Taking a swing at some Smut

Dale pulled out, a small ribbon of sticky white fluid spurted from the tip of his modest penis onto Aisha’s brown, tiger-striped belly and glistened in her happy trail. A second shot launching a little bit into her deep bellybutton. “Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, member in hand, wet, sticky woman-juice slathered over his adequate rod rewarding his success as he claimed his prize in return.

Aisha panted and opened her eyes, the tail-end of her orgasmic afterglow still buzzing in her fingertips. With effort, she thrust her hips up and pulled the squirt-soaked towel up between her chubby thighs and with a half, wiped the spunk from her plump tummy and cleaned off her still-leaking hole. In kind, Dale used the other half of the towel to wipe off the silky sheen from his vanilla stick and flopped his dadbod onto the pillow next to her in bed. He rolled onto his side and eyed her voluptuous, matronly goddess-bod with hunger. She pushed him onto his back playfully and folded herself onto him, head cradled in his arm as she clung to his hip and leg, a handful of man-boob as she rested her palm on top of a strong pec.

“Every time,” he glowed, grinning at the ceiling fan. “Never gets old,” he gently stroked the silver silk bonnet containing Aisha’s twisted locks.

“I’m not the skinny little volleyball player you fell in love with in college,” she squirmed. She could suddenly feel her belly against his hip, her unruly breasts mushed into her chin, the weight of her gelatinous thigh on his own jiggling leg.

“You were a little hot totty back then, with your six-pack abs and boulder-shoulders,” he squirmed and settled in, smiling warmly at the top of her head. “But I like this body, too. It’s supple and thick in all the right places. Our sons grew in it, and when I remember how they got there, it makes me want to grow another one,” he kissed the top of her head. “I don’t think this version of me would even WANT that hot little totty from back then. My tastes have grown with us, and you’re my absolute standard of beauty, now.”

“Oh stop,” she beat him on the chest, insecurity thoroughly defused. “If Voll-Aisha came sauntering into the room naked as a jaybird, and pushed you onto the bed, you’d let her bounce on it. Facts.”

“Only if her sloppy-toppy game were on par with what you’re serving now,” he felt his Johnson twitch at the thought of her beautiful brown face servicing him with abandon. “Ain’t nobody gonna get Norbert paying attention like Mommy.” He craned his neck to make eye contact with her and flared his eyebrows.

“’Norbert,’” she mocked, “you know I hate it when you call him that. Why can’t he have a cool name, like ‘Anaconda’ or ‘Excalibur.’” She cupped his balls and gave his twitching member a couple strokes. He got half-cocked again in her hand. “Hey, no round two, the kids have 8am swim practice tomorrow.”

“Because he’s average as fuck,” Dale smirked. “He’s not a ‘Grayswandir,’ He’s an average dude who puts in the work, not something flashy. Also, he’s not immune to foreplay. If you’re gonna haft him like a sword, he’s gonna wanna poke.”

“You perv,” she released his tool and swatted his chest again. The unimpressive but still exciting haft falling half-hard onto the thigh opposite her clinging. “Never change,” she cooed as she rolled over. Dale folded the top-sheet between them , clicked the lamp off, and autonomically gripped her into spoons. She could feel the remnant of his semi pressed against her ample backside in the dark of quaint, cozy Master en suite. She avoided the urge to squirm against it, initiating round two, and she drifted into slumber.

***

“Wake up, Oshun,” Ajaka shook her shoulder whispering with immediacy.

She recognized the voice. It had been over a decade since her last hallucination. “Lover, I –,” she snapped awake at his touch. “What’s wrong,” she fell her into role as though no time had passed. Lucid in this dream world, she would not be released from its grasp until she had finished whatever cruel scenario her brain had devised for her; A toll only exacted from true moments happiness in the waking world.

“Shango,” he said gravely, “he pursues us, yet. Your husband is not pleased that I have spirited you away.” The name burned in her ears. Shango. Cruel, powerful, passionate. The Alaafin, her husband, made her loin burn, her heart beat, and her mind race. His brother, Ajaka, her refuge. When he was taken by the Thunder, Ajaka was always there to save her. It seems the Ooni was again trapped in a fit and had liberated her from his madness. “We have tarried too long. He is on to us,” Ajaka pointed into the distance. A rider with the face of a jackal rode bareback on a zebra as it charged their position.

