One-Night Stand with the Archangel Ch. 02

I kissed down his massive chest and stomach as he continued to speak.

"Olivia," he moaned and stirred, "does it bother you that I have sex with so many women?

My hand caressed and cradled his stiffening cock. I confess, a twinge of jealousy came over me when he said that. I am one to talk, I am always busy in my job. Just today I was with two other men, one as a friendly business blowjob and tittyfuck, the other as a forced fingering and dryhump, nonetheless I was with two other men. I couldn't exactly say it bothered me to know he had other women when I have strange men on a daily basis. So, upon his question, I took a coward's way out in a sense--I put the tip of his thick cock in my mouth, mostly because I had the overwhelming desire to do so, but also to shut me up, to not have to answer him and tell him that yes, even though I was also a very promiscuous girl, I was bothered.

I peeked in the mirror against the wall as I tightened my lips around the shaft of his cock and my tongue danced on the head inside my cheeks. I've never enjoyed watching myself do dirty things as much as I do with Michael. My lips stretched around his penis as it grew in my mouth. My fingers clutched the base and began to stroke it. My pussy ached, but it was wettening, and no matter how much it hurt, I was going to do anything and everything to fit this massive cock inside it.

I moaned softly as my head slowly bobbed up and down. Michael caressed my back and buttocks as I sucked on his cock, savoring the girth in my mouth, the musky smell of it, the fleshy taste of it, the way it pressed against the back of my throat. I was a little nervous about doing this--last time I was so swept up in the moment that I could only act on instinct. But I was more aware of my actions this time, still very much in awe, but also, having experienced his body previously and having dreamt of it for so long and dreaming of what I was going to do with it if it should ever again appear in my bed, my actions were more premeditated, more deliberate. I sucked his cock and enjoyed every nuance of it, and by the moaning I heard and the way he petted my ass, I was encouraged by his enjoyment as well.

My mouth and hand worked his cock to monstrous size, making it bigger than I remember. My moans grew hotter as it thickened in my throat. I was so very wet for it, my inner walls were clenching mightily. I wanted so bad to make him cum inside me, anywhere in me, but I also wanted to be more active in the creation of orgasms than last time. As much as I wanted him to fuck me for hours, like last time, more so did I want to pleasure him, to use my expertise as a whore, to make him cum with the same helplessness that he made me cum last time around.

I felt him sink in the bed, lying flat. My mouth never left his cock. I straddled him while continuing to suck him in long deep slurps. I felt his hands cup my buttocks and squeeze them--I love his hands on me when I am horny. I squirmed hotly on him as he kissed my pussy and roughly played with my ass, all the while sucking deeply and hungrily on his erection.

His hands firmly separated my asscheeks as his tongue danced on the exposed flesh that ran from my labia to anus. I shivered and whimpered hotly as I sucked his cock, trying to hold my wetness inside me. I was about to burst, I wanted him so very bad. His nose touched my asshole. I lifted my head from his cock from a second to breathe, to emote several horny whimpers as I fisted his cock. I started to wiggle my ass on his face, wanting to feel it press against my clenching pussy. I wanted to cum so bad I could cry.

I let out a deep moan and closed my eyes tight as I felt his tongue slither between my pussy lips and inside me. I arched a little as my wetness flowed freely from my body to his face. I gripped his cock tight and tugged at it, wanting to make him cum with me, wanting to share this first orgasm. But I knew I had done little to this point but arouse him. If I wanted to make him cum in the manner I wanted him to, I was going to have to be more proactive. Even in this realization, I gasped as my own genitalia spasmed and clenched, and I panted as I came in this first catharsis.

I resumed sucking his cock as I came on his face. He squeezed my ass tight as he feasted on my pussy. I began to grind on his face as we started to really get into this 69. My tits crushed against his steel torso as I slurped on his cock for all I was worth; he replied to my cocksucking by grinding his pelvis against me in subtle strokes, forceful enough to press his deeper down my throat, but not so strong as to outdo my masterpiece of a suck. He was enjoying me, and was ecstatic in this. My heart raced, partly for feeling his tongue slithering inside me, but more so because I genuinely adored Michael.

