by Hondo Jinx
Frankie’s head rolled back, exposing her lovely throat, which glistened with grease and perspiration. “Forever,” she sighed, “Forever and—”
He cut her off, mashing his lips into hers, finally tasting that gorgeous mouth. His tongue split her thick, soft lips and plunged into the wet warmth of her mouth. Her tongue responded eagerly, poking and sliding and swirling. Frankie uttered anxious little whimpers, and her luscious body squirmed against him, setting his blood afire.
At last, they broke their kiss. Frankie gasped for air, eyes wide and wild. Her body trembled like an idling engine. She cracked a smile and glanced down. “Is that a monkey wrench in your pocket, or are you just as turned on as I am?”
Brawley was glad he’d made the first move, and he was ready to drive on. But Frankie had signed Cotter’s contract impulsively, so Brawley wanted to make sure she understood what she was fixing to get into now. “You know this ain’t just sex, darlin. We bond, it’s forever. No buyouts, no escape clauses, nothing.”
Frankie took his hand in hers. “I understand, Brawley. Here, let me show you how I feel.”
24
Sucking in her tummy, Frankie pulled his hand to her and slipped his fingertips into the gap between her flesh and the front of her jean shorts.
She gripped his wrist and pushed his fingers deeper until they slid across the wet heat between her legs. She shivered at his touch.
Swollen with desire, her slick, silky folds squished softly beneath his hard, calloused fingers. Frankie moaned as he cupped her puffy sex, pressing lightly into her tender flesh and rocking his hand slowly back and forth.
Frankie’s hands shot to his waist and popped open his gold buckle. Wrestling with his button and zipper, she bit her full lip and rocked her hips back and forth, grinding her inflamed mound against his hand.
He curled one finger, parting her folds and tracing their length, and found the swollen button at the top.
Frankie shuddered. Yanking his zipper down, she sighed, “I know you watched me last night.”
Brawley said nothing. He brought a second finger up, lifted her clitoral hood, and started polishing the swollen nub beneath.
Frankie’s head fell forward into his chest, tickling his chin with her midnight-black hair. “The camera I mounted on the RV filmed you out there, watching me. Watching and fucking Callie.”
He pinched her clit softly, kneading it between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah?”
Her head bobbed up and down on his chest. “Yeah,” she breathed. “It was so fucking hot. It streamed in my head as you watched me and fucked her. Then today, I kept replaying it over and over in my head. It turned me on so much I had to keep slipping off to play with myself.”
“No need to play with yourself now,” Brawley said. Releasing her clit, he gripped her sex firmly and plunged a thick finger into her quivering channel. “You’ll never be alone again.”
Frankie gasped. Her body went rigid. Her walls gripped his finger, and she pumped up and down, impaling herself.
Brawley moved with Carnal speed, brushing her hands from his sides, spinning her around, and pulling back on her hips so that she stood with her back to him, hands pressed into the tractor, ass out. He whipped her shorts and panties down, baring her unbelievable ass, a masterpiece of rounded perfection that he explored with both hands, not roughly but with admiration bordering on awe, smoothing his palms over its vast ripeness as a man might caress the rounded abdomen of his pregnant wife.
He raised one hand to grip her tender flesh just above the hip bone. Frankie was not slender, like his other wives, but between the size of his hand and her big, sweet ass, she looked positively wasp-waisted.
His other hand rode her delicious curves and slid between her legs, where he buried his middle finger in her juicy sex.
Frankie moaned and pushed back into him with pulsing little thrusts, riding his long finger.
Which was hot, but Brawley was going to show her that she was upgrading from her machine, Gearhead-optimized or not.
With invisible hands of telekinetic force, he parted her muscular legs and forced her into a half squat that spread her wet opening. Then, still gripping her waist in one hand, he finger-fucked her with superhuman speed, jackhammering her throbbing pussy.
