In the cozy apartment kitchen, Laure and I unpack the US mail-order package. Excitement buzzes. We’ve been wild together for weeks. She’s tomboy hot—brunette, lean, muscled, almost my height. I’m fit from rugby, motocross, big waves, but soft skin, fine features. We crave new thrills. No repeats in bed. Tonight’s bet: all-night fuck without sore bits.
Light meal down. We sip aged whisky, warm Coke chasers, Irish coffee caffeine. Then a sneaky Margaux. Eyes lock, sparkling. Rip open the parcel. Damn—no Viagra. Promo swap: two XSwapp pills from Lassaglis Corp. Notice says revolutionary ecstasy. Sit face-to-face, palms up, eye-to-eye. Pop under tongue. Swallow together. Gloup.
The Awakening
Nothing at first. We grin, holding hands. I was rock-hard dreaming of endless pounding. Now, flop. Placebo buzzkill. Sudden levitation—meter up. Flash between eyes, then crotches. Bzitt! Crash back. Asses hurt, as warned. Vision clears. Pants singed at crotch.
“Whaouh,” Laure gasps. Voices slur. Hallucination? We float to bedroom, dreamy haze. Insensitive skin, but hot loins. Lights dim. “Like a dream,” she says. “No risk.”
We probe. She’s got my cock, balls. Freakout—runs to puke. I finger my new pussy—hers. Familiar fuzz, texture. Zones tingle. Pull hand out—feels wrong without her okay. She returns, game: “12 hours max.” Love stronger than freak. We edge closer on bed.
Undress slow. Her cock twitches. Mine—clit swells. She strokes her shaft—grows hard. I rub clit, inner heat. “Feels like your voice makes me wet… now hard,” she laughs.
The Wild Act
Mutual watch. She jerks cock—hot, heavy. “Guys have it good—full length pleasure.” I finger pussy—wet, but clit dynamite. Finger in—barely feel. Two—better. She pumps faster.
She crawls over, eyes feral. “Suck me.” “No—gross.” Kiss instead. She spreads thighs, fingers deep. Then mounts. Guides cock—thrust. Han! Full, warm stretch. Pubes grind clit. She bucks wild, yanks me close. Sensations build—diffuse, rhythmic. Her scream—cums hard inside. Hot spurt faint.
Pulls out. Snores. Frustrated, I finger-fuck self—three digits stretch good. She wakes, grins: “My pussy’s gold.” Dives between legs. Tongue laps—slurp. Slow circles, twists. Fingers curl inside. Heat pulses. Stars burst. Body one giant clit. Squirt floods her face. Spasms rip. “Thanks,” she whispers. We crash.
Morning headache. Normal bodies. Secret thrill lingers—osé the unthinkable. Crave replay.