The western sun sank slowly toward a ridgeline adorned with spiny fingers of naked poplar trees. Angular shadows from the railing sprawled lazily across the faded surface of the porch, crawling steadily toward evening. The chains supporting the porch swing he sat in squeaked in rusty protest every time he moved. Evidence of a mature season was everywhere, as a light October breeze chased a dozen or so crusty leaves around the corner and held them hostage in a whirling dance, disturbing his solitude. The rustling sound ceased when they fell to the weathered boards, abandoned by the departing breeze. His eyes closed slowly, as his tongue slipped out to moisten his upper lip – absently searching for evidence of what his mind remembered of her. He inhaled deeply and slipped into mental review of many sweet memories.  

Any time thoughts of her came into his head everything else he was doing stopped to allow him to savor whatever images conjured up. A private smile graced his lips as he made his first selection. It was always a treat when visions of her exquisite thighs were featured in his subconscious. This afternoon he watched behind closed eyes, as they parted for him in silent request to taste, to feast upon the precious prize they framed. Once more his tongue slipped out, this time moistening his lower lip, still searching for a shred of evidence that this was more than just a memory. His cock did not care, and began to swell with lusty participation. 

Their sex was always incredible, even the encounters when one or both just needed to satisfy a quick rush of desire. Maybe it was after a long day at school or after some distracting event at work followed one or both of them home. It didn’t really matter. Their sex was magic. It transported them to another place – a place where nothing else mattered. Then there were times when they chose to be in that other place for hours, and full intentions were to drive her to the edge of insanity. Nothing pleased him more than to have her offer herself to him when his desire burned to taste the sweetness tucked behind lacey, barely-there silk panties. Enabling her to come drove him wild, and to her benefit coming for him made him as hard as stone. Fucking her was so much better after he’d driven her to the highest point and pushed her over the edge of that mythical mountain of lust. Quite possibly, he’d push her or throw her over the edge several times.

One might think that being ‘thrown’ from the edge would be a little uncaring – one-sided maybe – but when he did it, it was quite to the contrary. He took her to the highest place on the mountain willingly. She always wanted to go there with him – and to be thrown? Hell, she wanted to be flung bodily into the mists of nothingness. She wanted to plunge off the loftiest pinnacle into the void left after both mind and body had been wrenched from her control. She wanted to fly on the flat of his tongue. She wanted him to lick and suck her until her sweet pussy became naughty cunt and she no longer cared about anything else – or was unable to care – or whichever came first. He loved it when she told him how much she ached for his mouth. He longed to hear her whisper into his ear how badly she needed to feel his lips and tongue on her pussy. Begging him to lick her was an instant catalyst for the righteous fucking that would follow.

He adjusted his position on the swing, moving his hips so his hardening cock could unfurl and rise upward in his pants. Another whiff of evening breeze stirred random leaves into crisp applause only to fall silent once more, waiting to listen to the second act of passion play growing more vivid in his mind.

Nothing compared to lust he stirred up inside of her. But then, that was not entirely true. Lust she stirred in him ripped through his body like a flash fire. Soft breath against his ear whispering sweetly for his mouth was enough to make him crazy with desire. His cock twitched, and the breeze carried a phantom ‘lick me’ past his ear.

The journey up the mountain was always a memorable one. Even after having made the trip many times, he always discovered something new, something remarkable. There was always subtle difference in the way she squirmed under his attentions, or possibly how she sounded when her breath caught in her throat. One might think a gasp was just a gasp, but not so to his discriminating ear. Her reactions were like snowflakes, each of them beautiful in their own right, but each marked with delicate uniqueness. His contribution always changed a little too. It may be a subtle little twist; a new lick lingering for the first time, or a nibble in uncharted territory. Their respective lusts synchronized to the point that they became sex. They slipped into a state of Fuck. His mouth became her Fuck. Ultimately, they were consumed by Fuck, as they scaled the heights of Fuck Mountain.

