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Please welcome …
Max
Peruse his blog … Thoughts from a Mystic Satyr …
his writing is amazing and will leave you wanting … more.
Thank you so much Max, for sharing Beach House with my readers.
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Time at a beach house
with the whole family is a good thing, but it’s hard to find alone time. So when I wake up with your warm body pressed into mine, my morning erection pressed into your soft ass, I’m more than ready. I hold you from behind and stroke you gently. You press back into me and groan softly when my lips find your neck. Your hips can’t help themselves, and I feel the slight backward thrusts into me…and I unconsciously match your rhythm, thrusting toward you.
You turn your head to whisper, “You know I want to, but the house is full of people. The kids in the next room through the paper-thin wall. Your parents downstairs….”
I continue kissing your neck, and our hips continue their dance as I think of how we could manage it. Then it comes to me. “The bathroom. It’s away from the other upstairs rooms, and if we’re quiet, no one downstairs will hear.”
You sound skeptical. “The bathroom? Where in that little bathroom?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
I throw the sheet off, and you can’t help but smile when you see my fully-erect cock spring free. “You really are insatiable, aren’t you?”
I just smile my evil grin, help you out of bed, and lead you into the bathroom. Closing the door, I pin you against the door for a kiss. My hands explore your body, still steamy warm from the bed, and one hand finally makes its way into your pajama bottoms. You break the kiss, still skeptical. “Where? How?”
I turn you away from me and guide you the two steps to the window. I grind my body into your back, then take your pajama bottoms down in one motion. You grab the window frame, quietly protesting. “Here in the window? You can’t be serious?!? Anyone walking past could see me.”
I bend you over, stroking your pussy from behind, talking quietly as I move. “No one’s going to see anything. No one’s out in the morning, and if anyone did walk past, they would just see you from the waist up, where you’re clothed.”
You don’t sound convinced, but you don’t stop me either. You’re bent at the waist, hands gripping the window frame, and I’m fingering you from behind. Moving closer, I withdraw my finger and guide my cock to your pussy. I rub the head of my cock up and down…back and forth…getting myself lubed with your wetness. I can feel the heat of your pussy and I’m desperate to be inside you.
I spread your legs a little wider and push forward with my hips. My cock-head penetrates you, and the warm wetness is delicious. You stop me after the first inch and adjust your position. You indicate that you’re comfortable, and I hold your hips firmly with both hands and thrust slowly and insistently into you.
I don’t stop thrusting until I’m balls deep, and it takes all my energy to keep from moaning out loud. I can tell you’re biting your lip and straining to keep quiet. I stay there for a moment, reveling in the sensations, and then I slowly withdraw…then slowly thrust in again. Part of me is hyper-aware of any sounds from the rest of the house, but another part of me is giddy with the thought of fucking you from behind, in the beach house window.
You know what a visual beast I am, and how much I love to watch my cock sliding in and out of you. We’re an erotic vision…your pussy grasping my cock…reluctantly letting it go…sliding out of you…rock hard, shiny from your flowing juices…the mushroom head appearing briefly, before I thrust into you again…inch after inch of my hard shaft sliding into you.
As much as I want to make this last, I also know that we should be quick, so I don’t try to prolong our lovemaking. I thrust harder and faster, and I know you’re having trouble keeping quiet. I grab your hips firmly and thrust hard. Your pussy feels like liquid fire, and your juices are flowing. Every stroke makes a wonderful squishing sound, and I can feel the wetness on my balls and thighs. I become aware that you’re moaning softly, and I whisper that we need to be quiet.
I feel my climax building at the base of my balls…rising…unstoppable…and then I’m cumming…my whole body tensing…savagely gripping your hips…shooting my pent up load deep into you. I stay there, locked together with you, as I start to come down. As I start to regain my senses, I can feel you climaxing around my cock…your breath coming in short urgent gasps. We come down gradually together, and I finally step back and let my slowly-deflating cock slide out of you. You turn and hug me tight, our lips meeting in a soft lingering kiss.
I’m happy, sated (for the moment,) and ready for a beach day with the family. You smack me on the ass and say with a grin, “That was good. But you’re *so* bad.”
