Duoubling numbers to 'keep it up'  

jj40vv 57M
7 posts
2/11/2006 4:40 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Duoubling numbers to 'keep it up'

Her clitoris was pronounced, the size of a haricot bean, with its own ‘hoodie’ that stayed drawn back when her bean was swollen. Alistair would rub his penis between her legs, dipping it ever more slightly into her hole until she raised her hips a nats, grabbed his wrists and dragged his length insider her.

Once in her, Suzi pushed against him hard, against her mons pubic, clamped him tight with increasingly strong Kegel muscles and twitched then made noises that built to a crescendo. As long as Alistair remained stiff she was happy as she went in pursuit of her happiness ‒ it was never futile. Then she’d want another, and another and another.

‘Six Thousand Nine Hundred And Twelve’

If Alistair could have put earplugs in he would have done so. The truth is he loved the sound of Suzi excited, but it so made him want to come that her excitement could itself result in denying her what she wanted.

‘Thirteen thousand eight hundred and twenty four.’

Alistair and Suzi called it sport. Their sex sessions took place after school on the double bed Alistair had in his room at his grandparent’s house.

‘Twenty seven thousand six hundred and forty eight.’

Increasingly, Alistair’s sense of self became detached from his body, as the numbers mounted his body and soul divided. It was transcendental, it was Tantric ‒ he didn’t need to do alcohol or drugs, he did sex. During one of these moments he contemplated ditching engineering to study medicine ‒ the body was an extraordinary thing, better than an engine.

His eyes open, watching Suzi’s face. It was hard to hold a line of six, then seven figures as they were doubled. Fifty five thousand two hundred and ninety six. One hundred and ten thousand, five hundred and ninety two.

If Suzi opened her eyes that might be the signal for him to come, to join her.

‘Two hundred and twenty one thousand, one hundred and eighty four.’

And their orgasms would tumble in one after another.

‘Four hundred and forty two thousand three hundred and sixty eight.’

Alistair made himself a student of sex.

If there had been an A’ Level in the subject he would have got an A grade. If he could have covered it as a subject at university he would have done so and gone on to do a doctorate in sex.

He did his work, did his research, by the time he was 18 Alistair had read every sex guide, sex reference, sex assistance, sex, health manual book he could get from a good bookshop or through male order ‒ his girlfriend was the beneficiary of his academic exploits, what he learnt in a book, he put into bed.

Suzi made a good student; she was keen to learn; they tried everything together. In public Alistair would ask her ‘how’s the practice going?’ She’d giggle something about it being fine.

Suzi was a distinguished flautist, grade a million and something; she could tongue as well as James Gallways (not that Alistair wanted him anywhere near his erect cock). If Suzi said she was getting better ‘at tonguing’ it wouldn’t matter if she were overheard. She’d walk home from school with her flute case. Parents and other girls must have wondered how playing the flute could have been so much fun.

After a term of Kegel exercises, during which time Suzi often used Alistair’s middle and index finger to practice, she could have uncorked a wine bottle with her vagina; her control and grip was superlative.

‘Eight Hundred And Eighty Four Thousand Seven Hundred And Thirty Six.’

Suzi once extracted a multiple orgasm from Alistair. It was thanks to those Kegel muscles, that is, if by ‘multiple’ you can count two orgasms one on top of each other without any break to recover, compared to the dozen or more orgasms she might have in a ‘session.’ On this occasion she came, then Alistair came. A moment later her vagina, gripped him again, once, twice, thrice … looking into his eyes, hands raised as if to say ‘look no hands’ she gripped again and Alistair felt an excavation deep within him, as if a vampire were sucking all the blood from his body, as if a hook and chain had been thrust up his arse and hooked behind his eyes were being drawn back through his eye sockets, down his throat, through his stomach and gut, and out through his rectum. He was turned inside out. Worse than stripped naked. Foetal. Less than thin, a skinless, intangible cloud of sensation.

Afterwards Alistair felt thirsty and weak. Suzi thought it hilarious. It wasn’t just his penis that went flaccid like a used condom, his whole body felt devoid of bone. It took Alistair three day to recover from that.

‘One Million Seven Hundred And Sixty Nine Thousand Four Hundred And Seventy’

Suzi didn’t stop there; she liked to prove that she could reduce Alistair to the condition of a rag-doll mauled by a bull terrier and left in a puddle.

She put her lips around Alistair’s foreskin (He’s a cavalier remember) and tickled her tongue underneath the hood. Each touched caused such an intense pleasure of sensation that it began to feel painful, like a form of torture, not pleasure ‒ Alistair had to push her away, just as she would push him away when his touch became too frequent and too sensitive and her body could take it no more.

During strange dreams Alistair saw himself naked at the alter with Suzi. It was a marriage service. Instead of exchanging rings an umbilical chord was teased from his belly and pressed through her insides so that within a few moments their bodies became fused ‒ two hearts, one blood supply.

‘Three Million Five Hundred And Thirty Eight Thousand Nine Hundred And Forty Four.’

Alistair let Suzi know when he was about to come. He whispered in her ear.

They came together and shook like commuters who’d fallen in an embrace across the ‘live’ rail on the train track.

Become a member to create a blog