Winning the Olympian Ch. 02

"Jason, that feels so good. Please! Start licking my inner labia!"

Her female smell was musky and intoxicating. Her inner lips tasted tangy and just a little salty, but they too were intoxicating. I must have slowed down my finger on her G spot because she said, "Keep pushing up and down inside me with your finger." And I restarted, with vigor.

"That's it, that's exactly right. Oh, Jason, this feels so good." And she began moaning with pleasure as I kept licking and rubbing.

"Now, babe, move your tongue up to my clit's hood and just focus on that. Try not to lick my clit right now. I like to save that for last."

I obeyed her request. She was moaning more deeply and began moving her pelvis up and down and left and right. "Ohhh...Ohhh...Ohhh..."

Then with more biting urgency

"This feels so good! Jason, this edging feels so good! Your giving me a prolonged almost orgasm—and it feels so good! That's the way to please me! Yes!"

Watching her get off was extremely erotic and my cock again grew huge and hard and hot. It pulsed like steam jets of a locomotive. Periodically I squeezed my perineal muscles enlarging my cock, straining against its skin, really, really ready to fuck her.

Then suddenly Tate screamed, "I'm cumming! Jason, I'm cumming and you haven't even touched my clit. Lick it quick! Now!"

Tate took in a huge breath and yelled in one long stream of sound, "Oh, fuuuuuuckkk!" Then she bore down her pelvis into the bed only to rocket upward again and again, squeezing her thighs around my head and her lower legs around my shoulders.

She took in another huge breath, only this time held it, as she began to quiver and shake, my head shoulders still clenched by her legs, my tongue now softly assaulting her clit.

Suddenly she screamed "Oh Godddd!" any pushed my head away from her clit, violently shaking her body.

In between spasms, she said, "Go...inside...me... put...your...cock...inside...me."

I spread her legs with my hands while she guided my hard wooden bat into her pussy. And so for the first time in my 18 years, my cock entered a woman's vagina.

It felt indescribable! My cock buried deep inside the oversized muffin of her vagina. She was wet and velvety, hot as a bath. She rocked and I bucked. She fucked upward and I fucked downward, fast and hard my pelvis slamming into her pussy.

All at once I felt orgasmic pleasure mount inside my cock to piecing pitch. The sharp ebullience became prickly and pinching, a painful pleasure that began ripping through my cock like large rocks yanked through my urethra, each slag scraping its walls bringing waves of euphoria.

"Yes, Jason, like that! Good! Good! Oh my GODDD!!

Then I heard an explosion inside my head. Blue light flashed before my eyes. I fucked her cunt with one last huge buck and the pain of the pleasure began ripping me in half. My cock burned, buzzed, flashed and kicked over and over again. The lovely agony pulled my dick inside out like a sock. My penis transfigured into white hot plasma of pleasure.

"Go, Jason-Cum for me!" she yelled.

POP! POP! POP!—I felt three huge ropes of semen explode from my cock like a cannon, erupting into her steaming cunt. I pulled out and three more blasts arched across her body up to her scarlet chest and onto her right breast. Both triplet streams of cum shattered my cock like lightning bolts of pleasure so extreme I had to scream "AAAAHHHH! AAAAHHHH! AAAAHHHH!"

Then I yelled even louder, "TATE! TATE! TATE!" as I had another wave of orgasm without cum.

Sticky semen and pussy juice slathered my cock which began deflating. But my member radiated the most erotic, exquisite, deeply satisfying afterglow I had ever experienced from hand jobs. If my orgasm was 11 out of 10; this afterglow was an intense 10 out of 10. And it didn't stop for a long time.

I rolled us over onto our sides and all I could think of to do—to most fully enjoy this intense radiating yet soothing moment—was to hold Tate tightly and closely. Somehow I suddenly felt closer to her than I did to anyone else in the world. I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Tate... Tate... Tate... Tate..."

To which she responded, "Yes... yes... yes... yes..."

__________________________________________________________

The next week, Tate asked if I'd like to visit her house for 4 or 5 days the first week of August. Camp always ended the last week of July so that college-age counselors could go home and get ready for school.

"That'll give both of us plenty of time later to shop and pack for freshman year. Plus, Dad won't be home," she told me.

Now, be honest; wouldn't all the things she said make you wonder about her dad? Or, at the very least, about Tate's relationship with him? It sure made me wonder.

So, plans were made and the summer passed. With more than a little fucking.

