Work Out Knock Out

I clench and stop and the world is much colder than I remembered. Our heavy petting kicked the blanket to the floor and the house only has so much warming in it with just the two of us.

"You don't have to answer," he continues so incredibly close to my forehead, "It's just a question I have." He ends his little spiel with a soft peck right between my eyebrows. Then one on my forehead. He gets one under his chin, at the side of his neck, at his collar bone. My length is hard and twitching and it doesn't matter if either of us have words to say.

"I had no fucking clue what I wanted my life to be like," I sigh, heavy and slow, "A recruiter at my school made it seem like it would be a good plan. And it kind of wasn't."

He's back to petting me, tracing his hands along my back muscles. They shift and tense and stretch with my breathing, pulling apart from the bone, only to stick back to it. My hand searches for his free one and finds it casually dangling over the side. Together, his and mine find our blanket and put it back over us. It's still cold, but it's warming up.

"And it kind of was," I sigh, "I liked parts of the training. The physical stuff. That's where I got into boxing and judo and whatever it is that Ken had me do when I first started at RTLs. I liked the runs and the hikes. I didn't like the people screaming at me. I didn't really like the guns. I didn't like when my CO called me a tranny and had me discharged."

The hand stops and Troy is warm. His heartbeat is just on the edge of excited. I'm needy and pressing into him, my arousal completely evident to everyone present. And I've revealed something that I probably should have a while ago and now I'm here, watching the credits of a seal documentary with my heart trying to escape my chest. His hands move again and lock me down.

"In his defense, I did kind of break his jaw when that happened," I murmur. He smells deep and dark and calming and nothing like the sea.

"I'm going to say he had it coming," Troy says.

I shrug. The court didn't think so. They also decided that I didn't get any benefits. Kind of made my life hard when I got back.

"It was a bad move that led to a bad end and left me in a bad place in a lot of bad ways," I sigh. My words are lead. My arms are lead. Everything about me wants to sink to the center of the Earth and never return. It will be calm and still forevermore down there.

Then Troy drags me up again, kissing me softly. It takes a moment and I don't pull away. I push in. He pushes back. I'm up in my head and I need to be down in my body. My length twitches and pulses and his tongue meets mine curiously. I push back and he is warm and calm and growing so excited with me. He snakes up my stomach and he's back to soft gentle humping against my body. I return the act and I get that same deep groan from his chest. It sinks down with me to the ends of the worlds.

A little shudder comes with that deep noise and a sticky little bead emerges from his tip. I nip at something sensitive. I believe it's his lips and that gets another little shudder and pulse from him. He breaks for air and lets in a gust of cold with the space.

"Are you sure-" he starts.

"Yes. It's me. When do I not want to do this?" I say, back to kissing his neck.

"Had to ask. Sad Rachel is kind of a rarity. I had to check there wasn't horny Rachel in there somewhere."

"Horny Rachel is a constant. She makes all the other Rachels get out of bed in the morning."

My little Rachel is now big and hard and the little bit of anger dredged up from my mind is now slowly sinking back down. Troy is hard. I am hard. There's a thin pulse of preseed coming from him and smearing my stomach. My length twitches and pulses and joins in the discharge. Troy's breathing quickens and sparks. I want him and he wants me. That's all either of us could ever need.

Troy takes me again and locks my joints. I struggle, not too hard, but I like the way I'm going. There's a bit where I have to help and move myself a bit more to keep us both under the blankets. I glance by his hard stomach, past the little drops of our release. I drag my tongue over the lines of his abs. Then his tip pokes my cheek and a flush of raw heat floods my body. I think mine touches his chin and I adore wherever this is going. I move the waistline out of the way. His jammys are thin and light, with a dark spot of that same preseed tracing the path his tip took on its way to freedom. He does the same to me. We both shimmy and roll to help each other. Mine are around my ankles. His are down to his knees. Muscles are twitching and flexing with so many little motions, echoes of our earlier work, anticipation of what is to come.

He gets to it first. There's a pair of lips on my shaft and anything higher functioning falls away. Soft pressure and more heat and my hands grip at his thighs. The muscle moves under my fingers and I take a moment to savor the anticipation.

