Out of the Bag

Wordlessly, we come together again. He is rocking his hips along my stomach, and I take my hand between my legs. I get glance of his shaft along my arm, delighted about how close to my elbow he can reach. I am scared of what that thing can do to me. Beautifully scared. Excitedly scared. I want to break myself against it as I attempt to demolish it in turn. And it's outside me. That's not where it belongs.

Simo comes to the same conclusion. My stomach is nice and hard and ridged, but he wants more. He knows how to get more. He is reeling back, and I can see the sky between the gaps of our bodies. Red., so beautifully red and gray and ash. He takes it slow, and I understand why. It still angers me, but at least I understand.

"Are you ready?" he whispers.

"Are you?" I purr. He shakes his head. I'm not, but he doesn't need to know that. I need it. He needs it. He is aligned with me and my arousal seeps down my thighs. His spills in pearlescent beads and pools across my stomach. It traces the lines on my stomach, pooling in my navel. I like it. He's ready and virile and eager and nothing he can do will take that from this moment. His heavy sack hangs tight against his body, ready and willing and eager. It throbs. I push him with my legs and that goads him on. I want him. He wants me. We aren't doing it and that's terrible.

He finally gets the message and starts to push into me. It slips up against my stomach and that's nice. I get it. But he needs to try again. And he does. A little faster, a little more confident. The tip is inside me and I am speared open. Pain, or something like it. The first stretch of the morning type pain. A sore shoulder getting massaged type of pain. I grit my teeth. Not hard, but just enough to give the body something else to focus on, just to get through it. He is taking his time, adjusting to my grip and prodding for more openings. I relax my core as much as I can. That gets him a bit farther in me and I tighten again. He's on the spot that sends the burning ash through my mind. Blank white heat and numb and everything all at once. I make myself relax again. It's hard. It's incredibly hard. I make myself give up and I don't want to, and I want to and he takes the opportunity to go just a bit more.

He halts. He catches his breath. I catch mine and it is like bottling smoke. I look down and feel the shivering sparks crawl up my spin as I realize how much more of him, I have left. I move my legs up to encircle his thoughts and start pulling him. I don't care if either of us are ready. We will never be ready. I don't care. I just don't care. His preseed spills out between us and it lets him go faster. I relax and tense and goad him more. I pull him and push him. He has the state of mind to obey.

I thrust and I want more. It is the first stretch in the morning and the only way through it is more of it. I push in me deeper. He goes deeper. All new and unconquered, slowly blooming in my stomach and parting the muscles and paths. My breath shortens and hitches and every is collapsing.

He is rampaging in me. His tight muscles work his entire body in the act of his conquest. I goad him harder, and he goes harder. I feel him punching my lungs, denying me breath and I de him as hard as I can. My hips move and buck and try to launch the poor thing as hard as I can. He can go deeper. I still see half of him so awfully free. I can take him. I can take all of him. Mionn wouldn't know what to do with this thing if she had the chance. She'd just bat it around and tease poor Simo as if that's the best thing that could happen. He needs to be taken and gripped and wrung by the neck as he clashes against me.

He hits a spot and I see stars. He hits it again and the stars pulse with his motion, each one grows sharper and fuller. The interconnect and blot out the ceiling. They block his face. They block everything except the full of my core and the grip I have rending open. I burn to cinders under the sky and Simo. He's burning me and I feel it down in my soul. It's heavenly. It's incredible. It hurts as my whole world is turned inside out. I am left blank and numb and all left open. I am free. Every single sensation is white. Every single thing I am is left open and Simo is there to fill me.

It stops in a slow leak out of my mind. Simo is still working, slow and methodical and careful. I am appreciative of that. A thin coat of sweat on my brow and I get a chance to get my bearings again. I am calm. I am ready. He can go harder again, and he can go deeper. Some more of my body has let him in.

I put my hand on the back of his head and pull him in. All of him. All of him is in me and it is glorious. I ride the ember waving clouds and endless ash fall. I sit in the glowing coals, and he keeps moving.

He's purring. He's purring and something connects in my mind. Everything clenches over him and holds him deep. There is no attempt to struggle. He is right where he should be. There's no other way the world could be other than right here, right now. He's purring and I feel his muscles start to tense and flex in growing waves.

He bites me and I feel no pain. His teeth on my collar, hard, and all I feel is the same thunder shake the ground shake my body. Warm, there is a warm current passing. He rears back one last time, fighting against everything I give him before slamming down and shattering my reason.

