Popping The Bubble

Poetry.

I leaned forward gracefully as he came to me, his naked body alive with planes and shadows from my desk lamp. My mouth opened, enfolding the head of his dick once again: I was picking up where I'd left off by the door. Not that he needed to be any harder, but so that he could look down and see my eyes staring back at him with the root of his cock buried in my mouth. I wanted that for him, the experience of that image, an image my mind was already turning into words even as I let him push me, slipping the front half of his organ into my waiting mouth.

He tasted so good. And there was poetry in that, too, my mind already overwhelmed. And nothing had even touched my pussy yet!

He lifted my thong from his flesh as he arched forward, feeding me more of himself, looking down at my underwear with a curious look on his face. I saw him finger the crotch. "Nice," he nodded, my face glowing as I felt him nudge the back of my throat. I moved my hands to his sides, then around to his ass, feeling the bunched muscles there. "I'm going to enjoy fucking you, Christa."

"Mmm," was all I could manage around the flesh that choked my throat, for I had begun trying to swallow him. I knew he could feel me, the contractions of my tonsils massaging his head, and I also knew (a little glumly) that I probably wouldn't be able to deep-throat such a thick beast. But it was important to me that he knew I was trying to give him everything I had, and I hoped my eyes told him so, even as the tears started forming there, my throat rebelling against the insistent prod of his cock.

When he pulled back, I felt it first in the muscles of his ass relaxing in my hands; then the pressure eased in my mouth, my tongue lapping along the ridges of his underside, and now when I looked down I saw his penis glowing with my saliva, running with it, like it had been set in shining crystal to immortalize how perfect its shape was. Even before he withdrew fully, tapping his head on my lips on his way out, I was already pivoting on my bed, scooting down to let him mount me on my thin, squeaky mattress.

I spread for him as far as the skinny bed would allow, knees bent, giving him my cunt. He knelt swiftly between my legs, staring at my nude body, his cock bouncing slightly with the wild beat of his heart as he sank down onto me. Into me. For I reached down to grasp that lovely dick of his, guiding it between the swollen lips of my drooling pussy as if it was the only thing that could put out the fire there.

I moaned, my head falling back into the puddle my hair had made on my pillow, feeling every veiny inch as he rutted into me, my arms rising to clasp his body tightly to myself as my hips took his weight. He felt the closeness: I could read it in his eyes, even as my feet rose to wrap tightly around his legs, keeping him close to me. "More," I sighed, blissful, and then I keened again as he rammed himself home to the hilt, stabbing far into my body and holding himself there while I reshaped myself around his girth.

I'd had bigger. But not better.

I flushed when he ran a finger tenderly across my face, clearing my hair out of my eyes, his own face serious and intent like he was viewing art, or something. A twinge in the muscles of my arms told me I was holding on too tightly to him, but there was no part of my mind that wanted to let him go. And I needed him to know that he was home, in my arms. His dick was home, in my cunt. His tongue was home, in my mouth.

I was already on the threshold of an orgasm.

So when he began moving, his body nailing me to the mattress in liquid waves, I could feel the ripple of my pussy around his thrusting cock with a clarity and awareness I couldn't remember ever feeling before. I was alive, my mind clinging to everything that was happening to me, somehow certain that this was a life-changing experience he was putting me through, even as he trawled his meat through my slicked pussy. I needed this, I knew, and I would need the memory of it, and I could only hope he knew it too.

His sweat smeared across me as we moved together, his hips driving him into me in slow, even, very deep thrusts as we kissed languidly. This was closeness, togetherness of the best kind, my heart and my body synchronized with each other and with his. And when my climax came, I barely noticed the difference between it and the pleasure he was already giving me, a seamless transition from bliss into transcendence as I lay my head back and whimpered.

And still he kept on, tireless and smooth, fucking me through that orgasm and straight into another as he changed his motion, his cock now sawing directly actross my clit like a violin bow. I opened my eyes in lazy, perfect rapture, only to find his, connecting once more with mine, and as his thrusts sped up and his rhythm began to crumble I pulled his tongue back into my mouth and lifted my legs high into the air to welcome his load.

His grunt was low, content, a long drawn-out sigh into my mouth that melted me from the inside, his hot eager sperm roping into me in long, warm slaps that left me with an exquisite sense of fullness, even apart from the physical sensation of his cum in me. We kept moving, still smooth, still glued together by more than just our desires, feeling the pleasure we gave each other in mind and body.

