Dear Diary, do you know what a story arc is?
It means the path a story takes from beginning to end--hopefully ending in a different place than where it started. Ideally, the opposite of where it started. Since I learned that, I never trust anything that starts happy.
And Bill and I started this part of our story in actual heaven. By heaven I mean shacked up in a Mayfair townhouse loaned to us by Gabrielle (her hubbie was a tech-trillionaire, remember) under the certain, not unpleasant, condition that we were her "fuck bunnies" and had to please her whenever she came to visit.
We were hiding from my father, who'd told the world's press that Bill had coerced me into running away with him because Vogue declared I was "The Most Desirable Woman In The World" and he wanted me for himself.
Remember, Bill and I had agreed to marry, even though that would mean me giving up my title, as Father would never permit me to marry our gardener. Also, and worse, the old bastard promised to have Bill killed if he stopped me elevating the blood line by marrying royalty. He didn't put that in the press. Meanwhile Gabrielle was loving the subterfuge and had sent decoys of us into the world. Square-jawed, muscle-bound slap-heads and black bobbed, pillowy-lipped sex kittens popped up in Paris, Milan, New York and Japan. Yet here we were, hiding in plain sight.
I was 23 at the time, and even though I was due my inheritance at 21, Father had held it back from me. His logic--if one can call it that--was that age was irrelevant. The family fortune would only come to me when I was an adult, and I wasn't an adult until I'd done the grown up thing and married someone he approved of. I decided that, short of having my father killed--and Gabrielle said she'd happily do that herself--I would have his actions proven unlawful. I would lawyer my way to my fortune. Then my great big beautiful man and I could hide somewhere until nature did the job of killing Father for us.
So our story starts with us hiding from the world in our Georgian townhouse, in our kitchen with the shutters drawn, me reclined on the altar of a granite kitchen island, and Bill standing between my legs. Heaven indeed!
It was our first day alone together and I'd promised him breakfast, so I laid out a naked girl buffet for him on the countertop. He was taking sweet, sweet time over it too. Me, that is. He was taking sweet, sweet time over me.
He lifted his head from my happy cunt. "OK, my love?" He kissed one of my feet where I'd propped them on his mountainous shoulders. My spilled juices strung from his chin to my toes. He licked them. "You look... feverish."
My entire mound was buzzing like a doorbell and fat as a football. I couldn't speak. He kept fucking me to the edge, then licking me to the edge, then fucking me to the edge again. I couldn't say how long we'd been at it. I felt suspended at the top of the world's tallest roller coaster, while it grew and grew and grew and the view got scarier and scarier. My body tingled from the tips of my toes right to the end of my glossy jet follicles.
And it was fuck time. He stood, gripped my licked-and-fucked-floppy legs by the ankles, splayed me, and slid his glossy wood deep into me.
"Let... me... come," I begged. He dug in and out, building his pace. I considered reaching for my clit and finishing myself but the minute I made any kind of cummy breath at all, Bill swapped and I didn't want to lose that... fucking... great... fucking.
He scoffed, and drove on, faster. He was sheened in sweat from forehead to abs, and not just because it was summer and the shutters were closed. Bill always worked hard. His every thrust sent waves of bliss coursing from my hot cunt to froth over my skin, then more, and more, and more again, filling me to bursting then pumping even more. The tsunami of my orgasm rose until I could see nothing else.
I arched... gasped. Now! Now!
He pulled out, dropped and sucked my entire cunt back into his mouth. The monster fuck-wave lulled slightly, but loomed over me bigger than ever behind the sparkles he licked over my swollen clit. He spread my lips and flippered his tongue, fanning flames, flaring them brighter, ready to explode.
"F-fuck..." I hissed.
No! He lifted. I tried to clamp my feet behind his head, but it was too late. He stood again and slid his slobbery rod back to work. I growled, he laughed again. I think he'd grown actual horns. He pumped and pumped and pumped.
Thank the merciful orgasm God for Gabrielle. She slammed the front door, shouting, "Bonjour fuck bunnies!"
Bill shone, doubled his speed, then, at last, curled over and kissed me. I locked my ankles around his shoving hips, my arms around his neck and laughed in his mouth because I knew that was it. That was my permission. He loved me to orgasm in a kiss.
So I did. I turned inside out and screeched, my tongue quivering in his mouth, juddering on his cock and grinding my clit needily on the prickly bit of fur he never shaved above his balls. Double whammy, clit and cunt exploding together. I could hardly breathe for guttural, shuddering squeaks.
Gabrielle appeared. "Careful Bill, you are killing her with orgasm, I think."
A huge steamy hiss. Was that me? No, it was my BFF making herself a coffee right beside us.
I think Bill had planned on climaxing with me-- it was the thought of blasting cum all over my clit that had got us worked up in the first place. Instead I could almost hear his locks thunking into place. Our landlady was no doubt here to collect her rent.
I sighed and slinked on the granite, stirring on his thick meat. I found Gabrielle perched beside Bill's rocking buttocks, smirking as she sipped an espresso. She looked edible in a flowery summer dress, with her mass of copper curls tied up but barely contained.
"Darling." I put out trembling fingers to her.
She kissed them, while sending a long, lascivious gaze up and down my man. He stayed lodged in me, idling in there, both of us relishing our completeness. I clasped at him inside, and took Gabrielle's cup off her.
"So..." I gulped her rocket fuel. "What would you like for breakfast, Madame?"
But Gabrielle was already sliding from her stool, sinking to my fiance's feet. She pushed his hips back to reveal his slimy dick, and lapped it from balls to tip, dipping over the end for a popsicle suck. "Hmm." She smacked her lips. "You haven't come yet, monsieur?"
