Paradise Gained

I began pushing at Blaine and he at me. I felt more or less safe with my hands preventing truly deep penetration. Blaine fucked me even as I gave him a double handjob.

"You like being too big, don't you?" I accused through gulps of breath as Blaine's fat shaft slid back and forth across my clit.

"It is what it is," he replied. "Right now, you're a slut for "too big" and I'm going to make you cum like you've only dreamed of."

I wanted to say,I dare you, but I didn't dare. Instead I just lay there holding half his cock in my hands and letting him fuck me with the other half. By the end, I was delirious. Blaine was virtually turning my cunt inside out with every stroke, or that's the way it felt anyhow. My orgasm built then broke and the wave I'd been surfing hurled me down into an abyss of unalloyed pleasure.

I felt myself squirting profusely, something I rarely did. Those hot slick secretions made me dangerously slippery just as Blaine's own seizures wracked him. Even with a condom between my cunt and Blaine's exploding cock, I could still feel the hotness and pulse of the ejaculate as it spurted and filled the latex basin covering his cock slit. I may have lost consciousness.

Both of us were sweaty and breathless as our passion, now consumed, slowly began to cool. Blaine rolled off, and lay on his back, that gleaming ebony weapon rising vertically from his groin. His arm covered his eyes and his breathing continued to be ragged.

I recovered meaningful motion first and rolled onto my side, facing Blaine, facing his cock, eager to watch what had just given me the best climax of my life as it wilted. I especially wanted to see what the tip of Blaine's monster's rubber held, wanted to touch it and play naughtily with the potent seed sealed away from perilous consequences, perhaps even be really kinky and pull it off to sip its contents. That dirty thought had restarted my sexual engine and my hand was already on his thigh when I began turning toward him.

"Fuck!" I whispered almost inaudibly.

There was no latex tip full of creamy cum!! The condom was gone, disintegrated, possibly somewhere inside me. All that was left was the base loop stationed at mid-shaft like some oddly positioned cock ring. Streaks of Blaine's semen and my own juices coated his still erect penis with the final dribs of the load I'd been so eager to extract oozing down the slick shaft.

"It ripped, didn't it," Blaine stated, arm still covering his eyes.

"Yes," I sighed. I cupped his balls and held the base of his cock in my fist, held his cock aloft, amazed by its size, more excited than before despite my new problem, or perhaps because of it.

"That always happens. They don't make them big enough for me," Blaine said, paused, then continued. "You're not on birth control either, are you?"

"No," I said softly.

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad," I said, leaning over and kissing the slimy cock I held in my hand. I was on my stomach then, legs spread wide, knees bent forty-five degrees. I put both hands on his dick and lapped at the sloppy secretions covering it.

There was no reason for both of us to feel bad; he'd done nothing wrong. I had immediately done the calculations from my last period when I first saw the bare, cum-covered cock. "I think I'm ovulating."

After a surprisingly brief period of mourning, during which I felt compelled to groom Blaine's gooey phallus with my mouth and tug off that cruel elastic reminder of our failed precautions encircling his prick, we resigned ourselves to our fate.

Either I was or I wasn't. Whatever damage there was to be done had already been done. Whatever we did now wouldn't alter that. Blaine was wonderful, standing up for me like the good, if immature, man he was, offering to take in a formerly married pregnant woman if that was my pleasure. I knew that whatever happened there would be no Blaine and me after Bali. At least one option was off the table; I wouldn't be able to pass it off as my husband's.

Blaine and I were in surprisingly good spirits the next day when we awoke at nine and fucked before we ordered room service. Optimists always bounce back, and we screwed bareback until lunch then ordered in again. I spent the next two days and nights in the freest, most exciting, most fulfilling sex I've ever had. I didn't even cover my nakedness when a young, dark-skinned girl pushed the service cart into the room. If she thought me a harlot, she was probably right.

Blaine and my holiday of delicious debauchery concluded unexpectedly when he was called back to work and I caught an early flight home.

While that is an accurate description of how Blaine and I parted, I've left out the details of our final act of mating. I wrote it down but on the re-reading, deleted it. Perhaps I felt it too degrading or poorly captured to include. I didn't feel degraded as it happened or as I yet remember those things we did. But I've written it again and included it here as a footnote.

Blaine was seated at the small desk the hotel supplied each room working with his calculator and spreadsheets. He was naked, as was I. I was on the floor, between his open legs, my own legs splayed along the bare floor, the back of my head lying against his groin. One cheek rested on his warm thigh and his cock wrapped past my neck and draped over my clavicle almost to the swell of my breast.

