Nina

Mitchell inhaled deeply as he entered the apartment. Sandalwood and cigarette smoke swept into his stuffy nose. He sniffled and wiped a damp red towel across his face. Cold conditioned air engulfed him, sending chills down his body. What warmth there was in his wet shorts fled immediately. They went almost frigid, and he felt his genitals retreat accordingly. He shut the door behind him, toweling himself vigorously in an attempt to raise his body temperature. It was always a shock going from the cool apartment, to the sultry heat outside, to the soothing pool, back into the heat, and back into the AC. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten sick yet from the morning dips he'd been enjoying since moving in with Nina last weekend.

She was straddling the arm of the sofa, swinging her legs, and sipping coffee. She was dressed in a grey Navy t-shirt several sizes too large for her and a pair of plain blue cotton panties. A wisp of cigarette smoke rose lazily from its source in the ashtray on the coffee table. Her wavy, sand-colored hair piled on her shoulders and draped between her shoulder blades.

Continuing to rub himself all over with the towel, he strode towards her and lightly touched her bony, deeply-tanned shoulder. He brushed a long strand of hair from her face and kissed her on the forehead.

"Morning," he said softly with a grin.

"Afternoon," she replied huskily. Her deep voice contrasted with her frail body and eminently feminine face, with its high cheekbones and narrow chin. She said her voice was like that before she started her pack and a half a day habit.

"Sleep well?" he asked and stepped between her legs. He pushed his waist towards her. She brushed her lips on the trail of brown hair running up his belly. The skin beneath the trail of hair was noticeably lighter than the rest of his body. He let the towel drop and land on her knee.

"Ooh, it's wet!" she complained and pushed it to the floor. She leaned over and placed her mug on the table.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, still grinning, and kissed her on the top of her head.

She ran her narrow hands with their prominent tendons down his cold damp shorts and up into the leg openings. She worked towards his clammy, shriveled penis, and squeezed it. It was so cold and little. He mmm'ed and tangled his fingers in her hair. She pulled her hands out of his shorts and deftly untied them. The strong Velcro fly tore open loudly when she pulled it apart. His shorts dropped to the floor, revealing a stark tanline around his waist, showing him to be morbidly white to halfway down his muscular thighs. His dick was swelling and when she felt his balls again she could feel that they were starting to descend. She took his still cold penis past her warm lips. It tasted like cock and chlorine. She sucked it all in and swirled her tongue around it. Quickly it swelled and grew too big for her coffee-heated mouth.

He cooed, "Oh, baby," and brushed her heavy hair from her face. She didn't look up at him. She always thought people looked dumb when they looked up from that spot. He thought ladies looked good with his fat dick halfway in their mouths. She massaged his balls. She knew he liked that a lot. Her boyfriend didn't like that, but Mitchell did. Mitchell said that he got a lot of power from his balls. He said his soul came from them. He talked about them frequently. They were big and dangly and even when withdrawn still the sack stayed big like half baseball buried behind his dick. Her boyfriend's disappeared almost completely when he got aroused. It turned her on to hold Mitchell's balls. She had his soul in her hand. She lowered it and his soul followed, until it could go no farther. She squeezed the inside of his thigh. With the other hand she gripped his cock, now too big to get her hand around unless she squeezed it really hard, which she did. Its head swelled huge and purple, like a salty exotic fruit swollen with juice. She flicked her tongue against the tip, and indulged him with an upward glance and a smile. He wasn't even looking. He was staring straight ahead, breathing deep and slow, inhaling through his nose, exhaling through pursed lips like he was going to whistle.

He looked to his left. The blinds on the patio door where open. Mateo, one of the Mexicans who maintained the apartment complex's simple landscaping, slowly made his way past the patio, waving a loud, gas-powered weed whacker back and forth. His attention was on what he was doing. She felt Mitchell tense. She knew why and smiled. She wrapped both hands around his superheated penis and pumped it vigorously, causing his hips to jut front and back and his nuts to swing. His balls began to rise again as she tugged more insistently.

"The blinds," he muttered but didn't really care. Just let someone walk by and see him like that. He could die right then and it would be alright. He hardly cared about anything. Let the whole world see him getting jerked off by this beautiful woman. Let them take a picture. He could die right then and leave that picture as the sole clue to the man that he was. He could die right then knowing that's how the world would know him for the rest of time.

