Storms

This is an old fantasy of mine that kind of morphed and changed over the years to be more and more refined to my tastes. It started as a teenagers wet dream of you, but, like an old movie you remember but don't actually watch the original of, the details change a bit each time it gets brought back up. It got more involved and specific and fantastic as I got older and the fantasy repeated and repeated over and over again. I guess you could say it's been my favorite way to see you.

- - - -

It always starts with a phone call. Remember when you would just call out of the blue? No reason or rhyme or care for what I might be doing. It was never about convenience. It was about you making sure I was available. Ready to drop everything for you. Most of the time, I was happy to do it. You were my addiction, and once I got that first kiss taste, I knew it was going to be my guilty pleasure. But that was years ago. We moved on and forgot about each other.

So my cell rings. It's the song I used to have programed in. So I could tell right away what I would be getting myself into before I ever even opened it up. You don't even care that its late, it's storming out, I might be in traffic or busy fucking someone else. I don't even ask myself how you got my new number. That's not new. What's new is you hang up right as I pick up to answer, like you are watching me. The phone goes dead right as my fingers touch it, and when I flip it over, there not even a notification you've called at all. So I roll over. I'm in bed. Alone. The storm outside is supposed to be putting me to sleep.             

As soon as I put the phone down and get comfortable rolled over, you call again. I growl, a deep sound that would be dangerous if you were present, but I roll over to pick up the phone again. I let it ring a few times to make sure, but when I try and pick it up again, you cut the call. On the sixth time, I stand up, the blankets falling off me, showing my naked body.

That's when I hear the giggling.

Its outside my window on the ground floor. Looking into my bedroom. You've never been to my house, so how you know where I am, or what window to peek through should be impossible. I look up and lightening flashes and shows you standing outside. Theres a little hill that pulls away past my place that has a single huge oak tree on top. Your face is framed in the glass and the trees huge branches. You have the look in your eye that I've never seen before. You're looking right at me. The rain and thunder and howling storm outside with you don't even seem to matter at all. You're completely soaked, your hair is matted down, and you're shiver from the cold. But you're smiling and licking your chops as you watch me just stand there.

My cock fattens up to full mast in record time. I don't even think about it. You glance down to it, but then back up to me with this little grin. As if to say "Yeah, that's my fault and I don't care." I'm not surprised or worried to see you at all. I'm not asking any of the questions a rational person should be. Because that's when I notice you're just as naked as I am.             

Your body is highlighted by thunder and glistening with rain. All the curves I remember fantasizing about but never getting to actually see fully bared and offered to me. Scars and thick, soft, grabbable curves. Your skin is steaming, fever hot, the cold rain sizzling on your nipples like hard peaks on the mountains of the tits I want so, so badly. My mouth goes dry. My dick starts to leak drooling strands of pre to the floor, gushing its approval. Again you glance down, notice, and your smile gets wider. You don't care about what you're doing to me. But you aren't going to stop.

You make a motion back to the tree, and you turn and walk away, picking your way over the puddles of rain like a kid trying not to get her toes wet despite the pouring deluge. You leave a little fog of heated steam in your wake, wafting off your body as you jiggle, as if in slow motion, through the torrent and up the grassy hill.

I'm outside and chasing after you before I know whats happening.

"Took you two whole calls! I expected better!" You taunt me, and the chase starts.

You run as fast as you can, laughing whenever I try and make a grab for you. Out in the rain, splashing through the slick grass and mud, you don't care where we run, where you lead me. Your slippery body always manages to just sneak away out of reach. We go up and up and up the hill, back around again and again. My hands are claws, and I'm trying so desperately to sink them into your plaint, supple body and rake hard as I pull you in for a taste...but I'm not doing a good job at chasing you.

"He would have caught me by now, you know!" You tease. I get angry. Jealousy flares in my stomach and I growl again. You were joking, trying to play the game some more, but when you hear my voice you stop smiling. "He would have..."

You're distracted. Tired. The game is over. I sink my hands into your hips as I tackle you to the grass. I'm practically snarling when I do. The feel of your skin giving under my fingers, filling my palms, hot, soft, meaty flesh of you finally in reach...it's all a rush as we tangle up in the rain and mud and roots under the tree. It's not gentle. I feel your body shudder against mine, resisting, but your legs go stiff, a shiver again as the chase and the cold finally start to take their toll. You're surprised I caught you this time.

"Wait! Ow, you idiot, what are you doing...?" Your temper flares a bit now. Why did we stop playing? Just so I could get a handful of your full bust? I shut you up with a hard push forward, hips leading. My cock stabs down between your tired thighs and scrapes along the bud of your clit, making you gasp. It's not a perfect thrust, I don't penetrate, and we slip on the pouring rain. You're panting in my face now, and your hands come up to try and push me off.

