Sex Du Juor: A Giant Penis Adventure

Triple Crap. Tonight, I have my hands solely bound and interlaced and knotted to the burly, virile-like, and sinewy rope and cord and hawser that is hitched and pinioned to the ceiling high up there overheard me. An adherent, gummy, icky, and claggy shred and wodge of cellophane tape is placed and settled and propped over my mouth, tethering and lashing and making fast my lips in a manner that I cannot switch and carry and stir about my frame and flesh-and-bones as I feel and desire like. Yeah. It is all so unfavorable and troubling and unpleasant indeed, but what I find lekker and delectable about it is that in no time Stian Elbert will be spanking and fucking and rapping me up as he feels and has a hunch about. Yeah. That is what is exactly and for sure going to happen. Sooner or later. Don’t assent so or even feel thus yourself?

I fifty per cent or incompletely naked. Meaning? I am actually and in fact starkers or undressed but then I am not that all entirely and every inch buck naked and without a stitch on like I was in the bare-scud on that fixed and particular date that I was born into this heartbroken and gloomy wretched world of ours. I am having on a swarthy black brasserie and an attractive shred and bit of stygian-murky frillies or simply women’s undies or lingerie which for the chieftain and baas part is uncovering and laying bare the extremity of my thighs and the lower part or pedestal of my buttocks and behind in that very charming and enjoyable-to-look-at way. Yeah. Stian will be fucking me up in this, I presume and imagine so—don’t you?

He is nestled and straightened up before my eyes and face beneath there in an implausibly soaring and steep and elevated chair that looks more of a throne and monarchial stool for an overlord and a His Majesty. Is he? Boo-hoo! He has a regal and sovereign expression about him that makes me wonder to myself in just-the-ideal-thing and faultless silence on whether there lives and has in existence any kink and sexual eccentricity and pervetedness about him. Is there really? Appearances and bearings can be leading astray and misguiding, do not overlook or fail to bring that to mind please!

“Stian,” I itch and thirst to murmur and rumble under my incessant breath—but then this adhesive and gluey sellotape thing won’t green-light me to do so. Du-hhhhh! When is he precisely going to get up on his feet and step over to start and finish this balls-up-ing stew and imbroglio of ours? I cannot keep up and withstand tolerance and calmness any longer.

He rises and finds his feet as I weigh up all this in my mind, making me so, so over-the-moon and thrilled and sunny that if it was not for constituents and stuff detaining and keeping within bounds or limits my flesh up, I would without any sort of difficulty and pain-in-the-butt and uphill cavort and bob up and down just as I ache and set my heart out on doing. Hurrah!

Once Stian makes it to me, he sneaks and ghosts his hand into my underclothes and undies themselves, filled up and swelled and bloated with libido and lechery and lasciviousness and lustfulness for me, so that, once he has his hand tracking down and ferreting on my pussy and cunt, he immediately starts to pet and caress and rub it, a stroke at a time and one in a go simultaneously and synchronously. Yeah. This is it. He better keeps on and presses on with this. He better and to a greater degree must persevere on with this, don’t you believe so? I esteem and opinion so myself.

Yeah. It is all nice and lekker. Once he is done with this, dressed in nothing but his topping and outstanding-like lechery-triggering-and-sparking-off underwear, he inches closer to me for a solid and rocklike and involved fuck. Yeah. This is all heaven indeed. I like how he explores and works over his jumbo and titanic-alike penis and dick into me until I am all giddy and light-headed and weak at the knees that I almost feel like passing and blacking out. Will I?

Uh! Stian Elberd is going to fuck me in my anus today. As I bang and thump shut the door to our secretive for not-more-than-two exclusively bedroom, I turn and whirl around to see him completely and fully nude and uncovered and undressed. He is dressed in nothing but in his most sexy and seductive and alluring underwear. I love it! And I find it irresistible so, so, so very much. The way and manner that his thighs are exhibited and flashed about and vaunted and made a great show off of, it all mesmerizes and hypnotizes me. My goodness! Is that his giant and bulky and fuck-off like hard-on penis I am seeing swelling out and puffing out with my own two eyes—like I am supposed and even ought to lick and lap and taste and brush it about with my ecstatic, jolly, rapt and blithe-filled tongue. Is that it? Yeah. I am going to enjoy and revel in doing this so very much. Yeah, certainly.