His hands roamed over my back, rediscovering the curves of this body that never stops craving him. I wiggled erotically on him, loving his fingers on me as I pleasured him. This was indeed nirvana. I could do this all night, and from experience I know he could do me all night as well, but the motives for my deeds tonight were different from before--I wanted to overwhelm him in the same way he overwhelmed me. Cocksucking alone, no matter how good, wasn't going to make an archangel scream.

So I sat up and crawled off of him. I turned around and faced him, still lying on top of him. I was a little out of breath, and I gasped to catch my wind as I sat on him, pussy against his stomach, hands on chest, eyes meeting eyes. I was impressed with the expression on his face, the way his eyes were wide and his chest rose and fell as if also out of breath; I was impressed, not merely that I was pleasuring him, but that I was succeeding in overpowering him. Perhaps he was letting me. Perhaps he was more relaxed than before. Maybe he was comfortable in my feelings for him, and he no longer felt he had to impress me. Whatever his motivation, it was clear I was more of a handful than the last time. And I relished it.

I sat up a little and straddled his pelvis, his cock erect and the head pressing against my swollen pussy lips. I gazed hotly into his eyes as I gasped and slowly sunk myself down on his pole. I clawed at his chest as I impaled myself on him. I watched him arch and moan in pleasure. The awe was still there, that this was mutual pleasure, that this was no longer an immortal and a whore. There was equality, more so than before. I felt at once honored and inspired, and as he arched and whimpered I too gasped and squealed as I forced his cock--all of it--inside me. I couldn't breathe until I sat there for a moment and let my inner walls conform to the size and contours of him, and amid the stretching and spasming I convulsed just a little.

Michael's hands found a natural place in the inner curves of my waist. His face was flushed, his eyes wide and wild. I squirmed for a moment on his cock, seeking comfort, realizing he was just too big to ever feel cozy in me. He gasped as I moved, and I felt his cock thicken at this and twitch. I hadn't done much of anything in terms of riding him, but he was well on his way to ejaculation, far faster than the first time. I smiled and bit my lip in a naughty grin at this, the secret safe inside me that I was in control.

I never raised off his cock. It always remained firmly embedded in me. Instead of riding his cock, I ground against it, trying to force it deeper into me. The sensation of remaining full of cock, but also feeling it move in my clenching pussy, was electric. My hands still rested on his chest, and clawmarks were apparent there. My breasts tingled and jiggled slightly at my motions. His hands slid to my ass, and I giggled sinfully as I continued to grind.

Michael was in the same nirvana I was, and I saw it and felt it as his eyes closed, his grip on my ass tightened, and he shivered under me. I had never before really been in love with a man--this feeling of inspiration, of wanting to make a man orgasm for its own sake and not for ulterior reasons, is this what other women feel for men? Is this love? Or am I just making too much of the dimensions of this fuck, of the necessary discarding of physics necessary to fit such a long and thick shaft into such a tiny and tight hole? I wanted to analyze it, and in time, when I am later pining away for his return, I surely will. But self-analysis, unfortunately, took a backseat to the discarding of physics.

We both whimpered and squealed like virgins as we struggled against one another. Michael dug his fingers into my ass as I continued to grind on him. I gave up staying in a seated position--I lied on top of his body, our perspiration mixing, as I sucked and bit his chest and shoulders, trying to maintain control as we screwed. I knew excessive orgasming would make me lose my grip on this, and this was important to me, this show of control, this want to be his sexual equal. I wiggled erotically on him, clawing at his ribs as I left bruises all over his golden thorax.

I squealed--and me moaned--as he thrust up into me. Didn't expect it, and in this my body shook. More surprising was his reaction--not of power struggle, not of confidence, but of pleasure he couldn't handle. He tried to do so again, and again I squealed in pleasure, and again he moaned hotly, not able to force the outcome he wanted, which was to make me cum and cry and for him to enjoy watching me helplessly shaking orgasmically.

One more time, and he held himself like this. I heard him inhale deeply and freeze, unable to breathe. He held his cock in me and gripped me tight. I clawed at his back as he impaled me, unable to hold back anymore. I closed my eyes tight and bit hard at his chest, squealing into his skin.