Since we both had cars, after a celebratory goodbye with our counselor friends, I followed Tate home. She knew a shortcut from Swannanoa to Falls Creek Road which included driving on an old but well-maintained logging road.

"Just follow me and don't worry," Tate assured me.

"But we'd be trespassing and the owner might have a shotgun!" I protested.

"Jason, I'm a mountain girl and can handle that. And, yes, technically it's trespassing, but I've never been caught." And we weren't.

Her mother greeted us both warmly.

"Jason, it's so wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed giving me a full frontal hug. And I thought, Did she intentionally smash her largish breast into me?

Then quickly: "Tate, give me a hug too! How are you both? You must be exhausted!"

"Doing great, Mrs. Fletcher. I'm not too tired, but I bet Tate is. Not much heavy work to do shutting down the lake for the winter, but she had to move bales of hay!"

"Well, Tate, we'll make sure you get plenty of rest." She gave me an unusual sideways glance.

"I made y'all some lemonade and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. But don't eat too many because we're having roast chicken for dinner with all the sides."

We unpacked, threw dirty clothes in the washer, and took our lemonade and cookies to the porch swing.

"Mom grew up a mountain girl, a Tatum," Tate told me, "which by the way is my first name Tatum; Tate is just a nickname for Tatum. Don't think you knew that."

I didn't.

She continued, "The 'sides' are mountain food-succotash, pinto beans, stewed apples, collards, creamed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. I guarantee you that even with just us three, Mom will make all of that food."

"Succotash?" I asked.

"Corn and beans mixed, usually butter beans is Falls Creek's version," Tate said lapsing into local diction. "But Native American food, I've heard tell."

Tate was right about the "sides." There were six, the exact ones she predicted. Seven if you counted gravy.

Tate and I washed the dishes, after which Tate's mom said knowingly,

"I'm going to bed and read some. I'm so tired I'm sure I'll fall asleep before 9!"

She disclosed a sublime smile which would have made Mona Lisa proud.

Tate got out a bottle of muscadine wine and two wine glasses. I was not much of a drinker (yet), being a pretty serious student in high school, hanging out with the college bound kids taking lots of AP courses. Weekends were spent studying.

"This wine is made here in Wilkerson County from local grapes called muscadine. Not as fancy as Rhone or Napa valleys, but I like it. And I add a secret ingredient."

Tate then pulled up a chair to take a Mason jar of clear liquid down from the cabinet above the refrigerator.

"Moonshine!" she said. "This is Falls Creek valley 'wine'!"

Falls Creek being the local stream lending its name to the community and the road. But it was more of a mountain hollow than a valley.

She opened the screw top wine bottle ("No cork to sniff with mountain wine" she said) and poured each of us a half glass of local grape. Then she added moonshine, topping each glass off at three quarters full.

She lit candles in the den and we spent the next hour or so drinking half the bottles of wine and moonshine, debriefing our summer at camp. We had some hearty laughs at the shenanigans and practical jokes staff pulled on each other all season. And we were feeling pretty good from imbibing the local brews.

Tate looked at me with a playful grin and flashed her tits at me. In my slightly inebriated state, I felt hornier than usual and immediately became erect. She laughed seeing the effect she was having on my bulging equipment inside my pants.

"Time to play. And to fuck," she then said, "let's get in bed."

I was seriously horny.

The family's bedrooms were all upstairs in this 150 year old, drafty farmhouse; the guest room where I stayed, was downstairs, a converted "sitting room,'' hence was quite large. I was astonished to find it furnished with a complete entertainment center and a king sized bed.

We put the load of laundry into the dryer in the panty across the hall from the guest room-which was great because we left the pantry door open for background noise.

We turned on the TV to a random channel for more background noise to mask screams and squeals of sex.

After that first week, we had sex all summer on our Sunday afternoons off, going to her parent's rental property in Franklinville. That's nine Sundays. Since this past week was "Take Down Week" without campers we were always off by 4 pm and could leave the property "for dinner."

Each time, we got to know each other better. Personally and in the Biblical sense: "And Jason took Tate unto him and knew her."

We hurriedly undressed, and Tate climbed onto the king sized bed and had me sit with pillows behind me leaning against the headboard.

"I know my dad enjoys porn, I've seen it on his computer screen a few times when he forgot to log out," Tate said.

"I think that's why he got such an extravagant entertainment system. It's state of the art. Does anyone really think a guest is going to use all of this high tech stuff?"

