And The Cradle Will Rock

...Although Wolfe never held the speed limit as gospel on the journey back to the condo, the ride seemed an eternity to Blythe. They exchanged few words between them, preferring instead to let their lust-filled eyes do all the talking, and their lips met in hot kisses at every insufferable stoplight. On more than one occasion, cars beeped from behind to indicate “green lights” and, only then, did their lips and tongues reluctantly separate. Blythe couldn’t stop her left hand from roaming over his muscular thigh, flat belly, and right pectoral. And several times she had impatiently groped the lengthy and rock-hard pole at his groin, which in and of itself must have made it difficult for Wolfe to maneuver the Ferrari through the Savannah streets. How they actually made it back to her condo in one piece, Blythe didn’t even bother to question. She just thanked the heavens they had finally done so without causing an accident or getting pulled over for a speeding ticket.

Without a word, they practically sprinted up to her third floor unit, taking the stairs in lieu of waiting for the building’s notoriously slow elevator. Blythe had located her keys while still in the car so as not to waste additional time, and within seconds of reaching her door, she had it open and ushered him into her living room.

She could do nothing more than flip on a light switch before Wolfe pounced into action. When he reached around from behind and covered her aching breasts with his palms, she lost control of her purse and keys and they jangled onto the carpet. He kicked the door closed with his foot, then pressed his groin against her ass, where he wedged his thick hardness between her cheeks. Meanwhile, his lips created a moist trail over one of her exposed shoulders and to her neck. She tilted her head to the side, giving him free access. Finally, the tip of his tongue ventured into her ear canal and made her shiver. She gripped the back of his hands and squeezed encouragement, all the while wiggling her hips and savoring his cock as best she could through their layers of clothing.

“Which way to the bedroom?” he whispered.

“No time for that!” Blythe broke free of his hold, then turned and shoved him backward onto her sectional sofa.

Smiling and leering at her, he yanked at his bow tie and toed off his shoes, while Blythe kicked her stilettos clear across the room before sinking to her knees between his spread legs. With no hesitation whatsoever, she skirted up his cummerbund, then mouthed his erection through the tuxedo trousers while tugging at the clasp and zipper.

Wolfe freed himself of the cummerbund altogether and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a sun-bronzed torso worthy of a tongue bath. A wealth of muscles and firmly cut ridges and valleys testified to the young man’s fondness for exercise, making Blythe’s mouth water even more. His dark nipples had puckered in desire, begging for attention. An inverted triangle of brown wispy curls in the center of his breastbone made a splendid target for future kisses, as did the thick path of hair that led from his belly button and into his pants. He shrugged the shirt over his shoulders and toyed with his cufflinks, cursing when one of them proved defiant.

Blythe smiled at the colorful tattoo emblazoned on his upper right bicep—an ebony-black wolf’s head, with fiery red eyes and an unnaturally long and drooling tongue trailing nearly down to his elbow. Despite her horniness, she burst out laughing at the irony, considering the man’s surname and her locks of red hair. She felt as if some cosmic entity—likely Venus, the goddess of love—had transported her into an X-rated version of Little Red Riding Hood. Here she was, the heroine in a deliciously naughty fairytale, kneeling before the randy wolf, the hero in this scenario, and she would actually welcome him eating her from head to toe. That is, if she didn’t eat every inch of him first.

“A self-portrait, or just wishful thinking on my part?” she said, nodding toward his arm.

Wolfe freed the stubborn cufflink, which he placed on the side table beside its partner, then removed his shirt, tossed it aside, and leaned back against the sofa cushions. “When I dig my tongue into your juicy pussy,” he whispered in a raspy voice, “you’ll know the truth. Tell me…do you have your own self-portrait painted somewhere on your body, something depicting your talents, perhaps?”

“Sorry, no,” she countered, shivering in yearning and licking her lips. “But once I get your cock in my mouth, you’ll understand why my best friend uses my antics as her inspiration when writing erotica.”

The deep chuckle that poured from his mouth made his chest muscles bulge enticingly. “Then by all means, show me if what she writes is pure fiction or fiction based on fact.”

For a long moment, she ran her shaky hands over that luscious chest and flat belly, loving the opposing textures of soft skin, coarse hair, and solid muscle. She impishly pinched his nipples before returning to her original, and more urgent, task. After separating the folds of his trousers, she dug inside and located the prize—a grand prize, she decided, by the outline of the bulge in his black bikini briefs. She tugged down the elastic, discovering that the trail of hair from his navel led to a lush pubic forest, and from his underwear sprang the most beautiful cock Blythe had ever seen.

The fat crimson head, partially covered with a darker-colored foreskin, shimmered in pre-cum dampness. Like a billy club, his fuck-stick bluntly slapped against his ridged belly and bounced up and down with the beat of his pulse. A network of red-purple veins marked its surface, a roadmap for Blythe’s tongue to eagerly follow...