The Legend Of Sword And Mountain
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Fuck Mountain free porn video
Copyright 2001 - MyErotica
The western sun sank slowly toward a ridgeline adorned with the spiny fingers of naked poplar trees. Angular shadows from the porch railing sprawled lazily across the porch, slowly pointing toward evening. The chains supporting the porch swing he sat in squeaked in rusty protest every time he moved. Evidence of a mature season was everywhere, as a light October breeze chased a dozen or so crusty leaves around the corner and held them hostage in a whirling dance, disturbing his solitude. The rustling sound ceased when they fell to the weathered boards of the porch, abandoned by the departing breeze. His eyes closed slowly, as his tongue slipped out to moisten his upper lip - searching for evidence of what his mind remembered of her. He inhaled deeply and slipped into a mental review of many sweet memories.
Any time thoughts of her came into his head everything else he was doing stopped to allow him to savor whatever images were conjured up. A private smile graced his lips as he made his first selection. It was always a treat when visions of her exquisite thighs were featured in his subconscious. This afternoon he watched behind closed eyes, as they parted for him in a silent request to feast upon the prize that they framed. Once more his tongue slipped out, this time moistening his lower lip, and once again searching for a shred of evidence that this was more than just a memory. His cock did not care, and it began to swell with approval.
Their sex was always incredible, even the encounters when one or both just needed to satisfy a quick rush of desire. It may have been after a long day at school or after some distracting event at work had followed one or both of them home. It didn't really matter. Their sex was magic. It transported them to another place - a place where nothing else mattered. Then there were the times when they chose to be in that other place for hours, and his full intentions were to drive her to the edge of insanity. Nothing pleased him more than to have her offer herself to him when his desire burned to taste the sweetness tucked behind lacey, barely-there silk panties. Enabling her to come drove him wild, and to her benefit, it made him as hard as stone. Fucking her was so much better after he had driven her to the highest point, pushing her over the edge of that mythical mountain of lust. Quite possibly, he would push her or throw her over the edge several times.
One might think that being 'thrown' from the edge would be a little uncaring - one-sided maybe - but when he did it, it was quite to the contrary. He took her to the highest place on the mountain willingly. She always wanted to go there with him - and to be thrown? Hell, she wanted to be flung bodily into the mists. She wanted to plunge off the loftiest pinnacle into the nothingness that was left after both mind and body had been wrenched from her control. She wanted to fly on the flat of his tongue. She wanted him to lick and suck her until she no longer cared about anything else, or was unable to care, or whichever came first. He loved it when she told him how much she ached for his mouth. He longed to hear her whisper into his ear how badly she needed to feel his lips and tongue on her pussy.
He adjusted his position on the swing, moving his hips so that his hardening cock could unfold and rise upward in his pants. Another whiff of evening breeze stirred the random leaves into crisp applause only to fall silent once more, waiting to listen to the second act of the passion play that grew more vivid in his mind.
Nothing compared to the lust he could stir up inside of her. But then, that was not entirely true. The lust she could stir in him ripped through his body like a flash fire. Her soft breath against his ear whispering sweetly for his mouth was enough to make him crazy with desire. His cock twitched, as the breeze carried a phantom 'lick me' past his ear.
The journey up the mountain was always a memorable one. Even after having made the trip many times, he always discovered something new, something remarkable. There was always a subtle difference either in the way she would squirm under his attentions, or possibly in the way she would catch her breath. One might think that a gasp was a gasp, but not so to his discriminating ear. Her reactions were like snowflakes, each of them beautiful in their own right, but having delicate markings of uniqueness. His contribution always changed a little too. It might be some little twist; a new lick that lingered for the first time, or a nibble in uncharted territory. Their respective lusts became synchronized to the point that they became sex. They slipped into a state of fuck. His mouth became her fuck. Ultimately, they were consumed by fuck, as they scaled the heights of Fuck Mountain.
The squeak of the porch swing fell on deaf ears, as he spread his arms onto the back of the swing and eased his head back. He was too deeply entranced by his lusty reverie to acknowledge anything in the present. The subtle pivoting motion of the swing transported him - reminded him of the slow swivel of her hips, as she moved under him, reaching for the lips that had just released the first, hot, teasing breath. Her scent intoxicated him. Every aspect of devouring her was worthy of remembering. He drew a deep breath in through his nose, lips pursed tightly together. Cool October air filled his lungs. His brain enhanced reality, adding a hint of recall, reminding him of her heady scent, and creating a wish for the wafting heat of her sex to grace his face.
He marveled at how one of his favorite things to do to her was so in tune with what she craved with equal enthusiasm. With measured patience, he would cradle her bottom in his hands and breathe deeply of her scent. Sometimes, the tip of his nose would barely brush the surface of her panties while he fought the urge to take her into his mouth straight away. There was something about fighting that urge that accelerated his lust. Opening his mouth to exhale hot evidence of his lust was the catalyst that always triggered her hips to roll up in a silent request for contact. The muscles in her thighs would contract, as her heels dug into the mattress. Lean muscles flexing along the insides of her thighs sent continuous messages of permission along his cheeks and shoulders. It was all he could do to keep from lifting her to his lips and sucking her right through her panties.
The anticipation of touching her for the first time was a delicious rush. Making her squirm and rise up off the bed to meet his mouth allowed him to tease her with the tip of his tongue. He would swirl and dance his tongue lightly, tracing, sliding upward across the silk surface of her panties which would become increasingly wet with proof of her own rush of anticipation. Allowing her knees to spread farther open, offering him full access to her treasure, always seemed so obscene, so gloriously dirty and obscene. It was her most complete act of submission - spreading her legs with such a willing hunger. Soft lingering kisses through parted lips on the insides of her thighs would normally prompt her to spread her legs still farther, shifting her hips to whichever side he delivered those gentle, slow kisses attempting to direct his mouth to where she ached most of all.
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