuses to follow other people's ideas of righteousness, of morals, or of prejudice. A sexual creature who instead follows their naturally-given true spirit, true sexuality, true openness, true ecstasy." The look in his eyes told me he understood. I was proud, and therefore so was he. But just to be sure, I kissed his cock head again, my most romantic kiss possible, right at the bulbous part, where the pee hole is. The cum hole, too, I realized. YUM Then I said what had to be said. "My name is Jessica, or Jessie. And I say to the whole world right here and right now, that I am proud to be a slut. KURVA! I AM A SLUT!!" Then I dove back onto that cock. Inhaling as much as I could, my spit and saliva flowing like the ocean, my taste buds in overdrive, seeking out each and every microscopic drop of love juice from his penis. Vladimir began gently sawing his massive cock-meat into my mouth, very slowly giving me a little bit more each time, which I was hungrily taking in. My eyes had closed at this point and I'm sure they had rolled back into my head, and my mouth and tongue and lips were going through tactile sensations they'd never had before and never wanted to stop. Ever. Super surreal tingles. Absolute heaven. I was sucking him slowly, alternating broad caresses of my tongue on the underside of his shaft while deep sucking, and then sliding him almost all the way out, my tongue whipping over and under and right to left and around, slurping up the incredibly copious amounts of sweet precum nectar. He produced so much, it was like an ambrosia to me. Like a drug. Rollicking fountains of it. And I wanted it. I adored it. I fairly over-dosed on it. So engrossed in my sucking, after a few minutes I was quite surprised when his hands gently grabbed my shoulders and encouraged me to stand up. His python of penis slipped out of my mouth, my tongue reaching out to catch a last drop of precum as I began to rise to my feet. In my four inch heels. YUM! As I did, I noticed my panties were wet. Really wet. Really really really wet. For a moment I couldn't decide if I was just leaking rivers of precum because I was so mind-blowingly excited, so tingly, or if I'd actually cum in my panties and been so concentrated on cocksucking that I'd missed it altogether! Then I decided that I didn't care which. Both were fucking fantastic! When I was standing he swept me into his arms again, lifted me off the floor again, and slaked his thirst for my kiss. Which I oh so gladly gave him. His tongue danced with mine, surely tasting his own sweetness, the nectar his god-like penis gave to me. He moaned in his throat, as did I, although my voice seemed so much softer and in a higher octave. Then he lifted me up, one arm under my shoulders, and one arm under my knees, like a brand new husband carrying his virgin wife over the threshold of their love nest. My arms just instinctively wrapped around his neck, and I buried my face next to his shoulder. His robe was off, his speedos on the floor. He was completely naked and completely manly and completely erect and completely raging afire with his sexual desires. And my tingles exploded, knowing I was about to be the recipient of all that love. He carried me to my bedroom, down the hall, all the while whispering words in Hungarian that I didn't know and probably wouldn't remember. But they all told me what he was feeling, without knowing the actual translation. He was boiling with desire, on fire with masculine passion. He was going to make love to me. He placed me on the bed, on my back, and without letting go of me still managed with one hand to take a liberal blob of lube out of the bottle on my bedside table, pull my panties to one side and lovingly slide two of his fingers into my pussy. JUST LIKE THAT. This man was inside me, his flesh spearing into my core, opening me, taking me, preparing me. And I almost screamed into his mouth, in syllables no human could spell, but which told him instantly that I wanted it, that I needed it, that as a true kurva I was born for it, that I wanted more and more and more. Which he gave me. He finger-fucked me for a few minutes, sometimes big long strokes of his two massive fingers, sometimes short little jabs, sometimes twisting and turning. He was getting lots of lube on my insides, which was wise, but equally he was sending my tingles into the great cosmic plane. I was lost with need. I started babbling, at first into his mouth, and then after a bit he raised up and looked at me, wanting, I suppose, to hear what I was saying. And what I was saying was a stream-of-consciousness diary of every exact feeling and thought running through my slutty mind. "Take me, take me Vladimir...oooh fuck that feels so amazing....I am yours, my darling, my handsome man....my pussy feels so alive!...oh god please, more!...fuck...oh fuck....yes, yes, yes...take me now, take me now...now!...Make love to me, Vladimir...make love to your gurl...your woman...your slut...TAKE ME NOW VLADIMIR!...TAKE ME NOW...MAKE LOVE TO YOUR KURVA... And then, just like that, he did. While I was swooning and babbling in my slutty delirium he had generously lubed his cock and shaft, and just after the last syllable of 'kurva' came out of my mouth almost nine inches of the thickest, meatiest slab of cock I've ever seen or even imagined slid straight into me. Straight into my soul. Piercing my very being. Touching me in places both physical and metaphysical that I'd never known possible. Right up to the base, as far inside me as he could go. At the very core of my body. Deeper than anything I'd