Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) by J.E. Keep, M. Keep Page B

fingers lifted the light cotton top over her head, tossing it to
the side and tussling her long, wavy hair in the process. He could
see the smooth line of her stomach, the soft, unexposed flesh and the
two mounds hidden beneath the white, lace bra.
    Her breathing was faster, and as she struggled to undo and discard
her bra, her feet moved to his back, drawing him in. The light blonde
hair that his nose nuzzled to smelled like denied sex, and even the
insides of her thighs seemed lightly glossed with her femininity.
    With his own cock still out and exposed, he was bent between her
legs, showing her an impressive devotion and skill of his own. In his
lifespan that was twice her own, he’d obviously had practice at
this, so as he gripped her thighs, and her heels dug into him, he
tongued her clit quite expertly. Such a large, damp muscle it was, it
had no trouble hitting the tender spot of her slit anyhow.
    He was so devoted to his task of eating her cunt out, his eyes
were shut almost the entire time, but as her heavy breasts were freed
not even his commitment could keep him from gazing up at them
longingly.
    It was made worse as her own hands went to them, her body arching
and her own eyes fluttering shut as she teased those twin nipples,
tugging on them before letting them snap back to her chest, only to
repeat the process. It was such a delightful view, and one so few had
the pleasure of seeing.
    She was built so high, neglected for what felt like an eternity,
and his skill was quickly bringing her to that breaking point. She
was already so wet, her labia parting against his strong tongue and
that exposed bud throbbed against him. Her heated sex burned against
his face, blood rushing from her mind and filling that one, central
part of her before she gasped, her back arching just as he hit her
that one, final time.
    As if in reward for the delightful sight of her toying with her
own tits, he didn’t cease, however. His tongue and mouth rode
her quim through that finale, lashing at her mercilessly. Grent
seemed intent on milking from her every ounce of pleasure she’d
allow, his powerful tongue and jaw working her cunt as his hands
stroked her thighs, and his eyes gazed up, soaking in the sight of
her own pleasured face and heavy, aroused tits as he was covered in
her honey.
    It wasn’t long before her bucking became a serious
impediment to teasing her over sensitive clit, and her gasped moans
and cries echoed off the room as her foot moved to his shoulder,
kicking him away. Her face was red and her bangs were matted to her
forehead as she gulped for air. Her lips and mouth felt so dry and
she constantly tried to wet it, staring at him in awe.
    "Holy fuck," she moaned, sitting herself up after what
seemed like a long while.
    His face coated in her juices, he licked around his lips and wiped
his cheeks with the back of his hand, before then licking that clean
too. With a broad, weary smile, he stood up, his cock only partially
turgid now, but still looking so perfectly grand.
    Tugging his pants down and his shirt off, she could see the man
fully nude. His bulk wasn’t the perfectly chiselled look of a
bodybuilder, but instead the look of a man whose muscle came from
hard work alone. His chest smooth but thick with muscle, he was
peppered with scars, big and small, and a spattering of hair that
matched his head.
    Pulling back the blankets on the sizable bed, he scooped up her
naked, weary form then climbed in, laying her out beneath the sheets
before sliding in beside her, arm around her. He was intent on
keeping her closely pressed to him.
    She didn’t fight him. Suddenly she found she didn’t
give a fuck about the outside world, or of men who only wanted her to
keep them happy. A small swell of rage rose in her chest but it was
quickly snuffed out as she felt the weight of his heavy arm around
her, his hard body heating her and holding her tight.
    It was the same feeling of affection and safety, and as she
drifted off,