Stian Elberd and I myself—Ragnhild Ascwin—are departing off for a hush-hush and not-communal picnic at some far away seaside and seashore. By hush-hush, I denote that it is going to be the two of us alone and not more than that. Yes. We are going to gobble batches and assortments of delicious and lip-smacking food and more outstandingly and significantly have endless laps and lots of great and so out-of-this-world sex.
It is to some extent chilly and icy, but we are going anyway. We have made up our minds and assessments about it and nothing is going to alter that. Regrettably and unluckily, and much to my own dissatisfaction and aggravation, the car that we are in—a bullion-colored Nissan Trimm 196—breaks down and Stian is left with no preference and alternative other than to ring up his repairman and tell him about where we are and what came about to us as well as where it is that we are going.
After continual and nonstop minutes of chatting and conversing on his phone with the grease monkey man, he breaks off the call and peeks at me callously and frigidly like. "What did the mechanic say?" I ask him. He frowns at me unfeelingly for being daring and audacious enough to inquire him of that.
"He will be here in like two hours from now; can you believe it, Ragnhild?" "That is totally awful and dire news in any case." "Yes, it is terrible news indisputably." To hack a time-consuming story to the summary and terse, Stian and I consent that we are going to fuck each other in this bulky, infinite forest about us.
We can't just wait any more longer to arrive at the beach. I want sex right now and I yearn for it so bad. I would recite the rosary and even say my prayers out loud if it is bearable and allowable just so I can have and enjoy it. I am not shaggy dog storying here. This is the fixed and genuine truth. Arghhhh! I watch in silence as Stian takes off his blue-color jeans and pitch-black underwear and remains in nothing but his steep and irrefutable bareness.
Why is it all the time that he likes having on black underwear in distinction and disparity with the other poles-apart shades? Oh my! Those mightily and impressively built and gorgeously hulking and filled and bursting-at-the-seams thighs of his…they enthrall and spellbind me. Damn me for my unquenchable lust and licentiousness and lasciviousness of him! Yes.
I have an voracious and unappeasable desire and longing of him and his gigantic dick too. My monster and dearly loved John Thomas—I call him. He is mine to get pleasure from; mine to stroke and feel and amuse myself about with. Phew! This is so truly funny and intriguing.
I don't want it to end; not at all. "Tilt down over the front windshield of the car with your face gazing straight at mine so I can fuck and spank you till you are so exaggeratedly stoked and floating in mid air." My goodness!
That is what I am supposed to do? I hurriedly do it keenly and merrily in any case. I clamber up on the windshield of our car, and once I am settled and accommodated on it, I haul and tow my legs apart and then pitch and fling up my yellowy dress so that my lemon-tinted Gee-string is laid to plain and infallible sight before Stian's vigilant eyes and gaze itself.
With a speedy and trained and yet mild tug, he yanks and tows away my Gee-string until he is clutching and gripping them in his very own hands. Then, with that carried through, he flings and tosses it away into a close-by bush. I am provoked by his deed there and then. "Shit, Stian, you threw away my Gee-string, didn't you? Have you got any idea of how much it was that I bought it? It was and still at present is very pricey." He becomes charmed and absorbed to the heart by my uncovered and furry and shaggy vagina when he stares at it.
Yes. He is going to fuck it pretty damn bad and hard. This I can tell from the way and manner that he is licking his lips while gawking and ogling at my undressed cunt itself. Fuck me already, will you? "I will get you a new duo and set of Gee-strings, Ragnhild, before we get back home. I assure you. I will get you any type of pants that you want. Do you hear that?" "Yes, I do hear you obviously well, my overlord and boss." That is what I call Stian.
He is my principal and overlord. Any heading and label that you can think of which has a majestic and lordly feel to it belongs to him. Yeah. That is just how things are between the two of us. And I like it that way. As for me, I am his servant and bondswoman and varlet and serf.