I felt him arch against me, and in this I felt his cock explode inside me. This triggered an orgasm in me as well. I was shaking, but I was so excited in feeling HIM shake as we came together. He whimpered helplessly as his ejaculate spewed deep into me, his cock a cannon, my pussy clenching it so tight. I remember how he came inside me last time, in gallons, and this time was no different. But this time he held me tightly to him, his body shook, his hands trembled, his eyes clenched, his breathing grew erratic, and his cock churned the scalding cum into me.

I felt vindicated on several levels as my heart raced and my eyes almost exploded in my head, tasting a little blood as my teeth broke his skin. I am known to some as a nympho and someone capable of cumming at the drop of a hat, but I never had a mutual orgasm like this, one that made me dizzy. I MADE him cum this time, me, a pretty but relatively anonymous hooker from Phoenix, making the Archangel Michael orgasm, reducing him to quivering flesh, making him seem all too mortal. In the sincere belief that he was indeed immortal, knowing that I was not only his equal, but perhaps even his superior, in terms of sexuality, I was tickled with myself. Even at this, my Michael allowed it, let his guard down, let me see him as vulnerable, as something less than a god--most MEN I know can't even do that.

I purred in our sweat as his cock finally relented--it still remained hard inside me, but it did settle down. I clung to him, clung to the afterglow. This was how every sexual encounter should end--with the man I love reduced to convulsions as he holds my own convulsing body, full of his cum, not worrying about pregnancy and perhaps even welcoming it, secure in the fact that the inhibitions are cast aside, the fears no more, and the real meat of the emotion is allowed to spill over us, coat us, seal us together.

I know he will be gone soon, and tomorrow I will have to deal with Darryl as to why I seemingly stood Walter up. I know next week I will suck Daddy Vernon's cock and have another pleasant conversation as two eloquent losers that love one another can have. I know rent will again be more than I can pay, but somehow, someway, it will get paid, it always does. But for now, just for a moment, brief in the grand scheme of things but an exquisite eternity for now, can't I enjoy this purity? So many things in life are corrupt. For just another minute, I just want to hold him inside me, to feel my cunt muscles squeeze him whenever he moves in the slightest, to taste the blood and sweat on his golden skin, to rest my head on his chest as he breathes and his heart beats therein, to feel safe with his arms around me. Am I selfish for wanting just one moment like this?

An abrupt and cruel knock on the door, accompanied by the masculine forcefulness of "Phoenix P.D., open up Miss Lindstrand," suggested that yes, I am selfish for wanting to savor this tender moment.

I took a second and examined my night, where it might involve the police. Well, about two hours ago--I still wasn't sure about time, still not knowing how long I was unconscious on the floor--I called 911, but I wasn't able to give a name or location. Perhaps it took the pigs this long to run a trace? I also remembered my apartment was trashed by a thief and rapist, and in the struggle therein I probably (I hoped I was at the time) was loud enough to get the attention of a neighbor, to get help or to get someone else to call 911. Lord knows what other people may have seen or heard. And that Jordan fucker--Michael never really said where he was. I knew there would be something to answer for. I didn't want to deal with this right now--I wasn't necessarily frightened of going to jail, that is an occupational hazard in my line of work, nor was I reluctant to deal with police concerning a violent evening at my home. I just wanted to enjoy this moment with the Archangel a little longer.

One more set of furious knocks, followed by, "We know you're in there, Miss Lindstrand," led me to sit up. I looked at my Michael, who smiled that familiar smile. I wanted to tell him I adored him, but if he could read minds, or if he was just mildly observant, he should know. I touched his face with my fingers, a sort of kiss, and then I grimaced as I pulled myself off his wonderful cock and staggered to a standing position on the floor. I grabbed my robe left on the floor by the closet--I bent over, wanting him in a small way to take advantage of my being bent over and fuck me some more in this fashion, but I ended up standing up again, pulling the robe on, and tying it around my waist.

I looked at my Michael warmly, but also knowing he wasn't going to be in my bed when I come back to this room, that he was going to escape the way he came in, the way he always enters and exists, through the bedroom window. His cock was slick and glistening in cum--his smile was of satisfaction.

"When will I see you again?" I asked, knowing it may be awhile, knowing the Archangel was a busy man, knowing he had other women to pleasure, knowing he was a guardian as well as a lover, knowing he was perceived by the powers that be to be a criminal and a schizophrenic, and especially knowing the long expanse of time between his introduction and this second wonderful encounter. I wanted him to not go, or to return soon, but surely my want was evident, and my begging would be in vain.

