The Natural Order

The Natural Order

They do it like gods!

It was a Fourth of July party in DC. You know the kind - a lot of performative patriotism going on with flags and old-fashioned bunting as a backdrop and the latest country paean to butt-hurt, red-blooded American manhood played by the actual celebrity. I nursed a glass of too-warm red wine, glad-handing for business purposes, my best blazer getting one of its rare outings.

I'd just turned away from a soul-crushing conversation with a McKinsey consultant when the petite woman strode up to me and said, quizzically, "You look like you don't belong here."

"I do not," I smiled warmly. I ran my eyes over her short frame quickly, then kept them dialed into hers after noting the slinky black dress split down to her solar plexus, the matching red Balenciaga shoes and bag, the ink-black pageboy cut and the one silver nose ring. I thought she was pushing thirty. "But I come to too many of these parties."

"Macy," she said, extending one slim ringless hand. "Video producer, DS Political."

"Grant, Robert Brown and Son," She looked puzzled. "Bespoke kitchens for the influential," I added.

"Ahh, I see," she smiled, "that explains your refreshingly ungroomed style."

"We also board horses."

She took a sip and raised her glass with a congratulatory look in her eye, and then bemusement. "I overheard your debate with the policy wonk about Iran. You're a nuke-them-into-the-stone age kind of guy?"

"Only if everything else fails," I grinned. She was fun right out of the gate.

"I'm here with the dullest, buttoned-down congressional aide in the District," she pouted.

"I'm here with my parents."

"You win the lame award, then," she looked calculating.

"They're over by the ice sculpture of Reagan," I nodded that way.

"Not the two models? The guy's lanky. The woman's small and well, even from here, sparkling? No way."

"They started early." This happened all the time.

"Actually, it looks like I won the lame award after all," she chuckled. I took the moment to appreciate her petite-ness. Short, like mom, fit, she held herself with a familiar energetic poise, like she could break out into dance suddenly. Her clingy dress showed her to be nearly flat-chested, but she didn't seem to care that her nipples rose in such sharp definition, clearly bra-less. Or maybe she did; there were obvious nipple rings on both. When she turned back to me I let my gaze linger on those striking pips.

"You know, the stone age hasn't passed. It's still here under a few thin layers of civilization, if you just scratch the surface." The look she gave me then connected straight to my id. And she understood the subtext at least as well as I did, maybe better. I made my bet, "You ever been in a Tesla, Macy?"

"No, actually," she looked up at me with an openness rare in DC society, intrigued by my non sequitur.

"I've never been," looking at her with a wry grin, "in a woman in a Tesla."

"Ahh, a first for both of us then," she took my elbow, turned and we wove our way to the door. I texted my parents, Don't come to the car for at least 30 mins. Occupied.

There's good reason not to have sex in a Tesla, even with the tinted windows, at least not more than once. With the AC on we still got it plenty sweaty and gave ourselves some bruises. It was quick and it was intense and we didn't hook up again until October when she called me out of the blue. Her work took her all over the US, she said, but she'd enjoyed our quickie and couldn't stop thinking about me.

It had been nearly a year since my dad had suggested I bring a girl home who might have the same predilections as my mother so we could give her a test drive. Dad taught me it was always best to bring my A-game to bed and also to probe my lover early about her true posture toward sex and relationships.

So...our second "date": A sunny morning hike at Raven Rocks to see the fall colors, then cheeseburgers and soft serve at the old stand on State Rte 7, just because Macy saw it as we drove by in the Jimmy. The woman was a strong hiker and funny. She picked blue trillium and yellow aster to lace into her hair. She let her overlarge flannel shirt hang open so I could see her pierced raspberries ripen in the cool air. Macy didn't ever complain about having to keep up with me and I enjoyed hoisting her over some of the rougher parts of the trail. Her khaki shorts left a lot of tanned, willowy leg to admire when she dangled from my hands wrapped around her nicely muscled midsection.

We were plenty hungry when we got to the food, over which I learned that she was a suburban Jersey girl who'd done film school at American University and found work making videos for every stripe of politician. Like me and dad, she took a jaundiced view of the whole political circus. "It's just World Wide Wrestling now," she shrugged, "the voters know it's fake, but they're crazy about it anyway."

"Folks need entertainment, I suppose," I offered, "I think it comes from being indoors too much."