"Wait! I..." I use one hand to grab you by the chin and I force a kiss onto you. If it feels wrong to force you to do anything, I don't care. Your lips are warm and sweet, and my tongue finds yours and you push back in some weak attempt to put up a token bit of resistance. You're not done playing, trying to make me earn this. You beat a hand against my chest, punching, even as I feel your lips curl in a smile against my own. Again, I get angry. You always do this. These mixed messages. All the teasing, all the games, all the time wasted.

I only break the kiss because I need to taste the rest of you. My mouth moves down your throat, nibbling a trail as my hands roam. You only weakly try to punch me now, pinned under me, slick with rain, and I grope and squeeze over your curves back and forth. I want to memorize this moment, and I tweak and tug and drag my nails through the creases and furrows in your rain-slicked skin, leaving raking scratches that sting and make you writhe. It's worth it when my lips find your breasts. Tasting them and suckling hard, attacking your nipples for the first time in both our lives. I'm going to make sure I never forget it, and I memorize every inch of your chest with my teeth in the next moments.

No more waiting. The storm picks up, wind whips around, and the oak tree is shuddering and groaning as hard as you are. You were never very vocal before. I'm doing my best to change that, mauling your fuckpillows with my mouth until you threaten to bruise.

"Hey! Stop being so...nooooOOOO!" You complain, but you don't mean it. Your voice is cut off by a little shriek as my hands scoop low and force your legs wide, up, and over my shoulders. I've got you nearly folded in half, that perky ass of yours pressed up into my balls and the spike of my throbbing length pointing down at your exposed entrance like a spear.

I give you one second to catch your bearings.

"I'm not sorry for this." It's the last thing I will say the rest of the night.

I drop my full weight down on you and open you up, splitting your cunt in a single plunge. The resulting slap of my hips to yours is drowned out by your scream. The force drills through your pussy and along your spine. Its brutal, your body struggling to handle the sudden invasion, but I don't stop with just one push. I've needed this, and I'm not letting you slip away.

I pound again and again, hard, measured strokes, keeping your ankles pinned up by your ears and your breasts squished between us in a jackhammer press. You can't kick or flail to find purchase in the grass and water, and the sensation of having the air fucked forcefully out of your lungs keeps you from screaming again. The tempo is fast, my hips rising and falling to pummel your insides. I want to be the machine I feel like, striking the anvil of your cunt open on my length again and again and again.

The storm rages and I keep pounding you. You don't resist now, and you toss your arms around my neck to hold me in place, little soft mutterings I can barely hear as you talk to yourself. Your eyes flutter behind half-closed lids, giving up to the sensations of it all and letting my have what I need from your body at long last. When I feel you collapse on my cock, squirming and clamping down to try and wring my cum out of me with your own intense release, I pound you right on through it. I don't care if you cum. I'm not done with you yet.

The storm ends hours later. Times fades out and the sky lights up with a creeping slash of red and dawn. The sun peeks over and finds us still there. I have you pressed up against the sturdy oak tree trunk. Your arms are wrapped around it, hugging it tight as I pound you from behind. I've lifted you from the grass and dirt, letting your toes kick air as my cock spears you as relentlessly from behind as ever, and the only thing holding you upright in the force of my body smacking into yours and the grip on the wood.

"Come on! Harder! Fuck me like you always fucking said you would you idiot!" You're screaming through another orgasm, barely holding on. I've lost track of how many we've both had, but your ass is red and coated in white ropes of cum. So is the rest of you, my sticky white splatters clinging stubbornly to your body despite the rain attempting to clean you. I must have dumped gallons on you and inside you in that one night, but this last one is going to outdo them all.

I feel it rush up and out of me and all my strength goes with it. You scream when the blasts pummel through your walls and splash across your fertile walls deep in your core. Two, three, four, five...six...seven shots of me inside, rippling and making my knees weak. We collapse like puppets, strings cut, shivers making us tangle up at the base of the tree.

I'm still inside you, weakly pumping, throbbing, trying to hold on for another round, maybe to keep you locked there. You're panting, I'm panting, we're both a mess, but we don't even try to move. I enjoy just feeling you under my hands again. This probably won't ever happen again. I need to remember what you feel like, how soft you are.

"You...need to make me breakfast." You pant through a smile. Your eyes are closed and you're two seconds away from passing out.

"After a nap." I reply.

"No. Now. French Toast." You somehow still have strength to smack me, and we roll up to sit together, your head cradled in my arms and legs all tangled. We watch the sun rise. I never make you that French toast.