One-Night Stand with the Archangel

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He knelt. "It's alright, Olivia, we mock at first what we don't comprehend."

I stopped giggling. Enough was enough. "Alright, knock it off. How do you know my name? No more bullshit." I was no longer mad, but I was a little more stern than giggling. Not much more.

"I told you, from your pimp." Have you ever seen a gold man blush? I swear he blushed as he continued, "I must confess, we were sitting around one day..."

Still confused. "Who is we?"

"In heaven. All of us. Angels, archangels, spirits, the Lord, all of us."

I rolled my eyes because this is weird.

"And we all were discussing sex, because that's what guys do when they get together. Guys are the same everywhere, living or dead, heaven or earth."

"OK, and?"

"And we were looking down at the world and discussing women we've had in the past and women on earth now we wanted to make love to. In all the universe the Lord made nothing at all as beautiful as the female form."

Another roll of the eyes.

Still smiling, "And Gabe pointed at Tyra Banks and compared her to when he had Nefertiti. Then I said something about thinking Audrey Hepburn compared to Nefertiti, you know, the long supple neck..."

I wanted him to get to the point quick. Conversations like this are better when you can just fall asleep in the middle of them.

"Then I saw you."

I perked up. What did that mean? "What was I doing?"

"You were about twelve years old, very shy, and a boy—I think his name was William Sunderman—you liked him and you let him kiss you."

I smiled because I remembered.

"But you were further along in your growth than the other girls—your body was more mature than your mind—and when he tried to feel you up, you kicked him in the nuts."

"Knee-jerk reaction, didn't even know what I did until he was on the floor." I giggled, remembering how I didn't think at all, it literally was a reflex.

"Right then I knew I wanted you."

"But why now? Why not earlier?" I was getting caught up in this.

"Because your body was more mature than your mind. Until now. Your words are now as provocative and as mischievous and as rich and dirty and pleasing and sensuous as your figure. You are a well-rounded woman, Olivia, and I want to be with you."

I stood still, silent, breathless, hoping my exhalation wouldn't shatter his words. Never heard anything like them before, may never again. Romeo said things like this to Juliet, didn't he? Is he in love with me? What can my response be?

"Where are your wings?" I finally said in a cracking whisper.

"Pardon?"

"Your wings, where are they?"

"They wouldn't fit through your window, so I left them outside. Didn't your Sunday School teacher ever tell you our wings are detachable?"

Eagerly I scurried to the window, and sure enough, there they were, a large set of wings. White, gossamer wings, with long feathers and a harness that fixed them to one's back. To his back. To Mike's back.

"Oh Michael..."

Confident he made his point, his hands rested on my waist just above my hips. "I kinda like it when you call me Mike."

I smiled warmly. Still staring at the wings, I tried to tie up all the loose ends of his story. "Who did your friend Gabe pick?"

His voice a little deeper, "He picked a girl in Qatar—she grew up to be a princess. Very uninteresting girl, I think."

Almost bursting inside, I kept my composure as best as I could as we talked. "You think a prostitute is more interesting than a princess?"

"Most certainly. In all of history only two kinds of women are remembered, the prostitutes and the royalty. The royalty, however, are known completely because of their men. The prostitutes are known for what they do TO men. Plus there's that other thing."

"What other thing?"

"The fact that prostitutes know how to fuck."

I giggled. My my, the naughty words that come from an archangel's lips.

"Trust me," he resumed, "I have had many women throughout time, and I would pick a poor girl prostitute over a rich princess any day, prettiness not an issue. A royal girl is taught how to fuck, almost like in class; a peasant girl is completely on her own, and with that comes creativity, initiative, cunning, dare I say, an evil streak." By now his face is practically against mine, whispering low into my ear. I am so wet and I swear if he continues this wonderful dirty talk I will cum in his arms just like this.

Trying to say this as innocently as possible, I pouted to him, "But I don't like being a whore."

Burying his face in my hair, he whispered to my very soul, "Yes you do." He knew my deepest, dirtiest secret.

I turned in a flurry and kissed him hard on the mouth, throwing my arms around him, kissing an oh so gorgeous kiss. His hands rested on my buttocks lightly, my hardened nipples grazing his chest, my toes curled, my panties wetter than hell, and I whimpered into his mouth as we kissed.