To be straight with you, this is what Stian Elbert has me do. He has me get down on my knees and bow before him perfectly well and nice so as to stroke and caress and knead his brilliant, massive erection itself. Oh my go-o-sh! It feels all so pleasant and enjoyable and pleasurable indeed. Yes. I am enjoying and loving and reveling in this so very much. It is all pretty darn wonderful and ace at the same time and so out of this world indeed. Before I go on to lick and take a taste of the super jim-dandy, awesome dick itself, I proceed to grab a razor blade that is lodged and laid on a puny-sized, polished and flawlessly glassy suave table not any farther from where we both are, gazing and gawping at each other powerlessly and vulnerably. Yeah. Tonight is going to be a very good and delectable night indeed. That, I can assure and warrant you.

 As I slit and nick and slash the cloth and fabric of his underwear with my knife-edged-like razor blade, he murmurs and mumbles to me in such a smooth and silky and velvety like voice—which weirdly and eccentrically—makes my veiled vulva and hermetic pussy shiver and quiver and quake from a certain kind of happiness and delectation that I cannot clearly make clear or plain. “Yeah, baby,” he mumbles sweetly and wholly icky and treackly to me, “Go on with it…Yeah…You are on the right track indeed.” Why is it like that? Stian’s voice is so enticing and irresistible that even if he tells me to make love to him right this moment while I lie down on pellets and spherules of beady, intensely glinting-like glasses and specs, I would not disagree and take aboard onto any sort of disavowal with him. I would with pleasure and enthusiastically do it, even if it is worth the price and rate of my very own life and wellbeing and soundness—all in all.

Once I am done and through with the notching and slicing, I grip and seize his full-size erection in my hands and begin petting and caressing it with my innocent tongue and lingo. Yeah. It is all such a blissful and enjoyable experience indeed. It is the perfect and suitable thing to do. Or are you not in agreement and conformity with me? Are you not truly?

In no time, he sets free and undoes out fills and crams and lades of semen into my mouth and my face as well. As he hurls and projects out more human seed and jissom at me, I lick and lap and brush wildly his giant dick all the more harder and faster, gripping and clinging on to his bottom and perfect ass behind that is clothed and rigged and arrayed well and nicely appealing and come-hither with his flirtatious, alluring make of underwear. It is labeled ‘San Gogol’ and I love and adore that brand well and nicely. Don’t you? Oops. It must be an odd and peculiarly out-of-the-way trademark and logo brand name to you, or is it not?

Once I am through with licking and brushing about his dick, having cum and jissom all about my face and mouth—uh, it is so sweet and syrupy and honeyed-like in case you didn’t know—he has me bow and kneel over our bed so that my buttocks and bums behind are in his grip and catch. And with that having taken place, he slaps and boxes and spanks them with his very own hands. My goodness! The feeling is topping definitely and so out-of-this-world. Bodacious even. And I love all things bodacious and boffo-most.

Ah. I am all set and ready to have his phallus and big wang romping and gamboling and sporting about and nicely in my backwards and rearwards. What other better proposal or suggestion than this? There is no other—or is it not so? I do suppose so myself. I am not sure and certain about you. No, I am not. Indubitably.

As Stian places and sets his huge and immense thing into my arse, I feel a particular guff and slight and poppycock sort of pain and ache afflict and rack me. For a while; I am all weepy and howling and sobbing low-pitched and inaudibly. Then following that, as Stian gently and carefully shifts slightly but glowingly about, making a move like he is about to switch his dick out of me and return it quickly again, I shut my eyes, hovering and eating up the delight and delectation and satisfaction that he gives me. Yeah. This is it…this is it for sure.

“Stian,” I wail and mewl out his name, mislaid and disappeared in happy and lascivious randy thoughts of my own. Yeah. I don’t want to come or revert back into reality again. This is a fairy tale come true indisputably; slightly painful but really and incredibly satisfying and pleasurable indeed. I love it so very much. I surely and definitely do. Don’t you?

Whenever Stian smacks and hits a butt of mine while having fun and frolicking about with my behind—entertaining and amusing himself about with my flesh-and-bones to be precise, or even when he just caresses and cuddles and strokes a boob or titty or breast of mine, pinching and squeezing my mammary glands and nipples themselves occasionally and now and then—I can’t help it but go into an inexhaustible, undying phase and state of sweet-most, sugary-like orgasm.

***More fuck scenes and wildly feral sex narratives still coming***