Tilt-a-Whirl
Both feet by my ears, he turned on my flood machine. Inner muscles contracting and releasing, my wetness was released upon him, and uncontrollable quaking of my legs brought him to orgasm. I felt like I was made of rubber.
Collapsing into me, he rest atop me. Regulating our breathing was easy, but he reached over and got a crippie smoke to make it sink in. Even the first head made my tingling twat sing.
My eyes pooled in my head; if I was a lake, then the rest of the room was an ocean. Splashes between my thighs, sweat dripped down my body. The trickling of one drop trickled between the crack of my ass.
Puffs of smoke made my body collide into him like a wave. I was washing up to his shore. Maybe I was just melting?
Reaching down by the bed, he retrieved the bottle of green tea that he had offered me earlier. Taking a sip, he held the container over my lips, pouring it on me and dribbling it onto my tits. Without asking, he slurped the wetness off of me, licking it clean all the way to my face and lips.
I took a hit and kissed his lips, passing the smoke into his lungs while passing him the joint in my hands. Tongue caressing into my mouth, massaging my lack of tonsils, I sucked on his tongue. When I pulled back, the suction could be heard.
I bit his lip as he pulled away. He hit the joint, shook his head at me. Passing me the joint, he stood up and put his head between my thighs.
Wrapping my legs around his head, he grabbed around my waist, pulling me into him. In a swift motion, he stood up, and I fell backwards, up-side-down. My back was against his stomach, head about to his knees.
Snaking my arms around either of his legs, I grabbed hold just above each of his knees, allowing him the freedom to walk about. Joint still in my hand, I was careful not to burn his leg as I took another puff. I could see my hair brushing the floor.
Spinning in a circle just enough to make me dizzy, he turned to the bed and lowered me onto my stomach, legs first onto the bed. He smacked my ass. I flipped around and looked at him with a playful smile.
“You think somebody’s out there, or can we use the swing?” I smiled eagerly. “I thought I heard voices earlier, but that was a while ago. What do you think?”
“It’s been a while since I heard anybody either,” he took the joint from me. “Wanna go check it out?” When I nodded, he smiled, “I’ll go see if the coast is clear.”
My eyes targeted his ass as he stuck his head out the bedroom door. Turning around, he said nothing but went to his dresser. He grabbed a plastic baggie that had been balled up on top, then returned back to the doorway.
“I’ll give you this if you go away.” He tossed out the package to whoever had been in the room. “I appreciated it.”
Looking back at me, he grinned as the door slammed. “There’s nobody out there now.” He grabbed another joint before coming out into the living room.
There was a note on the table with my name on it, and my belongings were stacked in a neat pile next to the door. Everything was taken care of. Why had I ever doubted it?
Blanchard guided me into the swing. I learned the sensation of flying, his cock running into me from seeming thin air, pushing and pulling me into him. Grunts and groans filled the air around me, running into them as I soared.
The straps dug into my flesh. Leaning backwards, I could see the floor zoom past me. My vision had trails behind it.
Bass from the music in the bedroom could still be heard out here, and we clicked to it. Part of me worried that I would fall, he held to the straps with one hand, my ass with the other, soothing my paranoia.
When I looked up at the ceiling, I felt as if I might meld into it. Soaring through the air, penetration was a silky slide down and a push back. I felt like a little girl spidering on a playground swing set.
Grabbing control of my outer thighs and ass cheeks, Blanchard banged me, hitting up and into my g-spot, causing a river to flow down onto him. Orgasm came quickly with the change of speed and position. His hands squeezed harder as his eyes closed, “ah!”
It was like a ride of the Tilt-a-Whirl. Only this ride conductor doesn’t stop until the orgasm’s over. Afterwards, he gently guides you out of the straps and to the safety of the ground.
For surviving such a ride, another smoke is lit to split. This marathon continued on for the rest of the time until I left New Orleans, which was only a day and a half at the most. The sex was like a kid who found no lines on a ride at Cedar Point, running back and forth, seeing how many rides can be fit in before the time ran out.
By the time I hopped on the plane home, I was more than eager for sleep. So oblivious, I only wanted to sleep longer when I got home, feeling teased by the mere two hours on the flight. Before I could sleep though, I had to give mother her cookbooks.
I was so dazed when she asked me, “who did you get these from?” I could sparse answer. She held up a piece of pink paper that matched her pink shirt and a folder on the table in front of her.
“What is it?” She couldn’t even speak, and I noticed her hand was shaking when she handed it over to me. It was a receipt more than ten years old.
Written in a handwriting that was too familiar to me, it was a carbon copy with my mother’s handwriting. Featuring our old neighborhood and the Discover card that she had cancelled years ago, the receipt was for a pair of blinds at Pier One. “Where did you find this?”
“I just opened the book, and there it was. Who did you get these books from? Who had access to these books?”
Originally Charlie’s, Elizabeth had given them to me, and they were transported here. Brad, his roommate or any of the boys who had come and gone during my stay there could have had access to them, even the nitrous guy. Who knew for sure, but it was most definitely a sign of us having been watched for more than a little while.
DREDS AND HURRICANES
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