"Well, this morning in the woods has made me feel a lot better," Macy looked fresh and bright-eyed for sure.

"Being in the woods makes me especially horny, I've noticed." I had wanted to put her up against a tree and nail her, but the trail was too busy.

"Hmmm, yeah it brings out some natural part of me, too." She looked thoughtful, "You know, when I saw you at the party standing there like a fucking redwood, I knew you were more, I don't know, alive?" Girls who went to art school said shit like that. "It's like there's a woodsy-womanly part of me that's gone into hibernation here in DC. I've almost forgotten who she is."

We drove to her place, a brisk white and blond-wood cubicle in Reston near Dulles on the DC Metro. Macy had a minimalist aesthetic unusual in a woman, eschewing the frills and the throw pillows for large pieces of art, slim blinds and polished wood floors. One exception was her floor-to-ceiling shelving along one wall filled with books on entertainment and painting, very disorganized. It was the spot that had the most life in it.

"I don't actually stay here much," she said, kicking off her hiking boots, "I'm doing location shoots most of the month." The small woman hadn't gotten any shyer since our hothouse sex in the Tesla. She began unbuttoning her plaid shirt before I'd even got the door shut. "Shower?" she said over her shoulder, walking and stripping ahead of me. Well, the party wasn't a one-off. Was she as eager for the bedroom as I was? Check.

I noted the photos on her shelves as we hurried to the bathroom. No boyfriends worth framing. Looked like a nuclear family, the cute younger sister she'd told me about and parents together in some, older and separately in others. So, divorced parents. She hadn't mentioned that. Typical and sad. I wondered what her attitude toward long-term relationships was. Then I realized it was way too early for that, but did she need a father-figure? Did she want to be a good girl?

It was a small place, so the bath and a walk-in closet were on opposite sides of a short hall leading to the bedroom. Macy already had her shirt off and stepped out of her shorts and panties as I joined her in the bathroom. I hadn't seen all of her in daylight. Those willowy legs reached up to a tight little butt, angular hips, a surprising firm four-pack below the bee-sting tits; some discreet tattoos. No tan lines...made we wonder how she did that. Shit, she looked good. And she smiled at my long appraising stare while she threw her clothes in the washer. Macy started pulling at my belt as I fumbled with my buttons and said, "Toss yours in, too, Grant. You won't need 'em for a couple of hours..."

I looked closely at her tattoos. One, a chain, ran around her hips, swagged like that 4th of July bunting, just where low-slung panty elastic might lie. On her mons was inked a padlock, the keyhole just at her clitoral hood.

"That must have stung a bit," I dragged my finger from her hip bone toward the keyhole.

"A bit," was all she said. When she turned to throw my clothes in the washer I noticed the ink of a lightswitch at the top of her buttcrack. It said 'fuck' above it and 'off' below. It was in the on position.

In the shower, under the hot needle spray, we embraced. I leaned down to kiss her. She turned her head up, eyes closed, a smile at the corner of her mouth. I pulled her body against mine, feeling the nick of the barbells in her nipples against my ribs. Maybe the rings from the night of the party were the ones in her ears today. My cock swelled against her warm, soft belly. Steaming water trickled between us.

"So, your woodsy-woman...will she come out of hibernation?"

"Mmmmm...maybe," she ran a hand down my chest, twirled her fingertip in my hair and pinched my nipple. "She's shy, though."

"She's like Persephone? Seasonal?"

"You know the Queen of the Dead?"

"I blame my private school. Ms. Wilson was very keen on Greek mythology."

"You continue to surprise me. You haven't been to college, you said?" Macy pulled back and gave me a serious look over. "You're not a redneck, really, are you?"

"The Brown's think of themselves as naturally landed gentry," I waved my hand imperiously, feigning an air of privilege, "in the Jeffersonian mold."

"Your neck actually is the reddest part of you, Grant." Then looking down and grinning, "Well, maybe the second reddest."

"Naturally."

Macy looked quizzical.

"By which I mean," I gave her a serious look over, "we earned it and we continue to earn it."

"Yeah, you don't act like a trust fund baby."

I grasped her wrists in one big hand and pulled them above her head, pushing her against the cold wall. She shivered, but smiled, "maybe you're the Hades to my naive Persephone...taking me to your underworld to do all sorts of dark things to me."