"I will be here the next time you need me," saith the Archangel, "next week, next year, who knows."

I started to walk out the door and through my decimated living room. As my eyes peeled off the sexgod, I thought to myself, I need him right now. Funny how we confuse what we want with what we need, especially when the object of want is about to leave.

Partially to mock the officers on the other side of the door, when I approached it, I kept it closed and asked with lilt in my voice, "Who is it?"

I recognized one of the masculine voices as it answered, "Open this fucking door now, you little whore, before we break it in on you." Yep, I knew the voice AND the attitude--it was that cop that came onto me last time he was here. Christ Almighty (mental cringe in thinking that, remembering Michael doesn't like me to blaspheme like that), on top of all the joy and horror of this night, I have to deal with my favorite person in town, a cop who uses his badge to come on to the girls he bullies.

I opened the door a crack, and my fears were confirmed. Three cops this time, one black, gruff, in uniform and doing all the talking, and two Anglo gentlemen in business attire--detectives? I tried to keep my eyes on the white guys because I could feel the stare of the black on me, and it made me uneasy. He already knew me as a whore, and he came onto me previously--I can only imagine the things in his head as he slobbered his threat to break in on me.

I let the door stay open a crack and walked away--I took a cushion off the rubbled floor and placed it back on the couch and sat as the three entered the room. The uniformed officer, I could hear the TSK TSK come from his lips as he examined the trashed character of the room, all the broken items and open drawers, the signs of struggle. The other two looked around and disappeared into the bathroom and bedroom. Although I hoped Michael would stay but realized he was going to leave via window, I still expected to hear some sort of calamity--I had only left the bedroom a few seconds before, surely in Michael had escaped, he could be spotted running down the alley. Who could miss a seven-foot naked golden Archangel running down an alley?

"Another night in paradise, Miss Lindstrand?" the uniformed gruff black mockingly said as he approached me and got in my face. I did NOT want to deal with his attitude. I also wanted to get this over with and him and his buddies out, and the only way was to cooperate, but to do so in a vague way as to not really tell them anything. I knew his detectives would come back into the room soon, but for just this moment, it was this Doberman Pinscher of a man, snarling in lust and mockery, and me, trying to stand up to him without inciting more rage.

I said nothing.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, looking around the room. "Another wild party?"

"Can I help you, sir?" I said through clenched teeth. I felt Michael's cum oozing down my thighs. I gritted my teeth as much in anger as in wanting to keep all bodily fluids inside me.

"I sure hope so, Miss Lindstrand. You do like me to call you Miss Lindstand, is that correct, Miss Lindstrand? I remember not too long ago you reminded me we were not on first-name terms."

Teeth clenching even tighter, I demanded, "What do you want, sir?", trying to maintain a civil tone in words, even if body language would not allow it.

"My fellow officers and I are trying to piece together something of a mystery," he said as he strutted about the debris on the floor. "See, at about 5:50 this evening 911 received a call from a cellphone registered to a one Darryl Cortez. Safe assumption is he is your pimp, he seems to be every girl's pimp these days. We contacted Mr. Cortez once we completed the trace at about 6:10, where he said you weren't home and had stood up your john for the night, a one Mister Walter Edgar of Scottsdale, who had paid the ungodly sum of a thousand..."

"And you point, sir," I impatiently interrupted.

Of course he ignored me and continued on his little rant, "dollars for your services for the evening. When you didn't answer Mr. Edgar, the assumption was you skipped on him and were in some trouble elsewhere. So my friends and I some down here--you obviously remember me, and I certainly remember you, Miss Lindstrand, how you answered the door with a nice shiner over one eye and cum dribbling down your legs, just like now..."

"If all you are going to do is talk down to me, maybe you should leave." At least my WORDS could remain civil, if not my ATTITUDE.

"...So we got here about twenty minutes ago, asked a few of your concerned neighbors if they had heard or seen anything, and of course they did and told me all about shit breaking and female screaming. They also told us to check the dumpster. I said, 'Why check the dumpster?' So I check the dumpster. And we find a one," pulling out a notepad, "Jordan Collier of Avondale with his neck broken and his ribs kicked in."