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From: PleaseCain@aol.com (PleaseCain)
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Subject: {ASSM} <Dulcinea> Big Bad Kiss (MF rom cons) by PleaseCain
Date: Tue, 5 Jun 2001 03:10:01 -0400
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SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY.
Copyright 2001 PleaseCain@aol.com -- Commercial use
prohibited without author's consent. Removal of this notice in any
case is prohibited.
Big Bad Kiss (MF rom cons)
by PleaseCain (PleaseCain@aol.com)
With bellies full of pasta with marinara sauce and
burgundy, they decided on a walk in the woods, and
what could be better on a hike in muggy May than
cold cherry popsicles?
"Pleasant evening," said the tall elderly man in the
giftshop of the small restaurant, flipping the Closed
sign on the door behind them.
She snapped the popsicle in two and gave him half. The
late-afternoon was thick with humidity as they entered
the nature trail, and he pulled off his shirt, slapping
himself twice on the stomach.
"Mmmm," she said, sucking on her popsicle.
The lush canopy of trees filtered the light, bringing
the verdant surroundings into sharp contrast. The
scent of loamy vegetation flared his nostrils.
Choruses of evening insects rose and fell to the rhythm
of her hips swaying a few steps ahead, her buns
jiggling slightly in loose white cotton shorts.
"Wh'cha looking at, pokey?" she smirked over her
shoulder. "Awww!" The rapidly melting popsicle had
leaked onto her fuzzy red tee-shirt.
"Hold still." He crouched and lowered his mouth onto
the pebble of her nipple through the shirt. She
moaned, momentarily forgetting the popsicle running in
her hand. She slurped the juice and they both giggled.
"Not done yet," he said, pulling up her shirt and
fastening his cool lips over her other breast. She
settled into his arms as he took her popsicle away and
pulled the shirt over her head.
"Hey," she protested under her breath, eyes darting to
and fro.
He passed the popsicle over each ticklish nipple before
replacing it in her fingers. "I like you without a
bra." He dropped and kissed her stomach, lowered her
waistband and kissed her bellybutton, her resistance
melting like the popsicle, her fingers in his hair.
"You beast," she sighed. The shorts lowered down her
legs and were pulled from her feet. His wide eyes
stared at her trimmed thatch visible through the sheer
material of tiny red panties. "They were supposed to
be a surprise for our first night in the cabin."
His fingers traveled up her hips, but she bounded away
down the path. He watched her run in her panties and
sandals, then stood and gave chase.
Her cheeks were exposed beneath the scanty underwear.
He fixed on their wiggling as he stalked her, calling,
"You shouldn't be in the forest all by yourself, little
girl." Where another trail branched off to the side
she turned, both hands resting on a large tree at the
corner, and stuck out her tongue. He tripped on a tree
root and skidded tto his knees. She laughed at him and
darted away. He grunted and ran even faster after her.
His steps grew closer.
Her hair tossed above her shoulders and the muscles of
her naked back.
Panting loudly, she plunged onto a bench at the side of
the path. He stopped and knelt at her feet.
"Gotcha," he wheezed. Gobbling the remnants of the
popsicle, he tossed the stick.
"Right," she said, stretching her arms back above her
head, "big, bad, scary wolf."
His scarlet tongue trailed higher between her thighs.
She slid forward on the seat, where his nose met the
soaking crook of her panties. His lips followed the
contours of her pussy through the thin fabric.
He reached beneath her and she lifted her hips for him
to slide them down her legs. His breath stroked her
magic spot, parting her wide, one of her feet on his
shoulder. He planted tiny kisses around her wet matted
lips, so good.
She twinged her hips forward, waiting, urging him to
give her the deep dark kiss she needed the most.
When his lips fastened on her clit, she grabbed with
both hands on the top slat of the bench supporting her
head.
When his cold tongue swirled about her, she threw back
her head and moaned from her soul, yellow sunshine
flashing inside her eyelids as her climax danced on and
on.
A snapping branch jolted them from the clouds. She
uncrumbled the ball of clothes on the bench beside her,
tugging them on and pulling at the hems to smooth the
wrinkles. Even he replaced his shirt, smoothed his
hair. They remained silent for a long time, but no one
was there. They chuckled, walking hand in hand.
"Your mouth looks like you got hold of Mommy's
lipstick," he said. "It's kind of sexy."
Just then, a couple emerged from a bend, the old man
from the giftshop holding a woman's hand. The woman
wore a cardinal red shirt and stared up at him as he
spoke, and as they drew closer she could tell he was
reciting something.
She averted her gaze as they neared, patting her mussed
hair and clothes.
"To every maiden her wedding prayer," she heard the old
man say and pause to greet them in passing, then
resume, "and to every man his Dulcinea."
She peeked behind at them. The man's hand covered his
woman's white shorts, kneading her bottom as they
disappeared into the trees.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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