"When I saw you picking wildflowers in the meadow," I said, playfully channeling the god of the underworld and lowering my lips to her breast, "I couldn't resist having you for my own." I got a barbell between my teeth and pulled gently until she gasped.

"You can't keep me here, Hades." She played at struggling to break free. "Unless...do you remember?"

"Maiden, you will eat the seed of a pomegranate and be mine forever." As I crouched to mouth her nipple my wet organ poked at her thigh. She scissored her legs and trapped me in a smooth, slippery clasp. I pressed my body to hers, sliding between her thighs, dragging along her puffy lips, pinning her to the tiles.

"I like pomegranate juice, actually..." Macy tried seriously to pull free, "I can show you how much..." I kept my hand on her wrists but relaxed and she slid gracefully to her knees. My cock swelled purple and pulsing before her eyes. Macy opened her mouth and looked up at me. "I'm thirsty."

I eased my knob forward to touch her lips. She smiled and ran her tongue under me, making a path. Slowly I pressed and spread her jaws, her eyes on mine as she stretched over my purple flesh. I could imagine a firm, red-purple pomegranate filling her mouth this way, see her taking a juicy bite of the fruit, letting it run down her chin. I held her hands locked as I slid in. She swallowed hard. Her head backed up against the tiles. I pressed on, deep as her molars. She took it, breathing hard through her nose, blowing shower spray. Her mouth tried to smile.

Blowjobs were tricky for me sometimes. Most of my girlfriends and mom, too, being petite, have mouths that can't easily accommodate a Brown's cock. I got dad's genes there. My mother's learned to take us deepthroat, but dad explained that it took years to train her. Those molars will scrape your shaft if the woman isn't properly skilled, unless you like that kind of thing, which is your right. I looked hard at Macy as she held my knob at that delicate point between sucking and choking, her molars at my rim. My steady, gentle pressure was the unspoken question.

Her vigorous swallowing was the answer; my crown eased deeper and into the squeeze of her throat. Macy's eyes watered but she had the concentration of a musician playing a difficult passage. She wanted to get it right. I pulled back and out and she gasped, spittle on her lips. "I said, I'm thirsty, Grant." Macy opened wide again and thrust her head to capture me. I pressed gently forward again and slipped into her throat smoothly this time, felt the muscles there milking me.

I'd watched dad and mom do this often. One girlfriend had tried, had tried really hard, but couldn't do it. Macy had the benefit of being an older woman, a more practiced lover. Still, this had to be something that she wanted. I pulled out, drawing a foam of spit and as she gasped I said, "I need to know that you feel safe."

"I actually do. Thanks for asking." She panted some more. "I bet you've got a hot load ready, huh? I'll do this, then you do me and we'll both cum more than once today, OK?" She gobbled me without waiting for an answer.

Yes, that hot load was ready. I pulled her hands apart, but held her, crucified against the wet shower wall and drew my cock out and pushed deep again and watched for signs of distress. I lay my forehead on the tiles and saw her take my cock up to my curlies without gagging. I held it there and felt her throat working me, swallowing to pull me deeper. Macy hummed and groaned as she fought to please me. Her whole body got into it, straining to hold her head just right, to receive my organ eagerly, willingly, entirely. I wondered if it would be easier for her to be strapped tight to a saddle, like it was for my mother.

There was something familiar and comfortable already here on our second date. She could deepthroat as well as mom. She was eager to make me cum as if she was bred to make me happy. Some women might think this was abuse, but maybe she understood like my mother did the power that she had in that slight body. A woman could fear a man and his strength or love him and ride that force to a better life.

It's arousing to use my strength on a woman who wants to feel all of it. I'm not into forcing her, making a power play out of lovemaking. I want us both to embrace the delicate balance between willingness and risk. If she says stop, I stop. If she wants me all the way down her throat, well, that's where I'll go.

Macy clearly wanted me all the way down her throat. With my balls on her chin I held myself there, pulled back and sank in again. I could feel her arousal growing, too. She wanted me to cum. Her eyes turned up to look into mine pleadingly. She could tell I was close.

"Mmmm?" she vibrated me. She pulled hard to get one hand free and I let it slip. That hand cradled my balls and squeezed, then the fingers stroked. She knew what she was doing. "Mmmmm?"

