"Good," he said. "Now take a deep pull on the weed like that. Go ahead, you'll be fine."
She put the burning thing to her mouth, reluctant to draw, but the insistent look on Larry's face forced her on.
"Now hold it in," Larry said. "Hold it deep down inside you for a while. Then let it out slowly, very slowly. Good, that's it."
She did as bid and at his request passed the joint back to him. He took two long drags and returned it to her, eager now for her turn. She was no longer doubtful about this stuff, enjoying the-the colors of their new kimonos, for instance. As she looked at Larry's, the vertical rainbows were transmuted from things sharp, and bright to fading softening blurring hazes, melting and blending into watery-real stream patterns. "Relaxing," she said.
She then studied her husband's face. Exquisite. And she had been angry with-him, she remembered. But why? Who could be angry at such an exquisitely handsome, exquisitely relaxing man? She too was exquisite, she thought to herself, and suddenly had the urge to view her own face.
Abruptly she stood to look into the mirror, and, steam-clouded as it was, it did not stop her from seeing in sharp detail the beautifully sculptured face with pinks and reds and pale yellows and mauves and soft blues kaleidoscoping across the features that looked back at her.
"I'm wonderfully beautiful," she told the image matter-of-factly. Her hands moved to the tie on the robe and she opened it, letting the silk slide luxuriously down her shoulders and arms and from her to the oblivion of the floor. Her hands caressed her breasts, and then, hugging herself lightly, spontaneously, she purposefully moved fingers over her neck and down well-toned arms, fingers which then gracefully traced along her narrow waist, up to her torso and again to her breasts. She was soft and warm and wonderful and beautiful.
Through the euphoria of her senses, she felt lips kissing the backs of her calves, then the backs of her knees. Then he was standing behind her, gently rubbing his body against hers. Before her she saw materialize a joint. She pulled on it deeply, savoring the sweet raw taste of the smoke filling her lungs. It was her man, she supposed, who supported her as she sank backward and down, sitting again on a pillow, this time his. And it was he following her, still lightly pressing against her back. She leaned into him, forcing him backward until he made a shuddering contact against the dripping wet tub. He then slid his legs out and encircled her waist with them, she feeling maleness growing against her warm wet body.
Maleness. Cock. And no sooner had she thought the words when the vision of what she could not turn her head to see, what in fact was embedding itself into her spine, was granted her.
It was before her, directly before her, above her. Dangling and floating, growing and expanding, lengthening and widening, wetter now and hotter now and filling the room, taking up the breathing space through its burning, smothering And she thrust a hand upward to ward off its menace, at the same time pushing her body back against the stability of her man companion who would guard and protect her from But she went back farther than it seemed it was right she should and the looming hulking phallus in the air dissolved but was fast replaced with the reality of another, not so large as the first and not freewheeling, but attached to sturdy thigh muscles that rose from behind her upward-looking eyes, and she peeked at the prickness above which was reality that could be grasped, held onto, an anchoring pinion she could clutch in warding off damage from the storm that was upon her, that angry gale, that hungry Hungry.
And again mood was displaced by mood and the sensation of starving, of dying for lack of nourishment, a totally new feeling-no, once as a girl, at a carnival, she thought she'd die if she didn't get one of those drooling hot dogs that And it was a hot dog above her and it was drooling and the angle was all wrong, but she had toxconsume that taunting spectre and she raised her head and hands and turned her neck, trying openmouthed to And it was gone, that spectre.
And Larry who had been standing, then squatting behind her, pushed her up to an upright seated position again, and her head cleared and she heard his voice:
"Not yet… Later you'll have your chance… Right now, I'm going to…"
And she could feel his fingers deep into the nape of her neck, kneading fingers down her body, and the mind-blurring pot, the sight-dimming steam, the touch-softening pillows-the scene as was-began to recede, contrasting vividly with the harsh roughness of his strong hands gouging her shoulder blades, squeezing her waist.
And his voice, too, was firm, soft, soft, firm. "… supposed to be the woman massaging the man, but… you remember our dildo? Sure… smokehouse girl had one, smaller… but… and I'm doing you like she did me…And no need for a dildo… wear my own… hands feel good?"
And all she could do was bob her head because his hands felt so good in their kneading of shoulder and spine and ribs and back, and she nodded again because she wanted to answer him but she couldn't say. But he was saying… new position…Here, I'll…"
And she felt the strength of him moving her, positioning her, and her forehead now was resting on one of the pillows (which also kept her breasts from the sweating tiles) and the other pillow was under her stomach and hips and he was again gouging his hands into her and She felt the length of his cock brush gently between her buttocks and the softness of that contrasted with the roughness of his hands- "And the dildo like this, teasing, rubbing… all around the rear, not going in… softly screwing just around…"
And it was there, his hard dripping cock hovering at her rectum, the hot bulbous tip inserted deep between her crack. Ass-fuck. Yes, she wanted to be fucked, roughly, bunghole fucked, buggered, hard like the hands spanning her back. But he held it there, pressing it hard against her but not entering. She pushed to meet it, to devour it, but it slid wildly down her crack toward her vagina and then back up again as his hands pressed her rump down onto the carpet, then lifted, only to give her two stinging slaps on those buttocks. Then two more, followed by two shipping lashes of spear-like fingertips.
"Don't move," she heard him command.
She lay still, feeling the hands again grip her shoulders, the cock again founder at her hole. With each sinking of his hands into her shoulder blades he pushed his phallus at her. Lightly. Slightly. Barely perceptibly. At, around and just into the distended entrance, then pulling it out. His tongue now was pushing hard against the small of her back as though to enter her there with that tool. She wanted to move. To feel hot vastness puncture her deep and hard.
Knees now were pressing into her hips, his thighs joining hers and that tantalizing tip resting ever so lightly on her. Resting on and entering in, entering but not not not plumbing her depths. She squeezed her sphincters, trying to make the little head-end captive within her. She didn't want any more message. Not now. A good ass-screwing was what she wanted. She wanted the fuzziness of mind and body to be attacked and dissipated, to feel the hard reality of a pulsing, pounding prick tearing away at her rectum. Her butt lifted into the air unmindful of the slapping stings he was giving her as she moved. Lord, she just had to have it!
And now Larry spanked her buttocks hard, pulling his cock from her hole completely and lashing her rear with it. God, don't leave! He was hitting her with outstretched fingers and it felt like the stinging of a rubber band snapping against her taut flesh. His cock whipped against her upper thighs in prodding strokes. She spread her legs, pushing his apart. Her cunt ached now. Cunt and ass, but he God, it wasn't her back or shoulders she wanted slapped now. It was her cunt and her ass which needed beatings. Grinding pounding driving merciless beatings.
Her head cleared then-from the effects of pot and steam. Then other effects crashed into her with fiery fullness, an unholy NEED!