The squeak of the porch swing fell on deaf ears, as he spread his arms onto the back of the swing and eased his head back. He was too deeply entranced by his lusty reverie to acknowledge anything in the present. Subtle pivoting motion of the swing transported him – reminded him of the slow swivel of her hips, as she moved under him, reaching for lips that released the first, hot, teasing breath. Her scent intoxicated him. Every aspect of devouring her was worthy of remembering. He drew a deep breath in through his nose, lips pursed tightly together. Cool October air filled his lungs. His brain enhanced reality, adding a hint of recall, reminding him of her heady scent, hesitating with a wish for wafting heat of her sex to grace his face.  

He marveled at how much one of his favorite things to do to her was so in tune with what she craved with equal enthusiasm. With measured patience, he’d cradle her bottom in his hands and breathe deeply of her scent. Sometimes, the tip of his nose would barely brush the surface of her panties while he fought the urge to take her into his mouth straight away. There was something about fighting that urge accelerating his lust. Opening his mouth to exhale hot evidence of his desire was the trigger causing her hips to roll up in silent request for contact. Muscles in her thighs contracted, as her heels dug into the mattress. Lean muscles flexed along the insides of her thighs sending continuous messages of permission along his cheeks and shoulders. It was all he could do to keep from lifting her to his lips and sucking her right through her panties. 

Anticipation of touching her for the first time was a delicious rush. Making her squirm and rise up off the bed to meet his mouth allowed him to tease her with the tip of his tongue. He’d swirl and dance lightly, tracing, sliding upward across the silk surface of her panties darkening with wet proof of her own rush of anticipation. It always seemed so obscene, so gloriously dirty and obscene when her knees spread farther open, offering him full access to her treasure. To him, it was her most significant act of submission – opening her legs with such unabashed hunger. Soft lingering kisses through parted lips on the insides of her thighs normally prompted her legs open farther still, shifting hips to whichever side he delivered gentle kisses attempting to direct them to where she ached most of all.

He exhaled into the deepening gloom of approaching night. A smile of remembered satisfaction curled at the corners of his mouth, and a strong hand squeezed rock-hard cock standing erect inside his pants. Closing his eyes once again, he disappeared back into the comfort of his memories.

Short gasping breaths were her normal cue that their journey continued higher. The climb up the mountain became steeper, and momentum built with greater urgency. Slow undulating motion of her hips accompanied a trance-like state when control of her destiny belonged exclusively to him. She was a slave to his mouth, his lips, and what she craved most of all, his wide flat and very talented tongue. If it were possible to be addicted to a man’s tongue, her addiction was chronic. He knew she ached for it, and he relished the process of licking her into private frenzy.

Patience was not her virtue. It never was when it came to wanting his tongue. She was a junkie, vibrating for a fix. Despite lying on her back, he knew she wanted to roll over on top of him and straddle his mouth so very badly. He could sense every fiber in her being screamed for her to roll him over and take what she wanted. He projected mental instructions intended to echo in her head to climb higher, climb onto him and grind her pussy into his mouth – to fuck him – his mouth – to fuck herself to completion.

He shifted his weight on the swing again, flexing hard, as thoughts of her riding  open lips flooded into his head. He sucked in the cool evening air through clenched teeth before unconsciously opening his jaws to exhale, reaching with hungry lips for the vaporous taste of memory.

He knew it would happen sooner or later. There was always a point in their journey to the mountaintop where her passion and desire would reach critical mass. Insanity was a funny thing. In her mind, she may be straddling him, but more than likely she was flat on her back holding his head in both hands. Either way, they both got what they wanted. He loved it when she passed the point where all control slipped away, and she’d clutch his head, pulling at him, coaxing, wrapping her legs around his back, and grinding herself against his mouth. That’s when they burst through the tree line and sprinted for the summit.

