Badass Bailey vs. Steph Gibson from FCF

Badass Bailey:

Lounging in the chaise, because, that’s literally what it was meant for, I watch as the rain falls in a constant deluge. I’m biting the tip of my thumb, like I do every time I’m nervous or antsy. The Price is Right reruns have already gotten old, the board games we found in the closet the 1st day have gotten old, reading has gotten old, EVERYTHING is fucking old! And I’m antsy…….I’ve mentioned that, right? Without taking my eyes off the constant downpour outside, I announce to no one in particular, “I’m bored…….”. I mean, whoopty shit, right? Who cares. But, see here’s the thing. When I get bored, I’m forced to find ways of entertaining myself. And when I find ways of entertaining myself, local law enforcement, the National Guard, and the local arch diocese are generally involved, because I get ecumenical with this shit.

After a good two second delay that feels a bit more like 2 years, I crane my head over, and glare at @Steph Gibson – AKA The Gib , clear my throat, and announce to the bitch who’s responsible for this dumpster fire of a getaway….”I said. I’m. Bored.” My jaw sets, and I swivel about on the lounge, both bare feet planted on the cool tile floor…..the bikini I’m almost qualifies for being legal to wear in public. But my attire isn’t the part Steph should be worried about…

Steph Gibson:

The nice thing about vacation is that no matter what happens, I can always find a way to entertain myself. Whether it’s surfing the waves, tanning on the beach, finding some hole in the wall restaurant, or just staying in with a good book while the rain comes down. Which is precisely what I’m doing right now. My eyes are sliding over the screen of my kindle and quite frankly I’m slightly oblivious to the things going on around me. It’s only at the second “I’m Bored” that comes from @Bailey Hirsch’s lips that I finally notice that she’s restless. More than restless. I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen it when these moods overtake her and she can’t seem to find something to keep her occupied. Was this vacation my idea, absolutely! But I can’t control the weather! We BOTH agreed to this beach bungalow vacation. I casually tuck a stray strand of blonde hair back behind my ear as I put my kindle down on my knee and stretch my arms above my head. I’m in my own barely there deep purple string bikini. Just because it’s raining outside and we’re inside doesn’t mean I can’t look good! “You know, being bored is sometimes the sign of an insufficient imagination. . .” Am I goading her? Absolutely! Some of the best experiences we’ve shared together have come out of a bored frustration on one of our parts. My expression is slightly condescending, but there’s a bit of a twinkle behind my eyes, if you only see it.

Bailey:

Insufficient. Imagination. Bitch, I’ll do a stint inside. My jaw sets and my countenance sours just for a moment, like a squall band passing over the eave of a house. Then my smile returns, and, just like that twinkle in your eyes, the danger thats in that saccharine sweet toothy grin should set off warning klaxons instead of chocolate chip cookie warmness. “Last time I employed my…..imagination, you were face down on the floor of that biker bar. Your ass looked good, all hiked up though.”
Message received. Someone wants to play pat-a-cake with the cheese grater? Help yourself. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped in steepled fingers.

Steph:

My eyes go from twinkling to glaring for just a brief moment as you bring up our LAST vacation. I thought the biker bar was pretty cool, and definitely different from the places we normally go. But of course you had opinions about everything. Tensions flared, some ugly words were slung back and forth, and just as we were about to tear into each other this really HOT bartender caught both our eyes and we found a new way to settle our differences back behind the bar. I don’t recall all of what happened, but I do know I woke up wearing someone else’s shirt, no panties, and a strange taste of licorice in my mouth. But of course you took pictures to help jog my memory. “Yeah, well not every imagination deficit episode has ended so well for you. Remember San Diego, and the industrial kitchen?” Setting my kindle aside now as my lips curl into a bit of a smirk. We’re both out on the four season porch, just some screen mesh between us and the rain that’s pounding the beach.

Bailey:

I roll my eyes loud enough to be heard over the sound of the pounding rain. “Of course you’d bring up San Diego, you bitch. I told you I was allergic to alcohol……” Which is probably precisely why you force fed it to me via my ass. I don’t even remember the rest of the night, but the next three days were hell on earth. And that was my last chance to see the Chargers play in that arena too…..