Boiling, blistering warmth punching against my core like a rapid. I hope there are buries. I hope there are marks. I hope there are breaking bones, both his and mine. We deserve to be splintered and dashed to pierces. It all should be rendered shattered and useless. He pulls back and hilts in me again. There are pulses and ebbs, but the flow never ceases. He is moving and yowling and biting like an animal and I am trying to break him in half for the pleasure. Everything in me is warm and relaxed and terribly bent on keeping him here with me forever. He will be with me forever. His release is doing a wonderful job of stretching down into that moment. I feel his seed slip past his motion and spill on the floor. That does ignite something other than dull acceptance. Rage. That should be I me or on me or working its way through me. It just lies there in the cold gray ask. He bites harder and I think he breaks the skin. I hope he does. I've been clawing his back to ribbons since we started, and I think it's only fair I get something in return.

He fills me. He scratches me and fills me. I am warm and full and breathing in his scent down to my soul. He's latched on and he will never let go. I will never let go. He does stop, though. There are limits to our bodies and he has found his for the moment. I'm not sure where I'm at right now. I'll find out in a second. He holds in my down to the base before slowly pulling out. His seed sloshes and slips as he moves out. I feel it pool under my thighs, still hit and thick and powerful. Simo lets go and laps at the wound.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

I kiss the top of his head and scratch his ears softly.

"I liked it," I purr, "you can be rough with me. I'm surprised. I like this part of you."

He beams at me, and I melt. I pour out of him and into him and he clambers to face me. He is strong. He has fought against the river current, plucking its treasures under that maw again and again and again. He has trained against the whole of the river as I have carted it away. Maybe not as bulky as me, but his shoulders are broad and strong, holding me down and giving me his taste. I smell his sweat, his work, intermingle without potent sex. He is still hard and throbbing and eager. My arousal seeps to join his flow.

He struggles a bit, but he managed. A hand under me and I am on my stomach. I didn't' choose that, but he made that come to fruition. He moves me. I try to resist it, but I don't want to. He bends me and pulls my hips up. Before laying his girth across my spine. I grind into him. He grinds into me. He takes a deep breath and rears back.

---

My face is against the cold tile, my tongue lolling out and eyes glazed over. Simo's doing most of the work right now. I've tried to move my legs and they don't want to respond. He's thrusting into me, and he is wild. His nails are digging into me, and I will have more marks in the morning. Every so often an open palm strikes my ass and I let a mewling cry burble from my throat. He's wild. He's gone feral into me, and I love it. I'm feral for him. He is lost to his pleasure from my body. I can't think of anything other than the power he's hidden away. He shifts his stance and opens my legs a bit more as he lays his chest across my back. A fang nibbles softly at my ear.

Breeding, mating, rutting all of those words pass through me and each of their meanings is another fire in my belly. That's what we're doing. That's what we are. He thrusts into me, pushing me into the earth as I push back at him. He scrapes and tears and opens me. I am wiped clean, stomach full of his seed and mind blank of all thought.

My core twitches and snaps ass the void takes over my entire body. It's all white. It's all warm. My eyes roll and flutter and I see nothing at all. His orgasm is ricocheting within me as I take it all in my womb. Breeding, we are just breeding.

---

His taste fills my mouth. I can taste sex, raw primal sex on him. He can taste it on my lips as his tongue plays with my opening. I finally get that heavenly roughness against me as we clean each other. He is so good with that wonderfully long tongue. From the grip he has on my thighs and the mewls he chokes through, I am very good with mine.

I have to use a hand to help wipe him clean. I have one on his sack, rolling round and around and around. They're so heavy. They're so full and tight. They don't want to waste any of it, but I am pulling it out. Wringing him dry, mugging his body for that wonderful seed. My grip is tight. My lips are sealed. He is mewling and yowling and purring as I do the same for him. He spanks me again. I think he likes doing that. I like that too, especially when I realize that I will be nude with his hand marks shining red on my skin. It's better than the paint. It's better than the tan of the sun. It's him burning his power into me with his hands and I will wear it proudly.

He fills me again. He fills me and I slip. We fall and ride it out and everything is still. I think there are others out there now, beyond the wall. We are all lost to the endless haze. We are all so far gone into the beauty of our basest self. It is freedom to fall so deeply. I am marked and claimed and so is he.

---

I love his eyes. They're glazed and hazy, but they still cut right through me. They're on my body, on the running paint, on the bite marks and claws and scratches and everything we've given each other. They watch it all shift and move and bounce I as a ride him. I hold him down and he does not fight. He tried and he failed. I ride him and move him and let my body crash into him again and again and again while bucks and thrusts.

I've lost count of how many times the void has taken me. I've lost count of how many times the void has taken him. The night has bled on and on and on forever. Probably. Maybe. Everyone has run themselves out and we are left to our silent smoldering sky. I think I see the sun peek over the edges of the world. Shame that the revelry has to end on such a low note. We could probably go another week or so, but I do have to admit there is fatigue in my motions. I do need something akin to rest. We can just sleep together with him still inside, softly thrusting as we both dream. I shiver at the thought. My knees don't lift me up as far as I would like to go and drop me just a bit too fast for my liking. He moans and shudders and purrs. He's close. I'm close. It's all ending every part of every world. I rise and I fall one last time.

