AmericasDarlings Read Online Free

his chest. His breath came in shallow pants. “Hey, babe,” he whispered. Each and every time, just as we’re about to do the mount, he says it. I love him for it.
    “Hey,” I whispered back.
    He bent the leg he was standing on, slowly, slowly, slowly, until our genitals lined up, displaying a feat of strength that made his muscles ripple in a most enticing manner.
    His warm cock nudged me in my special place.
    I opened for him.
    Then, suddenly, in one bold movement, he was in me.
    The mount!
    I gasped. I clutched at him even as I prepared for the next move we’d be executing. Oh the sweetness of him! That delicious cock, filling me, feeling so good, so right , sending shivers down my legs and making my nipples throb. He touched my innermost parts and made me feel happy again. It was everything I’d been waiting for.
    Gasping is allowed.
    He clasped my hands, drew them high over our heads. We were still on tiptoe, still on one foot, still in the impossible Slow Spin-Seeking Turtle pose. Sex in this position is every bit as difficult as it sounds. My breasts were mashed against his chest. I felt him deep within me, gently moving, caressing, a conversation just between the two of us. My hips and buttocks swayed with his motion. He pulled me close, his long body against mine, and kissed me. Oh! I shuddered and broke eye contact for a second—only for a second, gasping. I hoped Coach Bob didn’t notice.
    Points. Always points. I couldn’t let it happen tomorrow.
    Kisses are allowed.
    After the mount. Not before.
    Rule number eight. Keep the audience enthralled.
    We began the acrobatic portion of the routine. Moving as one, still tightly coupled, still gazing into each other’s eyes, as we’d been coached to do but which came so naturally, we shifted and realigned our limbs until we were low on the mat in the Crouching Lion position, me on top, riding him. A great position, one of my favorites. It looks wonderful—all arms and legs and asses—and feels wonderful too, but don’t try it unless you have plenty of experience and, perhaps, a spotter the first few times.
    Please.
    Benson smiled up at me, his lips parted. He liked it too.
    One by one we moved through the acrobatic positions, enjoying them, enjoying ourselves. Which was good, because according to the International Standards of Sexual Gymnastics—which includes the Olympics—our floor routine had to include eight of them after the mount. The more difficult, the better. Lord knew the Russians would do some mind-blowing acrobatics. The Chinese too.
    “Nice…” said Coach Bob. “Now for the dismount.” Then he slapped Benson on the butt.
    Inside me, I felt Benson’s cock leap.
    Bad boy, Benson.
    Bad, bad boy. He liked Coach’s butt slaps every bit as much as I did. I’d have to tease him later.
    The moments leading up to the dismount were the most difficult of all—if we were going to fall off the balance beam, so to speak, it would be right now . All it would take would be for his cock to slide out of me and entire points would be lost to the judges. It was the worst of the sexual malfunctions.
    It had happened to us before.
    Together, still coupled, Benson and I rose to our feet. We made it look easy, as we’d been trained to do. Only it wasn’t.
    “Do me proud,” said Coach. He stepped away.
    Rule number nine. Share your orgasm with the audience.
    I’d been holding myself back and now it was almost time for release. My breath came in short, rapid bursts. I moaned aloud. I arched my back and—breaking eye contact, which was allowed for this one purpose—I looked toward the people watching us. There were plenty of people watching, even here, even during rehearsal, and I invited the audience to be part of my rapture. Benson’s body strained against mine, hot and urgent, his thighs moving in rhythm with mine, his cock dancing within me. A rush of blood filled me, warmed every pore of my body—if I could only wait a moment longer! This was what