The Man of Fire

He unzipped his shorts. Motioned for me to come over. I smirked and stuck a hand in the first time I touched the man of fire.

We looked at each other, I watched him wring his hands, and I said, "Please don't say anything. I've got more to lose than you do."

The night prior, I sucked his cock several times in a six hour period. The first time, he jumped up on the couch, his bed, and teetered over me, facing the wall behind me.

Before when we were frenzied but unworried. But things progressed quickly. I motioned with a nod for him to come down from the couch as I sat there facing him. I placed my hands gently on his bare hips and guided him toward me. Between my thick legs and next to my warmth.

I whispered, "Like this."

He let. We rolled over the hobo couch and entire room all night. He held me long and hard as the sun came up. I ran to my room near Master's.

I made love to the man of fire in that way many times. With and without permission. The man of fire's legs were warm, hairy, and strong like I had imagined all those years in silence, only expressed ever during fervent masturbation. He was well endowed and when his cock grew thick, long, and hard for me, I was flattered and determined to satisfy him to no end. I had never submitted to a man in such away. Before I touched him, I thought of him as a roving thing with fun stories and a voice like a melodic barking dog.

In my mind he was heroic even before I fell in love with him. I listened to his stories like Desdemona to Othello. He was black man in a white man's body and that body was magnificent. I had known of him for a long time. He could dance. I remember a mountain man sitting casually (high) in a restaurant booth as I took an order for coffee.

Later, the universe tossed him into my path again and we spend quite some time together. I learned from him. I sucked the cum from his cock and it strengthen me. Our sex was a feeding. It revived a dead soul. Although he never penetrated me vaginally, I felt as if one evening, with the shift of a hip and in the span of another six hours, I could have sat on that cock. As I hovered over his hardness and pudge, I quivered and felt my succubus below awake. This is quite near the time that the master changed his mind about the rules. I was to no longer fraternize alone with the man of fire. The succubus has been alive since then. She begs from below as I write.

One night, the man of fire shook and said that what we were doing was crazy. I kissed him from the top of his head, hovered near his lips and breathed in his exhales. I bit his neck and chest and rested my head on his big belly. His body was a cartoon. He hoisted an 8-9 inch cock with perfection likened only to the divine. I couldn't stop going on about it; the moment it touched my lips, I wanted it inside me elsewhere.

My favorite man of fire parts in varying order: big, masculine arms the size you imagine could skillfully wield dual Claymores, his face and the scars there, the perfect teeth, pain in the soft blanket blue, slightly big ears worsened by some tribal gauging, the neck, inked, large, and sea-salty. He was no longer the long haired mountain man; he was a docile, over-sized caregiver with no hair and a bizarre gait from some wound I knew nothing of but traced the scars with my eager tongue. He wore everything well despite being pudgy. I had a fascination with his utility pants with several pockets and a place for scissors. I wanted to stuff my hands in each pocket and remove what was inside and discover. I wanted to cut the material that held the scissors with the scissors.

He was a spirited thing. Stories of broken bones. Stories about the future. Giving up the bullshit. Land and woman and babies. Settling down. I liked what I heard.

He shook his head at me, "Why are you doing the shit your master does?"

We snuck one time away from the master. Both of us were visibly shaken. This discomfort worsened with the prior arrival of an unexpected out of town guest and a bill collector.

"Here's your payment. Do you want something to drink? Now, please don't disturb me!"

The man of fire arrived ten minutes after E. showed. He walked in, glanced at E. then lurked at the edge of the living room, pacing back and forth. At one point after, I thought I knew why. I am not so certain now with this man of fire. E. left abruptly. I locked the door then sat on the edge of the loveseat and hyperventilated. I had noticed that my breathing each time near the man of fire became rapid and overwhelming. He noticed too.

I sat at the edge of the love seat with his big block of ham hands etched with functional tattoos as he lightly pressed me down by the shoulders. He soothed me with pressure different from violence. Then, I took the perfect cock into my mouth and nothing outside of the meeting of the succubus and the incubus had been better.

I should explain the night of the incubus. Master and the man of fire were doing what they did. I lay quietly in the bed and something slipped atop me from the bottom of my covers at the foot of the bed. I was frightened for a moment. The body was more weighted and heavy than the master. I dreamed it was the man fire. I then decided to enjoy the moment and began to buck against this body, thing, imagination, feeling the cock of it go deeper and deeper inside of me. It kissed me long and hard. It pressed itself into me. I felt is seep beneath my skin while we fucked.

I knew this was the incubus. We panted, he withdrew, and slipped out of the bed. Master came in later and gave me another fuck. I was wet from the incubus but I don't think the master cared. He plowed away with fervor and we both made noises the man of fire could hear. I woke up, dressed, and went to the hobo couch in the morning. The man of fire was there naked. He stood straight, directly in front of me and smiled as I simultaneously blushed, grinned, and turned away. He was a sight to behold. Thinner then but still built in the stars and sparked with the original flame.

Twice I found him stinking of whiskey hovering over me like a lech or a guardian angel. Once at the old house and once at the new. I was scared at the old house with his whiskey breath and long gaze as I opened my eyes. The time after, the man of fire traced the tattoo between my shoulder blades with his fingers as I half-slept. We tousled a bit. I was naked and hoped he would fuck me. Or kiss my fat lips. Master showed and the disruption ceased. I wanted to kiss the man of fire.

I wrote the man of fire once about the incubus. The one from the old house.

He writes: "Incubi reside within the range of 3,274 square feet of one other. Primarily found in areas like Colorado and here."

I would give almost anything to taste the fire again. The burn is dulled now but still exquisite.