Poetry.

It was like that all night, that same closeness and intimacy, so different from the cynically visual fuck we'd shared in the studio the other night. Three times I took his load, and each time was slow, sensuous. Different. And in the small hours of the deep night, as I lay on his chest in my narrow bed, my vagina full and overfull with what his balls had given me, I asked him if he wanted to hear my poem.

"Hmm?" One of his hands stroked my hair, which had been known to get me off before even on its own. I took a deep breath.

"My poem. About your orange peel?" It was a murmur. I knew my neighbors on both sides of the dorm room would have heard what we'd been doing all night, but why give them ammo? "The one I composed in the restaurant."

He stayed silent until I looked up at him, to catch a slow grin and a beaming face. "I'd love to," he rumbled.

"It's not that great," I hastened to add, "and I've not recited a poem for anyone since, like, fourth grade. Remember, I never got the chance to edit it..."

"Shut up and tell me."

So, I told him.

Upswept, a butterfly's wing

But smoke-curled, gleaming in the night:

The shining rind, trembling-sweet,

Awaits my lover's mouth.

His kiss in reply was a reward. "So then, you already thought of me as your lover. At dinner."

I returned the kiss, softly, comfortably. Familiarly. "Was I wrong?"

He replied with his tongue. "No." And that's how we started fucking the fourth time that night.

* * *

The lines between us blur,

Soul on soul, mind on mind

We curl: dirty clumps of fur

Intertangled. Sense falls behind.

So yeah. We started dating. And fucking. A lot. With that extra little spice of actually enjoying the other one's pleasure.

Heaven.

* * *

At some point about six weeks later, Elliot finally figured it out. "You're seeing someone." It was an accusation.

"It's my life, El." Never mind that once upon a time, he had been my life; he wasn't any longer. "Personal."

"Here's the thing though, Bun. When it starts affecting Nude Mood, well..."

"How is it affecting the show?" I demanded.

"You're only booking women these days," he shot back evenly. "Nobody's popped the Bubbles in weeks."

"Getting tired of fucking?" I needled.

He spread his hands. "I mean, it's never nice to feel like I'm pulling more than my weight," he complained.

I arched an eyebrow. We were sharing a coffee at Ahab's. "You and I both know your penis is more than capable of doing whatever you ask of it." I flipped my hair back. "Besides, that one chick did pick me. The girls' basketball player."

"She sure did," he leered after a pause, and I blushed. She and I had gone absolutely crazy on each other, and the money that night had been through the roof. "Kelly."

"Yeah. Kelly." I shivered. The woman had eaten a mean pussy, that was for sure. "So it's not like I'm not willing to put out, El."

"I wonder," he mused. It was hard to lie to Elliot. He and I had shared far, far too many bodily fluids to ever feel comfortable with dishonesty. "What would happen if I booked a man, Christa? I have to know."

My heart stilled a moment. "Why? Who are you thinking of?"

"A guy in one of the frats. The Greek League is doing some kind of big combined party for something called National Nude Day. Perfect for our show."

"National Nude Day?" I scoffed. "Sounds made-up."

"Right? Anyway. It's a thing, at least with all the kids still on campus in July. Summer Quarter." I nodded. "If I bring him in, he'll pick you. Will you sell it?" he pressed.

I looked away. "I'll sell the fuck out of it," I sighed. "But... yeah. You're right. I'm seeing someone. So I might want to talk to him about it first."

He waited, quiet, until I looked at him, our eyes meeting strongly. "Shit," he muttered, "you're in love." I blushed. "Have you said it yet? The three little words?"

"Hell no. We've only been dating, like, a month. He'll think I'm desperate."

"But you're not." He nodded at me. "I know you. You loved me once, and you felt it then. If you feel it now, it's just as real." I hung my head. He was right: he'd always been right about me. "Well. This is a problem."

I hesitated. "Doesn't have to be," I shrugged. "I fucked plenty of other guys back when you and I were a thing." It had been hot, too: Guest Night On Kinkytime, when El had set me up with his friends and then run the camera while they destroyed me.

"Yeah, but I was right there enabling it. I got off on it, too. That's different from this." He took a long sip from whatever soy bullshit he was drinking these days. "Is he treating you right?" he asked more gently.

I knew I had to tell him. "It's Tyler Schiff, that hockey player."