He pulled away from my kiss after an all too short moment and said, "That should answer the original question. Why can't you do better than the Dammit Brothers? Because it's not important. If you wanted to be a housewife or a career woman, you could and would, and I think you would be excellent. You may still be those things someday. But at this moment, you like what you do, and you are perfect at it. Your mind and body are one. You refuse to be defined by the men in your life—you define them. You can use your sexuality as a weapon or as a gift. You have the power. That is why you are far more interesting than any queen."

His cock was erect and pressing against my stomach, his hand gripping a little tighter on my ass, and I pressed myself tightly against him, my breasts crushed against his abdomen, my head against his chest. I shivered. He knew me and encouraged me. I loved Mike. I wanted him inside me in the worst way, beyond satiation, beyond horniness.

I whispered like a child, "Are you my guardian angel?"

"In a way, yes."

"Will I always suffer"

"You are not suffering at all, Olivia. You are rich and you know it."

His fingers kneaded my asscheeks with growing vehemence and he started to grind his hips and force his cock up and down my tummy.

"Will I see you again after tonight?"

"Mmmmhhooohh—Ohhliviahh—you will see me every time you look up in the sky."

I started to sink to my knees. I felt the head of his cock against my cheek, and his hands caressed my hair. I looked up at him as if he were a god. "No more bullshit, Mike. I want you every night of my life."

"I will always be here in your heart. Remember this night forever. Don't compare me to others, for there is no comparison. I will love you forever and cherish your name for all time. Your name will be etched into history forever. This night will last a lifetime for you. And we will be together forever."

Tears once again came as I wrapped his massive cock in my fingers and cradled the tip in my mouth. I looked into his wonderful eyes as I stroked his cock with my fist and pleasured the head with my lips and tongue. He petted my cheek and whispered, "I adore you Olivia." At that I rolled my eyes back and forced as much of his cock as I could into my throat, stretching my lips.

The archangel groaned as he held my head. I started to bob my head as I sucked his cock in long slow savoring strokes, enjoying as much of him as I could. I wanted him to cum down my throat, to gag me and kill me, to make this the last moment of my life, but at the same time, I wanted him in every way imaginable. To die a thousand deaths with him tonight. I moaned on his cock as I feasted on it, making it harder and longer and thicker. What my mouth could not pleasure, my fingers did, and between my fist and my mouth I worked on his cock. A masterpiece in cocksucking.

My moans and his moans filled the room. Normally my moans are forced, acted. It hasn't been since I was a teenager that I moaned during sex because I was unable to help it. I was sopping wet and with my other hand I slipped my fingers inside my damp panties and rubbed my pussy. One hand around the base of his magnificent cock, unable to get my fingers all the way around it, the other masturbating. I moaned so deeply on his cock, loving its girth, its electricity. I liked it hitting the back of my throat. I liked how my lips stretched and almost tore as I sucked it deep, he was so thick.

Better than any man. Most cum so fast, most so small, most whimper. Mike enjoyed me to the fullest. Rocking his hips as I knelt, he held my head still, taking the burden off of me. I enjoyed bobbing and sucking, but he started to fuck my mouth, forcing himself deeper down my throat. I clawed at his thighs, he made me gag and choke, but he ignored me, he knew my limits and was surpassing them. My inner walls spasmed wildly and wetness trickled down my thighs as he fucked my mouth deeply, profusely. I loved him and I loved this. I wanted to cum so bad I could cry, but he was using my mouth to its fullest. I gazed helplessly into his eyes as he raped my mouth, and I was praying he would use every part of my body in the same fashion.

"Mmmmmmnnnnyesss Ohliviaahh---ooohh yes I will I will," he answered my prayer.

His hands slid down from my head, setting it free, setting me resuming my cocksucking hungrily. I felt him tug at my blouse, trying to rid it from my body; obediently I let him, I continued to pleasure him orally as he slid my arms out and tossed the fabric away. It felt so wonderful, to suck his cock with abandon, to feel his hands on my bare back, to feel only my wet panties on. And his hands, his electric hands, he caressed my back, my shoulders, my arms, my neck and face as I pleasured him, I moaned as I sucked, enjoying his hands almost as much as he enjoyed my mouth.

He took my hands—so gallant—and brought me to my feet after perhaps a solid quarter hour of the best cocksucking of my life. I can only guess on time—the alarm radio next to my bed said 11:25. He took my hands, I love his hands, I love holding his hands and being held by his hands. I pouted as I rose, pulling my hungry mouth from his wonderful cock, and I gave him a full mock pout—fake sad eyes and bottom lip stuck out—as he brought me to my feet and our eyes met again. And his hands, his electric hands, they caressed my cheeks, and I purred.

