Red Confession: Irish Fire Consumes Me in Lyon

Her hotel room in Lyon, Spring 2013. Door clicks shut. Kathy’s arms snake around my neck. Lips crash. Tongue invades, hot, demanding. Heart hammers. She tastes of champagne, sin. ‘Come,’ she whispers, pulling me deeper. Jacket rips off. Shirt unbuttons. Her fingers claw my chest. Skin burns. I spin her. Moonlight floods in. Black lace bra pushes up pale tits, spilling over. Sheer thong clings to her mound, ass cheeks begging. Stockings grip thighs. I devour her with eyes. Pulse races. Hands tremble on crinkling lace. She yanks my belt. Pants drop. Naked, hard almost. No. Soft still. But her eyes promise fire. We tumble to bed. Lips graze neck, shoulders. Goosebumps erupt. Heart thuds wild. She arches. I peel stockings slow. Thighs quiver. Down to toes. Back up, licking wrists, armpits. Breath hitches. Tits free. Huge dark areolas. Nipples stiffen under tongue. Suck hard. She moans low. Belly dips. Navel teased. Thighs part. Musky heat rises. Thong slips off. Pussy lips glisten. Swollen. Ready.

Fingers part folds. Tongue strikes clit. Flicks fast. It swells, peeks out. She bucks. Gushes wet. Two fingers plunge in. Hot, slick walls grip. Curl to G-spot. Rub firm. She screams. Jets squirt. Face drenched. Cyprine sprays. I suck harder. Don’t stop. Orgasms chain. Hips thrash. Tries to push away, pulls back. Drowns sheets. Finally, she stills. Gasps. ‘Your turn.’ I flip prone. Her wet pussy slides on thighs. Hands knead back. Shoulders melt. Ass gripped. Turn over. Flaccid cock exposed. She doesn’t flinch. Kisses deep, tasting herself. Down chest. Nips bitten. Belly licked. Fingers stroke shaft. Tongue laps glans. Balls cupped. Frenulum tugged. Blood surges. Cock rises rigid. Steel. She mounts. Lips tease tip. Heat radiates. Grinds slow. Then impales. Walls clench. Rides fierce. Up to edge, slams down. Balls slap. I flip her. Doggy. Ass high. Cock spears deep. She grabs balls, squeezes pain-pleasure. Pound hard. She contracts. I erupt. Cum floods her. Jets pulse. She milks every drop. Collapse. Sweat-slick bodies tangle.

The Fever Rises

Shower steam rises. Water cascades. Soap her tits, belly. Finger pussy clean. Ass soaped. She grins wicked. ‘Men have G-spot too.’ Prostate. I bend. Finger probes ass. Slippery. Stretches. Two fingers. Finds gland. Rubs soft. Pleasure blooms deep. Balls tighten. Cock stirs untouched. Waves build. Clear fluid jets. Prostate orgasm. Shuddering bliss. No hands on dick. She beams. Washes me tender. Bed again. Chaste kiss. Sleep heavy. Morning. Room service. Fuck slow, languid. Last thrusts. Dress. ‘No airport. Complicated life.’ Kiss goodbye. Heart aches. Year later, March 17, 2014. My saint day. Envelope from Ireland. Shamrock card. ‘I still think of you…’ Promise burns. Skin remembers heat. Pulse quickens. Waiting.