I like it and I am also mad about it so, so, so very much. "Nice," Stian notes kindheartedly. "You are a good girl indeed. And I am so very in love with good girls. As long as you submit and yield yourself entirely to me like this superb way that you even now are doing, we will all the time be at harmony and serenity and cheerfulness with each other." Won't he fuck me already?
I have had enough of the lame, monotonous, and stupid talk already. When he reviews and checks my hopeful and longing pussy this time, I am convinced and positive that I will be spanked and fucked and banged pitilessly and heartlessly like no man's dealing.
In fact, my vagina itself is missing Stian's spermatic seed and jism so, so, so very much. She is awfully and particularly parched and thirsting for it. Without taking another swallow and fresh nip of it, she will definitely kick it and pop her plogs.
I am just jesting and wise-cracking, don't take offence at me. But once it—his male gamete—is made accessible and obtainable to her—my vag (abridgement or shortening for vagina) or pussy hole—she will without doubt gulp and guzzle it all down. Properly and evenly, Stian places and lays his finger into the thickness and breadth of my gleefully now animate and busy pussy. The feeling…the sentiment that stirs with it…it is all so great and riotous and unbelievably fantastic.
I have not submitted myself to anything like it before. Arghhh! Bit by bit and nicely, he jostles and jams smoothly nice his elongated fingers into me. I stare up at the boundless blue sky above my head and close my eyes for what seems like a fleeting while. Each time before we have sex, Stian all the time does that to me. He knows very well how to make and get ready my pussy for a good and pleasing round of kinky fuckery.
This is so great and far-fetched indeed. Left and right, up and down, his skillful fingers rummage about and stab and prod each and every side of my vagina's inside.
I like the feeling and commotions that they are rousing up with the stabled movements; I like everything about his balanced and yet calm and body-striking movement. It is all Greek to me—which I do not know and even do not apprehend—and I am utterly thrilled and excited by it as much as my mind is muddled and obscured up like mud-spattered and grimy waters on the other hand. Sex, sex, and more sex please… "Can I lick and lap and sweep your pussy with my own tongue and also nosh and snack it with my very own mouth?" Stian asks all this to me, observing and studying what my reaction and response to him will be like.
I am perplexed and dazed at the same time, and my face can evidently and straightforwardly show all of this. "Yes, Stian. Flick and lap and brush your tongue in my cunt if you like. Snack and graze it with your very own mouth too if you see it preferable and more suitable and eligible." And he does precisely just that.
Bowing himself down towards me so that he has his mouth stationed and positioned right next to my vagina, he gawks and glances it briefly and for a moment before budging and stirring ahead to lap and whip his tongue violently and hysterically against it. My goodness! It is the best and most excellent thing ever. The lips and rims and margins and flanges of my sex wags and wiggles with the thrashing and flogging of his tongue, creating these pleasant and stunning sensations from somewhere there down my waist.
In the dome and quarter of my muff and punani that is. Goodness. It is all the great and gratifying. I do want all this to come to a concluding and ultimate ending? Not at all! I want us to go on and on and on without any sort of conclusion at all. My body is melting and dissolving and liquefying in this vast, grand accumulation and grouping of keen most bliss and pleasure. Getting laid is the nicest thing in case you didn't know. My breath is so confound and disarrayed up and my thinking itself is this gone nuts and round the bend.
All I experience about and within me is enjoyment and bliss and immense contentment…and nothing else. The way that Stian licks and thrashes his tongue on the rims and brims of my sex bears out to me just how much of a professional and connoisseur he is at sex.
I am so pleased and relived that I am married and wed to an accomplished and practiced man like him in the first place. After breaking off from his accomplishment for a little bit while, he runs his finger down my vulva towards my ass and then stabs and pricks it.
I howl out vaguely savored and delighted and a little bit surprised and taken aback by that. My goodness! Will he also be fucking that zone and region and neighborhood of mine? He shouldn't do it.