Glaring at you for a moment longer……i spy the kindle for a moment……and hatch what is probably the most mean hearted of my plans, and in a moment, I’ve grabbed your favorite device, and slung it through the porch screen, plopping it unceremoniously out in the sand and rain……”Oopsie….guess I got a little too creative…..cunt……”

Steph:

I love reminding you of San Diego, mostly because of all the evil, fucked up, raunchy, shit we’ve done to each other, I think for the moment I hold the top card in this contest. Nothing you’ve done to me quite comes up to that mark, although a few instances have come close. So that eye roll of yours makes me smirk outrageously. But that smirk turns to concern when you grab my kindle. “Hey, what are you doing with. . .” My hand reaches out for it, but you quickly pull it out of my reach and then you sling it out through the open screen door. My eyes go wide as it sails through the air and lands with a plop in a puddle on the wet sand. Fuck, I knew I should have upgraded to the water resistant model. Slowly, my eyes turn to you and they’re hot now. My kindle is one of my essential travel companions and now it’s ruined. I push up from the lounge chair and take an aggressive step towards you. “That’s a step too far bitch. . .”

Bailey:

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to @Steph Gibson – AKA The Gib . The smile is facade. The sweetness is a put on. The bubblegum wholesome?! Bolshevik. THIS….is you. Snarling. Angry. Hair sticking up on the back of your neck and using all the non Sunday school words in the book….and inventing some new ones on the way. “If you really wanted some mental stimulation that badly, I could have gotten you a coloring book…..” My jaw is set, my nostrils are flared. Just 6 feet away the rain pounds against the glass screen of an electronic device that’s, probably, still usable. But let’s be honest….. That kindle is the furthest thing from your mind. It might as well be on Mars. My chest heaves as my breathing deepens. My cheeks flush with blood and I run my tongue along my top right canine. Curling my “cmere” finger at you….. We can buy a new kindle. This moment is irreplaceable….

Steph:

There’s new energy in the air. Not the humidity that brought the rain. It’s now the occasional flash of lightning or the crack of thunder. It’s not even the pissed off anger of having my reading tool tossed out into the elements. This energy is a bit more primal, a bit more elemental. This energy is. . . exciting. And honestly, I don’t think we’ve ever gone on a vacation that didn’t at some point devolve into at least one or two episodes of sexual violence and competition. It really doesn’t take much of an excuse. And to be honest it would probably be a disappointment if this didn’t happen on this trip. We’ve probably both just been looking for an excuse.

My glare has turned into a feral grin as you crook your finger at me. Fuck, you’re so goddamn sexy. “You’re gonna pay for that, slut. . .” Leaving it ambiguous if I mean the kindle or this challenge. I slip out of my sandals and just as you’re doing the same I suddenly launch myself straight at you. No preamble, no feeling each other out. My freshly manicured nails dig deep into your hair as we both go tumbling back over the lounge chair you just vacated in a tangle of arms and legs.

Bailey:

You come in with all the tact and finesse of a battle axe, your momentum carrying us over the edge of the chaise, and to the floor below. I howl as I feel your grip, snatching my hair about, my scalp burning in that all too familiar smolder…. Some people get addicted to running. It’s their form of self abuse. Us? We fuck each other until it skirts the lines of assault. And then we close the door and stop letting the people watch. With my back pressed to the cool marble tile, my hands clap against your sinuous back. Yours is a dancer’s body; sleek and lithe, svelte and deceptively strong. I feel a ripple slither though your body, like a garter snake through tall grass, when I clap my hands against your scapulae….but I ache to hear your whorish, dusky groan when I slip my nails down your body, leaving ten, angry, red furrows that point like a pilgrim’s road all the way to your round, supple ass…..where I dig in under the tart purple bottoms, and clutch at your cake meat……(edited)

Steph:

There’s an electric current that runs through us each time we come into physical contact in one of these encounters. It’s a sensation that to be perfectly honest defies any kind of comparative description. Quite frankly, if you’ve never experienced it then I’m afraid you’ll never understand. Something so intense and yet incredibly intimate. There are nights I yearn to spend the rest of my existence experiencing this kind of intensity. I let out a small uumppphh as I come down on top of you. That slutty bikini you’re wearing does absolutely nothing to cover your curves, and the feeling of your skin sliding against mine sends a shiver running up my body from toes to head. My fingers dig in even deeper and I scrape my nails against your scalp. “I’m going to slut you for the rest of this trip you miserable. . . AAAAAHHHH!!!” your nails leaving those burning trails down my spine as my back arches and you grab my ass tightly. Reflexively my pelvis grinds forward and my legs scramble to try and straddle you as I jerk your head tight to the floor and slam my ass down on your lower abs. “BITCH!!!!!”

