At first she'd not believed what her eyes had seen on the beach. Ambrosiano, standing in the surf, fully clothed and Grigori nude, his head bobbing at crotch level, obviously making an afternoon snack of the man's cock. The Maestro's reputation as an equal opportunity seducer aside, she'd assumed Grigori to be about as ruggedly heterosexual as they came.
Then again what did she know of the man, really? Except that he was apparently fond of fucking people, anybody, anywhere, anytime. Julie tore around the corners of the maze, her bare feet slipping here and there on the grass. She was nude under her dress, just a simple, lazy thing she'd thrown on as she went to find Grigori. Julie never did like waking up after sex alone. Up to now having her lovers run off like that was at the top of her post-coital pet peeves list.
She had a new one now-namely waking up and finding your lover downstairs blowing the director of the film you're working on in plain view of the entire household staff, not to mention the entire Mediterranean Sea.
"Julya,” she heard him calling her.
Damn it, he was following her.
"Leave me alone, Grigori!” She yelled over her shoulder.
After a while, she stopped hearing him. Maybe she'd given him the slip, she thought hopefully.
"Vrastoya,” he proclaimed, emerging ahead of her around the next corner.
Julie screeched, skidding to a halt. “Don't do that, you big oaf! You almost gave me a heart attack. And if you think I'm doing any more vrastoying for you after that little performance I saw on the beach,” she pointed her finger. “You can just forget it."
"No, Julya,” he shook his head solemnly. “Grigori … vrastroya."
She cocked her head. What did the man have up his sleeve this time?
"Vrastoya,” the wet, dark haired Adonis fell to his knees before her.
Julie took a step backward, but not fast enough to avoid his lips pressing to her foot. “That really isn't necessary,” she said, though admittedly it felt rather nice. “You don't owe me anything. If you really must, you can buy me some flowers."
The Dasklovian licked at her toes. “That tickles,” she protested.
He was doing more than tickling, though. He was sending little jolts of pleasure up the back of her leg to her suddenly reawakening pussy. As usual, her loins were making her see things differently and coming into immediate conflict with her head. Okay, so maybe now that she thought about it, it had been a little bit arousing to see two men getting it on, especially two strong and powerful ones like Grigori and Giovanni, but that did not mean anything more was going to happen between her and the wrestler.
"Get up, Grigori, this is silly."
The man's placating lips had moved to her other foot. His firm, muscular ass wiggled deliciously as he worked. The corded muscles of his back indicated the sincerity of his effort. It was an intoxicating sight. A body capable of tumbling a bear so fully dedicated to pleasing her tiny person.
"Just go back to Ambrosiano,” she kept up her obligatory protest, though with slightly less vehemence.
She shuddered as he reached her kneecaps, administering strategic little kisses. He wasn't stopping there, either. He was climbing to his knees, sliding his palms up under the hem of her dress.
"Grigori!” She squealed too late. “Absolutely not."
This was a very bad time to be without underwear. At least if you were trying to keep yourself from being sexually pleasured. Sliding both hands around, he cupped her ass cheeks under the dress. She thought about how he'd spanked her, and that made her lose a good deal of her will to resist. His tongue found her all too open, and alas, all too ready for intimate invasion.
She tried pounding on his shoulder blades, then grabbing at his hair, but she realized she was only encouraging him to go deeper, sinking his tongue even more deliciously into her dripping slit. “Oh … god, Grigori, you have no idea what you're letting us in for. Go now, if you have half a brain in your head."
But it wasn't a matter of brains-just lust. That and the fact he couldn't follow a word she was saying. The pressure continued to build in her as he worked over her poor pussy. Once again he showed himself to be a clit magnet, this time using the sandpaper top of his tongue to expose and swell it just like a tiny cock. They weren't kidding, the experts who said the clitoris was like some kind of genetic equivalent to that larger male organ. If they had any doubts, they could call on this man and his skills to prove it.
"All right, damn it, you asked for it.” Julie wriggled herself free, but only so she could put herself on all fours on the ground. “Fuck me from behind. Oh, please, pretty please,” she muttered half to herself. “Figure this out…"
As it turned out flipping up her dress and holding open her pussy lips was a universal Fuck Me sign. The Dasklovian seemed to have no trouble at all interpreting that she wanted him stuffed inside her, his huge body mounting hers like a stallion on top of a mare.
"Oh, my fucking god,” she clawed at the earth as he pushed that monster dick into place. “How am I supposed to go back to regular after all this super size?"
"Julya,” he replied. “Vrastoya. Gristass tenrish meyoornika."
"You said it, brother. Just don't stop…"
The primeval smell of the grass and the dirt and the flowers filled her nostrils, making her feel like Eve the morning after being kicked out of Eden. She dug at the moist earth, rutting and thrusting, pushing herself upward to an almost unbelievable spiral of sensations. It was like her whole body would burst open from the taking of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She could chant the word a hundred times through gritted teeth, and she could whimper it, too, because she was just out of her mind. It just couldn't be fast enough right now. She wanted more.
"Give it to me, yes … I've never had it … like this … like starting all over,” she gasped, the words coming in short blasts between labored breaths.
It really was like starting over, too. Innocent barefoot Julie, sweet Miss Harvest Time back in Ashview, eighteen again, feeling it all for the first time, a huge dick inside her … inside her. With each thrust, her vaginal muscles clenched, trying to make it worth his while and hers, trying to keep pace.
Her tunnel was awash in sex. The scent of it filled the air, the liquid trickling down her inner thighs. So many emotions as their flesh melded, his hand pressing her back, his balls slapping against her. She hated that he might share this intimacy with another, least of all a man, with whom she had no hope whatsoever of competing. She wanted him to herself; then again she wanted to be free of him, free of this place. It was getting too complicated.
Grigori reached for her tits, cupping them in his large hands. They ached with the pleasure and the pressure.
"Yes,” she groaned, stretching the words to multiple syllables. “Oh … yes."
Greedily his teeth went to her earlobe, hot breath pouring into her ear as he nibbled possessively. She turned her head towards him, encouragingly and he moved to her neck, pantomiming the bite of a vampire.
"Going to … come,” she cried, wishing she knew the word in Dasklovian.
Grigori ceased his thrusts without warning. Settling himself in deep, his cock sunk to the hilt, he began to spill himself. She spasmed around him. It was an entirely different kind of orgasm, breathtaking, exquisite and in slow motion. The man had so much semen; where did it all come from? Twice he'd filled her now and he seemed to have lost nothing on the second go around. Dare she expect a third?