I am at the moment not ready and geared up to be rammed and rapped with that massive cock and dick of his into my ass. Not now; not any sooner; perhaps some time later. I scowl and make a face whilst Stian's finger sports and fiddles and wantons about with my ass.
Is he solemn and grave and staid on biffing and decking and walloping and whacking up that quarter and neck-if-the-woods turf of mine? Is he? I ask him straight away, "Are you also going to slide your stretched and giant John Thomas in there, Stian?" "Not really.
But I can do it if you want me to. What is your say on that?" "No, no; don't do it. I am not geared up for it right now." He stoops and bobs himself down and first smells and gets a whiff and sniff of my ass before he proceeds on to lick and smack it with his tongue as well. My goodness! Oh my goodness! The feeling is so bizarre and abnormal and of-the-wall and daggy-like.
Doesn't he find it foul-smelling and stinking and reeking sort-of to have fun and frolic and frisk about with my anus this freaking anomalous way? An hour before we left for the water's edge and ocean plage back at our home, whilst I had locked and shut myself up in our capacious and bountiful latrine and water closet, I had given up human dung and faces and excrement that looked as grassy and greenly as hale-and-hearty lawn, and it was the most malodorous and feisty-smelling waste matter and lak of mine, which I hand wiped up and brushed and swabbed entirely clean with the velvety and silky maroon-colored tissue.
Damn Stian for doing that to me! He was trifling and amusing himself with my goddamn intimate and darling most anus, wasn't he aware of it? I am shamefaced and conscience-stricken and sheepish on that. I mean, the anus is supposed to be mucky and grungy and skanky—isn't it all that? And Stian here is sporting and romping up games with it like it is greatly guiltless and squeaky-clean and irreproachable?
Yeah…I know. Like they term and style it…anal play…grungy and dirty play, isn't it so? Heck. Who would have foretold Stian engaging in silly and stupid games with my prized and priceless anus all thanks to the utilization and usefulness of his sluggish and dopey-minded tongue? Damn him for it! He was thick-headed and brain-dead enough to do it. Yes, he definitely was.
When he is completed with entertaining and amusing himself with my much-loved and very much helpful and functional anus, he stares up at me and then beams and smirks wickedly to state to me, "Must I come up there to fuck you? Or must I drag you down here to fuck you right close to me?" "Mount up here and fuck me please," I make known to him.
He does just that. He crawls and clambers up to where I am seated on the bonnet of the car, with my back tilted and leaned on the windshield beneath me, and once he is up here with me, he curves and twists himself down to place and lay himself over me. Goodness. His solidified and congealed erection strokes and brushes my thighs; and I am all this frozen immobile and static right away, gulping down hard as a sugary, lust-awakening-like feeling and passion journeys through my blood and veins themselves.
I want him to fuck me hard…right here and right this particular moment. Will he at any rate? It is too soon to tell that, or is it not? "Are you ready for me to come into you?" Stian questions me, reviewing and surveying my facial appearance and idiom itself. I nod towards him silently, and it is then that he penetrates his full erection into me, lightly and cautiously. Yah! I have been waiting for this sugary moment all these lengthy while ages. And here it has at last come.
I don't want everything to end. If only we can expend and splurge and fritter up the rest of our outstanding and lingering but lasting days fucking and spanking up each other. It would be so great and fantastic, aren't you of the same opinion and estimation and view with me. Leisurely but unquestionably, Stian pumps in and then bails out his elongated and made-bigger dick out of me, satisfying my lust, slaking and placating it—and I am so extremely and from the bottom of my heart pleased with him and his achievement.
Oh my gosh! What a content, joyful, and pleasurable life of mine this all is! A life of sex…sex…and more sex with my very much handsome and devoted and caring and helpful husband—Stian Elberd. Stian, please fuck me in this inexhaustible and fear-provoking forest about us, will you, honey? Shit. I can't believe that Stian is going to fuck me real awesome and admirable and butchin' five-star! I would love that. His voluminous and hulking thighs ballet and waggle against mine, his hips or bottom or butts behind swinging and swaying quietly and intensely.