Blaine was scribbling something for his work and I lazily swirled a finger in what, with Blaine's encouragement, I'd taken to calling my "cunt." I was occasionally lifting my head and placing innocent kisses against the spongy black mass when the call came through. After he hung up, he explained that he'd leave in the morning.

"I want to do something before I go," Blaine said, rising and helping me up.

Like everything we'd done since I'd agreed to go sight seeing with him, there was no discussion. He simply decided and I went along. I had no regrets about his choices and wouldn't have with what we were about to do. Whenever I look back over the years at those days and relive that excitement, it is that last coupling that always leaves me breathless as I paw my cunt/pussy/snatch/twat to release those emotions once more.

Blaine pulled on a pair of shorts, the first thing either of us had worn for almost 60 hours. He handed me my dress, back from the hotel laundry, hanging in his closet, unworn and unwanted until then. I slipped the feathery fabric over my head and searched his room for my sandals and those still soiled panties.

"You won't need those," Blaine told me as I picked up the sandals and just as quickly dropped them again. "Those either," he stated as I started to fish the panties from a messy corner.

Blaine was barefoot and bare-chested when we left his room. I wore only the flimsiest of dresses. The sun was nearly on the horizon when we walked out of the hotel. The dying light shone right through my dress but I didn't care. I would have walked naked if Blaine had said, "That either," as I fingered the dress.

We boarded the borrowed motorbike, Blaine sliding his hand onto my now familiar thigh like always, and rode to that deserted beach where he'd first kissed me. He took off his shorts, draping them over the bike's handlebars, and then helped me off with my dress.

In the dying light, we walked hand-in-hand, naked and proud down that beach for the last time,. We took a few steps into the water and Blaine turned to face me. This time no kiss was forthcoming. He placed his palms on my shoulders and pushed down.

I didn't fight him. I knelt eagerly, grabbing and stroking his cock as soon as my knees touched the sand. The water swirled around my legs as I felt Blaine's cock lengthen, fatten, and harden. I let it go for a moment so I could see it standing straight out from his groin, large as my forearm, awed that I'd taken something that big part way into me.

I quickly grabbed it again with both hands. There was something about being on my knees and holding that dark monster that made me feel completely feminine. I don't know if Blaine cared whether I felt complete or partial but I was pretty sure holding his cock wasn't what he wanted or expected of me.

I moved my mouth forward until I felt my lips touch the cockhead. I thought about kissing and licking it a bit but it was so hard I knew that things were moving rapidly toward messy. The tide was coming in and I felt the waves lap at my vulva like a liquid tongue as I pushed my mouth over Blaine's elegant erection.

We rested like that for a moment, a man and a woman, silhouetted against the setting sun, breath bated, awaiting the first notes of our dance of desire. Blaine took the lead, pushing his hips at my face then retreating. I swiped my tongue across the young man's glans and began moving my head in a seductive rhythm opposite his. Below me, the ocean washed against me like a soothing medicinal bath one minute and a roiling foamy riot of splashing bubbling liquid excitation the next.

That Blaine could fuck both of my hands and my mouth at the same time enflamed me as nothing I could remember and we raced each other to a climactic cliff. He plunged over first, drenching my teeth and tongue.

"Oh Blaine, thank you!" I would have shouted had not my mouth been stuffed with phallus and semen and my mind roasting over the coals of passion.

My eyes were closed, my arms were wrapped around Blaine's thighs for support, and my lips were sealed to his cock. I was all but gone then myself. I was undulating my hips urgently at the swirling eddies when a wave dragged a conch shell up against my clit and spun it around beneath me.

I lost it. Completely and utterly. Final fireworks are always the most exciting. The combination of everything that led up to that day, that moment, culminating in Blaine taking me half naked from the hotel and all naked on the beach, hooking me with his cock like some sexual surf fisherman, pulling me by my mouth into an overwhelming orgasmic net.

I drifted for a while, hooked on that delicious dick, floating and convulsing, while Blaine drained the last of his climax into my tummy. My body continued to suffer involuntary paroxysms until his softening cock slipped from my lips. Immediately I went to retrieve it, to renew the greatest pleasure I'd ever known, but Blaine pushed me away.

"Our time has passed but our memories will linger," he said, helping me to my feet. I brushed the sand from my knees and I hurried to keep up as Blaine crossed the beach.

We donned our meager costumes and rode back in silence. The throbbing vibrations of the motorbike sent slow, rolling after-climaxes through my pussy. When we got back to the hotel, I didn't return to Blaine's room, or ever see him again.

I can still smell him sometimes though. I never got my panties back. For a while, for as long it mattered to me, I wondered if they left the room in Blaine's baggage or the chambermaid's rubbish. I wondered if he considered me a trophy or a trollop. Most of all I wondered what I considered myself.