Bailey:

There….might be something wrong with us. I’m okay with that. I’ve learned to accept that. We cuddle, we kiss, we talk and cry on one another’s shoulders. But this? This is sex for us. It’s rough, it’s taboo, it steps up to every line of propriety and peers just far enough over to be irresistible.

Your skin is hot and feverish on my hands, round and taut. Honestly, groping your ass is like touching warm marble……I’m just tugging upward, your flesh oozing in between my fingers as you scrub your mons against mine; the thin vellum of your bottoms doesn’t dull the iniquity any more than mine do, and for a moment, it feels like you’re going to scrub the little strip of lady fur from my sex, you’re rutting so hard. My back develops a curl in it, as my points of contact on the floor become my soles, my tailbone, and the back of my head. I arch up into you, anxious, hungry to feel the furnace of your unbridled sex – When you lower that ass onto my lower belly. You invent new methods of torture. Sometimes I think you just sit around and dream up funishment. Because this is certainly new and interesting. Your tanned, taut cakes descend into my abdomen, crushing my body back down, clapping the tile, and sending the wind from my sails….

Steph:

The feel of your fingers digging deeper and deeper into my cakes makes me grin, even as the stinging pain of your nails begins to recede from my skin. After the first slam of my ass down into your lower abs I just grind there a bit, working my ass forward and back just a few inches. I love the feeling of being on top of you. That dominance, the sensation of power and control. And maybe more than anything that’s what these special encounters of ours are when you boiling them down, a struggle for control. But we manifest that struggle in so many delicious ways. . . I see the air whoosh out past your lips, mixed with just a little spit. The impact of our bodies has already dislodged your right breast from the confines of your barely there bikini, and that mound of flesh is just calling to me. But I resist, at least for the moment. Instead I pull my left hand out of your hand and press my palm right against your face. My nails dig in against your forehead and cheeks and I work to display my dominance in this position even more. “Come on bitch, I thought you knew how to fight a slut. . . or maybe you just need to get your ass handed to you like some two bit hooker off the street. . .” Purring at you as I smirk.

Bailey:

My cheek is pressed and smushed against the cool tile floor, and the other? Is searing against your palm, as your nails gouge threateningly into my face. I feel the cooler air on my freshly exposed nipple, the sweat and humidity along with the sudden cool front that the rain is riding in on makes that nub stand up and at attention, the tanned orb that it rests upon shuddering gently as I get a good, deep, cleansing breath. I’ll need it.

Because “two bit hooker” just broke the spell. Or maybe it cast one. In the finals tally, I grasp your purple top in both hands, and snatch at your body, rough, to the right, hoping to roll us away from the chaise lounge, unseat you from my tummy that feels a little warmer and slicker (for some reason) and who knows, maybe I’ll even rip that cheap as fuck purple off your body.

Steph:

I get my claws pressing firmly against the skin around your face and I can’t help but smirk. You’re a powerful bitch. . . a superior bitch. And to have yo down like this this early, it give me a warm squirmy glow inside. Something that’s so sexually pleasing I could get off on it just as it is. But it’s far too early for that. And I’ve got plenty of plans for how you can help me in that endeavor. But you don’t give me the time to follow up on it. Just as I’m about to start working my way up your body both of your hands come off my ass and instead latch onto the two triangles of my bikini top. To be honest, calling it a top is an exercise in generosity. The twin pieces of fabric barely three square inches a piece. But it’s legal! At least in most states. . . We roll and as we do I feel the flimsy straps snap as suddenly I’m feeling the cool marble against my back and you’re wiggling to try and establish your own top position. My hands start swinging and slapping at your boobs, especially that exposed right mound. “Oooooooo, someone finally decided to play, slut!”

