Kimberly McArthur meets a famous singer

Kimberly McArthur meets a famous singer

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Kimberly McArthur, Miss January 1982, has an encounter with a famous singer.

Summary

Kimberly McArthur, Miss January 1982, has an encounter with a famous singer.

Content

Submitted: April 18, 2013

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Content

Submitted: April 18, 2013

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?Bang bang, she shot me down?

Bang bang, I hit the ground?

Bang bang, that awful sound

?Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Kimberley McArthur lifted the needle on the stereo and began the album again. Something about the singer’s smoky voice, rich with experience from a long life lived to the fullest, had gripped the girl. The album started again and Kimberly hummed along with the first track, “We started out like a song…” She swirled around the room, still humming and singing. “We had a good thing going…” The song was plaintive and sad and it overwhelmed the sweet girl as she listed. Each track was sadder than the last, “Hey Look, No Cryin’” then “Thanks for the Memory,” an old song that brought the pretty blonde close to tears; the next song was “A Long Night” and finally a heart wrenching almost operatic version of “Bang Bang My Baby Shot Me Down” and every time she heard it a chill rushed down her spine and she had to hug herself for comfort.

Downstairs, in another part of the Mansion, unbeknownst to the young girl, the singer himself had his feet up on the publisher’s desk. He flipped through some recent Playboy Magazines, taking his time and spending a moment to check out each centerfold. He tossed the last one down and laughed. “You know what H.H. I got a feeling you’re holding back. These girls are cute and all but I’m in the mood for something special.”

“Frank, you know I can’t keep a secret. And you’re right. I’ve got a very special lady right here. He handed over the January 1982 issue.

The singer’s eye brows arched with surprise; he had bedded many playmates and many more Hollywood beauties including goddesses like Ava Gardner and Rita Hayworth in decades past and Victoria Principle and Bernadette Peters in the past few weeks. But all he could say, looking at the playmate deliciously displayed in the January 1982 centerfold was, “Ring a ding ding!” Delicately but mercilessly pretty Kimberly McArthur looked directly into the camera and promised to rock his world.

The publisher was pleased to see the singer’s reaction. “I’ve not enjoyed her myself, yet. I’m saving her for a special occasion, but clearly you are a connoisseur so…” He let the idea form in wisps of smoke from his pipe as he gestured towards the door. “She has aspirations to be a singer herself so I know she’ll be thrilled to meet you.”

“Lead on, my friend, lead on,” the singer laughed as he followed the publisher out.

In Kimberly’s room the record was still spinning out its hypnotic hold on the luscious girl. It was a medley of two old standards, pushed together in a five minute opera of despair and regret. Harold Arlen's and Ira Gershwin's "The Gal that Got Away" with Rodgers and Hart's "It Never Entered My Mind" in a Nelson Riddle arrangement, she cried with just the opening cords; it was all so beautiful and sincere.  Sure the old saloon songs were tear-jerkers and cry-in-your-beer kind of things. And the voice, so smooth and powerful for decades, was now a little aged, a little raspy here and there, but still powerful, mighty, experienced, time-worn and evoking a ‘been there, done that, seen it all, had it all happen to me...’ feeling. The record spun the lonely nights, the Camel cigarettes and the Jack Daniels of a life, the heartbreaks and Ava Gardner.

Kimberly knew rationally that the singer was one of the most famous, most popular, even richest entertainers in history, instantly recognizable; undoubtedly he could have virtually any woman he wanted. But in her heart and in her soul she understood the loneliness and heartbreak; she knew that this voice was yearning to be cuddled in her warm and comforting arms, crushed against her soft and willing breasts.

She sat in her room on a pile of pillows watching the record as it spun.  Leaning with her weight on one arm, her legs curled under her, she looked like that famous statue of the Little Mermaid in the harbor of Copenhagen. She had the same wistful look on her face, and her beauty possessed the same magical quality of the fairytale creature.

Her negligee was sheer, almost ethereal in its wispy shimmering over her creamy skin. The lyrical curves of her voluptuous body were outlined in silhouette in the soft light from the window. The strap of the negligee had slipped down one shoulder and the soft skin glowed in the gentle light. She sighed as the record ended with the singer’s plaintive lament, “Please come back…won’t you come back…” But the needle, set on automatic, simply lifted with a muffled mechanical ticking and after a brief rumble of needle on vinyl, side B started again. “I know there were a hundred ways to tell her I loved her…”

She continued to stare at the spinning record but her gaze was vacuous; instead she watched with a particular intensity, as if she could visualize the stories swirling out of each song, she could feel the heart break deep inside. The singer wasn’t merely singing; the singer was living the loss and loneliness and Kimberly’s generous heart longed to be comforting. She longed to press the man’s sorrows against her bosom, to sooth a broken heart.

