Jet ski ride turns into much more.
Without waiting for her, I pushed her blue cotton panties to the side and fell onto and into her.
I drove all my length into her without mercy, using my hands to pin her at the forearms as I rocked her body in long, rhythmic strokes.
There was a fleeting instant in which I saw her spread out on the bed, at my mercy and in the grip of pleasure, and in this instant I saw her as Object, but through our sexual connection and her greedy moans of pleasure I also had this intense access to her subjectivity and it was hot. It's like I was with her in her mind. Her grip on the sheets tightened and relaxed with our rhythm.
Three minutes of hard fucking and I was ready to cum, so without hesitation I did, deep inside her. In the past I've nearly given myself carpal tunnel syndrome trying to finish this girl off but this evening I just collapsed on her, heavy as death and sweaty as July, cock still buried in her.
She looked over her shoulder and grinned in a combination of satisfaction and curiosity, as if to say where did that come from? There's more where that came from, my pet. She then wriggled out from under me, left the room, and returned with something in her hands.
With a weak smile, she held up a printed ticket and said "Italy?"
The train wound lazily through the foothills of the Alps. Upward, ever upward. We passed many small mountain towns situated in valleys and on rivers, each one with its own breathtaking backdrop.
Why even did we live in goddamn Berlin again? Oh right, jobs. And in these corners of southern Germany, the locals' attitude towards foreigners-and by extension, towards mixed-race couples-hadn't exactly improved in the waves of northbound migrants over the last decade.
We got looks, for certain, even in the city sometimes. He-5'9" (still thinking like an American even after all these years, Zeph) or 175cm, fair-skinned, lean, mousy-haired with piercing ice-blue eyes-and I-165cm, chocolate-skinned and with short nappy hair-make an "interesting" couple.
We were drawn to each other not only for what we are, but for what we aren't. We were each the other's opposite number. Not exactly an act of rebellion against the respective social circumstances of our upbringings, more like a half-conscious act of distancing and diversification.
Different tasted divine. The first time we slept together (second date?), I remember not being able to stop smelling him. Lying there, heaving and perspiration-drenched on his dorm room bed, his skin smelled addictively musky yet pure, clean and masculine but also earthy and sweaty... how I wanted to taste it again, bite and s-
I started, pulled from the daydream by a PA announcement. We would be arriving in Nuremberg in an hour, where we would transfer to a sleeper train. Mi was in the seat next to me. He did smell good. Thinking about our first time had made me all hot and bothered. I squirmed subtly in my seat.
Then I got a nasty little thought. I reached to my left and placed my hand on Mi's thigh, brazenly feeling him up. I looked over and as I fixed him with that look (as he put it), his expression of surprise turned quickly to understanding.
"Come after me in two minutes," I whispered in his ear, then, in my best seductive tone, "Ich will deine Sahne trinken." I want to drink your cream. I promise it sounds better in German. I rose and sashayed in the direction of the WC.
One and a half minutes later my bracelet buzzed. I opened the door a crack and let him in. Pushed him up against the wall, dropped to my knees, and went straight for the money. Foreplay was a casualty of time restrictions. Not like it mattered, though, since Mi was already half hard in sweet anticipation.
As I cleared a path through button, buckle and zipper, my pussy throbbed even harder in expectation of being filled.