Oh my gosh! I love it. It is oh so appetizing and amazingly tasty and yummy and plain damnedest best awesome and beautiful and pleasurable too.
I stare down to see how his gigantic dick is pricking and going in and out outside of my hole, and to be truthful and candid with you, I am dazed and beguiled by what I see and observe.
Speedily and vividly brutal and stern, his phallus punches and rams into me, making his body to ballet and jig and wriggle in such a very dazzling and outstanding and breathtaking motion.
Being fucked is an excellent and fantastically enjoyable thing indeed. He must not stop…he must not refrain or break off from what he is doing to me right this very moment. For a little, far-fetched while, he removes his massive and fully-jammed and replete penis out of me to stroke and caress it adequately and tenderly just before my not-yet-fully-pleased-and-made-happy vulva itself.
Ashoooo! It is an eye-catching and spectacular thing indeed. He jerks and yanks his big John Thomas with his own hands before my very own private eyes, staring gravely and acutely at his oversize dong while slinking a glance at me every little once in a while.
Then he tells me, "Set your vagina far and wide ajar. I want to gorge and fill it up with my own cum and jism. Do it before I come. Fast, Ragnhild." I do like I am ordered and charged to; I position my fingers on my sex and open its rims and flanges broadly and far more extensively and widely apart. Deep inside it, it is all flushed pink and roseate and to some faded extent reddish. Of course! It is all so drenched and dripping and bathed and doused with Stian's cum itself.
Poor it! I trust that it is enjoying this too, is not it? Arghhhh! As I finger and stay wide open the lips and cavities of my troubled and shocked sex, gazing at Stian while he rubs and strokes his vast, littly vermilion-like dick at the same time, he lets loose and fires and spurts out continual and unbounded cum from it, directing and casting it straight into my cherry pink punani that is anticipating so very much to be given and be also furnished with it.
"Yeah," Stian undertones out to me, content and happy with himself and his achievement.
"Yeah, baby. That is it. Open it more wider and extensively and happily get my downpour and deluge of sweet rainfall and raindrops of pleasantly cum itself." Stian's cum is bizarrely lukewarm and enjoyable. Is there anything not wide-off-the-mark with that? I nibble and masticate my lips and tongue as he pours and showers out more and more semen into my powerless and vulnerable punani, filling and furnishing me with too much pleasure and sweetness all in all.
Yes. Like that, baby. Keep on doing it. I am liking it so, so, so very much; I am taking pleasure in it so badly and so, so intensely. Eishhh! Is this enjoyment and sweetness I am taking joy in right now ever going to end? I don't want it to finish and pull the plug on to be honest and earnest with you. Damn it! All of a sudden and unexpectedly, Stian is inside of my vagina again, prancing and bobbing himself up and down, and rocking up and down and swaying violently and crazily his buttocks behind.
Ashhh! I like the manner and style that he fucks me. The sex he grants and bestows and furnishes me with is just plain damn awesome and mind-blasting and splitting in nearly about every means and form. Stian is the world's greatest fucker of our time—if not of all time. I shut my eyes close while he bashes and whacks and clobbers and clouts and swats and tonks and batters into me. Yeah. I wish to focus and contemplate on nothing else right now but the exceeding sugariness and syrupiness and honeyedness that he is furnishing and filling me with; that pleasantly sacchariness; that beautifully ickiness; that wonderfully cloyingness that materializes and comes into being with him socking and spanking and thrusting and slapping into me.
It wings and flutters me straight into paradise and the next world itself in not long than a millisecond. Yah! I love being fucked and spanked and hammered sexually a great lot deal big time as a matter of truth. Sex really rocks, don't you think so? I do opinion and esteem so myself as a matter of authenticity and veracity.
