Written By: Joy Link & Mark Fritz

Image by: Banksy

This is the second contribution from the Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Mark Fritz. I am a fan of Mark because he is fearless and from what I can tell as a reader, he’s been exploring some depths of erotic realities and intricacies that many writers steer clear of. He and co-author, Joy Link write honestly about the experience of what it is to become immersed in the whirlwind that sex and chemistry…and war can create. We at Publik / Private appreciate this and have no desire to censor these writer’s expression and vision. We thank Joy and Mark for choosing us to publish this snippet (excerpt) from their new sizzling manuscript, “The Second Date”, which takes place post Cold War after two lovers meet and have an impactful first date, only to follow up with their tryst 20 years later.

This story is NSFW…but please enjoy. -j.e.

DEPTH OF DESIRE

Arms wrapped around bodies crushed together, we collapsed to the couch without breaking what was much more than a kiss. Tongues tussled and tangled, lips and lobes were bitten just a bit too hard, necks licked, stray beads of sweat were lapped with relish. I let one arm drop from her shoulder and slide down a soft breast with a hard nipple covered by a tee so sheer it was barely there. My hand fell into the furnace that generated an almost incomprehensible degree of heat through soaked black sweat pants. My instinct was to let a finger find its way, but, still. lost in the thrall of the eternal kiss, I instead slipped my hand up under the tee, over the soft belly and back to the left, and then the right breast until I was struck by a lightning realization that I was not even remotely in control.

She was stroking a cock that extended down a pant leg halfway to my knee, squeezing and sliding with a rhythm so erotic it was hypnotic. With a deft flick of a finger and thumb, she popped open the button of my jeans, slid open the zipper with one swift motion, and reached in and grabbed me, pulled me out, stroked me. Five splayed fingers caressed my balls before forming a fist that couldn’t quite encircle my cock, but played it with the skill, experience and natural talent of a classical pianist. Her grip climbed my shaft and stopped just short of the rim of the swollen head, expertly avoiding the hyper-sensitive tip already oozing those crystal-clear droplets of imminent entry into her body.

I tried to regain some control and slipped my right hand down her sweats and into the silken folds drenched in liquid love. I palmed her pussy and swirled three fingers through the wet flesh that draped her clit, so sweetly swollen and deliriously throbbing. Our kiss finally broke and she rolled her head backward and moaned, her own hand, only slowing slightly. yet never losing her grip on control. We brokered a tiny truce when I chanced a quick lick of fingers soaked in her flavors, and she pulled off her shirt, her impossibly billowy breasts flouncing in what seemed like slow motion. I pushed her back and licked her breasts, from underside to under arm to areola and alternating nibbles on each hard nipple.

Check, baby.

She tried a counter move and reached toward my cock, but my mouth moved down to her belly as I slid the tight workout pants down her hips. Oh, fuck. Her apparent grope for my cock and control of the game was a feint. She instead grabbed the hem of my shirt with both hands when I was inches from tonguing the wet heaven just below a single, flame-shaped tuft of black fur. She pulled the shirt over my head. I raised my arms to assist her but actually fell for a cunning tactical move. I might as well have been raising my arms in surrender. She sprang at my arcing cock with a gleam and a grin and took me in her mouth.

Check. Annnnddddd…..mate.

I fell back on the couch and let out the blissful groan of defeat, staring at the ceiling and feeling her suck out my soul. With a jazz-tinted talent born of both nurture and nature, of experience and raw evolutionary ability, she worked her lips and mouth and tongue like sections of an orchestra conducted by a maestro.

She stopped for a second and I immediately picked up her signal. She flipped her golden hair to the far side of her head, a reminder that half the thrill was the visual part of a bravura demonstration of deeply romantic love. She parted her lips and made them flush with her tongue and ran her mouth along the underside of my cock, from below the bursting head to below and around the taut package of testicles. She teased each one with an open-mouthed, just-gentle-enough suck to raise the level of insane pleasure to almost unbearable heights. Now and again, she glanced up at me with those sparkling blue eyes, sometimes grinning lasciviously as she tapped her tongue tantalizing close to my asshole. One final trip up the shaft, and then she took me whole, formed a ring with her thumb and forefinger around the base. Her hair fell back and her head bobbed up and down in my lap, faster and fiercer. She was in complete control, owning me so thoroughly that I was surprised to realize that, at some point, my right hand gripped the curve of her sex as she curled sideways on the couch, the middle finger far up her ass and a thumb in the low piece of her pussy. I sensed the tide approaching and reflexively throbbed to signal what she already knew. The first fusillade was so voluminous she was caught by surprise and gagged almost imperceptibly before gathering herself with an enormous gulp I could feel and hear. My brain oddly counted each subsequent spurt; the third, the seventh, the twelfth, each followed by what seemed an almost manically ravenous swallow. I lost count, each firebomb of semen eventually growing less large and further apart. She stayed with me as I grew softer and softer, lapping up what finally became a trickle. Even though she’d sucked everything out of me and laid claim not to my cock, but my head and my heart, she kept me in her mouth. She rolled my flaccid but still intensely stimulated prick around with her tongue, pulling out only to make the little popping sounds that made me shout with joy.

She rested her head of golden hair on my thighs and kept my spent rod in her mouth. I moved my finger and thumb in tiny strokes that spoke of a deep affection. I floated in the dreamlike state of a man happily enslaved by the woman he loved.

But the longest orgasm of my life was mere prelude. Her tongue stirred, and I began to feel the gentle graze of her teeth. She was reviving me in a way I thought was biologically impossible. I was getting harder and harder and harder and harder until my arcing cock was again fully engorged. She sucked me until she was certain that I had returned to the peak of human sexual rigidity.
“Oh, fuck me, Joy, you sweet baby angel. That was incredible.”

She held her trophy in her hands and lifted her head and locked my eyes with a playful but lustfully purposeful look on her face.

“No, Mark,” she said, rolling over and leaning back on the couch while I absently removed my grip on her fabulous fulcrum. She parted her legs and I gazed at the beautiful pink creature that was so hungry it was almost as purple as this prose.

“Fuck me, baby.”

I complied, with absolute joy.