The Long Road To Paradise free porn video

...It had come at last. The night of nights. Mitt's princess stood before him, her long blonde tresses curling down her back, her green eyes alert, yet respectful. The white wedding dress brought out her beauty all the more, a cone of lace crowned with the smooth softness of her bare arms and shoulders. He had called her a "vision of loveliness" in his toast, and indeed she was. His wife's face - yes! She was his wife now! - was so perfect he could not take his eyes off it.

She reached behind her back and pulled something, and slowly, the dress descended. Underneath, she was clad in another layer of white, a corset that hugged the outline of her body. Garters, white-ringed garters, rose up her shapely legs, making her body look like a gift, wrapped just for him.

There was no practical value for underclothes of this sort. She had worn them, hidden, all day, just so that she could arouse him now. Mitt stared at her incredible figure, this feast of delights. He could spend a lifetime staring at that body, staring at those legs, those impossibly lovely legs, touching them, exploring them, savoring their joys. He would, indeed, spend that lifetime.

She could see him staring, and her face broke into a sweet smile. "I dreamed of the day I would get married," she said. "I dreamed of the day I could totally give this body to the man I loved, and do everything I could to make him happy, everything he ever dreamed of. I have kept myself pure for this day. And now, my husband," she went on, "it is time."

Her voice was like a birdsong; Mitt listened to it mesmerized. He took a step towards her, his heart pounding, his breath coming faster. She came towards him, spreading her arms wide. And then his lips were on hers, her soft warmth melting into his. He remembered what the Song of Solomon said of this - honey and milk are under your tongue. He felt his body responding; he knew she could feel it too.

"STOP staring at my legs like that!"

"What?"

"You know damn well what. I am not a mannequin for your enjoyment!"

Stacy's face was red with anger.

Slowly, Mitt's eyes refocused. The daydream faded. This was not a wedding night. He wasn't in a hotel room. He was in a conference room with his co-worker, Stacy, practicing the presentation they were to give in a few days.

Mitt hadn’t wanted to work on the presentation, on a topic that bored him silly. What really was the point? Upper brass kept insisting on status updates and check-ins, which accomplished nothing useful he could see, except interrupt actual work on real projects.

Stacy was a very pretty young woman, with long curly blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and an air of determined professionalism. She was dressed in a plain white blouse; sleeves rolled up. Her gray pencil skirt stopped just above her knees. She had been rehearsing her speech, but Mitt had found it so dismally unexciting that he had just let his mind wander off.

"I wasn’t…I wasn’t actually staring at your legs-"

"Oh, I suppose you just happened to be looking at the electrical outlet!"

Mitt hadn't been looking at anything in particular, at least not anything actually in the room. He did not know how to explain this to his colleague, and even if he could, it did not seem likely to help.

"I guess I kind of drifted-"

"I see, you just drifted off when the female of the species opens her mouth to, you know, actually say something?" Stacy snarled.

"No..." Mitt struggled for words. "I think you're very capable. You just need to improve your presentation skills-"

"Oh, my presentation skills? Is that what you call it now? Being eye candy for the men in this office? That's why you wanted me in this room with you. So you could come on to me!"

"No, that's not what I meant-"

"I don't give a shit what you meant. I'm a person, not a fucking pair of legs. I'm going to do this presentation by myself!"

"What? I'm part of this project too. Mid-year review is coming up, and if I'm not seen there-"

"If you try to stop me, I'm going straight to HR!" With that, Stacy flounced out of the room.

Mitt's manager had told him about the company's Mentor Her initiative, encouraging senior employees, who were mostly male, to mentor junior women, who often struggled to find mentors without facing sexual harassment. Mitt had mentored employees before, but they were mostly male, and he saw women's careers suffering due to the lack of early guidance. Impressed with Stacy's work on a previous project, he had selected her for this one.

Mitt could only imagine what would happen, now, if Stacy gave that weak presentation and he wasn't up there with her. Everyone would think the poor performance would be because he had refused to do his share of the work. They might even think he hadn't wanted to work with a woman.

What a way to end the work day. He grabbed his coat and headed out.