ever felt. Deeper than I'd thought possible. I cried out in rapture. I cried out in joy. I cried out in absolute ecstasy. I cried out a song of delirium, one for the ages. And then began a seemingly never-ending ride of mind-altering bliss. I was overcome with feelings, both inside and out. My mind was gone, just gone. I could only see light, warm and bright and enveloping, and could feel every single cell of my body, and all of them were orgasming and pulsing and throbbing. For over twenty minutes he made love to me, in the missionary position. His incredible weight on me, my legs spread lewdly and locked behind his ass, at times encouraging his thrusts. If we weren't kissing we were both whispering our thoughts, our feelings, our passions. Sometimes just our grunts. We were both making the other ones' tingles multiply and expand, a thousand fold. At times he was slow and sensuous, making me feel every millimetre of his cocks surface as it moved inside me, rearranging my channel to his liking, sometimes moving his hips a little differently to change up the angle that that massive fucking cock was churning me up at. Other times his passion would build like the greatest orchestral symphony ever written and he'd begin to speed up, and he'd begin to make his thrusts harder and harder until he'd be absolutely deep-fucking me, plowing me, pile-driving me. Each variation just brought more joy to me. I was achieving a sexual nirvana. Complete and utter giving over of my body and soul. I could see nothing but the light, feel nothing but pleasure and abject spiritual bliss. There was no world, no other people, no cities, no roads, no smartphones, no jobs to go to, no relatives to talk to. There was just this. Being made love to. Being fucked. At the twenty two minute mark, he shook me from the orgasmic surfboard I was riding when he popped his upper body up, grabbed hold of my ankles and pushed them out on forty-five degree angles, locking my knees so my sexy stocking-clad legs were dead straight and the toes of my deliciously-sexy four inch pumps pointed straight at the ceiling, all of which put him on his knees and me with all my weight on my shoulders, my legs splayed out like the greatest of sluts. KURVA! His eyes looked straight into mine. His tanned skin was red, all over. He was pumped! Then he started fucking me. Really fucking me. Hard, fast, all-out fucking me. Just no-holds-barred wild brazen fucking. His extraordinary cock would come almost all the way out of my pussy, and then slam back into me, shaking my entire body, knocking the breath out of me, slamming the whole bed and headboard into the wall, making me grunt and pant and spout gobbledy-gook in my most girlish voice, relentlessly, just bang bang bang bang bang, over and over and over again. I was beyond knowing what time it was, what day it was, who was the president, what planet I was on. I was gone. Someone could have told me the Pope was standing in my living room prepared to beatify me and make me a saint and I wouldn't have cared less. The entire Earth could have been engaged in World War whatever and I would not have given it a second thought. Or a first one. I was being fucked. Every ounce of whatever consciousness I possessed was only aware of one thing. KURVA. No man lasts forever and that was true of Vladimir. After what I would guess was about six or seven minutes of sheer balls-to-the-wall fucking, primal animalistic rutting, complete and total unconstrained pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding, his eyes left mine, and they closed as his head shot upwards again, his mouth wrenched open again, and then he began his final few full-out slams into my pussy as he screamed out two words. "ISTEN ANYJA" At that moment, when he screamed out what I would later learn to be "MOTHER OF GOD!" his orgasm hit. I know that because it was also the exact same time that my second orgasm occurred. The first had happened maybe four or five minutes into being made love to, when the skin of his body was constantly rubbing my little cock, and I exploded. But this was a far bigger orgasm for me. The biggest ever. Bigger than my previous biggest ever, just three nights ago in Brad's bed. This was a lulu. A doozy. An orgasm for the ages. Lights a-poppin, senses reeling, gut-racking, toe-curling, eye-clenching, teeth-grinding. The biggest cum of my life. And, after a few minutes to come down from my high, with Vladimir laying back on me, his head next to mine, whispering "edesem" over and over again, I learned that it was the biggest cum of his life too. Because even though he hadn't gone soft yet, I could feel pints of him inside me, my insides felt warm and liquidy and alive with sensations, as his sperm immediately started their search for an egg to meet. There'd be no luck for them, of course, and for just a nanosecond I actually felt sad about that. But some of his liquids, some of that delicious nutritious cum began escaping out of me, somehow making it around the shaft of his meat missile still embedded in my pussy. The juice slid out and down my skin in THE most delicious way possible. My tingles had crested and were slowly easing off. But they had been on a trip unlike any drug. Better than any opiate. Better than chocolate! I had been truly made love to. And truly fucked. Feminine, sexy, full of cock and cum, and sensuously positioned under the sexiest of Silver Daddies. I WAS A SLUT! KURVA! I couldn't wait for tomorrow night, when I'd meet up with Sunita and her husband. This new life of mine was getting REALLY good! THE END.