For a second, Stian quits fucking and tipping out a great immense deal of semen into me. My vagina and Isabelita down there is thirsty and parched and dehydrated again. She thirsts for more semen and cum; she is in fact itching and greedy for more kinky and hard fuckery from the great master fucker of our time himself—Stian Elbert. She is desirous what's more and avid and athirst and craving and hankering for more and more sex, sex, and endless sex…and will it be given her?
I cannot tell so soon. And? What next? I ask Stian why he has abruptly broken off and come to a standstill from fucking and banging me up. He has this to fill in to me, "I am imagining about any probable way that I can make use of in fixing and patching up my car." Crap! That is what he is cogitating over about? Damn him for it then! We are having sex here. Not just any commonplace and usual sex; but sweet-smelling and sugary and fragrant-like and euphonious fuckery and coition all in all.
And he tells me that he has let his mind wander and stray to our contemporary crisis and dilemma? Setbacks and hitches in this iniquitous and unrighteous and morally wrong world of ours never end.
They never, ever come to a final and ultimate and absolute ending and expiry and resolution; they never, ever do that; in lieu, they are incessant and continuous and evermore permanent. And if you swear that you are never, ever, ever going to have and appreciate and relish and find satisfaction in sex all of your life and days here on Earth until all is perfectly and brilliantly well with you, then you are never, ever, ever and ever going to have and be privileged with it and the pleasurable and of your body's liking largesse and kohas and bequests and boons and prezzies that come along with engaging in it.
There is no such thing as a perfect and ideal moment to have and enjoy sex. Nothing like that at all! Or is there something f that sort and nature in your perspective and standpoint? I scowl and make an irate face at Stian. That is the problem with men. They are full of nonstop and solemn and somber thoughts and theories and philosophies and intelligence. Cannot they at times be emotional and physiological and spiritual driven like we women are?
Is it that tremendously and massively difficult and easier-said-than-done thorny and complex to do, even for a very concise and epigrammatic second? Stian must be grim and staid with whatever it is that he is doing. Fatally speaking! "Stian," as I affirm and mention out his name to him, I take hold of his chin and direct and steer his face straight and unswervingly to mine. He seems to be in a quite pensive and brooding state of mind; which I detest and am repulsed by so very much.
We have some unfinished and not-whole dealing here and he dares and even has the courage and nerve to do this to me.
Damn him for it! "What is it, Ragnhild?" His tone sounds irritated and a great deal annoyed to some degree. "Why do you have to act like this now that we are still pursuing on some sweet, unfinished trade of ours? This is not any fair and reasonable, you must know." "Come on, honey. Don't you want us to get to the seaside shore and fuck up each other there some more?" "I want that to happen.
But we are doing something here already, or aren't we, Stian?" "We sure are, sweetheart." "End of story. Let us continue with out incomplete business and let the repairman, who must promptly be on his way here—I deduce—take care of the rest of our crisis and dilemma.
Fuck me again now." It works! Hurray! That has Stian smash raucously and thump madly and frantically into me and with a racketing and banging alike sound.
I like it.
It…is…oh…so…scrumptious…and…delicious! It definitely and unquestionably is… I am slanted and lounged down on the windshield of our car, thoroughly tired and exhausted. Stian is trinketing and toying without purpose with his big dick by rubbing and stroking it over my open-yawning pussy. I love it.
He has his eyes fixed straight at me; and I have my eyes fastened up straight on him as well. I ask him affectionately, "How many cars have passed by on the road, Stian, while we were busy and actively amusing and twiddling with ourselves here?" "Seven cars, I conjecture up." Oh!! So roughly about seven or even more people have wend their way past us on the road and become alarmed and horrified at seeing us have sex and rumpy-pumpy right here with each other?
Who cares? I don't give a damn myself. Duh! "Are you not bothered by it?" Stian questions me while he beams at me in a very wicked way. "Bothered by what?" I query back—and for your very own piece of facts and details, he still has his giant and sweetly dong dolling and fiddling about with my fanny. And I am delighting and reveling in it so very much.