"Yeah," I gasped and felt the spring in my spine uncoil. I jerked back and thrust deep. The cascade of heat and quivering flowed from my feet and my neck. Knees bent, back curled, holding her one hand to the wall, slipping my other behind her head, I convulsed and my spunk sped up my shaft, exploding in her while I struggled to hold myself deep. In short, sharp strokes my body delivered its seed into her swallowing throat. My feet stamped. Her body shook. The shower washed us both down in its hot cascade. I roared. Like an animal I screamed my pleasure to the echoing tiles. It was that good. I felt that free. Here was a woman who could take me as I am. And take all of me.

I retreated, spurting across her cheeks. She gasped and blew bubbles, letting my spunk drool down her chest. "Bedroom," she croaked and took my hand to drag me there soaking wet. Macy pushed me back onto her tightly made bed, turned and crawled over me. She straddled my face, easing her shaved pubes onto my mouth and lay her head on my belly. I felt her fingernails tracing the length of my mostly wilted, oozing organ.

"You know what to do with that, don'tcha, cowboy?" I'd had lots of practice in the last year with mom coaching me to be as skilled as our Tahitian Tiare. It took a gentle approach and a liberal application of spit to begin. Reaching around her sharp hip I got a handful of her tight, muscled ass cheek. I brought a finger to her folds and lightly stroked, finding her wetness leaking. My tongue danced around her clitoris, smearing it with spit. I licked and tasted her juices. Macy quivered.

"You're an old soul," she whispered while she ran her fingertip around my corona. My faithful friend stirred in his puddle.

I dipped my finger just slightly into her opening and pulled out her moisture, spreading it back along between her cheeks. She quivered again.

"I like that you haven't asked about my other lovers." Macy ran a fingernail the length of my thickening cock.

"They don't exist, not here in this bed." I brought two fingers to her vulva and wet them, dragged along her crack.

"True." She wriggled. I stroked the juice across her pussy and sphincter.

"If one did, would you take us both?" I pressed a fingertip against each opening and she gently pressed back as I teased.

"I'll think about it," she groaned, "I like to think about it." Her fingernail on my glans had me full of blood again and pulsing.

"I know a guy..." I whispered then ran my tongue the length of her pussy. She groaned and ground herself on my face. My fingers kept gently probing, not deep, but repeatedly, finding one hole soft and yielding, the other rigid and clasping, both sticky, wet and warm. I kept my tonguetip moving across her clit. Macy stiffened and clamped my head in her strong thighs. She wrapped her hand around my cock and squeezed, making muffled squeals into my belly. I was at full mast again.

As her wave crested she rose up and spun, staddling my hips, centering my pole, aligning her hips. "When I called you this is all I wanted to do, Grant. Just fuck you..." She stretched over me and began her descent. "But the hike was a good idea." Warm and hot engulfed my knob as her flesh slipped around my rim. She held it there for a moment then dropped and bounced on me through another shaking wave. It was fun to watch her face contort and her body flush bright pink. I held her waist loosely and let her ride it out.

"I want," Macy panted, "a man I can crash into like a bridge abutment."

She put both hands on my chest and breathed hard, still making small grinding motions on my pole, keeping us both at a very pleasant plateau. "Too many men I meet are too woke."

I reached and pulled both piercings, stretching her little tits to sharp points, and then farther until she winced. "I want a man strong enough to let me be completely myself." I twisted and she winced again, all the while pushing her pussy lips down to kiss my balls. I let her nipples snap back and grabbed a tight ass cheek in each hand, fingers in her oily crack, squeezing hard and lifting her to nearly off of me. She made fists and began pounding my chest. "A hundred miles an hour straight into the goddamned abutment, Grant!"

I jammed her down onto my pole and she laughed deep in her chest. I pulled her up and jammed her again and she kept on beating against me, shaking her head and crying now. She let out a wild, keening, rising wail that lasted through another, greater peak. She called on all the Gods in her abandonment. Finally, she went limp and I gently lay her down on my chest. I kept my cock moving in tiny rocking thrusts as she lay there gasping.

"Dad says a man's a woman's guardrail. Like a formula one machine, she can race her track, pedal to the metal, and know he's there to keep her from flying off altogether."

"Your dad, the philosopher," she murmured into my chest.

"He's pretty wise. Taught me alot," I stroked her smooth back, feeling the chain of her spine.