Frankie cried out with surprise, tried to straighten, then fell forward, slumping into the machine. Moaning, she pressed her cheek into the tractor. Her panting breath stirred the curtain of oil-dark locks half-obscuring her profile. He caught flashes of her open mouth, the lips full and red, inflamed with lust; her white teeth and wet, pink tongue; the flushed cheek and perfect nose; and her eye narrowed to a green slit, the long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
Spurred on by her raw beauty, he paused in his ministrations and located the slightly raised g-spot on her upper vaginal wall. Vibrating his fingertip against this magic button, he released a squirt of Seeker juice, delved into her pleasure, and adjusted his technique, speed, and pressure, strapping rocket boosters to the orgasm building rapidly within her. 10, 9, 8…
“Oh, oh, oh!” Frankie warbled, sounding surprised and overjoyed.
7, 6, 5, 4…
“Yes,” Frankie gasped. “Oh shit, yes!”
3, 2, 1…
Brawley whipped his finger from her throbbing channel, ruining her build at the last second. Frankie’s juices rained down like tears, pattering against the ground, and the quivering Gearhead filled the shed with incredulous laughter.
“What the fuck, Brawley?” she panted, standing up straight. “I was right there. One more stroke, and I would have exploded!”
Brawley grinned. “I know, darlin. Just wanted to win the battle between man and machine before getting serious.”
“That was cruel!” she laughed. “You owe me now! That was going to be the best orgasm of my life!”
“Oh, don’t you worry, darlin, I’ll pay up… with interest.” Reaching out, he turned her to face him.
Then he stepped back, admiring her beauty.
Frankie smirked, hands on hips, letting him ogle her. Shifting her weight, she pulled one foot free off her shorts and panties, which lay bunched around the other ankle.
At the junction of her shaking legs ran a trim landing strip of pubic hair as dark as a streak of grease.
“Take off your clothes,” Brawley said.
Frankie crossed her arms over her buxom chest, trying to act stubborn, as if he couldn’t see her ass twitching hungrily back and forth. One light telekinetic flick in the right place, and he could pitch her into an orgasm of epileptic proportions. “You first,” she demanded.
Brawley shrugged and peeled his t-shirt over his head and threw it to the ground, then pulled off his boots and socks and shoved his jeans unceremoniously to the ground. His manhood sprang free and jutted tall and thick and proud from his wiry body.
Frankie moaned long and low, staring at his erection. For a second, he thought maybe he’d pushed her too far and that she was going to tumble over the edge, past the point of no return, straight into a slam-bang climax.
But she hauled back from the edge.
And thank goodness for that. Because what a waste that would’ve been, blowing their first orgasm together on a bit of fun taken an inch too far.
Frankie moved slowly as she disrobed, teasing him. She lifted one leg at a time, giving him quick glimpses of her glistening pink mound as she removed her boots and socks and half-forgotten shorts and panties.
She paused then, locking her gaze with his, and twisted her pretty mouth into a playful smile that made Brawley want to charge her straight away.
But he held his ground, enjoying this love play.
Moving with delicious languor, Frankie pinched the hem of her pink tank top and peeled the snug fabric from her perfect curves with torturous slowness.
Brawley battled against his lust, forcing his body to remain in place, unwilling to let this gorgeous woman conquer him with her incredible beauty.
There
she stood, glowing with vitality, naked save for the lacy pink bra that barely restrained her huge, spherical breasts. Never breaking eye contact, she grinned, reached around behind her, and unhooked her final item of clothing.
The bra went loose on her shoulders and slid forward, almost exposing her breasts. Reaching up with one hand, she pulled the lacy garment away, uncovering her enormous, perfectly sculpted breasts.
For a second, they stood several feet apart, completely naked, an impossibly beautiful woman with the body of a fertility goddess trembling before a lean and muscular man endowed with the superlative erection of a fertility god.
Without speaking a word, they moved forward and joined in a passionate embrace, bare flesh pressing into bare flesh as their mouths met again, and they tasted each other in a torrid kiss.