I surely am. "By the concern that we are having sex in this forest in such a way and manner that everyone who is roving and journeying by is able to catch a glimpse of and clap eyes on us. Doesn't that upset and scare and alarm the hell out of you?" It doesn't.
That is just it and nothing more. Once more again, Stian moves stealthily his massive and enormous dick into me and once he is inside of me, I almost lapse out and go out into unconsciousness from too maximum-most and highest pleasure and enjoyment. Even without making the slightest budge and shift and stir, he sploshes and throws off and sloshes about a great deal of spermatic fluid inside of me, warming up and hardening and heating up my entire self for a little bit while such that I cannot not stir or budge or make a move about as I feel and desire like.
My goodness! I am not able to inhale or exhale for what almost seems like an eternity. I blink and stir back to realism only after Stian has cuffed and boxed and slapped hard and agreeably nice my ass behind.
Oh no. I have almost pegged it out—all thanks and in gratitude to a very long and long sexual climax and orgasm. Shit! I didn't know that the big O's and comings are capable and able to do away with one's level-headedness and clear-sightedness itself.
What the heck? While sighing out to himself from grave fatigue and lassitude and exhaustion, Stian informs and notifies me, "Have I informed you, Ragnhild, that I have not ever fucked anyone like this in all my entire life?" I didn't know. How was I supposed to know all that when he had not apprised and acquainted me with it? Anyway, now I have knowledge of it and it is all that matters really… "Roll around now quickly, will you, Ragnhild?" While the words issue and come out of his mouth, I exactly know what he is scheming and even plotting to do with me; which is fucking and battering my anus real hard and good with that massive phallus organ of his until I feel so creature-from-outer-space and no more of myself any longer.
To be sincere and forthright with you, I dread and find objectionable anal sex so very much. Why—you may wonder? I am scared and I also find it really horrorful that my anus is going to be hurt and sting to the point and extreme where it cannot recover and pull through back again from the raw, fuckery tribulation.
Well, what the heck this all for sure is. Crumby-pumby! Nevertheless, I do as Stian instructs me to. He shifts about my dress further up so that my buttocks and behind is entirely and fully exposed and uncovered to his reach and sight and after getting that done, he insert sand pops in his finger into my taut, stretched and slumbering anus so as to have fun and amuse himself about with her.
I shudder, dreading that moment when he is going to push and slide his immensely giant thing into my cherished arse itself. How am I going to handle that? "Stian," I cry out, whooping and yelling out his name to be precise.
He answers immediately, "Yes, Ragnhild." "Are you going to fuck my arse too? Is that what you think out to do? Is that it?" "Not today; and don't ever fret or worry about it either, I beg you. That is not going to take place now or sooner from now. I know and I also am aware of how much badly and truly you are scared and frightened of that. I wouldn't take joy and pleasure in tormenting and torturing and harrowing you." At least; that makes me feel good and better about everything.
At least the butt suffering and soreness and throe on my part is not coming about any moment now—it surely seems so. Not up till I am ready and geared up for it… Phew. I exhale out noisily; all glad and pleased about everything. It all makes perfect sense now. Stian was and still is just trifling and fooling around with my ass and nothing else.
What an alleviation and comfort and remedy it all is to me. Hurrah! "And are we over with the fucking thing and dealing for now, Stian," I ask him—verbosely and benevolently.
He responds while still gew-gawing and gim-cracking and knick-knacking about with my ass as he feels like carrying out. "Yes. We will pick it up from where we have at the moment left everything once we are on the seashore. The repairman will show up any moment from now. It is almost two hours now since that gone moment when I last rang him.
Shit. My phone is even now buzzing and chiming and pealing and tolling about. It is him calling. For sure! Let us dress up quickly, shall we, Ragnhild?
We have an unanticipated visitor pending by."