And the little death began as she worked feverishly at his red and purple penis. She jerked it roughly with both hands. He was getting near. With his consciousness focused on one end, he pushed her hands away, and began stroking himself in earnest. She pulled her shirt off over her head. Her small brown, dark-nippled breasts flashed briefly in his fevered mind. She grabbed his ass and pull him closer. Throwing her head back, exposing her neck like a charmed maiden presenting herself to the vampire, she ran her hands up and down his legs, then brought them to rest. One hand held his soul, the other his ass. The climax came and erupted all over her chest, neck, face, and hair. He always came heavily with violence. He shook like he was having a seizure, growling "Oh God! Oh fuck!" again and again, as the hot semen shot thickly from deep within his being.

He almost collapsed but he held himself together just enough to kiss her cum-streaked face, tasting his own seed. He bent to grab the towel and wiped off his dick. She grinned triumphantly, enormously turned on now. She'd soaked her panties and probably the arm of the sofa, too. She tore the towel from his slack grip and wiped herself off. She was heated now and couldn't help pushing her pussy down against the wide soft arm of the sofa. He grabbed her hair again, pulled her head back, and kissed her on the lips. Their tongues collided and fought each other wildly. He grabbed her biceps painfully and continued the rough kiss. He knew she wanted it now. That's why he was so attracted to her. He never knew a girl to get so turned on from jerking a guy off. She said it was because he came so hard and so much always came out of him that it turned her on and made her want to fuck like a nympho.

She looked towards the open blinds and smirked. "I hope Mateo didn't notice," she lied.

Mitchell chuckled. "Let's go back to the bedroom." He stepped back and held out his hand to help her up.

"I'll grab something firmer," she said and grabbed his still-hard penis.

"Careful there," he laughed.

She held tight and slid off the arm and onto her feet. She kissed him on the mouth, let go of his dick, and spun him around. He complied. "Now march, sex animal." She slapped his solid, hairy ass as he stepped out of his swim trunks and made for the bedroom. She followed close behind, wiping Mitchell's cum off with her boyfriend's t-shirt. She didn't miss him at all. Steve probably wouldn't be back for at least three more months. His tour in Iraq had been extended against his wishes. As long as he was gone, she was free to do what she wanted. At least that's how she saw it. She knew he didn't see things the same way, but she didn't care. She was not a woman who allowed her life to be dictated by possessive men. That's not to say she didn't love Steve. She loved him very much. And she loved Mitchell, too, even though she just met him a few days ago. She fell in love with him as soon as she started talking to him.

It was a Friday night. Bored and lonely, the lithe 29 year old decided to go to Riptide, her favorite bar by the beach. Her model-like stature drew predatory glances from men wherever she went. Most of the sharks at the bar were familiar to her. None of the males registered in her mind as anything other than a hungry pair of watery eyes with a dick and a pair of balls hanging somewhere below.

"Hey, Nina, can I get you a drink?" one of the utterly boring dumbass regulars offered.

"Corona," was her detached reply. She frequented Riptide out of habit. It was where she met Steve, though as far as she knew none of his friends hung out there. He was on a bar tour that night two years ago. Most bars disgusted her but she accepted socializing as a largely annoying, but necessary process. After all, she had become pathetically desperate from male company. She'd waited long enough for Steve. She had to satisfy her base animal needs.

The guy eagerly turned to the bar and got her drink. He handed it to her. "So..."

She walked away from him before he could say whatever stupid thing he was about to say. She pushed the lime into the bottle, stoppered the top with her thumb, turned it upside down, then back, and took a steady pull from the cold, sweaty bottle. She strolled towards the back of the bar. Idiots surreptitiously checked her out. "Have they no dignity?" she asked herself.

One seemed to, though. A guy with a clean-shaven head and face sitting by himself at a small, round table at the back of the barroom. She caught his eyes and locked onto them. They were big and brown. She saw them slowly go up and down her body. The look on his face was one of detached appraisal. Keeping his gleaming eyes confidently locked onto hers, he lifted a bottle of water from the table and drank from it. He nodded nonchalantly. She sauntered over.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked needlessly.

"I'd be honored," he said without a hint of ulterior motive. Mitchell introduced himself and they shook hands. He couldn't believe this smokin' hot babe just sat down with him. He'd been there for a little while not talking to anyone because he didn't know any of them and he wasn't one to just start chatting with people. He'd had a couple beers and was winding down since he had to drive home. And then Nina joined him. He changed his mind about leaving soon. This girl radiated sex, and he was horny as fuck. It'd only been a couple weeks since he'd last gotten laid, but he was blacked-out when it happened so it was more like six months since the last time. He was pissed about that last one, too, because he really liked the girl and he was moving so he wanted to bang her one last time before he moved a thousand miles away. Figures he fuckin' drinks too much and doesn't end up remembering what she said was a great lay. He'd been with her before and was sure it was a good one. He'd been wanting to tag her again for so long, but noooooo...he does and he can't remember it. That was done, though. He wasn't going to get wasted like that anytime soon.

