I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so good. If ever.
It’d been so long since I had sex, but I wasn’t a young man anymore. All the same, I pumped into her with all the vigor of a high schooler, but with the stamina of a man much older. Knowing I wasn’t going to cum too soon gave me the chance to really enjoy how she felt — how she looked — as I fucked her.
Like how with each thrust, her breasts bounced, and how when I hit her too deep, her thick eyelashes would flutter.
The lack of a condom was dangerous, but oh so satisfying. I could feel every inch of her as it dragged along my cock, as I sank in and she squeezed around me. I could feel it all! And she was exquisitely perfect.
My pace built, and I made those thick, ripe tits jiggle and sway with the impact of my thrusts, again and again I hammered her, made her yelp and squeal and moan as I fucked her raw, manhandled those gorgeous tits of hers.
She squeezed my cock, and I knew she wanted it. Wanted my cum, my seed, deep inside her exotic little twat.
That was beyond my wildest dreams, but everything in my body screamed for that release. To implant myself deep within her and give her what she craved. My fingers squeezed her breast harder, the flesh dimpling beneath my hand as I looked down at her.
She wasn’t giving that coy grin any longer. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open as she moaned so loud.
She was lost to the carnal rapture, and I pounded her harder, made those pouty lips moan all the louder for me as I hammered her towards bliss. I felt mo
re alive than I had in so many years, and I let one of my strong hands slide down her soft body, my hard thumb rub at her clit, encircling it as I thrust into her.
My balls were tightening, and I knew my ability to hold back was giving out, and my desire to was long gone. I needed to cum inside that beautiful Cuban woman more than I needed to breathe then, and as the fire of my release traced up my loins, I jackhammered into her so hard and fast, wanting to make that gorgeous dancer cum with me.
And that sweet song, that lilting scream as she quivered was my reward. Her pussy vibrated around my bare cock, milking me of my virile seed. Her hand clutched my bicep, her nails forming half-moons in my arm as she lost herself to pleasure.
Then I went with her, and I blew such a thick, heavy load of cum into her like I’d never had before! Years of pent up desire unleashed into that fertile cunt of hers, and I savoured every mind-blowing moment of it, just as she did. The two of us felt our heads swirl, and I bucked, twitched and moaned aloud as I disgorged every last spurt of rich cum into her utmost depths.
I knocked her up then and there, I felt it even then, but the two of us only thrilled at it, enjoyed the feel of all my seed flooding her depths.
She rocked her hips, taking in all of my offering like a prized gift, her body rolling with all the seduction of the dance floor.
And when finally she laid back, exhausted and spent from her orgasm, she smiled up at me with such warmth. No more coyness. Just affection.
I leaned in, kissing her lips hungrily as I growled, “You’re mine now.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl but kissed me back with just as much passion.
It would’ve been easy to move on from that experience. After all, even though we spent the rest of the vacation together, fucking each other’s brains out, when it was done, I flew back home and she stayed in Cuba.
Yet the attachment we felt burned hot and fast, but also long. We kept in touch weeks after that, talking on the phone and emailing, and I arranged to return half a year later.
She’d never explicitly said, but I wasn’t surprised to see it when I walked off the plane and found her waiting. That beautiful, curvaceous body of hers a little rounder in the belly, fuller in the breasts, looking exactly to be in her final trimester, right on schedule from our first fuck.
I grabbed her up there, spun her around, kissed her and hugged her, without hesitation. It was the finest surprise I could’ve expected for my second vacation, but I knew that wasn’t to be all. There’d be so much more ahead for us, I could see that in her sparkling, dark eyes.
The Fugitive
Book Themes:
Barely Legal, Breeding, Bad Boy, and Love
Word Count:
26,647
Life is pretty slow in the countryside, not a whole lot changes. Which is why it was so easy to pick a newcomer like Asher out of the crowds at market.
Among all the usual farm folk, gathered to sell their wares, make trades and connect with neighbours and friends, that one big, muscly man, dressed in black leather and ridin’ atop a noisy motorcycle stood out for all to see.
Nobody even rode a motorcycle in all my years livin’ in the country, unless you count the time old man Murphy rode a moped he fixed up. But that didn’t even last long before he tumbled off into a ditch, and his wife made him swear never to go climbin’ on that busted up old thing again.