"I want to show you something, something I don't show a lot of guys." I stood before him, shivering in my wet nudity, and I took his hands and placed them on my tits. I smiled wickedly feeling his fingers caress and them squeeze them, and after just a moment of his fondling my eyes began to roll in my head, and I started to squirm and pant. Those who know me well know my breasts are very sensitive, and only an occasional lover has discovered that I can cum—and quite hard at that—if he or she played with my tits just right. I wanted to show Mike this.

"Oh—oh that's it Mmmhike." I mewed and wiggled hotly against his hands as he cupped my tits and played with them. I caressed his magical fingers with mine as he fondled me, and my eyes grew wide and wild as I watched his smile, his pure smile. Getting harder to breathe—the more intense the clenching of my inner walls became, the more erratic my breathing grew. We stood there, he and I, with simply his hands on my tits, but it was so much more. I looked over at the mirror and gasped at the reflection, at his rock-hard cock pressing again against my stomach and at his large hands pawing at my swelling breasts. Nipple so erect and raw. So horny and hyper. Oh Mike. Oh God yes yes...

SLAP!

I cried out as I felt his hand smack across my left temple, and I put my fingers to the stinging spot as Michael stepped back timidly.

"I am so sorry Olivia, but you must not blaspheme, I told you that. Say anything at all, I beg you, but whatever you do, don't take the name of the Lord in vain."

He didn't know his own strength. I take it he meant to slap me, but my face swelled, and the stinging did not stop for a good few minutes. I stood back up, facing him, hand to temple, wanting to hit him or curse him or show some sort of rage, but surprisingly I felt none. I never took well to men hitting women, but somehow I felt as if he had forewarned me. I DID call out for God, and he DID tell me not to, right? Perhaps extreme horniness can quench anger. I felt no ill toward him. I wanted him in the worst way.

"Perhaps you can make it up to me, darling." I wouldn't be a woman if I did not at least try to toy with his guilt. At that I stood against the wall—I faced it, bracing myself against it, jutting my ass out at him. I wiggled it at him seductively and moaned as I spoke, "perhaps you can give me something I ache for."

I did not turn to him, but I felt him kneel behind me. His fingers curled under the waistband of my panties and pulled them down my legs, and as he freed me of the last of my clothing, I felt his hands and kisses on the back of my legs. I moaned and giggled a devilish giggle; it felt so light, his caress, his kisses. Toyingly I felt his soft bite on the back of my thigh, and I yelp and giggled a little louder.

He explored my legs and ass with his mouth and hands, and it became difficult to stand, even against a wall like this. My calves he petted, my thighs he massaged deeply, my ass he kissed and worshipped as no man ever had. Spanked, yes, but never worshipped. I was forgetting about the pulsing ache on the side of my face and could only concentrate on the here and now, about the way he loved my legs and ass.

I let out a deep guttural moan as I felt his tongue dance about on my tightened asshole. I was so close to cumming a river. I shut my eyes tight as he darted his tongue against my puckered hole, trying to force it open. Trying to hold back my orgasm forced it even tighter, yet he continued. At long last he did it, his tongue breached my asshole, and I tilted my head back and grunted deeply as it slithered deeeeeeeeeeeeeep up me. I had no more will—I came all over myself.

Panting and mewing, wetness trickled down my thighs. I shook as I whimpered. I wanted to finger myself so badly.

Mike's tongue rescued me—removed from my anus, he licked me thoroughly from ass to vagina, and I wiggled sluttily against him as he lapped at my gushing pussy. His hands rubbed my cum all over my thighs and ass as he feasted on me. I moaned loudly and squirmed as I came, oh Mike this so delicious.

All too soon he stood, ceasing to lick me. But he went nowhere. I shuddered, a little frightened, as I felt his hands grip me about my ribcage. He rested his mammoth cock in the cleavage of my ass, teasing me, making me squeal in anticipation. Then, after a few seconds...

My head snapped back and I lost the ability to breathe as he plunged his cock to the hilt up my tight ass. I expected him to take my pussy. I was completely surprised, and I paid for my error. I clawed helplessly at the drywall as he held his cock deep inside my ass, holding it there, letting me feel it pulse, letting my ass tighten snugly around it. My pussy too tightened involuntarily, and wetness gushed forth from it again down my creamy thighs. But the world was centered on his cock, so deep up my ass I could taste it.