"Wait. What?" He blinked, genuinely confused. "The gay guy?"

"You saw what he did to me when he popped the Bubbles," I pointed out. "He ain't gay."

"Well, true. So bi. Whatever." His forehead wrinkled as he pondered, thinking about Tyler and the times he'd shoved it in Elliot's ass. "I guess I can see it?" he suggested doubtfully.

"You took his dick yourself," I pointed out dryly, "and then you watched him fuck me. You know he's something special." I hesitated, on the verge of telling him more. So much more. About Tyler, and me, and the way my mind was going... "It's not just his body, though. He's got a little extra schwerve to him," was all I ended up saying.

Elliot nodded, his lips contorting into a sad smile. "Well. That's it, then. Gravy train's over." He leaned back in the booth. "Bubbles and the Whang work because it's not just the Whang. We're going to need to rethink our business model."

"Bullshit," I flared, "I'm telling you, I can sell it." But he was shaking his head, still with that sad smile.

"Bunny," he sighed after a pause, "that's not the point. I loved you. A lot of that has gone away, but there's still some left. I want you happy." He squeezed my hand. "I'll feel like shit if you end up fucking for our money when you're in love with someone else. That would make me feel like a pimp, or something."

"Goddamn you." I wasn't mad at him, though. He'd always been right about me.

"Gotta grow up sometime." His smile went wistful for a moment. "When you invite me to the wedding, don't let me make a toast. Because I'd have to tell everyone that I'd fucked both the bride and the groom."

I laughed. "You could just bend over for the priest, if you want. Make it a wedding-party trifecta."

"No. The whole shebang. All the bridesmaids and groomsmen."

"And the mother of the bride. On cam."

"Well, duh. Your mom's hot." He squeezed my hand. "Look, I'm not going to lie. This is not the greatest news I've ever heard. I love what we do and it's basically free money. But I knew it would have to end sometime, and that time might just be now."

"Dude." I shook my head. "You're reaching. Me finding a boyfriend doesn't mean we need to blow the whole thing up."

"If it doesn't, then maybe it should." He drained his drink. "Look, talk to him. See what he says. And I'll make sure that if we ever have him on the show anymore, I won't fuck him. Out of respect for you."

"Gee. You're a prince."

"I'll just teabag him, maybe a little rimming or something."

"Um." I thought about last night, when Tyler had very lovingly dipped his ballsack in my mouth while rubbing his taint across my face. I'd cum just from that. "Maybe not."

He just smiled.

* * *

So strong, the meeting of the heart

Of two halves, no longer pried apart.

* * *

"So. Yeah." I sat cross-legged on my bed, plucking at the edge of a quilt I'd crocheted once, in another lifetime. "I guess I'm going to tell the Whang I'm done after this next guest. I'll keep co-hosting until he finds a new partner, if he wants, but no more fucking."

"How's he going to take that?"

"I had coffee with him at Ahab's. We talked about this. He already knows, but I'll make it official after this next guy."

Tyler raised his eyebrow. He lay stretched out on Jenn's bed, long and muscled with her bedside lamp making his body hair glow. He was a breathtaking sight. I couldn't quite believe, still, that I got to fuck this man. He lay now sated, his sweat drying on his skin, softened penis streaked with our fluids. He loved being naked with me. "Fuck," he observed, looking across the room at me. "No more of you on the Pit? It seems a shame to waste like five years of branding."

"Yeah?" I studied him closely for any idea that he was mocking me, but he seemed serious. So I took a breath and decided to see where he was taking this. "Meaning what? I should keep on with Nude Mood?"

"You're great in front of the camera. And so many people love you." He pursed his lips, considering. "Ever consider branching out on your own?"

"Never." It came out at once, with an actual shudder. The idea horrified me: sitting there nude in front of a webcam? Without Elliot? "No. Never. I'd freeze."

"Why?" He shifted, propping himself on his elbow. I watched, mesmerized, as the skin of his scrotum pulled slowly off his inner thighs, my mind composing a poem about it at once. Completely unbidden, the lines rising complete in my head without any thought as I watched his skin move. He captivated me.

"I've never done anything without Elliot," I sighed. "Hell. I never would have done anything without Elliot. He's the force behind all this, everything I've ever done. I'm just the talent."

"Yeah. That's what I'm getting at." He stared at my nude tits, obsessed. He'd left the marks from his beard all over them just a half-hour ago, as he'd pumped into me. "You can be the force now. It'd be something new."