It was pouring, drenching rain outside. Mitt could barely see through his glasses. He huffed and puffed, desperate to make the bus stop on time, his shoes making splashes in the puddles. Water was soaking his socks, drowning his feet. His stomach growled impatiently, and he saw several restaurants taunting him, way out of both his price range and his available time.

..."You are so amazing, Mitt! You always seem to know just the right thing to say!"

Mitt smiled. He was in his best suit, immaculately groomed, feeling on top of the world. And how could he not? Opposite him was a cheery, friendly, stunningly beautiful blonde. Her long straight hair was like a fountain; her clear blue eyes like sapphires.

"I know it's only our first date, but I just feel so incredibly comfortable with you," she said. "I haven't felt so connected with someone in a long time."

Mitt had felt connected to the girl the moment he had seen her picture on Tinder. She'd sported a cute little blue skirt, barely clearing her underpants, with matching dark blue fishnet tights. Her chest bulged against the bright red, tight blouse she'd had on, her midriff invitingly exposed. He'd swiped right without hesitation. Getting a match was like a dream come true.

The outfit she had on now was more modest, but also more striking. The shade of blue in her blouse matched her eyes perfectly – and, sitting down, he had an even better view of her cleavage. When he picked her up, he'd seen how hot her legs appeared in red stockings.

Their immaculately dressed waiter stopped by. "How was your food, mademoiselle?"

"Oh my god, it's to die for! Mitt, I had no idea about this place! You sure know how to show a girl a good time!"

"I do my best," said Mitt modestly. Actually, he had found that the girl responded amazingly well if he simply agreed with whatever she was saying. She hadn't said anything substantive, but perhaps that made it easier.

"Voici," he said to the waiter, tossing his gold card nonchalantly on the bill. He'd already seen the look of admiration in her eyes when she saw the total. "Merci, monsieur," the waiter replied as he headed off.

"You speak French, too?" the girl squealed. "Oh, my god!"

"Naturellement."

"I don't usually do this," she said shyly, "but would you like to come over to my place for drinks?"

That was easiest of all to agree with.

"Je serais très heureux, ma chérie," said Mitt in a confident, yet gentlemanly voice. "Let me just clear up my calendar for this evening. There were some calls, but they are less important than spending time with such a charming woman." He saw her eyes glow at the compliment. She was already so cheerful and happy; he had the feeling that the joys of this evening were just getting started.

Her apartment was small and simply furnished, but cozy. Mitt poured them both a brandy and they toasted the evening.

"I'll just go change into something more comfortable. Back in a second!" she said brightly.

Changing didn't take long. Strictly speaking, she didn't change at all. She merely removed her blouse. And her bra.

Mitt feasted his eyes on her breasts, bulging with pure femininity. "That, my dear, is truly a magnificent sight," was all he could think of.

"They're even more magnificent if you actually touch them," she replied, not missing a beat. He looked straight into her incredible blue eyes as his hands began to feel that soft, luscious chest. He could see her body start to shake as he gently fondled those rising nipples. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it.

No. His phone really was buzzing. He fumbled in his pockets, then dropped the phone on the wet floor of the bus. He stooped to pick it up.

"Hi, Mom."

"Mitt! Don't forget you have to be here at six sharp tomorrow night!"

"I know that, Mom, but the earliest train I can take won't get there by six-"

"Why don't you just take the car?"

"At that time of day the traffic is even worse."

"Well, take the limousine like Jenny does! She can keep working even in the car!"

"She gets to use her law firm's limo because she's a senior partner there."

"And why aren't you a senior partner or whatever? You're forty-five, for god's sake. Four years older than your sister and what do you have to show for it? It was the same thing when you were kids. Every teacher kept saying the same thing. Jenny's so different than Mitt. I can't believe how children in the same family are so different. I was scared to teach Jenny after Mitt, but boy was I wrong. Blah blah blah-"

Mitt had stopped to take this call, and, without realizing it, had then been walking more slowly. Now he noticed the bus driving off, without him.

"Mom, it was me that paid for Jenny to go to law school-"

"Well, at least she got into law school! Why couldn't you get into something good? At least that girl makes me proud. And you? Always working, always working, never getting anywhere. You can't even show up to my birthday party on time. "

"Your birthday isn't till tomorrow, Mom."