I grind against him softly, circling my hips and letting the exhaustion take over. I am terribly thirsty. We've emptied three of the spare jugs already and I don't think anyone would appreciate it if we took a fourth. We might still have too, with all that he has given me One las time, he clenches and bucks and goes still.

We ride this last time in silence, voices too cracked and dried to cry out anything more than pathetic mewls. My stomach hurts. My arms hurt. Every inch of my body aches and throbs. The release doesn't have the same explosive impact as his first. It's still heavy and strong like the river bogged down during the log drive. My weight shifts and wobbles as he fills me.

I collapse and nuzzle into his neck, purring hoarsely as he grips my back, too tired to even scratch and claw. We hold each other, spent and empty and exhausted. He purrs too as we share our last bit of infinity. He slows and stops, and I am finally brought back down to the morning.

It is morning, to my surprise. The fire's out and the sky is blue, and we have broken a couple jugs. That's a shame. We'll get in trouble for that, but I think it's worth it. His amber eyes find me and pull me in for one last light kiss. He won't stop purring. I can't stop purring. He kisses me again and lets me go, sliding off of him and falling to pieces.

He starts laughing, then coughing, then laughing again. If I feel this sore, the poor boy must be broken. I think I see bruises starting to form. It seems there's only one course of action.

As the kind soul I am, I roll and groan and come to standing. He looks at me and devours his work. Marks and bites and strings of his seed cling to my body. I love it. I love admiring his wonderful work. I lean down and everything protests, but I lean down and scoop him up in my arms. He doesn't thrash or complain. He just settles into me as I carry him off into the burning light of day, our tryst blaring for all to know.

---

"We're not supposed to share hammocks," Simo murmurs in my ears. I kiss his neck and that makes him shut up. I know I'm breaking some rule that may or may not be real. I think it's a rule. Simo thinks it's a rule. He's also the one that climbed in with me, so he knows he's breaking the rules as well. He nibbles on my ears and then he comes down to lay his head against my collar. His tale hangs out and entwines with mine. They both sway in the morning breeze as the ash is swept back into the sky.

My nails scratch his back and I get a fun rumble in his chest. He does the same along my neck and down my shoulder. I shiver and melt and want to go back to sleep. I think I have chores. He has chores as well. There are chores and they need doing. Probably. Definitely. I like to drink water and eat food and sleep on fully patched hammocks. Simo likes those too. He also likes rolling my breasts around in his palm and I like that too.

I can feel him grow more and more excited against my stomach. I agree with that and the slow little motions he gives his hip The hammock swings and rocks. I reach up and rub his ears, The twitch and flair before I go back to scratching at him softly. He purrs deep in his chest. I don't think we're getting up today.

"Niann," someone calls, "Get up. We need you."

"I'm not here," I shout back, "Go look somewhere else."

"That might work if you were smarter, and I was dead. Get up and let Simo go. He has work to do."

"No, I don't," says Simo, "And I'm not here either."

He gets a playful pinch on his ass for being such a clever little thing. Now we can stay here in the hammock forever and ever and no one can stop us.

The steps come too fast for us to scramble free. Instead, the intruder turns us out and shakes us onto the floor in a cloud of ash like a sack of potatoes. We both land on our feet and blink as a pair of brooms are shoved unto us. I grumble. It's one of the elders that painted me last night. She's grinning a bit, but not that much. We need to do work. There's ash to clear. It needs to go into the forest and the fields and out of our hair. I tousle Simo's and a good cloud falls onto the floor. More work. Great. We should go to the river and wash it all away. Then play in the river and let that go wherever it wants.

"You two have the cistern," The crone sighs, "And no fooling around."

I make no promises, but I take the tool and haul Simo up to stand. He takes the other one and goes beet red. The crone gazes down and lets out a low whistle while he tries to hide his pride and joy.

"You lucky bitch," she murmurs, "No wonder Mionn is walking around with a shiner. I'd do the same if someone tried to take that from me."

I snake my arm around him and pull him close. I'm not letting him go for her or anyone. Even as he hides behind me, I feel it poke the back of my thigh. A blush creeps up my cheeks and I try to keep myself calm. The crone sighs.

"So long as the cistern is clean today," she sighs, "I don't care when you get around to it. Just let the poor boy rest every so often."

I make no promises as to when our chores will get done, but they probably will. He huffs like it's possible he could be tuckered out before hugging my stomach and glaring at the intruder. She gets the message. The crone shakes her head and stalks out into the burning sun to deal with whatever it is the crones deal with. I assume tinctures and balms. I've only dealt with drawing water and pottery.

I hoist him up again and lay him over my shoulder. He tries to struggle but he finds it much more fun to be carried wherever I want him to be. I'm thinking the cistern again. It will probably save some time in the long run if we play right where we need to work.