Even looking at her from behind, from the doorway, she was a vision, soft and voluptuous, the bare shoulder, shimmering golden hair streaming down her back, the two orbs of her ass visible through the sheer negligee and panties, the shapely legs tucked under the deliciously round bottom. The singer spent a long time studying and appreciating the view, dazzled by the glow of health, which radiated resplendently from her arms and shoulders.
 
He hadn’t knocked. The door just opened and there he was. Kimberly had sensed the door opening behind her but had stayed focused on the music. She thought she knew who was behind her. Sometimes she felt like Rapunzel in a tower and she expected it to be the publisher coming in to take his pleasure by pleasuring her voluptuous body. His presence did not interfere with the enthrallment of the music. She wouldn’t allow it, but the music guided her as she gracefully lifted herself with her back to the man at the door.  When Kimberly McArthur rose from pile of pillows on the floor, the curves of her voluptuous body moved in an erotically joyous symphony, the soft fabric of her sheer negligee rustling in a hushed whisper; her pale skin glowed and her golden hair shimmered softly. She rose like a lark arising; her body moved like a poem. She let the rhythms of the song lead her in a dance as she unhurriedly turned, her eyes misty and her lips parted. She turned slowly, her beauty unfurling like a flower opening and when she recognized the singer she paused only for a moment, then sighed a soft sigh of submission. “I….I like your record,” she breathed in a tiny voice.  

“Right, I see that,” the singer looked her over carefully, piece by piece. It felt to her as if, with each new piece of her that his eyes alit on, she was being further tacked to the wall behind her, so that when he was done looking over all of her, she had been rendered entirely two-dimensional and fastened to the wall. “I liked the centerfold picture. I know I’m going to like you.”

Kimberly blushed scarlet. She seemed to twinkle and blush.

His eyes roved, his attitude confident but also appreciative, one artist admiring another. With his first inspection his eyes had rendered her as a centerfold, a work of art; now his eyes studied the living flesh appreciatively and his gaze made her skin tingle, as if his hands were already caressing her naked body. “And I know you’re going to like me too; I’m going to be real good for you. You know it.”


“I know it,” she said huskily, the deep tremor in her voice saying she understood exactly what he meant, saying that she would be a luscious playmate in bed, or wherever he wanted to do her.  She was swept up onto a sensual merry-go-round now, a ride she knew well.

Kimberly was a sexual creature and easily aroused. The problem was, as she kept doing more kinds of sexual things, the line between sex and not-sex kept getting more hazy and indistinct.
As she brought more into her sexual experience things were showing up on the dividing line demanding her attention. It wasn't just that the territory she labeled "sex" was expanding. The line itself had swollen, dilated, been transformed into a vast gray region. It had become less like a border and more like a demilitarized zone.
She knew when she was feeling sexual. She was feeling sexual if her pussy was wet, her nipples were hard, her palms were clammy, her brain was fogged, her skin was tingly and super-sensitive, her butt muscles
clenched, her heartbeat sped up. She felt the tingle of an emerging orgasm (that was the real give-away), and so on. But feeling sexual with someone isn't the same as having sex with them. Good Lord, if she called it sex every time she was attracted to someone who returned the favor, she'd be even more bewildered than she was now. Even being sexual with someone isn't the same thing as having sex with them. She’d danced and flirted with too many people, given and received too much sexy teasing, to believe otherwise. And now she was on the merry-go-round once more.

Her soft eyes followed him as he strode through her room as if he belonged there. “It’s a good record,” he acknowledge, “But I like a different music when I…” He paused and looked directly at the girl, “…when I ball.” Letting her ponder this he turned his attention to the stereo. With a musician’s sensibilities he slowly faded out the song before lifting the arm of the turntable. His fingers deftly wandered through her records and he gave each title careful consideration. He turned momentarily and smiled at the girl, “You’ve got good taste,” he said approvingly.

Kimberly trembled at the complement, flushing with pride. She watched him select an album and with the efficiency of a recording engineer set it up to play. A smooth and sensual saxophone line slithered out of her speakers and wrapped around the trembling girl, John Coltrane’s ‘I want to talk about you.’

