Chapter 2: Don't miss the game.

Previous chapter: Don't miss your bus 


- Hurry up ya sucker! - yelled the male voice. - Or ya'll miss it!

- Yeah... - Paul sighed, aware that his pals couldn't see him in the bathroom.
Nor they could hear his response, because they were sitting in front of an
angrily loud TV screen, drinking beer and listening to some rap crap.

- Yeah I'm going...

He's been here for the last twenty minutes like he used to, lately. A calm,
cold shelter of his house's bathroom was giving him a strange feeling of
partial safety and understanding. Sure he was safe in his own home. Sure
thing.

He even asked his two ex-friends from secondary school to move in to his flat.
They were surprised and doubtful at first, but later they decided to agree,
because he offered them a lot of living place and no payment for it. They
never liked him and vice versa but both of them, Zack and Karl, were football
players. And damn good in defence.

So yes, he was safe. But he didn't feel as such. The... occurence... happened
two weeks ago and he could still feel the humilation stings piercing through
his whole body, under the fabric of clothes. He also could still feel the pain
arching from his neck down to his very private area. And he could still feel
the... no, he wouldn't admit that. Although when he was dreaming about her it
were very pleasurable dreams indeed. He was dreaming about her constantly.

- MachoMen will crush the Titans! - screamed one of the barbarians again and
Paul thought that it is a good time to rejoin them at last and watch this
stupid game.

Even now though he was constantly tasting a unique feeling of emotional bond.
Her fingers were still touching him, her lips were still caressing him, her
breasts were still around his body, like a swallowing ocean of hormones and
beauty.

He shook his head. God, what did she do to him? Why he could still smell her
delicate perfumes? He took shower after shower over thousand of times and the
soft, breeze-like perfumes still marked his every move.

Irritated, Paul rushed back to the living room.

- So what did I miss? - he laughed artificially after entering.

- Not too much. - female voice sighed an answer.

The girl was lying on her back, on the couch. She was totally naked and it was
this beautiful, colorful, shining, shapely nakedness that captured Paul's mind
for a very long time. Two large men, hairless bears in silly clothes, were
being crushed simulteanously between her long, tanned legs. She didn't have to
lock her ankles, being able to scissor them only with the sheer power of her
inner thigh muscles. She had her beautiful, lightly muscled arms behind her
head and she seemed very comfortable. Her lovely face brightened by an aureole
of golden hair, was smiling thoughtfully and gently. She even purred like a
giant, blond pussycat and in a grotesque contrast to her pleasure both mices
captured in a deadly trap of her body were sobbing and moaning quietly.

Regardless the horror of the situation Paul felt great. She came back to him.
She came back for him. She was close and her smell was real. Her shining eyes
were devouring him alive and he felt caressed by her mind alone. Touch and
millions of other senses were soon going to follow up.

- It's... you... - he whispered.

The girl smiled and answered, flexing her body on the coach, almost rubbing
herself with both hands and the furniture.

- Yes little one. - her sensual voice paired with the mute gasps of both
brawlers, who were kicking the air in painful panic.

She moved a little and enchanced the hold. One after the second they fell
asleep, constricted and deadly shocked, with the surprise of a lifetime
painted on their red faces. The girl then stood up and stretched her arms a
little, glancing at him curiously. She was quite tall and gifted by the mother
nature so generously, that her body could easily serve as a budget equivalent
for some smaller countries.

- I missed you, Paul. - she purred again.

Primal fear shrouded Paul's mind when he noticed how very much alone was he,
only with this woman as a companion for the night longer that he could ever
imagine. He run to the door and then at the streets. He lost his sleepers and
bare feet didn't work well on the concrete. The wind took the bathrobe,
leaving him only in his hopeless pyjama pants. Absurdal thought came and go.
She was undressing him by the force of will.

Fortunately the night was oil-black and lamp posts were rare in this
neighbourhood. He run so long that he wasn't even sure if this is the same
city or another now. Like he did care anyway. She was after him.

How happy was he.

- Paul! You cretin! You're being hunted! Think! - his own voice didn't sound
assuringly.

- No you're not. - she whispered from nowhere.