Bailey:

my frame, and to the floor. I know enough to press my advantage, and swivel atop you, my knees pressed into the the tile on either side of your flared hips. Already the scent of honeysuckles and musk begins to perfume the air, and I know that your vulva is ripe and swollen…..God i love the scent of your pussy…… But you’re no wilting rose, swatting at my breasts, your hands searing in like hot irons, the delving, angry pain seems to seep into my blood stream through my glands. My jaw clenches, my molars scrubbing to dust as you bat my ladies around left and right. The stark white triangle tops offer little in the way of protection, and nothing in the way of modesty….and in less time than it takes to say, “ @Steph Gibson – AKA The Gib is a cum swilling whore!” You’ve battered my ladies around until they’re both unsheathed. “You wretch. You miserable twat stain…..” i hiss, leaning down and planting my fists into the marble on either side of your head…..but it’s not my fists that are the real focal point here; it’s what is suspended in them. I’m still holding the ruined remnants of your top, and I shove the thin strappy material across your mouth, using your own garment as a bridle…… “There, that ought to keep that cock warmer of yours busy enough until I can put something better for you to say in your mouth…..” My hips arch back, and I drop/fire my mons down into yours, slapping into the thickness that is your sex. Again; the material that barely restrains our immodesty is only doing so in an academic sense now; i could see the definition of your labia from across the room……

Steph:

There’s no denying the scent of feminine excitement that’s perfuming the air. Although excitement may be a bit of an understatement. What I’m feeling right now is several levels above excitement. My hands bat and slap at your boobs, and the sound of the skin of my palm smacking your gorgeously firm flesh is thigh quiveringly enticing. But I’m still feeling powerful, even from this underneath position. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’m trying to goad you even more, trying to strip away all semblance of civility in you and reveal the true naked sexually powerful slut you are. Because that’s the bitch I want to beat. And I think I’m just about there. You quickly slip the remnants of my top between my jaws, trying to gag me with it. You have one problem though. There was barely enough material there to contain my tits. And while there’s enough there to keep me from trash talking you back, it’s certainly not enough to keep me from working around it. Your gorgeous peach drops down onto mine, and if there was any doubt about the level of our musk for each other, the wet sound even with our barely there bottoms still on, dispels any of that. But I manage to start swirling my tongue under this bridle you have wedged in my mouth and pulling back at my cheeks. I gaze right up into your eyes and start wrapping my tongue around it, wiggling it, showing you the slutty skills I use in your cunt or in your ass that you can only feel but never see.

Bailey:

You warp and contort your tongue around that thin band of material. Your muscle whips about, writhing, swirling. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were going to melt the strap in your heat and saliva. I lift my hips, and slap my sex back down against yours, listening for the wet, fleshy report of sodden flesh clapping against sodden flesh. And in the end, it’s an exercise in mutually assured destruction. Because just as surely as each thrust, each ….beating….is making your slick folds glisten in their aromatic dew, each one is driving a stake into the higher cognitive centers of my brain, switching it off…..and leaving the primal animal in control.

It’s what you want. It’s always what you want. And, lover…I love giving you what you want.

Bee tee dubs, pretty sure the kindle is toast now, but amazon prime is a thing.

I lean down, slowly, each as my hips THWAP THWAP THWAP against yours, the sensations, the sounds increasingly desperate and carnal…..and i press my mouth against yours, thrusting my tongue into your mouth, and wrestling with that same cord that you are. Your tongue is soft and warm and taste like gummy bears……when my belly kisses against yours as we have and breathe in sync, it’s just one more electrode that transmits a deafening, all encompassing current into my bubbling core…

Steph:

The increasing rhythm of your pelvis slapping down onto mine, the material of our bottoms really inconsequential now. Every sensation is being transmitted straight through in ever faster hits. And I find my own hips rising up to meet yours, finding a physical harmony even as your lips press down onto mine. I have dreams about your lips. Literal dreams. I wake up and find that somehow I’ve manage to insert two fingers in my pussy dreaming just about your lips. Those soft delicious pillows press and rub against mine as our tongues begin their own wrestling match, sliding and probing at each other, the material of my long forgotten top the only thing getting in their way. And as you lean down to press those makeout muffins to mine, my hands slide down your sides, over the small of your back. The bottom your wearing is a simple triangle of material covering your slick sex and black string. That’s it. Anal floss would provide more modesty. So it doesn’t take much effort to grab those strings that ride your hips and jerk up. Hard. Digging the material into your ass and between your labia lips before it snaps off. Oops.

