Or Then the Thunder [Story by Peter Baltensperger]

By JaneArt (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

Sometimes the storm clouds weren’t enough, nor distorted parallelograms sailing across an imaginary sky, aching breasts. The air was thick with premonition, the sky wild, but not close enough, not close enough. Vermilion Black was lying on her bed with her hands on her breasts, waiting impatiently, stroking and kneading, pulling and twisting her nipples. She could already feel the electric currents rushing from her breasts into her brain, from her brain to her nipples, her breasts were that sensitive. Her fingers on her nipples were as good as a tongue on her clit, better, sometimes, especially during the storms, the thunder.

And then the first lightning bolt, seemingly right outside her window, a momentary shock, an immediate titillation, the thunder right behind, right above. Her whole body shuddered with ecstasy, her breasts quivered in her hands, her nipples stiffened and grew. In her excitement, she bent her neck forward, lifted her breasts to her mouth, started to suckle her nipples hungrily. She squeezed her breasts into cones to get better access to her sensitive protrusions, sucked them in turn as if they were sweet candies, ran her tongue around them, over them in rhythm to the powerful currents surging through her body, through her mind.

The next lightning bolt flashed into her room. Seconds later, the thunder shook her body, then again, and again. She sucked her nipples greedily, squeezed and rubbed her breasts as thunder clap after thunder clap rocked her higher and higher towards the apex of her fulfillment. And then her body convulsed with the onset of her orgasm, she didn’t even have to resort to her vagina or her clit, her breasts and her nipples were more than enough to bring her the desired release. She collapsed on her bed amid all the lightning and the thunder, her body in gorgeous spasms, her mind afire from her stimulations, from the storm.

She loved her breasts, how they could give her the most delicious orgasms, and she was proud of them. She packaged them neatly and paraded them whenever she could, magnets for male eyes. Sometimes she let one of the men follow her, a twinkle in herb eyes, perhaps, or a tossing of her long hair. Sometimes she turned down a wrong street and disappeared among the houses. She was good at making the right choices, be it on the street or in a crowd or in a quiet park.

Once it was on the shore of a quiet lake, gentle waves lapping up on the strand. She led him into the soft grass and let him fondle her breasts. He didn’t know enough to bring her to an orgasm, only she was able to do that herself, but she still enjoyed the warming up in his hands. She knew that he would move on to other things soon enough. When he let go of her breasts and slid down between her legs, she took her breasts into her own hands again. He was too absorbed in the wetness of her labia and her clit to notice.

She worked her breasts and her nipples while he rummaged around her dripping secrets, slid a finger into her opening, sucked up her juices. It was enough to intermingle the electric currents of ecstasy, to send all the right messages to her brain, for her nipples to quiver between her fingers. She gyrated wildly in the grass, thrashed her legs despite his head between them, gushed through her orgasm with some final manipulations of her breasts. Her nipples burned, her brain burned, her whole body trembled in the grass.

He climbed up on her then and slid his pulsing erection quickly into her wet cave. She pushed her hips against him, wrapped her arms around him, gave him back her breasts. It didn’t take him long to thrust himself to his own orgasm, complete the whole encounter to both their satisfaction. She screamed into the afternoon air even as her body trembled through its aftershocks, even though she didn’t have to anymore. She just wanted him to feel as good as she felt. She didn’t even need any thunder, as she rarely did when she was with a man.

Still though, her best experiences did happen during storms, when she came across a suitable admirer just as the wild weather was brewing and they made it to her place in time, sometimes even when it had already started to rain. She loved that the best, running through the beginning downpour and into her building. She always hurried on those occasions, to get naked and into bed and into the man’s arms just before the lightning and the thunder.

The combination of electrical discharges in a wild sky, the currents from her titillated nipples, and a male tongue lapping at her juices while the storm broke loose outside always brought her the most intense and most enjoyable orgasms she could have wished. At those times, she really screamed when she rocked through her explosions, regardless of where the man was or what he was doing. They never seemed to mind, especially when she let them climb on top of her or straddled them and let them have her breasts in their hands. Her quivering body and her enthusiastic response to their thrusts always kept everyone happy and content.

And yet, she mused when she was alone again, perhaps she should expand the range of her experiences. She could try to lure two men to her apartment, or perhaps a woman, although she had never given that any thoughts before. If she could orchestrate such an encounter to take place during a storm and do her own thing with her breasts without offending anyone, it would make for a perfect time. She needed to give that idea some more thought. Perhaps something would come to her the next time she rubbed her breasts to one of her delicious orgasms.

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