Losing Faith

[PM2K]

New one by me.

Losing Faith - by PM2K

Faith smears the bathroom mirror with her right hand, wiping the mist coating the shiny surface clear.
She stares at the 45-year-old lined face staring back, shoulder long auburn hair darkened by warm water plastered to her bare freckled skin, covering her forehead, draped over her shoulders. She begins an inventory, a ritual she has performed every day for the last twenty years since marrying Jeff. Her hands run over her medium sized breasts, sagging ever so slightly, shivering as her fingertips brush over her nipples... then trace lightly over the skin of her slightly rounded belly, then lower... daring to touch her rust-colored pubic mound, working through the wiry red hair to the moist folds beneath...
Gasping quietly, eyes closed, Faith finds her fingers gently stroking and probing herself, her hips gently rolling in response to the rhythm...
The voice from the bedroom interrupts her, and she chews on her lower lip to keep from moaning aloud. She quickly wipes her wet fingers on the towel, then wraps a larger bath towel around herself and peers around the bathroom door. Jeff is already up and dressed, fixing his tie as he gets ready for the morning service.
"Honey?" she says, moving towards him. Jeff glances over to her and smiles, then gives her a quick peck on the cheek.
"Hey, sweetie..." he says, and reaches around her to grab hold of a bundle of papers, two hymn books and a well worn leather covered Bible. "Are you getting dressed?"
Faith stands still and silent, conflicted. Part of her wants to go through the motions once again, pull on her plain blue or yellow dress and play the part of the good minister's wife, singing in the choir, nodding and smiling in time to her husband's sermons, doing what is expected of her....
Another part of her wants to drop the towel and wrestle her husband to their bed, forcing some carnal warmth into what has been far too cool for far too long...
Instead, she simply stands there, unmoving. Jeff smiles again, a sad upturn of his lips.
"Why not stay home today?" he says softly. "Maybe go for a ride along the beach. I'll be back before supper..."
No... Faith wants to say. No... call in sick... you call in sick, and have Marvin take the service... then we can have a bath together... or play Adam and Eve, like we did when we were first married... maybe even spend the whole day in bed....
Instead, she nods and forces a weak smile.

Alone once more, the sounds of Jeff's car fading in the distance, she finds herself back in the bathroom, staring at herself. Again, as she has been doing for the last five years, she starts to wonder if their marriage was a mistake.
When they first met, he was a young street preacher, earnestness and sincerity wrapped up in an attractive package. She was a lost kid, unemployed and wandering. Not yet touched by the drug scene, not yet turning tricks professionally, but well on the way.
Somehow, Jeff reached her, and in time helped her find a job... She in turn volunteered at the mission. Maybe not surprisingly, in time, the pair fell in love.
Faith sighs, feeling a mix of frustration and guilt at her selfishness. She knew what she had been signing up for when she agreed to marry him. He wanted a partner in his Ministry, and she agreed, although her desires were based less on spiritual needs than emotional and physical ones, something she demonstrated with her new husband on a daily basis. He managed to keep up with her passions, and their first years together truly were blissful.
But passions cooled. Over time, Faith found their libidos were quite different, and as his work in the church progressed, their physical intimacy became less frequent.
Jeff remained a kind man, a considerate man. He sensed they were drifting, and tried to compensate, but there was always work to be done, and the demands of faith slowly eclipsed the desires of Faith.
This latest assignment had its challenges. The island community is completely isolated, with the only link to the mainland an airstrip which is fog bound half the year, and a ferry which arrived twice weekly. There was no television, cell service was shaky at best, and most relied on landlines.
Perhaps Jeff thought being part of this community would help increase their intimacy. There certainly wasn't much else to do. But being the only minister on the island took up most of his time. For the sake of appearances, Faith tried, really tried... to play the good wife, but she senses she is getting near the breaking point.
Drying her hair quickly with a towel, Faith strolls into the spare bedroom, pulling on her tight blue jeans over her bareness, then a matching t-shirt. Slipping on a jean jacket and gliding her long elegant feet into sandals, she strolls quickly out of the small house, hopping onto her bicycle. Without taking a backwards glance, she pedals off into the foggy morning.

