Barefoot Storm

Chapter 5: A Creamy Dreamy and Bad Love

Chapter 5: A Creamy Dreamy and Bad Love

I dream of dinner and drinks with the lifeguard on my verandah at my bungalow. The evening is perfect with a soft wind, lightning and thunder in the distance, no bugs, and a purple-blue twilight of serenity.

We sit across from each other at the two-person table and I study his open cotton shirt. One hard n****e is exposed, part of his plated chest, and two abs. Trent catches my stare and he asks between roasted salmon bites, “Do you like what you see, Storm?”

“What can I say? You’re hot. Cream of the crop sexy. I would rather eat you up for dinner instead of this meal.”

“You think I can arrange that?” he asks, staring at me through his bangs.

“I think you can,” I answer.

What happens is fiery-hot and unplanned. Trent places his fork down on his china plate, uses his napkin on his pouty lips, stands from the table, circles our two-person dinner, and positions himself next to me.

Here at my right side, he undoes the remaining buttons on his white cotton shirt, removes his arms from its rolled-up sleeves, and drops the cotton to the ceramic tile. He leashes one of his palms around the back of my head, pulls my face to his ab-lined stomach and navel, and whispers above me, “Take a taste of me.”

I lick the spiral hairs around his navel, two abs, and the spot above his copper-colored trunks. My tongue drags over his skin in the most sensual action and my lips kiss each of his stern abs.

Above me, he moans with satisfaction. He pushes my face against his taut belly and attempts to playfully suffocate me.

I force his hand backward, licking and lapping at his stomach. My fingers find his trunks and pull it down to his knees. His nine inches of d**k snaps against my face, but I choose not to pop it into my mouth as of yet. Instead, I take in the piss-scented fragrance of his steamy-firm balls, licking both with contentment, nuzzling the pair into my mouth and provide their blond-furry orbs with a sensual suck and slurp.

The lifeguard is in heaven above me, captivated under my s****l spell. Crazily he attempts to dry-hump my face, rolls the length of his swollen c**k along my left cheek, and almost pokes the tip of his c**k in my eye.

I pull away from him, teasing the man. Mischievously I lick his d**k and line its massive length with slow tongue-strokes. Eventually I place the tip of his d**k into my mouth and begin to suck its uncut cap.

Trent f***s my face, humping my mouth. Dramatically he hangs onto the back of my head, blasts his body to and fro, builds up his orgasm, and smashes my face into his bushy patch of V-shaped tangled pubic hair above his pulsating knob.

Together we work in a state of relentless lust. Our movement is rough and tender at the same time. We glide together as a thunderstorm works its way into shore, and sprays warm evening raindrops over our united bodies. To and fro we become one, joined by c**k and mouth, separate, and join yet again. We build up a relentless rhythm between us and we are on fire.

“This is for you,” the lifeguard whimpers. He pulls out of my mouth nd jacks his pent load against my neck, glazing its skin. Upright, next to me, he strokes his d**k in a feisty action with his two working fists and humps it in a passionate and irresistible motion for the next four minutes, until he finally says, “Shooting, Storm. Giving you what you want.”

White creamy semen spurts against the tight splay of my neck, which is warm against my skin.

Above me, he says, “This show was for you, Storm. Take it in.” Two more arcs of semen burst from his c**k and ice my neck.

Once he is done blowing on me, becoming tired because of his labor, he leans down and meets his lips with mine. Here, locked against my body, he holds my face inside his large palms, dives his sliver of tongue into my mouth, tastes my saliva, eventually pulls off and away, and says, “I like you, Storm.”

“You’re bad love,” I whisper.

“And rough love.”

“But none of that matters because I’m falling for you.”

“You are. I feel the same way.”

* * * *

Approximately at four o’clock in the morning I wake with the firmest eight inches of stern prick underneath my boxer-briefs and between my legs. My breathing is intense and I feel hot and awestruck by the Trent-dream. I push the tight material down to my ankles and spread my legs for a fun jack session. The c**k between my legs rests in both hands and I begin to pleasure myself with thoughts of a naked lifeguard. Within minutes, I fire a sticky load of semen over my furred chest, become spent, exhausted, and ready for more sleep, which eventually happens.