Now the singer gave her his full attention. He circled around her, as if deciding where to begin. She looked demurely to the floor but followed him with her down cast eyes. When he stood behind her she could feel his gaze caressing her juicy bottom. She looked at him over her shoulder, as if giving him permission with her sexy glance.

He didn’t need permission but he enjoyed taking it. He stepped in closer, putting two hands on the two plump cheeks of her bottom, caressing them through the sheer negligee. The singer wasn’t tall but he still towered over the petite little five foot three playmate, and when she sighed and leaned back against him he had to bend to kiss her soft slender throat.

The kiss weaved into the sensual music from the stereo; the saxophone teased and moaned but the bass and drums kept a steady seductive rhythm. His hands roved over her curves, telling her body it was wanted. He caressed over her chest with one hand, and over her face with the other. Like a nimble vixen, ready to play, she caught his fingers and sucked them into her soft warm mouth, using her tongue to tell the fingers how good her mouth could be.

Her plump ass pressed against him as his free hand sang into the lush pillows of her breast. The fabric of her negligee teased over rock hard nipples. Kimberly loved to be fondled through her clothes. The dainty and lacy teddie was soft on her skin and the pressure of his groping hand sent thrills up her spine. She swayed to the music as he nuzzled into her hair and kissed her ear; she loved to have her ears lick so she was swooning now, sucking his fingers suggestively.

The singer was overwhelmed by the sweet warmth of the nubile girl in his arms, intoxicated by the aroma of her hair and her skin. He couldn’t get enough of those luscious breasts and his pelvis loved grinding into her juicy bottom. And her mouth on his fingers, it was better, more arousing, than most of the starlets who had ever given him head. Yet she seemed so innocent and fresh, so young and vital.

“How old are you, sweetheart,” he growled.

She reluctantly released his fingers from her mouth. “Nineteen,” she said breathlessly.

Nineteen. Jesus. She made it sound so sweet and sexy. He was old enough to be collecting Social Security. When this doll was born he was doing chicks like Jill St. John and Natalie Wood; in fact he did them both together as he recalled. He probably balled a thousand chicks since then, but this luscious little package writhing in his arms now, she was going to be something special.

Kimberly was feeling weak and helpless; the music was hypnotic and the sensual energy was enthralling. She put one hand on his hip to steady herself and the other hand on top of his as he continued to maul her flesh. She held her breath suddenly. His hand had found the first of the little satin bows holding the negligee closed. Her tiny hand was over his, but as to whose fingers actually tugged the ribbon, she couldn’t tell.

Kimberly loved to have her breasts fondled through her clothes, but she loved the act of being undressed even more. She never wore a bra and with the slow unfurling of each ribbon the gift she had to offer, her bodacious body, became unwrapped. Something in the look of a man’s eyes when he saw her breasts made Kimberly all weak and helpless inside; the man always looked so happy. All she wanted to do was lift her pretty nipples and offer them to the eager salivating mouth.

She looked down now as her hand and the singer’s hand worked over the ribbons of her negligee. Kimberly made a soft, amused sound. Everything about her was so soft, touchable, enticing…Her breasts rose and fell with her anxious breathing and more and more of the magnificent flesh came into view. The tiny ribbons unfurled with gentle sighs and dangled sweetly, shimmering as her body trembled.

Now the last bow came undone. Kimberly with a shy giggle turned around and pressed her chest against his shirt, hiding those glorious mounds as she hugged him tight. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she gushed and squeezed him even tighter, mashing her luscious breasts into his chest.

“Sure, doll,” he agreed, “We’re going to have a nice time together.” As he spoke he gently pushed her arms down and tugged the negligee down her back. It dropped into space, the shimmering fabric gathering into a frothy mass on the floor behind her. “You just leave everything to ol’ blue eyes.” He clutched her juicy ass; her pussy gyrated against him.

As one of his hands squeezed her plump ass, the other caressed over the smooth skin of her spine; the girl shivered against him and shyly lifted her head, her moist lips parted, her eyes half closed. Her fingers slid down the back of his pants, under his belt, as if she were binding herself to him.

‘Shhhh,” hissed the ribbon on her left side, the delicate bow holding her panties closed; the bow unfurled eagerly under his nimble fingers. As the panties relaxed around her hips she grew more excited and ground into him in rhythm to the profound beat of the bass on the record. ‘Shhhhh,” and now the other side unfurled. The sheer panties stayed in place, crushed between her pussy and his leg. He slowly pulled them from behind and the lacy fabric teased over the lips of her moist sex and she felt a throb of ecstasy, a tiny orgasm rushing through her.