"Wait...what?" he asked when he realized she was talking to him.

She was impressed with his relaxed demeanor. Most guys would be annoyingly hanging on her every word, but Mitchell just totally spaced out on her. Nina didn't lack in self-confidence but she hated to be placed on a pedestal.

"What were you just thinking about?" she inquired.

"Oh, nothing," he replied sheepishly. It was a crack in his cool armor.

"No, you have to tell me," she pried as she polished off the rest of her beer. She clanked the empty bottle on the table and looked at him forcefully but not without a trace of a smile.

"Need another beer?" He was grinning and looking around the bar.

"First tell me what you were thinking about when you oh-so-rudely stopped paying attention to me."

He took a deep breath and collected himself. "I was thinking about how before I moved down here I fucked this good friend of mine, and it was something I really wanted to do before I left and I got to literally live out a dream, but I don't remember it at all because I drank so much that I was blacked out when it occurred. It kinda bums me out, ya know?"

Nina was shocked by his guileless frankness and sweet sincerity.

She stepped out of her shorts on the way into her bedroom and left them on the floor. He turned to face her. His trademark devilish smirk was in full effect, as was his fat dick. She pressed against him, wedging his dick between their pubic bones, cruelly grabbed his lean ass, and engaged him in a passionate kiss. Then she pushed him backwards onto her unmade bed.

"Scoot back," she commanded.

He did as he was told, stopping when his head hit a pillow. "I can smell your pussy," he said hungrily.

She replied with a grunt and straddled him. His dick entered her slickness with nary a sign of resistance. Arousal came easily for her because she didn't resist it. She slapped away his hands when he reached up to grab her tits. "Just lay there," she said and grinded against him. She felt the soft end tap her cervix and reveled in the deepness of his penetration and the sensation of his thickness. Few men filled her just right. She was wide and shallow, built perfectly for his stout, relentless dick. He didn't stab her painfully like Steve.

She switched to an in and out motion. Lifting and leaning forward until he almost wasn't in her anymore. Sliding back down. Mashing herself against him. Rubbing left and right. Slowly up again. Despite her wetness she could still detect a faint and exquisite friction as his width gained a fraction of purchase on her slippery lips. She reached back and below and felt his balls. They were packed tight now. Pulled back like the slide on a semi-automatic pistol, about to explode a spray of gunfire that could bring both life and death.

His eyes were scrunched tight, his mouth half open, his breathing erratic. She lightly slapped his face. He opened his eyes and smiled. "Look at me," she breathed, and increased the ferocity of her fucking. She wanted him to come. She was close. Sweat sheened her chest. His swim had washed away his deodorant and his unmitigated scent fueled her animal soul. She was partially supporting herself on her arms as she rapidly slammed and grinded. He defied her earlier command and put his hands on her ass. He thrust up to meet her pummeling pussy. They pounded their crotches together. The slapping sound sent them closer to the edge.

Then she came unwound. Through gritted teeth she unleashed a long, low wail. His penis shot up her vertabrae, wrapped around her spinal cord, and came hot and thick across and within the folds of her convulsing mind. Time dripped down her back. Her insides exploded and collapsed. Everything went black.

And he laughed. "That's what I'm talkin' about!"

She was sprawled atop him. His dick was half-hard inside her. "Shut up," she gasped as their sweat and juices intermingled. He felt like his nuts were swimming in sauce. Their breathing became regular and synchronized. He hugged her tightly against himself and tried not to wonder about what would happen when Steve came home. He was trying to live in the moment. He envied Nina's ability to unquestioningly be herself.

She wondered how long he'd stay. A hint of crowding insinuated itself into her orgasm-addled thoughts. She wasn't looking for another boyfriend.

Just a lay that went on for a few days.

She extricated herself from his embrace and walked into the living room to get a cigarette. He absently caressed his slimy semi-swollen penis and admired her slender profile as she stood naked in front of the sliding glass door, smoking. Sunlight glimmered in her flaxen pubic hair. She turned to drop the finished cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. He smiled at her as if drugged. Her hand casually went to her breast as she watched him massaging his penis back to its full stature. She shook her head.

"It's not like there's anything better to do, right?" He said, smirking.

She reentered the bedroom and slid atop him.