Bailey:

Soft, rainy day poetry is what your lips are. Sensual, velveteen, poison and wine. Kissing you is as good as fucking most anyone else…….your organ wriggles around with mine at first…it’s two asps fighting in a mating pit…..and then, they soften, and it becomes like the bantering of two horny high school kids; i love you more. No I love you more. Generous and free, you tongue rubs across mine the way a masseuse might touch and caress your own supple curves. I can’t tell if the groans originate in my mouth….or yours. They just kind of echo in the in between…… The blinding agony isn’t the worst part. It’s not the sudden, driving, piercing pressure. It’s not the way my labia bulge, and then pop free from the material, right before it splurge in between them and crushes my clitoris against my pubic bone…..it’s not the hellish grind of the material into my quivering, spasming nub.

It’s the rip, it’s the pop…..it’s the failure of the bottoms that brings the torture to a conclusion…… You drag the material through my vulva, scraping it inside me……i feel it sliding up, a reading my anus…..and all I can think is…..”Just….put it back and crush it a little while longer?”

Steph:

As the material drags through your most intimate and sensitive parts, I can feel your body react to every drag, every sensation, every new part of your anatomy that the sopping wet material comes into contact with. It’s really a study in erotic pain. Your breathing falls out of sync with mine and I growl into your mouth just as my teeth try and latch onto your bottom lip, but the gag in my mouth keeps me from getting a firm grip. Instead I decide it’s time to make you howl. It’s time to make you feel pain. Serious pain. Glorious pain. Pain that sears the brain and makes it flame like wildfire. Your legs are straddling my hips which already makes your cheeks spread slightly and exposes your dripping snatch from behind. But it’s to the form that my fingers target. It’s really a good thing I got these nails freshly manicured before we left. Outside the rain has picked up and a fresh crack of thunder almost makes the bungalow rattle as I slide my fingers back between your cheeks and both of my middle fingers start to stab and scratch at your tight little ring, that dark star that keeps you closed. I’m not soft about it. These are stabbing scratching attacks at the sensitive skin that so rarely sees daylight. And in my head I’m growling. . . “Scream for me you rancid cunt!!!”

Bailey:

Fighting you, it’s like fighting a revolving door. Just the minute i think I understand what’s in front of me, you sweep around and hit me with something completely different. I’m a still oil painting; you’re a kaleidoscope the size of Mt Rainier.I haven’t felt this ill prepared for a test since I accidentally stumbled into the wrong classroom in college and ended up taking Advanced Mandarin. You enter me…..like no one else ever has. Everytime. It’s simultaneously an invasion and a homecoming. You split my pucker open, pulsing inside like you’re breaking through the rind of an exceptionally stubborn piece of fruit……but when you enter me, all semblance of decorum, self preservation, all of it go out the goddamn window.

First. My tummy begins to wave like a belly dancer’s, but more halting, and shuddering. If you listen closely, you can hear the nearly imperceptible splats of my tummy slapping yours. Like a mother’s hand slapping that of a wayward daughter……but you’d have to listen fast because Second, you’d hear the whimpers dribbling from my mouth…..saliva seeps from my lips into your open maw as you stare up at me like a great white would a chunk of brisket. My eyes roll and flutter, visually checking on the wellbeing of my own occipital lobe……slap slap slap goes my belly against yours….in ragged, uneven timing. Slap…slap slap….my body just flails and convulses….. And then, finally, third…..you don’t get what you want. Not the scream of a whore…but the bleat of a lamb……my jaw trembles and my quim begins to spasm as you roughly finger my guts……

If you hadn’t put it together so far, I lost my grip on your top. I maybe should have included that, but I was too busy being violated……

