Gamefinger

CHAPTER ONE-2

For a long while I kissed her tropic zone-her upper thighs and lower belly, her hips and haunches. I cradled my cheek against the soft rise and fall of her belly, nestled my cheeks between the smooth flesh fire of her upper thighs-kissing her, tonguing her, caressing her with my hands and fingertips.

When I tired of kissing her, I tickled and teased her with the tip of one finger, slyly poking and probing her hot and yielding flesh until she squealed for me to stop what I was doing-and start doing something else.

But I wasn't ready to start doing what she wanted me to do, so I slid my hands under her buttocks and flipped her over on her belly-and began kissing her again.

I kissed my way up her legs, starting with the soles of her feet and her toes, kissed my way up her calves and then, more slowly, up the backs of her thighs to the saucy curves of her youthful buttocks.

And what buttocks she had! How ripe was her rump, how pleasingly the flesh of her backside dimpled under the slightest pressure of my pressing fingers.

I squeezed and stroked the satiny hot flesh, rubbed it and polished it, letting my fingers and palms stray where they wished, where I wished-where she wished.

I kneaded her inner-tube-taut rump until the hot flesh seemed to writhe and squirm as if it had a life of its own. I patted her, shook her buttocks with cupped hands-an action that caused not only her nates but her full thighs to ripple and quiver excitingly, inflamingly....

Then-then I rolled her on her back again, rolled her over on the clover and crouched over her while she reached up for me with hungry hands and her lush yet lissome thighs swung wide, wide apart.

I crouched over her on all fours, conscious of the sun beating on my back, conscious of the light of lust gleaming in her huge blue eyes, conscious of the mount-, ing excitement, s****l excitement that throbbed through me.

(And small wonder-I'd been more than four days without a woman; this isolated lake isn't without drawbacks.)

“Now?” I asked her.

“You know it,” she gasped. “Give it to me, Rex. Holster up, huh? All the way!”

How could I refuse?

I didn't. I simply shoved myself forward and down. It was like a tunnel of lust-a tropic storm raging. I plunged to the hot secret world of her flesh. She squealed with delight, and her mighty hips surged up off the grass with the frenzy of a harpooned dolphin.

Up, up her hips reared, shaking me, rocking me, lifting me while her stomach muscles flickered like carnal lightning.

This chick was no amateur, that was for sure. This chick knew the score, had helped write the score.

After her first fury of the flesh had subsided, her hips began to move in a lazy rocking motion-churning me, twisting me, drawing me ever further to the throbbing, pulsing lust-dream her body had become.

Her fingernails raked and clawed my flesh, she beat her fists against my back while her hungry mouth sought and found my lips, her ardent tongue slid like a wild spirit into my mouth.

She began to moan and whimper as my hips began to piston back and forth, slamming my urgency hard against her roiling need.

She broke her kiss long enough to gasp “Faster!”-then clamped her hot mouth to mine again.

I moved faster. And faster. Back and forth I moved, then, to vary the pleasure, from side to side, around and around. She almost went berserk with delight. And still I kept moving, kept the best part moving, kept churning the pagan cauldron of her body, kept sliding this way and that in search of new flesh thrills for her-for me-for both of us.

And Kami matched me move for move. Most chicks-or at least many chicks-aren't too expert in the s*x department. Either they just he there making pleased sounds while you do all the work, or else they respond, but with more enthusiasm than skill: they bounce and wriggle all over the place, never quite in tempo.

Not this chick. This chick had technique. Making physical love to her was like dancing with a skilled partner: every move I made, she anticipated and responded to.

She rolled her hips and twisted her hips and thrust her hips-up and back-in perfect counterpoint to my actions. Exactly as a good female partner on the dance floor can make you look and feel even better than you are, so this chick managed to enhance my every virile move, make my every action seem that much more skillful and pleasurable.

Not that I need a good bed partner to make me look or act good. I'm no boaster, but I've had my share of time in the hay, and plenty of extra time that rightfully belonged to a lot of other guys. (Can I help it if married or engaged girls forget their vows when I'm around?)

No, with all due modesty, I fancy myself as being pretty experienced on or under the sheets, as any trained SADISTO agent is expected to be.

But just as some girls have the knack of making you feel twice a man when you're with them on a date, so Kami made me feel twice a man in the s****l sense.

Ardent-but not offensively aggressive. Yielding-but not passive. Suggestive but not demanding; eager but not pushy; wanton but not crude-that was Kami in the hay. (Or on the grass, rather.) A real s*x dream, an erotic joy jill, a passion playmate par excellence.

Beneath me on the grass Kami wriggled and writhed, squirmed and rippled in a manner unimaginable.

I began to piston her faster and faster. I let my elbows support the weight of my chest, cupped my hands over the ripe, richly rounded cones of her breasts, crushed and squeezed them with my searching, probing fingers as I continued to plunge up and down, back and forth and around and around....

Scorching waves of super-heated s****l delight pulsed through me as the sliding, inciting, exciting, arousing, enticing friction of my flesh against her flesh pyramided in intensity.

Kami began to make gasping, guttural sounds of ecstasy as her fists and legs flailed against me, as she sank her teeth into my bare shoulder with primitive savagery.