Just to the north, a cave dark and foreboding, loomed near a sandy outcrop. “Biri, I beg your protection,” Ajaka stood and held his arms out. A God, his physique was incomparable to that of any Man. Perfect aesthetics, perfectly symmetric muscular insertions, a body sculpted from basalt. His chocolate skin laid like cellophane over an immaculate physique, not an ounce of fat on his body, muscular striations visible to the naked eye. He stood and held his arms aloft, praying to the Darkness. Aisha looked down at the body her mind inhabited. Oshun, a Goddess herself, looked like Voll-Aisha cranked to the max. Thunderous thighs, pendulous breasts, ample bottom, and a muscular shred not even starvation could produce. Powerful, fluid, and muscular, but also unrealistically feminine. Cartoonishly beautiful, even. In her youth, it was a physique that required slavish dedication to the gym. A diet defined by discipline and wont. A single-minded focus on being “hot.” For Oshun, this was the gift of her deification. No beauty could match her, by design. “There,” he pointed, snapping her from her reverie.

“Go!” She urged. Ajaka sprinted across the sandy earth to the cave with her in short tow. They hunkered down, Ajaka’s self-illuminating yellow irises floating in the pitch-black. The Jackal rode up to the cave’s mouth, cat-like eyes floating in the inky black.

“Ngonyama” he bowed his head, “I mistook you for the treacherous Ajaka who stole Alaafin Shango’s bride. Have you seen them?”

“I have,” Ajaka grumbled. “They sat with me and we spoke. They flee west to the Great Zimbabwe in hopes of escaping the jurisdiction of Oyo.”

“Thank you, Lion,” the Jackal bowed again. “May your hunt be blessed.”

The yellow eyes bobbed in a bow, and the jackal-faced man spurred his zebra into the night. “Lover,” Ajaka spoke as his arm threaded behind Aisha’s back and pulled her to his body. “I feel alive!” she felt his member pulse against her thigh. Long, thick, and turgid, it demanded her attention.

Oshun dropped to her knees and released his throbbing member from his modest leather thong. She pulled back the foreskin on his long chocolate meat and took the delicate head of his robust member into her mouth. The flesh was soft and warm. She pressed it into the side of her cheek as she built a mass of saliva in her mouth that she used to moisten his length. With a push, she wrapped her lips and cheeks tightly around his shaft and pushed the tip of his head against the back of her throat.

“Uggh,” He groaned deeply. The resonant tone of his deep, powerful voice filled the cave as he grumbled in pleasure. She pushed it past the opening of her esophagus and felt her throat pulsing around his length, pulling his cock deeper. So deep, she felt her throat throb with hunger as she extended her tongue and licked his balls. She felt a sudden burst of mortal fear as the oxygen deprivation took hold, and she pulled his solid, bulging mass from her desperate neck with a gasp, only to fill her lungs and let him penetrate her again, tongue searching for his soft, fleshy nuts. “Lord my Lover,” he gasped. “I cannot be done so soon,” he said with a force that incited fear mind as much as excitement in her loin and his cock vibrated with imminence.

He grabbed her by the throat, his palm and index finger pressing into the soft gullet just below her jaw. She gasped for air as he did not quite strangle her, but felt his choke slowly drain the blood from flowing into her brain. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head just before he released his grip. The swimming thrum filled her body as she was on the brink of lost consciousness, and he thrust his powerful, stiff attacker into her soaking, engorged defender. The head separated her prominent, deep purple lips and pushed into the wet, undulating flesh of her pink interior. His length pushed against her flexing pelvic floor until it penetrated the depths of her inner sanctum. She could feel the pressure as his voluminous assault filled her completely, stretching the back of her womanhood and his own abdomen pressed firmly against her prominent feminine pleasure center.