Now it was a perfect picture, a nude playmate, pale and pink with glowing skin, the soft curves of her bare body up against the man that had just undressed her; he was fully clothed, the master about to take his love slave.

She threw herself into his arms and met his astonished gaze with a determined one of her own.  “I’m so excited to see you.” She kissed him quickly—ignoring the hum in her blood—and held him tighter, pleased at this situation. He couldn’t fail to realize she was conquered now. They kissed, two great virtuosos joining in song. He was the master, enslaving the trembling girl with his tongue, expertly teasing and exploring inside her sweet mouth; she was the helpless nymphet, surrendering her butterfly tongue to his demands but twirling and dancing in an innocent seduction.

She was wicked in her innocence. He didn’t know whether to spank the wriggling girl or kiss her senseless. Just holding her aroused him in a way he was hard-pressed to explain. Her scent, the feel of her smooth skin under his hands, her soft kiss, all of it made him want to throw her down on the nearest bed and fuck her until he couldn’t move. He wanted to tie her to him and make her admit she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Because he sure as hell couldn’t stop thinking about her.

When they came up for air he was pleased with himself; he was claiming her for his own. “Now it’s just you and me, honey. Where should we start?”

Kimberly gnawed on her lower lip, and he wanted to kiss the sting away. She turned her direct doe-eyed gaze on him. “Why are you here?”

He laughed. “I’m here to make love to you until neither of us can walk.” He kissed her before she could close her pretty mouth.

Kimberly had to be dreaming. No way this amazing singer would be interested in a little girl from Dallas, Texas. But she couldn’t ignore the heat building inside her from the taste of him.

He tasted like chocolate. She couldn’t explain how, but he did. And his scent. Like spiced male and sex, topped with sugared seduction. He groaned low and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips to sweep her mouth.

And now he was kissing her like he meant it, and her entire body crystallized. He shifted, drawing her closer, and she couldn’t help noticing his insistent erection. Good Lord, he felt huge. Her sex throbbed, growing wet and needy while he ground against her.

“You feel so damned good,” he whispered and ran kisses down her neck.

So did he. Though she had to reach up to kiss him, she liked his size. Petite, Kimberly would look up to most men she dated. But the singer seemed like just the perfect size, not too tall and with a huge dick. She gripped his neck as they kissed again, and her nipples strained against his clothing, begging to touch his naked chest. All thoughts of trouble and family and Playboy business faded next to the need to feel the singer inside her.

She’d dreamed about him for so long.

He reluctantly broke the kiss, gazing into her eyes. He could feel her luscious breasts heaving against his chest. “If you ball like you kiss then I’m going to be a very happy man.”

She blushed a radiant scarlet. She looked into his face, his eyes cloudy with lust, his mouth parted and ready for another kiss. Kimberly couldn’t help looking him over, centering on his obvious arousal. Oh boy. He looked big. Really hard, and really big.

She’d give him a kiss… Kimberly yanked his head down to hers and plastered his mouth with a doozy. Tongue and teeth and lips, until he tried to pull her closer. She tore her mouth free. “Signed, sealed and delivered,” she said in a breathy voice. “Now let’s ....”

She stepped back and revealed her body to him, entirely naked, entirely available. She smiled slyly as that happy face appeared, the face of a man gazing on her delicious breasts.


He traced a finger over her neck, down her throat to her delicate collarbone. The milky white mounds of her breasts ended in rosy tips tight with arousal. The two creamy mounds leapt into his hands. Her perfect breasts fit in his grip as if made for him. Her nipples stabbed his palms as he cupped her, and she moaned his name like a prayer.

“Suck them, Frank. Yes,” she whispered caressing his lips with her fingers.

He lowered to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking before biting with a gentle sting. She moaned and arched away from him, stroking his hair with possession. He turned to her other breast and laved her flesh while he plumped her sleek curves with large hands. He looked darker against her unblemished skin, so male against her feminine loveliness.

“Take me.” Kimberly squirmed under him, caging his waist with her slender arms.

But he refused to be pushed. He lingered over her breasts, tasting and playing. He nipped her when she tried to pull him to her and laughed at her frustration.
“Oh no. I’m not stopping until I suck you some more.”