"I love the way you taste," the angelic voice of pleasure hums from up above.

"Then taste me more," I moan. He'll get his when I get mine. And I get mine with another wonderful kiss, a bit hungrier behind the motion. I find it is to my liking and I think I best return the favor.

Troy's big. Beautifully big. I've seen the shapes he can make through the others, and I've felt the same through me in that glorious moment where nothing else matters. It's warm and pulsing, more beads of bitter salty preseed coming in time with his breathing. I feel my own join the dance and it's such a beautiful prelude. He works in his tongue and I need to get back to making the give part of the give and take.

His length rests on my cheek and I am back in the warmth of his body. The blanket blocks out everything else. I catch glimpses of his legs, his stomach, all still cooling down and working. The heat chases it away and his lips work on my shaft. I raise my hips and give him the whole of my length to work with. I get a little whimper as he stares me down. I'm too busy to care.

I've seen it work and now it's all I can see. It's intimidating and heavy and every ounce of my work is trying to appease it. It gets soft kisses as a concession. It twitches and jumps and I get a bead of pearly preseed down my cheek. It's warm and heavy and I work my way up. He smells like sex now, eager and ready and dark. I keep moving up and he tries to do the same to me. I help with my hips. I get tongue and so does he. I like the way he tastes too, but my mouth is too busy to form the words. He doesn't need them. I work in my hands as well, to give the work something more to give in to. He likes my hand. Troy twitches and moans as I encircle his base and rise to his tip. I stare down from his summit and love the view. His sack is full and tight and eager and I put my lips to his head. I get another bead and a deep hiss as my reward.

"Less teeth, please," he mewls. That is a fair request. I like a small amount of teeth. There's a bit of rough to the pain. Troy likes less than that. He wants warm and soft and tight grips and swirling tongues. He gets a wider jaw and a bit more of him in me. I love the way he tastes, the way he fills my body with deep urges, the way everything about him slowly encroaches against my being. I have his head in my mouth, slowly twirling my tongue across the tip, back and forth and in little circles. Every other moment, I get a pearl of his preseed dancing across my tongue.

He's gotten a bit more adventurous too. He's rougher than Louise or Saoirse. Still some trepidation and fear and some asinine desire that he shouldn't be doing this. His experiments in college were a bit more dominant from what he's told me. I don't care what he thinks he should be. He should care about what he wants, and I know that the twitch in his core means he wants me to do whatever I want with him. He has my head beyond his lips and I get crude shapes teasing me. It's still wonderful. It's still something that sings to the very core of my being. It's the sensation I was forged to experience.

Troy decides that he wants more of me and the tongue shifts and I find myself deeper in him. He's trying. I'm trying. Neither one of us are particularly good at this part. Saoirse's probably the best, but Louise puts in a good amount of effort. It helps that she's the smallest of us. Anything she has on her looks massive and intimidating and Troy grips my ass again. Too much teeth, or not enough depth. My lips spread and I start to bob and duck slowly. It's the act he wants and the act he gives. It's wonderful and simple and beautiful. I can't taste his preseed anymore and that's a shame. He can't taste mine either.

I leave a trail of spit and saliva. I work my way back, eyes closed and lost in his body. His hands wander and grip my ass, my thighs, my back. I work to give his head more room between my legs. I don't want to crush him just yet. I want to fill him and soothe him and he keeps moving against the uncontrollable urges of my body. I thrust it into his throat and that's a mistake. He draws away and leaves me out int the cold. I don't. I move a bit deeper. I move my mouth a bit wider. My jaw starts to bend and break and I keep going down.

I hilt him. My nose presses into his sack and he fills all of me. His scent, his touch, the way his body moves under mine in the tantric dance. I move back up and close my eyes. Warmth and filling and heavy scents and a strong body working against mine, I move and suck and lick and pull against him. It takes a long, long time to get back up to his tip. It doesn't take quite as long to get back down. He's in my throat and I'm in his again. He's relaxed and tight and warm. He's pulling me in deeper and then letting me go free.