Their hands explored, smoothing over each other’s bodies. There were no games now, no coaxing or manipulation, only bodies in motion and the thrill of flesh on flesh as they drew together, aching for each other, both of them knowing what this meant and wanting all of it more desperately than they wanted even to breathe.
Crouching, Brawley lifted Frankie from her feet and into his arms, cradling her like a man carrying his new bride over the threshold. She was warm and soft and feminine.
He carried her to the front of the machine and used one foot to pull the drop cloth from beneath the tractor. He swept his foot back and forth, brushing away tools and gears and shattered parts, then wised up and used telekinetic force to drag the cloth from the shed, where he spread it upon the sandy ground beyond.
Onto this makeshift bed he lowered his beautiful bride-to-be and stood straight, amazed by the sight of her. Frankie lay upon her back, staring up at him. Reaching behind her head, she lifted her dark hair and arched her back slightly, lifting her breasts toward him. Her legs flopped open, exposing her swollen and glistening sex. There was no teasing now, only a raw and artless invitation to claim her.
He lowered himself onto his knees, gently parting her legs. Still their gazes held.
Bracing his arms, he lowered his pelvis. His manhood settled atop her, stretching from crotch to sternum, and his heavy balls swung forward, filling the gap between her legs, the thin and sensitive skin of his scrotum adhering stickily to her warm wetness.
Frankie reached up, touched his face, and ran a fingertip across the sandpaper stubble of his jaw. He craned his neck to kiss that finger.
Frankie gave a slight nod, and he felt her hips move, felt her slick folds peel away from his balls only to push wetly forward again. She moved her sex eagerly against him, back and forth, side to side, painting his sack with her sweet juices.
Forming a short wedge of telekinetic force beneath her ass, he angled her pelvis slightly, then drew his hips back, dragging his erection across her trembling abdomen, trailing a glistening line of precum from his swollen, purple head. His heartbeat throbbed along his entire length, so great was his excitement.
And yet, despite his intoxicating arousal, he took his time. After all, this was, as he’d told her, more than sex. Far more. The moment of bonding was upon them.
His erection slid off her pelvis and dropped heavily between her legs. He pushed the tip slowly forward, spreading her outer folds with his throbbing purple dome. Frankie breathed in sharply then grabbed his ass in both hands and pulled him steadily forward.
He entered her slowly and evenly, filling her with half his length.
Frankie gasped. Her green eyes flung wide open and brightened like high-beam headlights. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her hands squeezed, pulling him forward another inch, then pulled him partway out again.
She started rocking her hips beneath him, moving in time with the push-pull-push-pull of her hands, which acted like flywheels, guiding him back and forth with a machinelike rhythm that rapidly quickened, plunging his rod deeper and deeper into her channel until he was pistoning in and out, pumping away in perfect time with her wet thrusting and the eager yanking of her hands.
Frankie’s gorgeous body shuddered, pushed to the max. She panted in short, huffing breaths like a determined locomotive scaling the steep slope of her burgeoning orgasm.
Thrusting away in perfect time, Brawley sensed the impending climax building with machinelike precision inside the gorgeous Gearhead. Eight or ten additional pumps would flip her switch and flood her body with 10,000 watts of pleasure.
Fuck that, Brawley thought. We aren’t machines. We’re living, loving things, flesh and blood fuck-beasts hurtling toward eternal union.
And he jammed his manhood deeper than ever, breaking her smooth rhythm, and pinned her there, skewered beneath him.
Frankie cried out with surprise, and her eyes went wide again.
Brawley smothered her luscious mouth with savage kisses and pounded her like an animal, thrusting and bucking arrhythmically, fucking hot and hard, smashing the efficient rhythm of her machinelike precision to pieces, rutting wildly, out of his mind with lust and there, swelling brightly upon the horizon of their passion like a rising sun, love.
Because he recognized the moment upon them now, the tsunami of euphoria rushing toward them as they fucked like beasts.