She spread my legs widely then lay down on her left side between them, propping her head and upper body on her bent left elbow with her hand on her left temple.

"This bed's pretty new, too. I have a hunch Dad insisted on getting this king sized bed before I went to camp anticipating an empty summer nest and long sessions of sex with Mom."

I'm sure my eyes widened twice their usual size. Tate could be so frank. "Mountain talk," is what she called it.

"Jason, you look like I told you an embarrassing secret! I guarantee you both of our parents are like that!" Although Tate didn't know the extent of my parents' estrangement.

Then she said something which was unintentionally prescient.

"But OMG Jason, you think you get hard l looking at me naked? You would not believe how great my mom looks naked. You would get so hard and horny you'd probably cum on the spot!" Again, I was stunned by her frank talk, but I must admit it conjured certain images in my mind.

Then she turned our attention to us.

Tate began, as she did our previous 14 times together, minutely examining my pulsating rock cock. She alternately jerked me off and fingered my frenulum with her right hand. And her handling and fingering made me writhe with pleasure.

When I became very rigid, she shifted her body so that both hands were free.

Then she did something that in retrospect a more-experienced me still finds quite novel. And it often developed into an essential feature of our foreplay.

She "painted a picture," as she called it, "of [my] cock." With words, not oils or acrylic.

Using her left hand to lift my sac off the sheets, she held my very stiff rod in her right hand.

"Does it feel good when I turn your cock different angles?" She asked.

"Uh huh," I responded as articulately as possible given the rivers of pleasure running down my cock into my perineum.

"Now I wonder if good ol' Jace wants me to inspect every nook and cranny of his handsome cock?" she taunted.

She made an exaggerated display of analyzing it.

"Hmmm, the topside is really handsome, but I think the underside is much, much sexier."

"Ladies," she addressed her usual imaginary audience, "Take a look at that huge frenulum. That part of his cock is like your clit's hood. You may examine yourselves with mirrors I provided and compare yours to his. Or rather, his to yours. Cameraman, could you focus on his frenulum please?"

She paused.

"Anyone have a huge clit hood? No one? Well, okay, you pussies, let me show you mine!"

She lifted up her right leg like scissors and took a compact mirror out of her nearby purse and positioned it where both of us could see it. She arranged her external genitalia so that her hood was clearly visible.

"Cameraman?" She motioned to this imaginary technician and pointed to her hood as where she wanted the focus.

"Ladies," she said looking me straight in the eyes. "Have you ever seen a clit hood that large?"

I didn't say anything, but she wanted a response.

"Come on, Jason, play along!" she said sitting up in exasperation, knees bent and open.

"Um, no, it's gigantic!" And then to compensate for my reluctance, I said, "Oh, and Ms. Fletcher, look how big your clit has gotten! And your inner lips are so fat and your cunt is so wet!"

"Excellent observations, Mr. Williams!" She exclaimed.

She put down her mirror, steadied my cock with her left hand and put her right index finger on the side of my raging dick.

"Now, ladies, let's check his pulse. See if you can find it on the live model I've provided. If he isn't hard yet, I've taught you what to do."

Looking at her dainty watch's second hand, she checked my pulse from a penile artery for a full minute.

"Wow, 102 beats per minute! That's a fast heart rate for you Jason, I mean, Mr. Williams. What-you're usually in the mid 50's? I wonder why your heart is beating so fast...?" she teased.

"Now could you please squeeze your perineal muscle, Mr. Williams? I want the ladies to see how GIGANTIC you can get!"

I obliged, and indeed, my penis got so full it looked like it might explode. Tate motioned for the "camera man" to focus in.

Tate placed her left hand on top of her vulva and gently picked up her clit's hood with her thumb and index fingers like tweezers. As if it were a round toothpick, she rolled her hood all the way to the left then all the way to the right.

She sat up with her knees bent, and grasped my frenulum with her right thumb and index finger, and began rolling me in time with how she rolled herself.

Her breasts were glorious ivory with lovely bikini tan lines from hours in the sun this summer wearing shorts and a bikini top. Her areola were light pink, but what made my cock surge involuntarily were her huge, swollen, tall, fat red nipples.

"God, Tate, I'm going to cum!" I warned her as she rolled my frenulum.

"You mean, Ms. Fletcher? Not yet you're not, Mr. Williams" she said, inflicting mild pain to my frenulum with a hard pinch.

