"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 09 - In Quest of Qalara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

boiling oil. 56 Grinding, her breath steamy against his face, she lost control
of her hands. They clawed greedily, trying to hurt without wanting to. He
brought a hand down onto one partially-clothed hemisphere of her butt,
hard. "Stop clawing, woman!" Eventually they had to rearrange themselves. This
was the Mate's chair, not a bed or even a couch or floor, and both of them
were clothed. She didn't remove the jumpsuit. She got it the hell out of the
way by widening its long opening. It still clung to the arms and legs and back
it covered. He smiled, because he liked that. This way she was lewdly revealed
and that was more sexy than nakedness. They didn't remove his robe, either.
Instead they got it up and the hell out of the way. The staff of his sex stood
tall in tribute to her. Then she was on him, astride his legs, feeding the
hard heat of him up into herself while he wiped her bandeau down to bare
quivering breasts the color of shining eggplants. He clamped a hand onto each
of those thrusts as if it was a handle for his convenience, a knob provided
for his fingers. Her face writhed as she jogged on thick erection, twisting
and bouncing with her eyes fixed on his face. Gliding up and down his slicer
as if on a living piston. "You're . . . hitting my cervix!" "I can feel it.
Does it hurt?" "Yesss!" she told him, and kept right on posting on him.
Deliberately twisting her hips, bouncing and jiggling to increase both his
pleasure and her owe. Between the fingers of his left hand jutted the
permanently erect crest of her breast. Her movements made it seem to flaunt
the slender ring of rutilated quartz that pierced it, a souvenir of her
enslavement on Knor. Sanded and polished to the smoothness of metal,
transparent with gold flecks, it caught the cabin's light enticingly. 57 The
obscene sounds of united genitals accompanied their movements while the odor
of sex rose about them. Sounds and smell were beautiful to woman and man. He
watched delighted while she rode him, while she shook and moaned in a blissful
passion that grew ever more urgent. His hands slid free of her breasts so that
he could watch the way they jumped, ring flashing, catapulted by her movements
so that they became wildly mobile ornaments of glossily gleaming black. "Oh,"
she groaned, hair flying and face working, "oh, lover!" "God but you're
beautiful on the bounce, sweetheart," he murmured with a grin, and she smiled
back. "Grab 'em again, you with the flagpole!" And she ground down hard. He
did, grasping both breasts and flexing. His motions were those of a puppet
master. Lifting and lowering in rhythm with her own movements in skewering
herself up the middle. All about them trinkled a billion billion burning
lights, suns all in blue and yellow and blinding white, and neither of them
noticed or cared. At the same time that a groan was torn from him, she began
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whipping her head back and forth in a frenzy of gamic pleasure. Hair flew in a
yellow cloud. Spasms rocked them both. Their voluptuous joy with each other,
with themselves filled the cabin like a hot-pink mist. Abruptly his hands
clamped harder. With a surging strength that popped her eyes wide, he
propelled his loins up at her, into her. That blatant use of strength tired
him but was exciting, gratifying. It gave them both an erotic pleasure that
was overwhelming in its intensity and her delighted, impressed reaction made
him proud. Atop him she writhed under the carnal stimulus of their burning