Frankie yelped and growled and screamed, sounding like she had miraculously cracked a Bestial strand of her own. She raked her fingers madly across his back, out of her mind with passion. Her incredible body flailed and writhed, snapped utterly free from her mechanical proclivities, alive wholly in the flesh as she cried out with surprise, borne up upon a shocking gusher of orgasm that exploded not like an overloaded boiler but rather in a burst of hot, sweaty, biological joy, the great madness that conquers thought and flesh as one spirit slams, pure and unhesitating, into another soul and for a brief, glowing, shocking moment, two entities become one.
Every fiber of Frankie’s body, mind, and soul tumbled ass over teakettle into this mortal explosion; and Brawley, shocked by his own cry of release, hurtled simultaneously into the explosion with her. For just as their climaxing bodies writhed, straining and clutching and inseparable, their energies slammed together into a single entity, joining forever in the euphoric mutual transcendence that was bonding.
In a faint footnote, Brawley realized that some part of him had felt the familiar pattern unfolding. But his mind, pitching in with the savage singlemindedness of his fuck-beast body, had cast these quibbling observations aside as bullshit distractions and kept on pumping away, breaking this voluptuous beauty beneath him, owning her, cracking open whole vaults of gushing pleasure she had never even dreamed existed within her. Because this was it, this was bonding, and they were one, and she was never, ever, ever going to forget the moment when they had fucked each other into an eternal pact of flesh and force and love.
With this rush also came a familiar fierceness. Dominance roared to life in him, and with it raged barbaric protectiveness. Frankie was his and his alone, and if enemies tried to harm her, Brawley would shoot them and gore them; snap their necks with his bare hands; shatter their skulls beneath his hooves; and blast them with triple-strands of maxed-out telekinetic force that would reduce them to pink mist.
Then his mind split wide open in an explosion of silver light that filled his head and burst free to smash into the torrent of silver force rushing from Frankie’s skull. The sparking streams slammed together and became one, impaling the lovers on a bonding loop, electrifying and unifying their minds, bodies, and souls, grafting them one to the other forever and ever and ever.
Brawley was vaguely aware of the meat and bone and gristle that was his body jerking atop her and convulsing deep within her, filling her tender womb with jet after jet of hot, thick seed.
This one, this one, this one! His Bestial strand roared. Breed her!
And his heavy balls clenched again, spasming with painful eagerness as they flooded the bucking, screaming, convulsing goddess of fertility climaxing beneath him.
Her pleasure was his pleasure; and his, hers. The sparking loop connecting them pulsed on
and on and on, all but erasing conscious thought and even identity, and the surprising fierceness of their bonding rocked them both to their core and beyond, throbbing like a bright quasar come to earth.
And then, just when further escalation seemed impossible, limbs of crackling energy peeled away from the apex of their union and fired off toward the ranch house; and a fraction of an instant later, four strong beams of different colored light shot across the desert and slammed into them, wiping out the world in an eruption of glorious oblivion.
For a time, there was nothing.
Brawley was lost within a swirling nebula of energy and love and power, all of it together a single thing that defied naming. Then, for a disorienting moment that might have been a single second or several centuries, his consciousness flashed like a strobe light, each pulse illuminating a different configuration, lit red or yellow, pink or green, or blindingly bright silver.
A final explosion of nuclear proportions obliterated the world in a flash that was all those colors at once; and for a brief, strange moment, he felt his other wives, flopping and climaxing miles away, crying out with surprise and elation, flooded with power and smashed by unparalleled euphoria, all six of them cumming together at the same instant.
Then something shifted and clicked, and Brawley experienced a tenuous half-second of loss and hunger as the strands broke apart and whipped away, returning to their sources.
The braided column of force that was five full strands of psionic energy slammed down into Brawley’s brain with all the impact of a lightning bolt hurled by Zeus himself, and Brawley roared, overflowing with power, vaguely aware of his hips still pumping away, his balls still, impossible as it seemed, pitching rope after rope of virile semen deep into Frankie’s already flooded womb.
25
The world lurched, skewing wildly, then righted itself.