Steph:

As I see your eyes start to lose focus and then to roll back just slightly I shake my head back and forth and finally manage to dislodge that flimsy piece of material from between my teeth. Despite the fact that there wasn’t much there, my jaw is aching from it being there so long and I make a few chewing motions just to try and work that sensation back. But that doesn’t mean I’m done with you either. And that whimpering sort of bleat is so. . . unsatisfying. I want to make you howl. I want to make your screams echo louder than the thunder which is rolling across the beach. I want to hear your voice crack as it reaches the upper portions of your register and beyond. So as you start quivering, as your sweet sex start to spasm against mine, I alter the position of my fingers in your ass and then stab my nails into the walls of your chute. I. . . want. . . that. . . scream. . . “Come on you stubborn whore. . . fucking scream. . . scream for me. . . RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!!!!!” Almost screaming the words up into your face.

Bailey:

Your fingers drill into my chute, splaying, stretching me mercilessly open. I convulse with each descent into my core, feeling you pounding against my psyche even more than my body. Each thrust is an indictment, each taunt is an affront…. And you don’t stop. You don’t slow down. It’s like you twisted the dial up to “F is for Felony”, broke the thing off, and shoved it up my butt.

My naked puss dribbles and leaks….and I’d like to say that it’s the anal finger bang that’s making my hips drop forward, my vulva scrubbing against your gossamer bottoms. But let’s be honest. It’s wanton, depraved hunger. I paint your snatch with my own swollen lips……and a moment later…..it’s a two for one…. The Scream happens first. The blood curdling, nature defying scream. It’s the kind of other-worldly howl that drives local fauna from the area 24 hours ahead of time. It’s the kind of scream that normally accompanies something morally reprehensible; this slutting out is no exception.

But right on its heels is the eruption of my sex, spurting and then spewing my fuck lava across your mound, screaming, my shallow breaths making me light headed, my breasts bounce as you judder my whole frame one finger bang at a time…..

Steph:

As I see your eyes start to lose focus and then to roll back just slightly I shake my head back and forth and finally manage to dislodge that flimsy piece of material from between my teeth.  Despite the fact that there wasn’t much there, my jaw is aching from it being there so long and I make a few chewing motions just to try and work that sensation back.  But that doesn’t mean I’m done with you either.  And that whimpering sort of bleat is so. . . unsatisfying.  I want to make you howl.  I want to make your screams echo louder than the thunder which is rolling across the beach.  I want to hear your voice crack as it reaches the upper portions of your register and beyond.  So as you start quivering, as your sweet sex start to spasm against mine, I alter the position of my fingers in your ass and then stab my nails into the walls of your chute.  I. . . want. . . that. . . scream. . .  “Come on you stubborn whore. . . fucking scream. . . scream for me. . . RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!!!!!”  Almost screaming the words up into your face.

People who enjoy this underground sort of hobby of ours would think that the orgasm you just released, that flood of juices down onto my own dripping sex, would be the ultimate form of surrender. But to me, at least in this moment, it’s that scream. That scream that came because I ordered you to do it. It came because of what I was doing to you. The orgasm was the physical manifestation of the scream, the loss of control, the moment when your will bent. And before you even finish shaking, before the waves of orgasm have fully receded from your body and on your mind I decide it’s time to finish you. It’s time to show that we can put this beach bungalow on the same category as San Diego – encounters where I dominated your ass. With a quick pivot of my hips I roll us over again, putting your back against the marble. My hands reach down to the flimsy ties of my bottom at my hips and I pull them off, leaving me naked, my just slightly tan skin glistening. But I want an even more dominant position. Something that leaves no doubt that this time, you were thoroughly and completely owned. With a quick swivel of my hips I switch my position, and position myself on my knees right above your face, facing your feet. “My turn, slut. . .” I growl as I lower myself down onto your face.