I just smile, knowing I can’t argue.
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Beachcomber
2 ounces Citrus Rum
1/2 ounce Triple Sec
dash of Grenadine
splash of Sour Mix
Add ingredients to a rocks glass filled with ice. Shake.
Enjoy!
The motorcycle rumbled
between Roxie’s legs as she drove through Virginia. This was one of the reasons she loved Harleys so much… the power… the pulse… always quivering through her.
She was in a constant state of arousal from it and at that moment, she could care less if she ever arrived at her destination.
The lazy rhythm of the winding road through the Blue Ridge Mountain range was calming, almost hypnotic as she leaned this way and that, maneuvering the turns. And with no one for company except the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, it was easy to explore the ramblings inside of her head.
Her thoughts drifted to the phone call. The one she received right before she left on this trip. The one from Simon.
Simon… Teacher. Guide. Lover
Simon worshiped her. Worshiped her to the point she felt like a Goddess. His need for her pulled on her very Soul. It drew her in, enticed her to the point of no return.
The passion, the possessiveness, the intensity… all these things made her feel wanted and special. Adored.
And he did adore her, he loved her and held her closely locked in his heart …
but then… he left.
Roxie was crushed. Devastated to her very core. She had become utterly dependent on him. Wanted him. Needed him. Idolized him.
He could make her come with a flick of his tongue and Roxie shuddered as she remembered the ecstasy he could incite in her.
He would touch her brow with a whisper of a stroke, drawing his finger down her cheek bone and across her jawline. Cradling her chin with both hands and bringing her lips to his.
Warm tongues caressing. Tasting. Savoring. Craving.
Simon’s groin would press into hers bringing their bodies together, melding them into one. His arms would glide down her back, cupping and caressing her buttocks, pulling and kneading her skin in strokes that matched the grind of his hips.
The memory caused Roxie to gasp involuntarily as the thunder between her legs vibrated along with her fiery thoughts.
No longer able to focus on the road ahead of her, Roxie pulled onto the berm hoping to regain her calm. It irritated her, the way Simon would always somehow manage to creep into her thoughts.
Overwhelmed with sexual tension provoked by images of him and enhanced by the soft tail she straddled, Roxie put her kickstand down into the gravel and swung her leg across the Low Rider’s seat.
As she stood beside her bike removing her helmet, she noticed a path in the tangle of trees that grew just off the road. Grabbing her key, she headed towards it. Shafts of light through overgrown branches welcomed her as she removed her gloves.
The scent of warm, damp earth filled her nostrils and she instantly disengaged from the tension in her muscles. Serenity encompassed her mind and for an instant, she relished the gifts from Mother Nature.
Loosening her chaps and kneeling onto the soft green moss, Roxie tugged at the snap on her jeans. It popped open readily and she pushed the denim down her thighs. She removed her leather jacket, flattening it on the ground and stretched her body on top of it.
Roxie brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers. She lowered them until they reached the throbbing pulse vying for recognition at the junction of her thighs.
Pushing aside her lacy thong and exhaling with satisfaction, she found her sensitive spot. Pressing and circling her clit with moist fingers, she envisioned Simon’s head bobbing in rhythm.
With her free hand, she reached up under her shirt, into her bra and pinched her hardened nipple. Roxie rolled the tiny pebble between her thumb and fingers, squeezing and pulling, feeling the associated twitch in her groin.
Her labored breathing was heard only by the birds, who chirped their serenade to the intimate display unfolding below them.
Smoothly sliding a finger into the wetness of her core, Roxie stroked herself until she found her G-spot. The bumpy ridges stood defiantly distinct from their smooth surroundings and she worked the spot in a come hither motion, stimulating every nerve on her body. Pulses of passion coursed through her, magnifying her need.
Roxie was deep inside her mind when her inflamed clit pulsed achingly and she abandoned her nipple play to concede to it’s demands. Massaging herself inside and out with visions of Simon dancing through her psyche, she released her struggle and exploded in delirium, crying out in rapture.
She lay quietly for a few moments, recovering from her unabashed self satisfaction. The memoried phone call peeked around the corner of her consciousness pulling her from her contented haze and into the reality of her journey.