And still I moved faster, and faster. Deprived of s*x for so long, super-sexed as I was, keyed up as I felt myself, I marveled that I kept the game going for so long. By all rights I should have detonated long ago. I didn't understand how I could balance for so long on the very brink of total bliss and not plunge headlong in.

Practice, maybe. Or superior skill, or will power.

Whatever the reason, I continued to surge over the voluptuous vortex of her thighs. Back and forth, back and forth I thrust myself, with my s****l tension mounting geometrically-with all of my s****l nerve fibers screaming for relief, for the crucial critical point of no return.

Her teeth weren't just chewing my shoulder gently now-she was biting with the grip of an erotic barracuda. Her fingernails weren't scraping my back now-they were gouging bloody furrows. Her muscles weren't simply flickering around me-they were squeezing me like crazy.

She was ready, all the way ready.

So was I-only I kept going.

It was a challenge, a challenge to my powers of endurance. Not only a challenge but a wonderful game-a game I couldn't lose. All I had to do was hold out, keep from detonating.

Sooner or later I was going to detonate, I knew this and looked forward to it eagerly. Meanwhile, the longer I kept the game going-the longer I was being teased and titillated by the glorious s****l excitement that already had been pumped like golden glowing nectar into my veins-the better.

Most likely you've been in the same position. Most likely you, too, have hovered on the very brink of s****l detonation and enjoyed every agonizing second you could keep yourself from detonating.

And that's how it was that bright summer morning in Maine. Overhead the blazing sun and beneath me the fiery-bodied Kami, her writhing and twisting voluptuousness an urgent provocation to a s****l explosion-an explosion I managed to delay for moment after moment of excruciatingly wonderful pleasure-pain.

And all this while our bodies were touching, pressed together; my chest against her gigantic rounded breasts, my stomach scorched against her sinuously sliding belly, our legs intermingled, our arms locked around each other.

She was Eve to my Adam in that sunlit, lust-bedazzled morning when we rolled and writhed on the soft grass, conscious of nothing save the burning contact of our bodies, the red-hot intermeshing of our lusts.

And still I thrust, and thrust and withdrew and thrust again, faster and faster.

I felt her nails rake my back again and again, felt her teeth chew first my right, then my left shoulder in a paroxysm of ecstasy, felt the squeezing surge of her muscles pulse around me demandingly, coaxingly.

And still I kept going, still I kept my hips lunging and plunging in machine-gun tempo.

It was too much, it was the ultimate, it was the end, the flash-point of all flesh-but I kept going. On, and on, and on....

The outer world had long since ceased to have meaning to me. I was lost in an inner world of my own, a world of kaleidoscopic sounds and colors, a whirling, spinning, tumbling incomparably perfect world of seething, sensuous, s****l delights.

I'd read once, long ago, about a form of madness that overtakes a few people, people already far along the road to insanity, a madness that strikes them at the ultimate, crucial point of physical and mental s****l bliss-and the form the madness takes is that they never can leave the state of s****l ecstasy they find themselves in and so (I had read) certain nerve cells simply burn out or refuse to transmit messages and, as a result, these people live out the rest of their lives in a sort of s****l coma-forever experiencing the culmination of s****l feeling.

They live in a never-ending ecstasy, in other words.

I've since learned that what I read was so much hokum-that this kind of madness never has happened.

Nevertheless, nevertheless-during long moments of unendurable s****l excitement such as I felt that morning, I could well believe in such a madness; could in fact almost feel it coming on me.

To live always in such a transport of delight, to feel for the rest of one's life the golden climactic splendor of s****l ultimacy-such a madness seemed, at times, the best of all possible fates.

And even as that thought struck me, Kami wriggled and squirmed and squeezed once again, and I was triggered, detonated, sent soaring a million miles past the limits of self-control.

It was as if part of me had exploded, had erupted into molten flesh fire, as if a terrifying tidal wave of lust had roared through me-again and again and again.

It was like the end of the world, and the start of a new and titanic life. It was a billion volts of electricity coursing through me, it was as if my body had melted into pulsing, jetting bursts of rapture.

It was the most, the greatest, the ultimate ecstasy flesh can know on this earth.

It was a giant drum beating within me, it was a flourish of trumpets, a chorus of Heavenly voices surging on a current of Hell-fire.

And it was just fine.

And it got better.

And better yet.

And then more so.

It was a thunderclap of eternity, the raging liquid melding of male and female into one, it was ultimate truth and all sanity and insanity reconciled, it was life-death and death-life, yin and yang, darkness and light, a welding of one moment with eternity.

And my body rocked and recoiled and jerked and twisted spasmodically. I felt myself twist and shudder, distantly, as if I were a puppet being made to dance by distant strings.

And it was over.

Over in flowing waves of rippling rapture fire, over in a slow receding tide of fiery pleasure, a gentle dampening of intolerable flames, a relaxed easing of intolerable s****l rapture.

And my pistoning body ceased its beat, my heart began to slow its frantic pounding, my body began to feel its flesh again, and my flesh felt her flesh pressed hotly against mine.

Slowly, very slowly sanity and reason returned.

And then I was no longer a pagan god ravishing a now immortal mortal maiden-I was Trevor Anderson alias Rex Kingston lying on top of a blonde sss beside a tiny lake in Maine.

And, for the time being, that was enough.