skin; his hand stroked me, once, twice, stopped.
“That was just fine,” he said.
We rested there a while, my legs twined around his hips. I hooked one arm around the railing’s post and stared up at the ceiling. Crossed ropes and brackets lined the area another fifteen feet above. The highest lights were tucked away in the corners.
“Why thank you.”
“Aim to please,” he quipped, “shoot to kill.”
“Well, you killed me. But I see you’re still breathing.” I flexed my thighs, bringing myself closer to him. His cock jerked against my skin, twitching.
“Stand up,” Rick said.
“You think I can?”
“Get up, woman.” I stuck my tongue out at this forcefulness, then giggled. I couldn't help it; Rick was never more amusing when he tried to be bossy.
It took some effort to get untangled from him and regain my feet. Damn him, he stood smoothly with more grace than I was currently capable.
Rick kissed me, once, hard. His tongue thrust into my mouth forcefully and I inhaled, molding into his embrace.
“Turn around,” he said. I obeyed, facing away from him into the banks of stage lights. “There you go. Bend over. Brace yourself.”
I twined my arms over the rails, bracketed my hands around the metal. I stared down at the stage, thirty feet below. The cross-hatch of the catwalk never appeared so narrow before; a mere net of string between me and the hard wood floor. My inner ear complained.
Rick flipped up my skirt, baring my ass. “Beautiful,” he said. He traced the lines of my tattoo, a colorful, tribal-style jellyfish. I peeked coyly over my shoulder.
“Usually people say, ‘don’t look down’ in these situations,” Rick said.
I looked down. Down at the floor, down through endless space. My inner ear jolted and I fought the urge to stand upright. Rick wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me roughly back to him. I looked down. The slippery head of his prick thrust into my wet folds and I arched my back, straining to pull him into me. I looked down.
He thrust, hard against my softness. Heat and fire, molten against liquid smoothness. I groaned. Stretched, pulled, prodded, I gave over to sensation. I kept my eyes opened. The stage decorations were below me. Floating. Free-fall.
Cock in my pussy, snug and tight. Hard and hot. Thrusts and strokes. I was driven forward, braced myself hard against the rails and pushed back, pushed into him, pushed him into me. Liquid smooth, like warm honey, I cried out as he pumped, rocking me back and forth. His balls swung, spanking against my pussy. Rick reached around my waist, found my clit with his fingers and pressed, matching his fierce rhythm. Free-fall. Floating.
He was quiet in his pleasure; he always was. The easy, quick pants of his breath the only sounds that reached me over my cries.
Finally, he stiffened, caught his breath. Warm cum rushed into me, the throbbing of his cock matched by a jerk of fingers. I came again, white knuckled and screaming against the rails.
Free-fall.
Floating.
“Exit,” I said, “downstage left. Tumultuous applause.”
Chapter 7 — Body Heat
It sounded like a pretty dumb idea; a pretty dumb, cold idea. Me and Terri building an igloo and then spending the night in it.
I met Terri in the Indigenous Peoples course we were both taking as part of our first year college program. She was smart and funny and adventurous, a brown-eyed, short-haired brunette with burnished copper skin on a tight little body, sporting perky boobs to match. She said she was part Cherokee. We hit it off instantly.
“We’ll live like the Eskimos did,” she ventured, grasping my hands and staring into my eyes. “At least for one night. Just for one night,” she added, when she saw my doubtful expression.
I hesitated some more.
Then Terri kissed me lightly and quickly on the lips and said, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. What have you got to lose?”
I was wondering what I had to lose, what Terri really wanted from me spending one night in a snow castle. But I nodded, always wanting to learn more, and her warm smile lit up her pretty face and mine.
It was darned cold outside, snow falling, with a windchill. We quickly got to work in the fading light. Terri had brought along a saw and an empty, oblong-shaped plastic container, along with some blankets and other supplies. The saw was to cut up the snow, the container to press down into the chopped-out snow and then lift up and pop out brick-shaped blocks, like a cookie dough moulder.
“This snow is just right for forming and building,” Terri enthused. “Not so dry that it’s powdery and falls apart, and not so wet that it’s all slushy and won’t hold together.”
I bobbed my head in understanding, my teeth chattering like castanets.
I broke up the snow with the saw, Terri blocked it up and out with the container. We soon had enough white bricks to start building our shelter. The work warmed me up and fired up Terri even more. She hugged me, pressing her cheek against mine and whispering in my ear, “We’ll have our own little snow-house on the prairies.”
We cleared out a patch of snow and flattened it down with our feet — laying the foundation. Then we started laying snow-bricks, building up the convex-shaped walls. We melted snow in our bare hands to provide some liquid mortar to fill in the chinks in the bricks, bind them together.
The roof was the final piece. It was supposed to be smooth and rounded, like a dome. But it ended up sort of bumpy and egg-shaped. Thankfully, though, it finally held together, after two partial cave-ins.
Long story short, we ended up with a kind of igloo and hunkered down for the night. Snow was still falling outside, the temperature falling still more. The candles Terri lit provided a little warmth in the cramped space, our ‘authentic’ fake fur a little more. But once the heat of exertion had left our bodies, we really started to cool down. So that round about midnight, when the drip at the tip of my nose started to freeze, Terri suggested that we huddle even closer together, use our body heat to beat the chill.
“And we have to do it naked,” she insisted. “Just like the real indigenous people used to do. You get the most benefit that way, anyway.”
I was doubtful again. But when the girl stood up, hunched over, and shed her faux-fur duds, got naked as a newborn seal pup, there was little I could do but follow suit — birthday suit. I self-consciously stripped, and we kind of huddled together under some blankets, Terri wrapping her arms around me.
My face and body began to glow, feeling the heat, all right. Terri made it hotter, saying, “Here, let me lie down on top of you. That’s the best way.”
I stretched out on my back on the blankets. Terri looked down at my curvy, big-breasted body, the dark pubes dotting my pussy, which I was awkwardly trying to cover up with my legs. Then she flopped down on top of me, girl on girl.
Our heated boobs squeezed together, her hard ochre nipples poking into my licorice ones, making them buzz. Our pussies touched, my clit tingling with the contact. We were joined chest to toes. Terri joined our faces by rubbing her nose against mine.
“Just like the Eskimos,” she breathed in my face, her full lips a millimetre away from my plush mouth. “Feeling any warmer?”
I nodded, rubbing nose back, ablaze with the intimate body heat.
“You loook hot,” Terri murmured. Then closed that tiny gap between our open mouths, pressing her lips against mine.
I shivered, with delight, wrapping my arms around the girl so that she moaned into my mouth. She grabbed