I exhaled as he started to pull out, but his thrust back up me forced a loud shriek from my lungs. His fingers dug into my ribs as he started to fuck my ass. My breasts jiggled from the force of his thrusts, and I moaned sluttily feeling his mammoth cock stretching out my anus. Oooh did it hurt, but it also made me cum, and I shivered against him as he held his cock so deep up inside me.

"You are as good as advertised, Olivia," the archangel whispered amidst his own panting as he slid his cock out of my ass. My asshole gaped as he pulled it all the way out, only to snap shut as he petted my hole with his fingers. My eyes were closed, my mouth gaped, and I could only mew as he teased my asshole like this, first fucking it hard, then pulling out and fingering it to snap it tight again, only to fuck it some more. Perhaps for 45 minutes he did this to me, giving me the best anal of my life—I'd say 45 or 50 minutes, the clock read 12:15 or so.

And he never came.

After wearing me down completely, after fucking my ass raw and turning me into complete jelly, the archangel scooped up my limp body in his arms and brought me to the bed. As he set me down, my eyes were glazed with fatigue and lust, my smile worn but genuine, my thighs drenched in wetness, and I groaned as my ass hit the mattress. But I did gaze up at him, at that smile, that still warm and true smile. Even as he crawled between my legs, he smiled and gave me that stare of his, that stare of complete love. Even as he took my ankles firmly in his hands and pulled my legs apart in the air, he smiled, and as he forced his anaconda up my tightened pussy, he smiled and moaned.

I arched severely and squealed and came instantly. I swear he was pulling me apart like a wishbone, pulling my pelvis in half. He was monstrous, fucking me in a smooth steady rhythm, never faster than I could handle, never too slow to let me fully enjoy him inside me. My inner walls clenched him mightily and clung to his veiny cock. My hands roamed over his godlike chest and abdomen as he fucked my brains out.

Literally all night long went like this, and every position he put me in, no matter what it was, made me cum in torrents. From holding my ankles in the air, he pushed them, pushing my knees to my chest, which gave him the chance to get even DEEPER inside me. He rolled me onto one side, putting one of my legs over his shoulder, which is something I've never had done to me, but it made me convulse in orgasm all the same. From here he got me onto my hands and knees and fucked me like an animal for the longest time. In all this his hands were all over me, especially my tits, squeezing them and pinching my nipples and making me yelp excitedly. Occasionally he would put his fingers to my face, to caress, to let me lick his fingers and kiss them and suck them as if they were genitalia as well. Regardless the position, and there were many, he let me be a whore, and I loved every aching second.

And he never came.

There was a memorable moment when I was on top of him in a 69—I watch myself in the mirror as I sucked his enormous cock—I came on his face, partly because of his magical serpentine tongue snaking up my vaginal walls, but also because I was watching what he was doing to me. I was getting fucked by a god, and I loved it, and it showed in how I was sucking his enormous erection. I pleasured him with more energy and more enthusiasm than I had ever shown with any other man, and the way I sucked his cock, they way I twisted my head, the way I moaned as my head bobbed and I sucked him off in long deep lustful strokes, all proved I loved Mike and was his whore completely.

And he never came.

At one point I was resting on top of him, his enormous erection embedded inside me snugly. I whimpered into his ear as his hands clutched my ass cheeks and pulled me up and down on his cock, and I felt him grinding into me from beneath. Orgasms overlapped. I kissed his mouth hotly, slithering my tongue inside as he fucked me like this, and I came and came and came.

And he never came.

So, delirious, sore, aching, raw, fucked almost to death, I whispered into his ear as he had me on my back again, "don't—oohhh—nnngh—ddhh-ddon't you ever cummmnngh?" His face lit up with that radiant smile of his, and he looked deep into my eyes and said amid his own groans, "Make me." I gasped in frustration, for he had fucked the life out of me, and he expected me to make HIM cum?

At this, he stopped in mid-stroke, his cock half-buried inside my burning cunt. He took my hands, interlacing his fingers with mine, and pinned them above my head on the mattress. I smiled at this, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His eyes rolled a little as he felt my pussy tighten around him, and with this I realized I just might be able to pull this off. Keeping his stance, as if he were now a statue, he did not move a muscle. But my pussy was spasming wildly, and I was hoping I had the strength to do this.