Troy's hands wander between my legs and find my entrance weeping. I almost forgot about the poor thing. So many other parts of me to cherish and worship. So many other things I am. I can't be expected to keep track of all of them. That's why I keep the others around. They tend to me when I forget things. They take me and bend me and change me even more than I already go through.

My current metamorphosis is a tightening in my core that is my purpose in life. My mind is going blank and white. It's all so sublime. His hand traces my entrance as his mouth works on my mouth. I am going as fast as I can on his own considerable length and now he is getting the same. I know the signs. I live for the signs.

He's the first to break the seal, but not by much. Really, in the grand scheme of things, it's the same instant from any reasonable point of view. His first shot fills my mouth with his heavy, wonderful seed and it's barely gone before the next one. He starts going faster, pulses longer and stronger as my own release blanks out my mind. There is impulse and reaction and nothing else. The blanket is gone. The TV is on and prattling about seals. The sky is dark and the streetlights let the snowflakes dance in their solitary beam.

Troy pulls away and leaves me cold as I slowly do the same to him. His seed falls down across my back as warm thick rain. It pulls me deeper to him. He angles me down between our bodies and I feel my shots crawl up between my breasts and his stomach. Burning and flushed and choking and dancing at the edge of reason, simple unconquerable pleasure where everything is crashing together. The lines blur and shift and I can't see. I can't hear. I can only feel the endless rosy warmth of another body brought to oblivion with my help.

Troy starts coughing and wincing and I give him some freedom to go through his own motions.

"You cum way too much," he sputters. I gesture to my own back painted with his seed. I think it reached down to my toes. I wouldn't be surprised if he hit the far wall. The only reason I haven't done the same paint job is there was a body or two in the way. He looks at his own mess and concludes that I still cum way too much. I still fail to see how that's my problem right now. It will be when we stop and have to wipe everything down.

"I like how much you cum," I say with a soft kiss on his tip.

"Well, now I feel like an ass."

"Louise doesn't cum enough," I say.

"Don't get her started. I know for a fact she's thinking about getting a strap with a pump. I've looked into it and they're super expensive. Like, I'm not going to stop her, but as the family accountant, I have to at least try to make you all somewhat responsible."

"Thank you. Your new plushy is super responsible."

"Don't give me that. You agreed that Mr. Fangy needed girlfriend, and that's why Ms. Bitey is currently on our mantle underneath the dad sword."

He's smiling through the shared afterglow. He's got me. I did agree that the lioness would be a good addition to our odd family. So long as none of us cross that line into imaginary tea parties, I think two stuffed animals add a bit of childlike nostalgia to our home. Saoirse's videogames and Louise's pajamas make us all the perfect level of immature.

I move and he moves and he eventually leaves me cold and alone and afraid. He says he's just getting a towel, and I believe him, like the fool I am. We all know that as soon as something disappears from view, it's gone forever. Then a towel hits the back of my head and I get to wiping myself down as best as I can. I'm still hard, but there's a limit to how far we can go in one round. There's something to be said of a good break in the moment so nothing goes too far. I'm clean. Not freshly showered clean, but clean enough to not worry about getting anything else dirtier. That's inevitable.

Troy's moving down the hall, off in the shadows. I wish he'd come back so we can be warm again. There's another episode of the documentary queued up. This one's about birds, I think. Albatrosses and seagulls and turns and boobies. We both need to learn about birds so he needs to be here.

"Do you want some water?" he calls out.

"Yes, please."

That was a mistake. He's now going to take longer to come back and that's all I really want. He's gone and I'm cold and the opening is playing. The world turns and there are clouds. Someone has a drone to play with. I don't. I don't really want one. I want Troy and he's not coming back and I'm going to drag him over here if I have to. I've already beaten him black and blue. I don't think that will be a problem.

He comes back before I get angry. There are birds flying in a soft formation and he hands me a glass of water. It does its job and it sits on the table. His sits next to mine and next to something else. It takes me a minute to get the label right.

It's lube. Louise's to be precise. The one she uses on the strap, to be even more so. It's a big bottle about a third down and it's just sitting there, tantalizing us both. I take another sip of water and dart my eyes to him. He's calm, watching the birds. At least, pretending to. His gaze glances to me and down to my length and back to the screen, with a brief stop at the bottle again. Then the birds and me and my chest and we all just chaotically spiral against one another as we all know what's happening.

