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Hank’s voice echoes in my head, so real, so accurate that I would have sworn he was whispering in my ear right now. Impossible though that is.
This is it. The decision is mine. I can cling to that which I’ve lost or I can live. Because if nothing else in the dream I had is true, this one thing is. I’ve clung to the past. Not in a bad way, really, because I did love him dearly. Yet he’s gone and I’m still here. And I’ve been alone. Alone in the ways a girl never wants to be.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then lick my lips as I let it out. I lift my left hand and reach towards Mohlad. I’d planned to touch his arm, but at the worst, or maybe best, possible moment he turns to say something more and my hand brushes his cock.
Oh my indeed. That is one impressive cock.
The side of his dick is an interesting sensation. The top is hard, more than hard, rigid I guess, but the underside is softer. Or softer in a human penis kind of way. I’m not sure what I felt and it’s too dark to really sort it out, but there is no mistaking the gasp he gave as my hand made contact or the fact that I want to do a lot, lot more.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, my voice sounding husky because my throat is so tight.
I lift my arms and let the blanket drop. If he doesn’t like the way my body looks there is literally nothing I can do about it.
“No?” he asks but he turns his head and his eyes are on my tits.
My skin flushes and part of me wants to retreat, hideaway, but I push that into the darkness where it belongs. I am who I am. Accept me or don’t, but I’m not going to worry about what I can’t control.
“No,” I answer, shaking my head which has the mostly unintended side effect of making my tits jiggle too.
Even in the dimness of the tent I see his mouth drop open and his eyes widen. His eyes… they gather the little light that there is and pools it in such a way that they shine in the dark.
“Beautiful,” he says, his hands reaching for my breasts but he stops halfway. He looks up, meeting my eyes. “May?”
My heart swells so much it makes my chest hurt. Permission? An alien but yet a gentleman?
“Please,” I say, leaning forward. “May I?”
I motion towards his cock with my left hand.
“Please,” he says, his voice gruff and grumbly making the word sound harsh.
He puts his hands onto my tits, cupping them, at the same time I take hold of his cock from the underside, wrapping my fingers around it.
He moans and I do too as he lifts my tits and gently squeezes. His thumb finds my sensitive nipples, making a circle and I shiver with pleasure.
I tighten my grip on his dick, struggling to understand what I’m feeling in the dark. I run my hand down its considerable length to the base. When I’m stroking back up it spasms in my hand and I think I understand why it feels different.
The top has a cascading ridge. The crests of the ridge, which aren’t high or too big, lean towards his pelvis. I shift my grip and pinch a ridge between my thumb and forefinger. It has a little bit of give to it.
Cartilage. It’s made of cartilage. Stiff and hard, yet flexible. And as understanding dawns I get the idea of how that will feel inside. Filling me up in ways I have never, ever been. Stretching out the delicate folds of my womanhood. Teasing nerves that have never in their life been activated. A man’s or my own fingers do a lot, but I don’t think they could ever compare to what his cock will do. All of which makes me even wetter than I was.
He continues to play with my tits and it feels really good, but I want, no I need, more. As if reading my mind he shifts himself closer, grunting as my hand slides down his shaft. He hooks an arm around the back of my shoulders and with his other hand he pushes me down.
I let him take control, unsure what his plan is, but willing to go wherever he takes me. When I’m fully onto my back he runs his hands over me. Down my arms, over my breasts, onto my stomach. I have another moment of self-consciousness but I ignore it. The sensations are more than enough to keep me focused.
As he moves his hands lower and lower the blanket slides down until I’m fully exposed. His hands are on my thighs and he gently presses until I separate my legs for him.
Hank, for all his good qualities, was terrible at oral. It’s made me more than a little embarrassed about letting anyone down there. I tense as my legs part and that sensation of being exposed and at my most vulnerable comes over. My legs clench, moving against him and he doesn’t force it. Instead, he looks up to me, his bright eyes shining over my belly.
“Okay?” he asks.
I bite my lip and force the muscles to relax. I nod, unable to speak. Be open to new experiences. It will be okay.
Mohlad either senses my hesitation or else he’s just a better lover than I’ve ever experienced. Hank would dive right in, trying to force an orgasm or whatever it was he thought he was doing, no matter how many times I tried to tell him differently.
Mohlad is nothing like that. He gently kisses my stomach. Soft, almost butterfly kisses that dance from side to side along my soft belly. Some tickle and make me wiggle, others are sensual and ignite my desire further than I ever would have thought possible.
He takes his time. Not rushing for, well, anything. When Hank and I made love there was always this urgency to it, like we were in some kind of a marathon to get me off as fast as possible before he would relax enough to seek his own pleasure. Mohlad has no such concerns.