She’d watch him. He knew she always wanted to watch as he savored her delicate muffin. To satisfy her visual hunger, he’d look up at her, as his mouth slowly came open, and with great flourish, take a mouthful of panty and pussy. A deep rumbling moan surfaced, purity of his satisfaction of her filling his mouth hissed outward through his nose. The expression on her face was priceless when he sucked her silk shrouded delicacy into his mouth and began to flex his jaws in a slow, deliberate chewing motion. Her predictable response was most gratifying. Eyes rolled back into her head and back arch into his presence, hips rolled upward to ensure he could devour all of her. Trembling fingers cradled his head and curled, digging into his scalp, clutching handfuls of hair, and urging him to eat her completely. Her head dropped backward heavily into the pillow, muscles straining in her neck, mouth open, struggling to exalt the ecstasy wedged side-ways in her throat. Their reckless scramble for the highest peak accelerated rapidly.

Part of what he enjoyed most was deciding how he’d release her to fly from the edge. There was no question she’d go, but would he permit her to fly, or would she be thrown? It all depended on his mood, or shall we say, the degree of his lust at that moment. She could never predict how she’d come, only that she would – and it would be good. Often he’d allow her to run unchecked toward the summit. He’d run with her, coaxing and encouraging her to fly, wanting her to come hard in his mouth. Call it improvisation. Call it making-it-up-as-you-go. Or call it invention if you must, but how she left the edge would always be a creative endeavor.

Powerful hands gripped the chains on either end of the porch swing. It amazed him how deeply he was pulled into a memory by mere thoughts of making sweet love to her. His cock ached for that slick velvet crease swollen and wet, waiting to swallow every inch of his thickness. But he knew it would not be his turn so soon. He never went first. Selfishly, he wanted her to come first. It was always better to fuck her after she’d come at least once. A properly prepared pussy, swollen perfectly with arousal, and begging for, aching for his very thick cock to stretch and penetrate her to the core was his preference. His subconscious began to mull over options for her initial departure from the peak of Fuck Mountain.  

Urgent fingers telegraphed a staccato of code onto the back of his head, as she stumbled onto the edge of the highest place. His decision was made in an instant. It was her time. She’d be flung violently into the gaping yaw of a grinding orgasm. Muscles flexed in his forearms, wrists twisted, snapping the thin lace waistband on her soaking panties. Yanking them from between her legs caught her totally off guard, momentarily breaking her concentration and startling her with the realization that her bare naked pussy was about to be eaten to perfection. The palms of his hands pushed her thighs open and he paused, hovering over her, his breath igniting fresh, white-hot flames where a raging fire already burned out of control. He waited for her to look at him. Waited for her to look into his eyes and see that he was going to dispatch her from the mountain with no mercy. He recalled what she’d said with incredible clarity when he asked what she wanted. “Lick me. Umm, lick me now, baby. Lick my little pussy. Lick it slow and deep with that gorgeous tongue.”  

And so he did. For the final time he went down on her, plowing slowly through soaking folds of velvet with the flat of his tongue, licking with a deep lingering motion. And she howled. She howled like a she-wolf, as he moved down to slide through her again, dragging the flat of his tongue through her quivering pussy. He covered her from bottom to top with a nasty little flick of her clit to emphasize how badly he wanted her come. Over and over he licked her, each time his tongue passed over her bursting clitoris she convulsed as though an enormous charge of energy shot through her. When her fingers uncurled in his hair he knew she was gone – hurled far, far from the edge. He hoisted her off the bed and buried his tongue inside of her, seeking continuous waves of contractions, each one pulling him deeper, gulping at his tongue, thanking him for hurling her into seventh heaven. 

Air rushed from his lungs. His eyes came open to find the naked poplars standing silhouette against a rich backdrop of deep oranges and air-brushed reds. It seems the sun had also slipped over the edge, climaxing, flooding the evening sky with evidence that another journey had been completed with perfection, slipping behind a mountain of its own.