"Are you sure?" I say, finally breaking. He smiles. It's feline and sharp and I just catch glimpses of it through the flickering screen light.

"Yes, Rachel. It's me. When do I not want this?" he purrs.

I tackle him back to the couch and kiss him fiercely. I can taste my seed on his tongue as he wrestles with mine. He seethes and hisses as the pressure comes back to the bruises I gave him. I do not care. I am not gentle right now. His hands go to my length and push and pull and do so many things and it's all lost. It's all just lost to another moment of pleasure. There is no moment or line of distinction. His body ends and mine begins and nothing else matters.

"I love it when you're this wild," he moans into me.

I don't give him any words. I have no words. There are no words. There is a body and it is mine. There is another body and it is also mine. I am kissing him and his hands are clawing at me, pulling me closer and pushing me away. The urges are chaotic and polarizing. My hands pin him down. He struggles. He tries to find the way out, but he only finds me.

Something snaps back to me. Our lengths are touching, our preseed flowing and coating and swimming against one another. Slick and warm and I'm not sure we'll need the lube. It's on the table and it's there for when we're ready. He stops trying to fight me and he simply gives up. He scrambles on the table and I have to move away. We need space to move and prepare. We cannot have space when we are so close. I finally relent and let him breathe. Aches and pains and everything bad are gone. There's a glint in his eyes that still clings to the wonderful bit of planning.

He squeezes the bottle into his hands and starts moving on me. It's cold. Beautifully cold. I can feel the steam billow from my body. It's cold and sticks to my skin. I throw my head back and let the urges go through me. My hips rock. My legs tense. He puts more into his palm and lets my length shine. It spills onto his stomach, onto his length, and I love the shine it takes on. It heightens the shadows. It's against his stomach, past his navel, and I fight the urge to put it in me. This isn't about that. This is about me in him. He puts on more lube. I think there's enough, but it's wonderful to have more than enough. Small pools of it, mixed with our combined preseed, spill over his abs.

"Are you ready?" he says, that same sharp grin peeking through the shadows.

"Are you?" I respond.

"No, but I think that's kind of the point right now. I can never be ready for you. That's what I love about all of this. That's what I love about all of you."

I crush into him again and find his lips. It's such a long way. There is so much of our bodies slipping and sliding and warming the other. I draw away and it's a long, long trip. I stay for a moment with our lengths aligned. Mine reaches farther than his.

"Stop showing off," mutters Troy, "I had to work up so much nerve for this. Don't make me feel worse."

"Would having the others here help?" I ask.

"Honestly, no. Louise would be way too into it and I'm not sure how Saoirse would react. It always feels like a coin toss with what she's into."

"Everything," I say, "She's into everything. She just has to try it first."

He doesn't disagree. I move over and simply stare. He's naked and pale and spotted with both of our releases, both our current wave and previous flood. He's looking into my eyes and refusing to break. His hands are in front of his chest, protecting his wounds and I simply devour him.

"You're back to being scary Rachel," he whimpers. His eyes are big and wide like that will make me do anything gentle to him.

I like being scary Rachel right now. I like the way he simply accepts this. I love the way our lengths play and bat. He's still hard. He's still ready. Another soft pulse comes from me and paints his body. He shivers in the warmth and I draw away.

The night is cold and dark and there's a soft voice talking about how albatrosses can fly for years, decades, centuries if they have to. I'm not really paying attention. Troy spreads his legs a bit more. Not quite the same with Louise and Saoirse. Louise has a lot more enthusiasm most of the time. Saoirse has more work done to those parts of her. But he knows. He's done it enough from the other end to know what to expect. He's going to be wrong, but he has the general plan.

I prod him a bit and now he has to spread a bit more. The lube makes him slick and warm. He spreads a bit more, tossing his legs over me. His length twitches and bobs and another little bead pulses from him. I bend over and kiss his chest, work my lips down until I taste bitter salt. He gets one last little touch on his head and I roll back to standing. I am tall and strong and I finally start pushing in.