Bailey:

Few things are so….psychologically damaging as being outfucked on the top. The positioning of the bodies almost dictates that I should take the lead. That I should own your fucking soul and body in one fell swoop. That I ravish your will along with your sex. But you flipped that whole idea as effectively and easily as you flip your own frame around and line yourself up with my face. I stare up your back, the muscles outlined and highlighted with a thin sheen of sweat…..the scent of your fleshy rose permeates my senses until some preternatural synesthesia kicks in….and I hear the music of your pussy as my tongue instinctively reaches out for it….honestly, I’d reach up and grasp your hips, but my arms don’t seem to be able to respond to my bidding……so when you lower yourself onto me, when you crush your velvet tulip into my face, my tongue has already been inside you for a moment or two……I undulate, i wriggle, my muscle blindly thrashes about inside you, drunken, and disorderly. My chest heaves for air and each exhalation comes out in the form of that scream you ordered…..this time inside your womb…

Steph:

I know what’s going on in your soul, because believe it or not, you’ve made me feel this same way on more than one occasion. When I’ve been so thoroughly and magnificently owned, it’s almost instinctual that I want to worship your flower. It’s another facet of our relationship that really can be considered somewhat unique. I could tell you all about that time in Albuquerque. . . but we should probably see if the statute of limitations has run out yet. So when I settle onto your face and I feel that tongue slide between my folds, yes it’s expected, but it feels sooo fucking good. You know all those special places to hit. The secret parts of me to stimulate. “Shit baby. . .” I purr as my hips start their slow grind. But I’m not finished with you yet either. I reach down and hook your right knee, pulling your ass and cunt up off the floor and tucking your legs under my arms. And then, with your nether parts exposed, I slip my right thumb in your cunt and my ring and pinky finger stretch back to slip into your still stimulated asshole. “Come on baby. . . make me cum. . . make me fucking gush on your perfect slutty face!!” My fingers and thumb starting to rock back and forth in your cunt and ass as my grinding gets faster.

Bailey:

You squelch inside me like a rolling pin crushing a wet ballon……my nethers succumb to your touch, inviting you in. There is, simply, no place in my body or mind where a door is locked. You pulse in, your presence known, your power is felt……The screams inside your pussy go from squealing soprano, to low, rumbling baritone…..my throat shudders, i feel my vocal cords slap and rattle as the primal, raw need inside me manifests first in my husky, whiskey tinged grunt, and then in another eruption of myself all over myself….this time my belly and breasts painted in my own nectar …….before i know it, my arms are up, hands cupped around the back of your round ass, feeling it flex and clench as you scrub my face….your minge scours the point of my chin, even as my nose wriggles against your tight pucker……but its my frenulum that does the yeoman’s work, scraping that thin blade of flesh against your clit…..and humming…

Steph:

It doesn’t take long. In fact, my orgasm is already building before I squat down on your face. The first feel of your tongue is all it takes to push me precariously close to that line. My hips are rocking forward and back at almost a frantic pace as the squelching and squishing sounds coming from your cunt fill the patio. “Yes. . . that it’s baby. . . don’t stop. . . don’t you dare. . . don’t you fucking stop. Work my pussy. Work my twat you fangless whore. . . Oh fuck.. . baby. . . baby i’m gonna. . . OH SHIT!!!!!” And my orgasm hits just as your second your paints your breasts and your tummy. The waves of pleasure make me shake like a tree in a high wind and it’s only by some kind of miracle that I manage to stay on top of you. I’m not sure how much times passes. A few minutes, a few hours. Hell, it could be days for all I know. But finally my body stops shuddering and I slowly slide back from my perch on your face. I lay down on my front above you and slowly press my lips down to yours, our face facing in opposite directions. My tongue extends and we share one of the most sapphic and sensual kisses I think we’ve ever experienced together. “Tell me baby. . . tell me what just happened. . .” I’m not inquiring. I want to drive it home to you. Drive home what just happened.

Bailey:

I lay under you….beneath you. Spent and wrecked…my body spasms as I lay in a puddle of my sweat and cum. My thighs won’t quit twitching and when my arms finally do respond, i find myself just stroking my sides up and down……a goofy grin breaking out across my face. The weather has let up, and the squall outside couldn’t hold a candle to the storm inside……..

Steph:

I grin at your words. I slide my tongue over yours once more, tasting my own nectar on it. And then I take my hand which had just be furiously working your own cunt and softly coat your lips with your own juices. “No baby. . . I won. . .”

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