"You know what you need? I know what you need. Guts. You don't have any guts. Jenny sees a promotion; she goes for it. No messing around.

No taking no for an answer. You need to-"

Mitt was no longer listening. He wished he had the guts to end this conversation. It would be a long bus ride, a subway trip, and a second bus ride home. Maybe he'd have a drink when he got home. He could certainly use a drink.

..."Chug a chug a chug a CHUG!" Down the hatch went the latest shot. Mitt felt the drink course through him, shredding his inhibitions. But he stood tall. He could hold his liquor as if it were water.

"I can do anything. WOO!" he screamed.

Pounding dance music roared through the night, ringing through his ears. Huddled groups of young men were clustered together, downing shots, lifting beer mugs, eyes drifting. Crowds of girls stood in separate clusters, giggling, laughing, their fingernails long and brightly colored, their hair tossing, their bodices tight, their legs bare and wiggling. He eyed them all, boldly, unashamedly, mentally wondering which one was the best.

"Come on, man," said one of his friends. "We need to get some action."

"I don't know," said another, worriedly. "These babes might be just a bit out of our league."

Mitt laughed. "Out of my league? NO ONE is out of my league!"

His chest puffed up like a balloon. "I can have ANY bitch in this club! You hear that? Any fucking girl I want!" he shouted. Hearing this, a nearby group of girls glanced in his direction, admiring his powerful, muscular figure.

His keen eyes zeroed in on the dance floor. There they were, a shining sea of sexy legs. Four girls were there, all blonde, all clad in the tightest of tight miniskirts, all with flimsy tops that left little to the imagination — boobs jutting forward and back, asses swinging back and forward.

And the one in the middle! What a babe! Big tits, round ass, dressed like a whore, hot as hell, with a face fit to die for. He pointed a finger in her direction.

"That's her! That's the one I'm going for!"

His friends looked at him with incredulity. He didn't blame them; the girl was so hot she could easily appear on magazine covers. But they were not him.

There was a ring of guys dancing around the girls, hoping desperately for some kind of contact, but such-like riffraff were beneath him. He boldly strode straight into the middle of the floor.

When she saw him, her supermodel-worthy face took on an unmistakable expression of hunger. She licked her lips. She glanced from side to side.

Mitt stood right in front of her and put on his most suave expression. "If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me?"

The girl's eyes widened, then without a word she turned around and started to twerk him. He felt his cock already start to straighten with the feel of her ass on him. He put his hands right on top of her tits and began squeezing them while grinding his hips into her. He grinned triumphantly at the male and female jaws dropping all around him. You ain't seen nothin' yet!

He spun her around, looking into her bombshell face. God, what a babe! Her head tilted back and his lips locked into hers, tongues probing greedily, deeply.

He came up for air. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," she replied. She whipped out her phone, ordered a taxi, then took his hand and led him to the exit. A luxury car was obligingly waiting.

Fifteen minutes later, they were both naked in her bed. He took a good look at her body, one of the most perfect and magnificent he'd ever seen. She had a waist that curved tantalizingly inwards, leading to a perfectly trimmed blonde bush. Her ass was as round as a globe and soft as a baby's, and for a long while he just played with it, luxuriating in its feel.

The girl's nipples were already hard when he took them in his mouth. They felt so good. His fingers explored further, discovering a soaking wet pussy in that blonde bush. She moaned as he gently probed her.

This was it. She was like putty in his hands. He really was going to have her, this babe of babes. He was going to have it all.

"You are going to get nothing, boy! You are fucking dead! Do you hear me? Dead fucking meat!"

What sort of language was that coming from a fourteen-year-old? The door to Amber's little room was open, so Mitt peered in. His daughter was sitting cross-legged on the bed, loathing and contempt written on her face. Mitt could not make out the words coming out of the speaker, but it sounded like a boy's voice.

"Yeah? Ask me if I care! See if anyone cares, you stupid piece of shit! You're useless, do you hear me? You're ugly and you're worthless and you're going to get nothing, NOTHING!"

She clicked the phone off and glared at Mitt, her young, normally innocent features contorted in fury.

"What do you want?"

"Who was that, honey?"

"None of your goddamn business!"