"New?"

"New," he nodded. "There's no reason you have to keep taking dick online, Christa. There just isn't. Let him be the guy who got you into video sex; when you leave him in the past? You leave the sex in the past."

"I want sex in the present. With you," I blurted.

"No." His voice was firm. Powerful, even. "You want sex in the future, with me. Because we're perfect."

"We are." I bowed my head.

"Every time."

"Every time," I breathed.

"And that's what I want, too." I felt myself shiver, my mind going blank with everything except him, and me, and us, and I sprang off my bed and crossed my dorm room in three quick strides, needing to be close to him. He opened his arms and legs as I sank down alongside him, and the clasp of his body around mine was my food and my drink. "So. Reinvent yourself. I'll help."

"Yeah?" I kissed him, a long and soulful sharing of tongues and spit, needing to be closer always. "You'll help? Like, you and me doing it on cam?"

"No." His hand found my butt, caressing. Adoring. "Reinvent. Something new, Christa."

"You said that already."

"But you didn't listen." His eyes pinned mine, staring. "You need to want to do something else. Something that's you. Not Bubbles."

I poked his chest. "People like Bubbles." His arms and legs buried me, and I craved it.

"People will like Christa more. Ask me how I know."

Fuck. This man. No way could I resist him. I assumed that at some point the bloom would fade off the rose, but not right then. "Want to hear a poem about your scrotum, Tyler?" I whispered, my hand going down there.

Perfect. Every time.

* * *

Even Lucifer fell, and when he did?

Sublime heights above, dazzling, potent,

Gave way to mean dark scrabbling things below.

And still, knowing this, he descended.

* * *

The frat guy's name was Jason, but in my mind I just thought of him as Shaved Pubes. I'm a girl who likes a little friction down there, so it wasn't really an attractive feature. He was reasonably good-looking, though, as he sat there on the Nude Mood couch, legs proudly splayed so he could display what he had.

It wasn't the best penis, but it wasn't the worst. Plumpish, circumcised, disease-free (according to the paperwork he'd given Elliot). Decent balls, a bit undersized.

From the moment he'd arrived and sauntered out of his clothes, it had been blatantly obvious he'd choose to pop the Bubbles. He eyed me with that fairly typical frat-bro attitude that sometimes came across through the comments on our videos, that sense of easy entitlement, the one that announced I'm here, and you're here, so obviously you'll want to fuck me.

I didn't want to fuck him.

He wouldn't be the first guy I hadn't wanted to fuck, though; it was the nature of the beast when handling the edgier side of the webcam universe. Elliot and I had made a conscious decision to push things, to make our show unique and spectacular and inclusive and, yes, titillating, so that meant that every now and then, he and I would have to make a genital connection we weren't necessarily happy about. So there I sat, all trimmed, tweezed, plucked, waxed, and bleached, ready to go.

Shaved Pubes wasn't all that bad, I decided after we'd all sat down. He was certainly attractive, in that lacrosse-player-who-also-surfs kind of way, and he seemed polite enough. But I'd never met a Jason I'd liked, and that looked to continue today. Especially given his first musical selection. "So, like, here on the Nude Mood we like to gauge our guests' musical tastes," I began just as Grundle's clock ticked past the tenth minute. Right on schedule.

"The theory being that sexy people can't possibly listen to shit music," Elliot put in.

"I can see that," Shaved Pubes shrugged, his eyes on my nipples. I gave him a little shimmy, because that's the kind of thing Bubbles did.

"Yeah, so, what's your favorite song? We'll play it for you right now," I grinned. My jaws worked automatically at what I figured would be the last piece of bubblegum I'd ever chew, maybe. "Pick something that'll put us all in the mood for nude."

"Yeah," El cackled. He wasn't high, but he liked to give the impression he was. "Totally."

"I'm a real fan of Aerosmith," Shaved Pubes grinned, and something deep inside me died as I realized I'd soon have to let a man who liked Aerosmith put his dick in me. "I've seen them like fourteen times?"

"Bubbles loves Aerosmith," Elliot enthused. He knew damn well I did not. "She especially likes the ballads." He winked at me.

"Yeah!" The dude's dick gave a visible twitch. "Angel. Crazy. Don't Want To Miss A Thing." He winked at me. "What do you want to hear, Bubbles? I always like to let a lady pick what she likes," he added.