He kept his hand on her throat, pressing her against the cave wall, teasing at pressure as he soaked himself in her. He rocked against her clitoris, triggering a sense of fullness and rhythmic stretching of her woman-tummy while his taught, muscular belly rubbed and stimulated her outward pleasure center. It took minutes, if not seconds, of his hypnotic pelvic thrusting, the memory of his impossible length housed in the neck he so tenuously threatened, before tremors of chemical bliss dominated her perception. She felt her legs resist her vertical posture, the weight of gravity pull her toward the earth, as her weight transferred into the strength of his grip around her airway. She lapsed again into near-unconsciousness, the tinnitus-like humming and starry blackness amplified by the rapturous waves of pleasure racking her body as she buckled and fell into his muscular grip.

***

Aisha snapped to consciousness, bolt-upright in bed. A dusky crack of morning light bathed the sultry curves of her modern, matronly form. Dale reacted immediately, hand gripping her bicep firmly, eyes wide with adrenaline-induced wakefulness. She looked at the old-school red-numbered digital alarm clock on their nightstand. Twenty minutes before her alarm. There was no other way to describe it. Her pussy was soaked. Wet and juicy. It yearned. “I dreamt, again,” she said flatly.

“Oh fuck,” Dale started, concerned. “Oh, fuck?” He questioned, excitedly.

“Get fucking down there. Now,” she demanded. She put a hand on the top of his head as he hurriedly, excitedly, ducked under the duvet like a Halloween ghost.

Everyone describes pussy as “sweet,” but in reality, the texture is mucosal. Viscous. Almost sticky. But there is a small bit of glucose in what is essentially vaginal snot that gives it its distinctive “sugary” flavor that can only be described “silky sweet.” There is this sensation that the strings of her horny desire can wrap around your tongue as you gush spit onto her perfect knob and trace the alphabet until she groans like a house in a wind storm. Today was an “M” day. Dale positioned his thick, whiteboy lips on her dark meat and split her womanly cleft with his pink tongue to reveal a similarly pink, juicy interior. He hammered on spelt “MAMA” lingually as Aisha squeezed her thighs harder and harder on his head, threatening to pop his skull like a watermelon. Encouraged by his progress he continued to consume, waffling between “MA’AM” and “AMMO” until Aisha’s voice took on that familiar, beautiful, tone. “Aahhh, Ahh-UHHHH,” her voice transitioned from a flute-like headvoice moan to a deep, guttural grunt as rapture overtook her body.

Quickly, Dale mounted her, penis so hard it could hammer a nail, and drove the functional amount he was working with as deeply into her has he could. Aisha exhaustedly sighed a “fuuuuuuck yeah,” as a new kind of pleasure assaulted her snatch. Not quite the fullness her mind generated from the Godlike body of Ajaka, but a pleasing sensation of penetration and thrust that augmented the mind-bending peak of Dale’s oral service, his fantastically useful cock plunged and withdrew from her desperate tunnel with wanton abandon until his unabashedly candid face transitioned from contorted concentration to animal, tiger-like focus. His green eyes flashed wild and she hallucinated his pupils slitting like a cat’s eye as a powerful, animal growl rumbled from the depths of his voice. “Ugggghhhh,” he roared with unchecked abandon as Aisha felt a warm, sticky load flood her box. Subtle, but an undeniable, ravenous pulsing and hot wet gooeyness infiltrated the entrance to her womb.

“FUCKER,” She swatted his shoulder as he pulled out, the creampie leaking from her spent, completed vagina, her eyes still crossed with pleasure. She fell backward into the pillows of their morning bed.

“You’re on the pill and you’re luteal for at least a few more days,” he fell back into the pillows himself, a self-satisfied grin unremovable from his face. “One fat load isn’t gonna break past, statistically.”

“It only TAKES one,” she sneered playfully, relishing the feel of his fantastic load inside her instead of clogging her bellybutton.

“Did HE cum,” Dale inquired, maybe a bit jealously.

“NO,” Aisha exclaimed. “I needed you, not ‘Him.’ He’s never cummed since I met you, you know that.”

“Good,” Dale squirmed, even more self-satisfied. “...IS he what you really want? Do you miss Mr. Olympia?” He met her gaze sheepishly.

“You were a GOD when Voll-Aisha bombed out of the Olympic trials,” she started, “And your 3rd place at the Arnold Classic is nothing to snuff at. But you were too hard. Cuddling sucked. I like Engineering Daddy,” she rolled over and clung to him tightly.

“Good,” he seemed content with her answer. “McDreamy ain’t shit,” he jabbed.