"Please try to at least-"

"Don't even think about giving me a goddamn lecture!"

"Okay...okay," said Mitt, putting his hands up defensively. "I'm not going to intrude, but you look really upset."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"Want to talk about it?"

"NO!" Amber roared. "You just said you weren't going to intrude!"

"I know, but-"

"Well stop intruding then!"

"Sweetheart, if you have problems with a boy, you may need to-"

"What the hell do you know about boys?"

"Um...I'm a man?"

Amber rolled her eyes. "You don't count." She flopped back on the bed, not looking at him.

Mitt could hear the disdain in her voice. Was it for him, or the boy she'd been arguing with? Did it matter?

He thought of how expensive Amber's private school tuition was, of how they had sacrificed and done without, of how much they'd managed to stash away in her college fund. But this did not seem like a good time to remind his daughter of that fact.

He trudged over to the living room, looking for something to do. His wife Kathy was also arguing on the phone with somebody ("is it my fault he works at these shit nonprofit jobs?"). Mitt headed towards the kitchen; no doubt there were dishes to be done.

The television set, old and bulky, was showing a fuzzy image. Kathy, still on the phone, was half-gazing at some rock star, jumping up and down in front of an adoring crowd.

..."It's HIM!"

"Mitt Walters!"

"Oh, my God! He's really here!"

"Oh, my God!"

Clad in a black designer leather jacket, he cut an imposing figure across campus. Crowds followed him wherever he went. The boys all wanted him to autograph their notebooks. The girls got creative, exposing bits of skin, having him sign them, then taking selfies.

"Get him in here, quick!" a girl's voice called out. A group pushed and shoved their way over to him, all wearing short skirts with Greek letters on their tops.

"Come with us, Mr. Walters, please, won't you?" said a petite blonde, plaintively.

"We promise to make it worth your while," added a redhead, slyly tugging at her skirt.

He followed them at once, pausing only to smirk at the disappointed male fans. Soon several more girls joined them. Luscious young college girls. All gorgeous. Seas of shapely legs, bulging chests, smiling faces, and bright red lips. All clamoring to see him, touch him, admire him.

They led him into their sorority. He felt his jacket being lifted off. All around him, girls were taking off their clothes. Blouses were tossed to the corner. Skirts lay in a heap on the floor. Bras scattered aimlessly. And then, bless the Lord, panties joined them.

Female flesh. Naked female flesh. Hands were grabbing at his shirt, undoing his zipper, even untying his shoelaces. He did not have to lift a finger; he let the soft young hands strip him down.

"Oh, my God! Look at his cock!"

"It's even better than I dreamed!"

A blonde girl dashed forward, eyes greedy, her lovely face lunging for his cock. He felt another set of lips pucker onto his ass, a tongue gingerly drifting into his crack. He stood there passively as they fought over him, breasts making their way into his hands, others prostrating themselves on the floor, kissing his feet. Nude girls were all around him. They even began to form a lineup. He felt the soft feel of young lips on his cock. It felt so good, that pliable young mouth, that eager, hungry tongue, so good licking and nuzzling him, darting from cock to balls and back again.

They begged with him, they pleaded. "Will you cum in my mouth?" "No, how about my pussy?" "You can cum in my ass, Mr. Walters." He could cum wherever, with whomever, he wante.

"Are you coming?"

"What?" Mitt was confused.

"I said, are you coming to bed?"

Mitt found his head on the kitchen table, pencil in hand, with a pile of tax forms for a pillow.

Kathy was standing near the hallway in her purple nightgown. She looked tired and exhausted and weary.

Dutifully he followed his wife to their tiny room. He could see the sag of her shoulders. It's her sore neck; he thought, her osteoarthritis again.

Kathy turned off the light before undressing, as she always did now. Mitt could hear her hiss of frustration as she undressed. She was, in her forties, still an attractive woman, with curly brown hair and brown eyes. Her figure might not be as slender as it had once been, but Mitt found it could still excite him, at least when its owner actually wanted it to, an increasingly rare occasion.

He watched his wife lie down and felt a sudden rush of compassion. She needed cheering up. A nice massage and backrub would surely make her feel better. He put his hands on her shoulders-

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Huh?"