Simon would be waiting for her.
Her heart skipped a beat and fluttered against her rib cage, like moths against a light bulb. She hurriedly re-dressed and nearly ran out of the trees to her waiting motorcycle. Gearing up and cranking her beast to life, Roxie looked at her watch. If she rode straight through.. she’d make it to Simon’s house just in time for HAPPY HOUR.
Release Valve
1 ounce Pineapple Vodka
1 ounce Pineapple Rum
Pineapple Juice
1/2 ounce Grenadine
Fill a tall glass with ice. Add Vodka and Rum. Fill with Pineapple Juice. Stir. Top with Grenadine.
Enjoy!
Charlene pulled yet another pair of her husband’s underwear out of the dryer.
She should probably do laundry more often, she thought. It wasn’t a chore she ever looked forward to. She reached back in and grabbed a t-shirt, snapping the wrinkles out with such force her bracelet pinched the skin on her wrist. “Damn! That’s going to leave a mark.” Charlene looked at the t-shirt as if it were the culprit. Displayed prominently on the front in bold red script was…. I have the right to remain silent… but, I don’t have the ability. She loved that quote from the great Ron White! It always made her laugh! She remembered why she gave that shirt to Bob. The quote certainly fit him well. Bob always wore his feelings on his sleeve… an attribute that was at once, both admirable and offensive. As Charlene paired what seemed like hundreds of socks, the mundane task gave wings to her swirling memories…
…It was a gorgeous summer day and several friends were at the neighbor’s house enjoying their swimming pool. It wasn’t a large pool, mind you – an above ground – not like those lavish pools in the photos shown in magazines at the beauty parlor. But, still, it was a pool and all the neighbors appreciated that they could share it. The ladies were all lounging in the shade, keeping one eye on their swimming kids and one eye on their men playing horseshoes in the backyard.
The men were a raucous bunch when they got together. And now, after hours in the sun, drinking beer, it seemed they decided it was time to have a pissing match.
“My Harley can out run your rice-burner any day of the week!”
“Oh ya? Let’s put that to the test… I’ll take you out of the hole, in the short run and at high end every time!”
“Bullshit! That Japanese crap is lame!”
“Your Harley junk isn’t worth the oil it leaks!”
The guys were inching towards each other, not even realizing it. Soon they were gathered around in somewhat of a circle. This was very interesting for the women to watch. The men were never violent, never took swings at each other – they were buddies, after all – but this ongoing argument about the virtues and pitfalls of American vs. Japanese motorcycles was always an emotional topic.
“Beer Break!”, someone yelled. That was a welcome relief. The guys all started laughing and headed to the cooler under the maple tree.
“You know what, Bob? You should just keep your mouth shut when Joe goads you into that same shit. You know his bike isn’t even running right now.”
“Ya, I know, but if he’d get off his lazy ass and go to work every now and again, maybe he could afford to hire a mechanic to fix it for him.” Bob bent down and grabbed a beer from the cooler. The icy sting on his hands, rough from playing horseshoes all day, came as a welcome relief. When he stood up, he saw Joe standing right behind him. It was obvious from the pained look on his face, that Joe heard every word of his cruel comment.
“Aw, Joe, you know I didn’t mean it when I said that you were lazy. I’m just all riled up from you yankin’ my chain. You know how I get when you start rappin’ on my Jap bike. Tell you what… why don’t I come over Saturday and help you work on that lump of a Harley, of yours? You know, get it runnin’ and all.”
The washing machine buzzer jolted Charlene out of her reverie. She realized that she was standing there smiling to herself. Bob is such a kind soul, he would do anything for anybody. Sometimes he just can’t rein in his thoughts before the words come out.
Charlene folded the rest of the laundry and headed to the kitchen. At that moment, the mudroom door opened and Bob came walking in, hands still greasy from working on Joe’s bike. Charlene, filled with warmth at his kindness towards Joe, greeted him with a hug and a kiss.
“C’mon, baby, it’s time for HAPPY HOUR. I’ll fix your favorite…”
He Said...She Said...