My cock softened from hickory to poplar; not enough to see but enough to feel.

Tate squeezed my cock to check its rigidity.

"Perfect," she said. Switching out of the Ladies session, she said "Okay Jason, keep it exactly this hard, not more and not less." It was easier for her to manipulate and describe my dick when it was not quite concrete.

She let go of her hood and my cock and said:

"And now I will paint your cock!"

My cock gave an involuntary squeeze and hardened. Tate glared at me. Then she began:

"Jason, you have a resplendent cock-noble and dignified!"

(Our aside conversation: "Okay, sorry Jason, I know that's a little too rich, but let's stick with it."

"Fine with me. Where in the world can you go with this one?"

"Ahem!" she said, playfully indignant that I would dare question her descriptive abilities).

"Your cock is beautifully cut with a perfect salmon colored scar area. Your rim is chiseled as if out of fine marble and crowned by a glorious helmet, which is perfectly proportioned and purple."

("I can never remember-are those p's assonance or consonance?" she asked.

"Consonance," I answered).

"When you squeeze your groin muscles, your head engorges with purple blood and nearly doubles in size. Please demonstrate. "

(Looking at my penis she said, "Well, sorry, I exaggerate, it doesn't really double. Poetic license.")

"The skin becomes so tight that any wrinkles on your head's surface flatten out taut as a drum. Sometimes when you clench your crotch muscle for long seconds your head becomes succulent, swollen, as tight as a blood-filled tick."

("Gross," I said.

"Sorry, it just popped into my head spending summers picking ticks off our dogs. But you gotta admit, it's a vivid descriptor!"

She had a point.)

"Its tip glistens with a tiny drop of precum, a dew drop on a rose petal, a clear pearl. Your cock's girth perfectly balances its length-a golden length-to-girth ratio handed down from Euclid, the patron saint of Pompeii."

("You are totally mixing religions and throwing in a little math and volcanology, too," I said.

"Silence!" she said. "My Muse is taking control!"

Then more sweetly, "Sorry, Jason, I'm just saying whatever the Muse commands."

Sometimes when she said such things, I wasn't sure if she was serious or not; like maybe she really, actually hears her "Muse."

But surely Pompeii was subliminal? I thought. As in "eruption"? A volcanic eruption? My cock being like Mt Vesuvius spewing cum instead of ash?)

"With each pounding pulse, your adamantine rod bows up and down at Euclid's throne, robed in the finest creamy-tan linen, and crowned in royal purple! Women venture far and near to bow to it, to touch it and even taste it. But it belongs to only ONE: Tate the Archer...

(Tate's last name was Fletcher, derived from the French word, "flèche," meaning arrow; she was always pointing this out to people)

...whose dreamy, ethereal arrows prickle, bristle and barb your cock with ineffable...

(She paused and looked at me grinning for using a word she was pretty sure I did not know. She was right, I didn't know it. )

...transcendent pleasure. Resplendent and luminous, noble and dignified, I present to you, Jason Williams, your cock!'

Tate had nailed it—as in making me hornier that a dog in heat. She had "painted" my cock so completely it really did feel like it had doubled in size now! These painting sessions we SO EXTREMELY erotic to me, mainly because she was holding and twisting my cock in various positions the whole time.

"Bravo, Bravo!" I yelled, clapping my hands in applause.

She bowed graciously then said, "By the way, Jason, it's 'brava' for a woman and 'bravo' for a man."

Smart ass.

I looked at her chest, a mural of blotched scarlet, creeping up her neck and onto her ears. She had a "come hither" look on her face, and her pupils were widely dilated like a bella donna. She unconsciously wet her lips with her tongue.

I looked down at her cunt. It looked luscious and juicy. Her inner lips were nearly as thick as her mouth's lips, and just as wet after Tate licked her chops again. Her clit was engorged and red.

Still sitting, she began thrusting her pelvis forward.

"Lick me," she said urgently. "Please, lick my lips and clit."

She had taken a shower right before dinner so she was soft and clean. I had her lean back on her elbows and spread her legs. Then I used my index fingers to spread her vulva as wide as possible without hurting her.

Kneeling between her legs, I realized she would have to scoot back.

"Lover, scoot back please."

"I'll do better than that. I'll lay crosswise so that we can use the whole width of the bed."

It was wonderful having so much room-to tease, wiggle, jerk, recoil, buck, fuck and writhe. In addition to many other movements.