"Are you actually thinking I'm going to have sex with you? Tonight?"

"But I-"

"Shall I count the reasons?" Kathy turned over and sat up, her expression stony.

"One. Your mother called, giving me a big lecture about why did we have to live so far away, why couldn't we live downtown so she could have easy access in, blah blah blah. Why couldn't her son talk to her instead of me?

"Two. The apartment is a mess. Amber didn't do her chores; she was so pissed off over some boy. Maybe her dad could have talked to her, where the hell was he?

"Three. Taxes are due next week. Have you even looked at those bloody forms yet?

"Four. My neck is so goddamn sore; I think it's going to burst a blood vessel. And where is my precious husband in all this? You know, the guy who hasn't had a raise in god knows how long? Would it kill him to give me a massage? He's thinking with his cock as usual.

"Don't fucking touch me."

She rolled over away from him.

Mitt stared at her. This day had been too long, too weary, just too much. He felt a pain in his chest.

Thinking with his cock? That was true in a way, perhaps a bit more literally than Kathy had meant. He could not deny how many of his thoughts and dreams ultimately came from that direction.

He undressed and lay down in the bed, chest still aching.

How had his life ended up this way? Mitt had wrestled with this question many times, often coming up with long explanations, but that gave him no counsel on how to face the present. Or worse yet, the future.

What was life about anyway? Why do we live through things like this? What is it all for? What happens after? Mitt's mind was grappling with these questions, and his chest hurt so much.

His eyes opened. Where was he? He could feel nothing, see nothing, just a gray nothingness.

"I am Allah, the compassionate, the merciful."

"What?"

"Verily, I say to you, today you are with me in Paradise."

"What? I'm in heaven? Am I dead?"

"In truth, you have come to the end of your struggles."

Mitt struggled to think. Wait. Wait a minute-

"Allah? Wait, isn't that the Muslim name for God? I'm not a Muslim. Does that make me an infidel or something? Shouldn't I be in hell?"

"I am Allah, the compassionate, the merciful. But many are the names I have. Whether you call me Allah or God, Vishnu or Zeus, Odin or Osiris, I am who I am. There are many paths that lead to me, and all who are righteous find me in the end."

Mitt tried to process this. Was this God? Or was he dreaming? And if this was God, why did-

"You sound...you sound female. Why is your voice female?"

"Allah, the compassionate, the merciful, is neither male nor female. But to you, Paradise is female."

It was then that he recognized it. It was Kathy's voice. Not the Kathy he had spoken to just now, but the Kathy of twenty years ago, the Kathy of the sweet, melodious voice he used to love to listen to, the young voice that he lost himself in endless conversation with.

"Kathy? I don't understand-"

"I have taken the voice of what your wife once sounded like because to you, that is Paradise. Of all the faiths of your world, only the Muslims knew what awaits the righteous. It is indeed as I told my servant Muhammad. They shall have seventy-two houris, and goddess amongst them is the one whom he loved best, and who loved him best."

"Wait. The seventy-two? You mean that thing with the seventy-two virgins? That's actually true?"

"You are a man who has known desire and longing and passion all his life. Did you think that Paradise would be as the Christians imagined it, with nothing but a harp in the clouds for all eternity? That which is the greatest of pleasures on earth is also greatest in heaven. And there is no fear or sin or betrayal here."

Mitt could, now, see beautiful girls appearing all around him. Blonde bombshells, sultry brunettes, redheads kissed by fire, black-haired Chinese ravens, exotic-looking Indians, doe-eyed black girls. Petite girls, tall girls, busty girls, tiny girls. All their own version of literally heavenly perfection.

This could not be real. Surely this was a dream. Soon he would wake up, and that would be that for Paradise.

Seventy-two virgins?

"We, the houris, are virgins, in that we are created for you and have been with no one else," said Stacy. "But we are not human. Angels might be a better word for us in your language."

Said Stacy?

"I am not the Stacy you knew on earth, but you harbored a secret desire for her, so it is her form I have taken. All that you desired, all that you have ever desired, is now yours." He saw, then, not just Stacy, but Melanie, the very first girl he had ever liked as a kid, now a full-grown woman in her twenties. He saw Deanna, she of the massive teen crush he'd never dared reveal, now in her turn a grown woman with an inviting expression.

