The Chuffing
The huffing and puffing, the rutting, and, oh, the continual chuffing. His enormous, fat, wide, long, drooling cock sliding into me - pounding into me - marking me as his, my womb wide open to his wild, animal-like ministrations.
The chuffing.
I say this as I am coming awake, or something, into a more conscious state from the perpetual, aching, swooning orgasm he has been giving me for the past thirty minutes. I feel every ripple of his musculature, the veins in his arms, the sweat and muscles of his stomach, his back, his neck, and his muscular ass.
Chuff, chuff, chuff...he ruts and moans as he takes me. I am in spellbound silence - or possibly screaming - I don't know at the moment, and I don't care. How did this happen, you ask? Well, let me tell you.
Setting the Stage:
My wonderful, brilliant, built, and hung hubby and I have been married now for going on 16 years. At the time we met, I was dating a handsome, hung, built, empty-headed stud who was, to be sure, just lots of fun. We went to Hawaii, Portugal, and Vegas. He was a senior manager in one of the Big 8 firms at the time and had clientele all over the world. Whatever he knew about accounting, believe me, it did not translate into a man with whom I could have conversations. But we met online, and he had a nice cock, and I was bored. Plus, he had some charm, the time and money, and the means to make for some very - let's say - interesting weekends. It was he who introduced me to swinging. Before then, I had been with many men, and a few DPs with women, but didn't ever consider myself a "swinger" per se, just a girl with appetites.
And oh, I have appetites.
So, my boyfriend at the time and I (let's call him Pete) flew to Vegas one weekend, about six months into our whirlwind relationship, for dancing and gambling and drinking and fun. While we were there, Pete said he had a surprise for me: we were going to a swinger's club (a private one) where he had been before. Well, while Pete could fuck like a stallion, he had a hard time holding my attention for an evening, so I thought to myself, "This will be interesting. I wonder who else will be there?" I literally had no idea. Will they be swingers like the beautiful porn pros or swingers like the most skanky amateurs? Both? Neither? Packing for Vegas, I made sure to bring outfits that would tease, and please, that would beckon (to the extent that clothes can have that effect) and promote conversations with people who may, you know, want to. With me.
The chuffing.
I am imagining that I am mounted by some wild, throbbing, enormous alien force as I drift in and out of reality. The memories of my first true swinging keep making their way into the front of my mind...chuff, chuff...he ruts, I feel myself being taken, willingly - ohhh, so willingly - but a part of me is above my body, floating; the rut, the chuff, the incredible pleasure of it all...taking me to new heights. As I drift into the present, I hear his moans, and grunts: the low, guttural sounds of male primacy. My legs are splayed in the air, heels down, toes pointed. My body, my tits, my ass, my pussy: all in motion, in rhythm, in and out of syncopation, but in total and complete surrender to this dark, muscular, beautiful, sexy bull plowing me as if I am his personal sperm bag. At this moment (and for many moments before, and a few after), I am his. I so am.
My tits ache. Not from rough handling, but from desire. His cock pounds my cervix, which seems attached at every stroke, every thrust, to my sensitive nipples. My God, I think, "Just please fuck me."
I realize I am actually saying that out loud. My hands are on his back, neck, and shoulders, milking his oh, so full balls. This man is fucking me in the present, with hubby there, someplace (I think... hehe...), and his cock is also a time machine, taking me back to my first day - first night - with the man I love. One whom I now see is eagerly watching me, stroking his very beautiful, nine-inch cock, and grinning.
"Can you know where my mind is, love? Can you guess?" I ask, out of breath.
"No, Babe. I have no idea where he is taking you, but you must tell me sometime," he says. He says more, but I am trailing off again, a useless fuck doll for the express use of this massive, handsome, respectful gentleman Dan has found for me.
I've lost track of the many myriad times I have cum. The sheets are soaked. Much of that must be me, but Mr. Black's sweat and not a small amount of his seed is contributing to the situation.
As if reading my mind, Mr. Black suddenly scoops me up, under one arm, and tosses me over onto my tummy, lifting me up for what I have been craving: to be mounted by this black stallion like a mare in heat. As that happens, Dan slides his 6'2" frame, and diamond-hard cock, in front of me on the bed, against the headboard. I take that cock in my mouth like a thousand times before, but this time, I do it out of a need: to hold on, to reconnect with him, to drink my husband's sweet jizz at the same time as I am filled by this lovely man. He's a pro football player, in incredible shape, (like benches 500 pounds shape), glistening and perfect. I realize, with my head down, that they both get a good look at each other. I feel them reach across for a handshake. Huh. Suck, slurp, pump. I'm a party favor passed around to a very select few. Suck, pump, lick, caress, eyes locking on my man.
Now on my knees, I have a little more (just a little more) ability to move. So, willing pussy, swinging tits, hungry mouth...all is in harmony, taking care of my men. I am Kathleen (Kat to friends), and I am in heaven.
I manage to get my knees a little farther apart, allowing my ass to pitch up a bit and granting my stud, my black stallion, our third, even better, deeper access. At some point, he leans back and pops out of me. I gasp at the sudden emptiness and can hear him stroking his massive cock behind me. I wriggle my ass and entice him, all the while giving my most loving head to my hubby. I pop him out of my mouth to get a look at his beautiful cock, glistening from my saliva and his precum. I hear Mr. Black exclaim something like, "Boy, Dan, you hung like a brotha!"
I giggle. He's right, of course. Dan's massive white cock is always more than enough at times. I turn back and mouth to Mr. Black (so only he can see), "I love you!" Then I say it out loud. Dan spins me around, and I'm now finally spit-roasted the other way. About time!
Dan's cock is very big, VERY hard. Not as big as Black's, but harder - much harder. I begin to suck and suck and lick and taste Black. We kiss, he and I. Dan plows me, and it's just lovely. I am back to Earth, taken in every way. "Dan said you were a size Queen," he exclaims, "But dayyyum, baby, you can really handle the pipe!" he says, guiding my head onto him deeper. "You keep sucking me like that, baby; you gonna make me shoot my juice all over you!"
I moan, taking him deeper. Dan moans, grunts, heaves. He picks up the pace and, in so doing, pushes my head faster and faster onto the massive black cock with the man attached. He says he's about to cum and asks me (how nice?) where I want it. "On my tits, tummy, face, everywhere!!!" I shout.
It's about two more grinding minutes later when he pulls his cock head away from my eager mouth, notices the pout on my face, and massively erupts all over my tits, face, hair, eyes, tummy, and on Dan's chest and tummy. Oh, my! What a sweet, intimate gift from this man, this gifted and talented pro athlete with thighs as big as my shoulders.
We both cry out.
Dan is still pumping furiously. Mr. Black turns and slides under me so I can jack and suck his waning erection and so he may taste my pussy...even as Dan is still taking me. I feel cock, fingers, tongue, nose, and mouth; I am overcome. So is Dan, apparently, because at that moment, he withdraws and sprays my back and ass with his gift. I collapse on Mr. Black, still in a 69 - and I cum again.
My gosh, how time flies.
We're on our sailboat, and it's very private and big and nice. Black hits the shower before he leaves, and I collapse in puddles of sex in the arms of my hubby, Dan.
"So," he asks, "Tell me about what you were thinking about earlier...when you were...I dunno...gone."
"Happily," I say. "It was about the first time we met."
Mr. Black leaves us after we all have a sip from a nice twenty-five-year-old MacAllan's, shared between lovers. Still sticky and a sexy mess, I begin to unravel where I was, and how this all started out.
Before the chuffing, the endless, ceaseless chuffing.
But that's another story.
- Kat