He took first one then the other nipple in his mouth. With gentle bites he sucked her closer to orgasm. Her need hit him hard, the scent of her heat, a need that would last for a long time to come.
She writhed, rubbing against his swelling dick.

“You are so sexy. I bet you taste like honey.” He kissed down her belly, each hip, and bypassed her golden mound to the inside of her thighs.
Moisture pooled between her legs, her need strong and growing stronger the more he played.

Her arousal was that of a hundred because her heart was pure. She wanted him to know how enthralled she was. She was girlishly playful in her excitement, almost giddy with delight. She said, “Try and get my fingers off you. See if you can do it.”

This handsome man of hers holding her naked body close to him did not particularly want to take her fingers off the bulge in his pants. Why would he?  She rocked quickly from side to side, proud, lifting herself higher. He will remember this, she thought. When he is making love with some big Hollywood star. Then he surprised her. He reached over fast and guided her hand over his zipper. She took her hand away like she had touched a hot poker. Clever boy. But in a second her fingers were nimbly working the zipper, searching for the tab.  As suddenly as he reached across, he pulled back, disowning the attempt, indifferent. She pulled the zipper down. The heat of his shaft startled her and her hand trembled as it slid into the open pants. Somehow she found the strength to smile. “Almost got me,” she said. “But you’ve got a strong playmate, don’t you know?”

The cock thrilled her; under her slightest touch she could feel it pulsate and throb with lust. Her imagination took hold and she pictured it pushing into her soft depths, the contrast of her delicate pussy and his rock hard shaft playing her body like a jazz riff. She soared and she pictured the white hot fire gushing into her.  I love you to distraction, she would say. I love you beyond love.

As she delicately teased his shaft the words slipped out, tingling like soft chimes in her deliciously sexy southern accent. “I love you,” she breathed, then held her breath.

“Do you love my cock too?”
“Sure.”
“You love the idea of me balling you?”
“Of course. All playmates love getting balled. That’s a law of nature.”
“What’s a law of nature?”
“When something is true for everyone, no matter where they live. All playmates love to turn men on this way, even if they’re scared.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little. But now I need a great big hug from my precious darling love. No, baby, tight, tighter.”

Again the perfect image, Kimberly’s nude body, pale and fresh and curvaceous, pressed against the clothed man; she looked so fragile and so fuckable. Once more her head bent up, her soft green eyes glistened, glistened in harmony with the glistening of her soft lips as they parted. She kissed an angel kiss, pure innocence but completely dangerous; she kissed stars and comets into his mouth as she writhed against him. She kissed like a young girl who knew she was going to get her brains fucked out of her, she kissed like a girl who really really wanted to feel the white hot seed bursting inside her, and she most definitely kissed like a girl who would swallow.

“If there’s anything you ever wanted to do to a girl…”

She let the thought hang but he knew exactly what she meant. “Don’t worry baby, I got plans for you.” He kissed her back; he kissed like a satyr. His kiss was a ravishment and a seduction but as he was raping her she was conquering him.

She stepped away and her nude body glowed a rosy pink as she giggled. “Would you do something for me? Would you undress for me please?” Her index finger hooked in her mouth and she looked like a little girl asking for a lollipop. How could he say no?

When Kimberly McArthur’s lusciously nude body is standing in the room and her eyes are bright with delight do you really care for a description of what the man is doing? Kimberly clapped her hands girlishly and caught each piece of clothing tossed to her. But when she saw his naked weapon her eyes widened and she became serious and contemplative. “Be gentle with me OK?” she whispered softly but then his boxers came flying towards her and she giggled.

He was hungry for her. He needed to claim her, to mingle his semen within her ripe body. Except Kimberly didn’t want to wait. She giggled, all vixenish now, and dropped to the floor. On her hands and knees, she crawled to him, her eyes like diamonds, her rich, strawberry hair shining under the dim light of a nearby lamp. So sleek and pretty. For a small woman, she moved like she owned the world. And she owned him, of that there was no doubt. He stood on shaky legs, watching with narrowed eyes as she approached. She didn’t stop; she was stalking him like a true predator.
She kissed her way up his legs, from his calves to his knees to his thighs.
Trembling with need, he let her spread his legs wider. Her hot breath excited his tight sac, and then she ran her tongue along his shaft, catching the falling drop of come from his slit. Her mouth closed over him, so slowly, like ecstatic torture he never wanted to end… deeper under her spell. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful picture in all my life,” he whispered with reverence.