"We are houris. We can take any appearance that pleases you."

They shimmered, they changed form. Girls would appear in any height, race, color, or shape he thought of. He saw every girl he'd ever liked, every girl he'd ever wanted, every random crush. There was every model he'd ogled in magazines, every porn star he'd jerked off to, every starlet he'd fantasized about. He saw the wife from his daydream, the girl from Tinder, the girl in the nightclub, the sorority girls, all smiling, all in his favorite outfits, striking his favorite poses, clearly ready to fulfill his favorite fantasies.

One last earthly thought remained. "What happens to women who go to heaven?"

Melanie laughed. "What do you think? They get seventy-two men to play with for eternity."

With that, all questions of theology left Mitt's mind. It was then that he noticed that his body was changed. There was a strength he hadn't felt in decades. He was like a man of thirty, a man of twenty again. He looked at himself and saw muscles, rock-ribbed muscles he'd never had before. And his cock - it was larger, more powerful than he'd ever seen, like a sword attached to his loins, a symbol of virility and strength.

Surely this could not be real. He would wake up, and it would all go away, would it not?

"Does it, in truth, really matter?" Stacy asked. Then she was kissing him, and he was putting his hands on her ass, her soft, delectable ass, and feeling her tits on his chest. No, it did not matter. Our dreams are our reality. Paradise is where we find it.

Melanie stepped forward, her breasts getting larger and larger, and then they were in his mouth. They felt so soft and delightful, and long he spent nuzzling them, feeling safe and warm and protected. She cradled his head affectionately against her, kissing his forehead, letting him bask in her warmth.

In a last moment of clarity realized Mitt that this should not be possible. You couldn't be kissing one girl and sucking the tits of another, simultaneously, could you?

"The laws of space and position do not hold here," Deanna purred. "You can feel any number of different things, all at once, and yet still appreciate them all, together."

He felt female hands, soft as cotton, touching him everywhere, drawing jolts of joy through his body. They stroked his hair, they massaged his neck and back, they caressed his ass, they tingled his legs and feet. But nowhere did he feel so many hands as his cock and balls, alive with pleasure.

He could do anything, at once. That meant-

And he saw, as if in a single glance, seventy-two tongues beckoning him, seventy-two pussies wet for him, seventy-two asses bending over for him.

Even if this was a dream, then surely, as the philosopher said, it was worth sacrificing all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. Deanna's tongue was licking his cock, flicking it like a banjo, driving him wild. Chanell, his favorite black porn star, was sliding him into her pussy. She felt - well, she felt like heaven, her luscious body under him, letting him probe impossibly deep inside her. There was Elisa, a pin-up model he had hungered after for decades, her ass a rounded testament to perfection, sliding that precious pressure on top of him.

No live person could feel this much, surely. Every possible sensation of pleasure was on him, every possible longing and hunger. Decades of desire for Deanna were fulfilled, at last, her lovely mouth wrapped around his cock. Somehow that same cock was pushing deep into Chanell's luscious body, the familiar expression of passion and sluttiness on her face. Elisa's ass was bent over for him, its tightness engulfing him. He felt waves of passion, waves of joy, a whirling inferno of carnal pleasures. His hands were exploring more girls, while yet more girls were touching him, caressing him, fondling him, making him feel more and more impossibly alive. 

Male power surged through him. His body roared like fire, pouring round after round of cum into Deanna's mouth. As she swallowed with a gentle smile, his mind spun with wild abandon, feeling the jism spurt into Chanell's pussy. At the same time – the very same time! - Elisa's ass, tight and strong and wonderful, clenched on him, sending courses of energy through him, taking his seed deep inside her.

In this place, one cock could do three girls, all at the same time. Maybe more. He wanted to take every one of these seventy-two beauties, again and again and again.

"That you will," said Elisa. "Your body does not tire here. You need no sleep or rest. Your cum does not exhaust itself. You can keep going as many times as you want. You will have the energy of a hundred men."

He looked at his girls, with wonder in his eyes and lust in his heart. Stacy smiled at him.

"And lo, we will be with you always, even until the end..."