- Where are you? Who are you? - he yelled pitifully, trying to glare through
the curtain of the night. Cold wind was shattering his self-assurement into
puny pieces of trembling fear and helplessness.

- I prefer to save my name for you to guess. - her gentle, soft voice touched
his ear with slightly warmer air.

He didn't move although he knew that she was near now. Closer that he could
dream. Her hot, stone-like nipple touched his back. Then he felt the delicate
shape of her breast lightly touching his shoulder. Her skin was warmer then
the inside of his burning head. Somehow, and he didn't care how, she was able
to follow him.

God, how happy he was.

He turned to face her, boldly. An instant blur enveloped his captress'
swift-moving shape and in the same time he exploded with erection, welcoming
her hands on his arse. Then there was her breath, which almost turned his face
into smoky ashes, her living hair stroking his head and neck and shoulders,
and most of all there was her hands touching him everywhere, passionately,
skillfully, gently yet forcefully. And her breasts. He surely would worship
this two bright suns if there ever were other temples for them then her body.
He felt a religious mixture of awe and faith when they delivered their firm
constriction onto his chest. Her nipples paired with his nipples, instantly
proving which gender was superior. Then the embrace tightened and the globes
squeezes him between themselves. And under them there were a shapely theatre
of delicate muscles of her athletic belly.

Paul could stay there forever.

She had other plans for him.

Instead of being hanged for eternity in the pillows of her sweet breasts and
the comfortable bed of her stomach, he felt that his fate is going to be far
more dynamic. Pyjama pants dissapeared. And it wasn't cold, only warmer and
warmer.

One hand grasped his asscheeks gently, securing a complete hold over them and
burning five finger marks of pleasure on his exposed, naked skin. Other hand
was running along his back, delivering a soft massage and invoking the rhythm.

Rhythm that soon achieved it's true goal. She carefully, patiently manuevered
his body to properly join the two together. Sensing his aimless kick of both
dangling legs and this unique gasp, imprisoned between her feminine hills she
knew that he came into place. She felt it too now and she could hide a sweet,
innocent, girly smile. She arched her head backwards and stared into the
stars. For another half hour.

For Paul the storm begun only to evolve into mammoth storm, then into titanic
hurricano and then into something cosmically greater. She moved him in and
out, rhythmically, up and down, faster then he could breath. His heartbeat
could only mimic the rhythm, because in other case a heartstroke was a sure
thing. Up and down. In and out. The man quickly learned to savor the moments
of their most tight closeness, when he felt like being sucked into her,
because never before did he feel anywhere as close to Heaven. Also, when her
hand assisted him backwards, very much in a way like a slinger prepares his
weapon, he felt close to Hell of possible ending of their communion.

He never knew how long they were doing this, on the center of the street, in
the middle of the night. He just felt her soft breasts hitting his head
stronger then boxers gloves and her mighty hand using his body, using it, up
and down, using it, in and out, using it faster, using it, stronger, using it,
longer and longer and into the eternity.

And then he couldn't even sleep. He wasn't tired. He wasn't destroyed. He was
crushed a little and maybe squeezed slightly too much but his ribs weren't
broken and his head was only moderately battered.

She carried him back to his home, softly embracing in gentle mother's hold. He
felt her shy kisses penetrating the barrier of his skin and piercing his body
deeper then he thought he could perceive.

- What is your name... - he was surprised that he remembered how to use his
tongue. - Please...

She only smiled.

Later he felt his own bed's uncomfortable hardness. The world just wasn't the
same anymore and he would never sleep comforably in any mundane blanket. He
couldn't sleep.

She helped.

He felt her light weight directly on his face. He felt a mask embracing his
lips and nose, much like an oxygen or filter mask. Only this one consisted her
insanely concentrated scent. He felt her inner thighs, warm and soft, on his
now useless ears.

He faced the delicacy of her interior.

He wasn't brave enough.

She left him sleeping.

He never found out, who won, although he was sure that it wasn't the MachoMen.
One thing else he was sure though. That he'll always be watching football
games in this damn TV from now on.

(please send comments for tiana_crowheart@hotmail.com)