They spiraled to the bed; she turned on her back, spreading her legs to make room for his head as she covered her eyes with her right arm. Her soul wanted him to eat her and she concentrated with an intensity he’d never seen in a woman, on the solitary, personal, egotistical pleasure his lips on her pussy gave her. Licking, kissing, nibbling, sucking, loving her sex, he felt her grow wet and vibrate. She sobbed and how exciting and delicious it was to feel her purring and moving and rocking, submerged in the vertigo of desire, until at last a long wail shook her body from head to toe. “Now, now,” she whispered in a choked voice.


His cock moved onto her pussy like a meteor smashing into the surface of the moon. He balled her like a force of nature, as powerful and inevitable as gravity. Her pussy was tight; a mindblowing swirl of energy like planetary motion. She balled with a cosmic supremacy, the delicate gyrating of her hips, the sweet whimpers and whispers, the squeezing of her juicy thighs coming together with only one intention: to get him to flood his load into her depths.


It was all jazz now. It started out like a song. Everything connected; he teased her tongue with his and it made her toes curls (Kimberly’s nude body, blushing and pink looked so cute when her toes curled;) he touched a nipple with his thumb and it made her pussy tingle (Kimberly’s moist pussy was a work of art especially when it was aroused.) It started out like a song; it started quiet and slow with no surprise, but Kimberly so awoke to new sensations, becoming aroused like she’d never been aroused before. If she wanted too much that was no mistake because too much was what she was getting. She took a lot but it kept on growing. It started out like a song, quiet and slow, like a jazz quartet; but soon it was swinging like a big band and blowing wild and free like Bird on coke.

Kimberly’s body was plush and soft, blushing with desire. Her mouth was moist and sweet, hungry for kisses. Her breasts demanded his hands; his fingers squeezing over the luscious milking flesh sent spasms of ecstasy through her body. Her pussy, soft and tight, called to his cock like a siren. She felt the tip of his shaft touch her clit and she mewed like a helpless kitten. He pushed in slowly at first, following an easy bass line as his shaft throbbed into her in a loping rhythm.  Her legs spread for him, her thighs smooth and warm; her hands fluttered and scratched lightly over his back, gentle and soft. The cock was hard and hot and fierce against the delicate moist honey of her pussy. He pushed in and pulled out, tiny increments and she groaned sweetly with each stroke.

Their libidos worked in harmony and counterpoint, blowing on the cosmic saxophone of sin and riffing new songs. He was hungry for fucking; she was thirsting for love and her eyes sang him a pleading song: If you had any sense you would be making love. Your hands would be sloppy with it.
Your hands would be like your mouth and your mouth like an eye. All your parts
would be getting confused
in the half-lit darkness.
Your minds sensing the same things and different things.
We should be thankful, I tell you. We should ball until we explode. Come inside me and take my love.

He answered her silent song by banging her harder.


The air was never still and never calm. One song was their desperate breathing. Another was the rustling of satin sheets. Before there was air, a sublime silence— there was no one not to hear it. He fucked into her, wanting to spill into her like water
that had strained against a dam now broken, all of him, bodily, into her. But then he could not know himself, where he ended and she began. Yes, they were balling and having a blast, but, like Narcissus, he was unable
to love. He could not have
the one his desire saw,
his playmate, apart from him. But she was rising quickly to heights of ecstasy because, like Helen or Persephone, she could surrender completely, let herself be possessed and seduced, even raped. Because it was him she wanted, no one else. She let him fuck her sweetness because with each thrust she was sweeter still in her agony. Alone she was no one-- but with his cock throbbing insider her she was a playmate, a love goddess.

Her desire grew in relation to him, some particular rhythm, which is the size and shape of him filled her with joy; and she gave herself completely, her sweet pussy tightening over him, rippling like a thousand lips kissing his cock. They balled into a cosmic frenzy each on this bed, joined by a bond of space.

At last, she was his playmate  perfectly, and mixing love with pagan cruelty, full of a dark, cruel joy, he fucked her through the seven deadly sins, and made them seven bright Daggers; with an assassin’s skill he targeted her love within its deepest core, and planted his seed deep within her panting heart, within her sobbing heart, her streaming Heart. They came, lashed by the merciless climax rushing over them like the north wind; she quaked from the riot of massive inexorable forces, and she clasped to him like an angel struggling with a sinner; they fucked, she jerked in spasms every bit like a marionette, and he dragged them through ecstasy like wounded animals, and he balled her into a frantic dance, a dance of devils.
?
It seemed to her at times her blood flowed out in waves like a fountain that gushed in rhythmical sobs. She heard it clearly, escaping with long murmurs, but she felt her body in vain to find the wound.

He shot into her. Blasting through her body, as in a tournament field, it coursed, making islands of every nerve ending, satisfying the thirst of every pore and turning the color of all nature to red.

Her climax gripped her like insidious wine appearing at once to lull to sleep but then roaring through her in wasting terror, a wine to make the eye sharper, the ear more sensitive!

She sought in lovemaking a forgetful bliss to lose herself in bliss; but her bliss to her was only a bed of needles made to slake the thirst of cruel gods.

Her head, her bearing, her gestures were fair as a fair countryside; laughter played on her face like a cool wind in a clear sky.

The touches of sonorous color that scattered on her skin would have cast into the minds of poets the image of blushing flowers, those crazy hues the emblem of her multi-colored nature; a mad woman who he was mad about, taking his cock deep inside her. His cock moved in and out. At times in a lovely garden where he throbbed with power; both the springtime and its verdure, he banged into her brutally as if punishing a flower for the insolence of Nature.

He possessed the treasures of her body, sucking her nipples, his tongue whipping her joyous flesh and bruising her succulent breast, making her mouth, wide and astonished, a wide and gaping wound; her flesh was intoxicating sweetness.

He kissed those rosy lips, more bright, more beautiful, infused now with seductive venom. Splendor filled all space in his mouth;
without bit, spur, or rein to race, her tongue galloped on the steeds of lust to magical heavens of desire.

Now like two angels off the track, whom wild relentless fevers rack, on through the nights crystal blue they pursued their appetites for each other. Now softly poised upon the wings that a raging cyclone brings, in parallel delirium entwined, while side by side they surfed the wind, they never ceased to seek the Eden of their dreams.

She sobbed sweetly, desperate to scream out her ecstasy but afraid to form the words of surrender, to end this insane and wild fucking. And what was the climax in her litany? Her soul, her body, her beauty, she was a playmate made to be fucked, she was ravished, she ignored a degree of difference in delight. She dazzled him like the aurora
and she consoled him like the night. The harmony was so exquisite that drove her bliss, it was pointless to try to split the unity of such a strain. Her submissive fucking was a mystic fusion that, enwreathing his senses, fused each in each, to hear the music of her breathing and breathe the perfume of her sobs.

Helpless, fucking recklessly, she surrendered to the music in her head. She fucked in the manner of a jazz standard. She had his cock to keep her warm and the world on a string. His lust for her was under her skin. She was the cream in his coffee and driving him crazy and she couldn’t be cuter and he went to her head. Love was here to stay and just around the corner. Where or when he took his sugar to tea and all she could do was dream of him, all of him, he took advantage of all of her.


Don’t blame him or worry about her. It had to be him and might as well be spring. “Let’s get away from it all, fall in love, face the music,” her sobs sang out wordlessly. And she danced with him, and they did it; they fucked like crazy and they had rhythm and the right to sing the blues. She didn’t say yes she’s funny that way; I believe in her and she was never never lovelier. She was his melancholy baby as her shining hour exploded. She came and came again; she came in chords and crescendos of roaring jazz. She came until her body and mind melted into the chords. He balled her until she passed out. He flooded her, plunging deep and blasting into her. He passed out too and when he awoke he knew he was in heaven when he saw Kimberly McArthur asleep with a smile on her face and when she awoke they did it again. Jesus, she was a sweet fuck he thought as he came into her over and over.


And when he finally left her room she tingled for a long long time, remembering his cock inside her. She smiled sweetly. She was that kind of girl.


A few days later a package was delivered to the Mansion and Kimberly found herself in her room trying to install a Sony CDP-101 to her stereo system. She was not very good with cables and the tiny silver plastic discs looked so futuristic next to her trusty vinyl records. After pinching one of her tiny little fingers in the slide out tray of the player she sighed and turned back to her turntable and gently placed the needle down on a record.
The singer’s voice wrapped around her once more and she drifted to her bed as her pretty pink hand drifted over the curls of her pussy. She let the music seduce her as she touched herself. The orgasm was cosmic as she cried lovely tears for each of the sad songs. Kimberly loved being in love.
 


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