Faith stretches out her arms into the fog, leaning into the stiff ocean breeze. It is only here, on the sea coast, that she ever felt free.
Kicking off her sandals, she runs into the surf, crying out at the sensation of icy water as it slaps against her legs, soaking the denim tightly to her bare skin. God... it is so cold, it hurts... but it is a great feeling, making her feel alive.
She had left her bike leaning against a half buried log further up the beach and on impulse had decided to stroll down the sandy coast. There is much of the island she still didn't know, and she has been taking tours on her own to explore the place.
The land possesses a harsh beauty of sharp, dark rocks, rolling green hills and several small patches of forest and marshland, plus several stretches of beach. Only a handful of people seemed to ever visit them, though... the place was subject to dangerous rip tides, so no one would dare go out to swim.
This didn't bother Faith. She found she rather liked the cold loneliness of the beach. It allowed her to indulge in solitude when the mood struck her.
Now she walks through the fog, sandals in hand, enjoying the feeling of the cold water surging over her ankles as it laps at the wet sand, the chilly dampness of denim plastered against her naked legs and hips, pressing against her bare groin. The slightly slimy feel of sodden fabric has always been a turn on for her; she often went commando, relishing the way it made her feel daring and slightly wicked.
Something solid pushes against her legs, bringing her out of her near-trance. Faith's dark eyes focus on a wire fence, half consumed by a dune which is slowly sliding towards the sea.
She stares at the structure for a moment. The wooden posts were well worn, the wire dark and grimy, neither apparently having gotten any sort of attention in a long time. In all her time on the island, she had never been to this part of the beach before. Based on the state of the fence, no one else has, either.
Running her eyes along its length, she spots something hanging off of the rusty wire. A square of metal, maybe two feet wide by one foot high. The badly corroded object might have been painted once, but it is clearly meant to be a sign of some kind.
Curious, Faith walks closer to it, and peers at the faded writing. Most of it has been eaten away by rust, but enough of the letters remain to spell out "anger sand."
Her eyebrows raise in confusion. What the hell? That really didn't make any sense. Looking at the sign again, she sees the "anger" is placed above the "sand," yet neither word is centered in relation to the other.
More letters... it needs more letters...
Frowning, she takes a few moments to piece the mystery together. The top word came easily enough... one usually wouldn't set up a sign announcing "anger," but "Danger" certainly made sense.
The "sand" took a little longer... but the solution takes her by surprise.
"Quicksand?"

Faith says the word aloud, not certain if she really believed it. Quicksand? Really? Here?
She peers into the mist at the beach beyond the fence. The sand didn't look any different... it did slope downwards here, becoming smoother and more level with the ocean sloshing inwards.
Faith feels her heart beginning to race. All she knew of quicksand was what she read in books and seen on television. As a school girl, she had taken The Moonstone in literature class, and found herself fascinated by the fate of the poor servant girl Rosanna, who met her end in the Shivering Sands. It was all implied in the clues left on the shoreline, with only a letter she had left behind to describe her actions, with the mystery of exactly how she disappeared left up to the imagination.
She remembers shuddering at the implications, but it wasn't a reaction of revulsion or horror she felt, but one of excitement... much like one feels when encountering the mysterious and exotic. In college, Faith read about the sexual subtext to the presence of quicksand, and its wet depths. That thought never left her head... especially when she came across a television mini-series which graphically portrayed Rosanna's demise, and Faith found herself holding her breath as the actress portraying her slowly vanished beneath the quivering quicksand. She was surprised to find herself aroused by the scene, a thought she never dared to share with anyone.
She is feeling this excitement again. Faith is surprised to sense her legs trembling, her pulse quickening. Glancing once more at the gray waters of the cold sea, she finds herself stepping over the fence, and once again walking slowly along the shoreline.

The cold damp sand beyond the fence and beneath her bare feet begins to take on an ominous context, and yet, still remains firm. Faith begins to feel a sense of disappointment. Her pace picks up, and changes from careful steps to long strides. Soon, the fence is far behind her, erased by the fog.
Much later, she sees something which slows her down. The sand ahead of her appears flatter and wetter, with a slick sheen of water skimming its damp surface.
Faith stops just shy of the wettest part of the sand, and stares at it quietly for a while. The reflected light of the sun beginning to shine through the fog casts the scene in a soft glow, giving everything a surreal quality to it.
Cautiously, she tests the sand ahead of her with her right bare foot, probing it with a series of sharp pokes using her big toe. The sand responds sluggishly, wobbling like dirty, grainy jelly. A few bubbles are shaken loose to swell and pop on the surface.
Faith finds she is holding her breath, her heart hammering so hard it threatens to explode. Meanwhile, her feet take her further out, one slow step at a time...

The ground beneath her feet gets wet and sloppy, and she is finding forward progress difficult. The gritty muck splatters her jeans to the knees, and she has to fight to wrench each foot free from the sucking sand.
Faith isn't deterred, though. Instead, she is encouraged to continue... The way the beach jiggles and quavers in response to her movements, how she is unable to feel anything solid beneath her soles, as she slides deeper into the sand with each step... it excites her in ways she would have never dreamed possible.
Then, she finds she cannot move any more.
Now sunk just above her knees, Faith suddenly finds she can't lift her legs free of the sand. She begins to struggle, wiggling and thrusting her pelvis in a bid to break the jelly sand's grip. Its surface wobbles, shakes and slurps in response to her movements, but it refuses to let go.
Damn... I'm stuck... I'm really... stuck...
Bending over at the waist, Faith presses her chest against the rubbery surface and tries to crawl forward, even as she continues to wiggle her pelvis from side to side. She feels the chilly wet sand soak through her t-shirt, stimulating her nipples into become rock hard and painful.
Gritting her teeth, jaw set in effort, she claws at the beach, handfuls of slimy sand dribbling through her fingers. The tight grip on her legs begins to loosen, encouraging her to kick and thrash more vigorously. Beneath her belly, she feels the thick sand move and undulate, like a water filled mattress. As she struggles, the pressure placed against her groin pushes and strokes her in ways she hadn't been expecting, and soon the dampness seeping into her jeans isn't all from the sodden ground...
Finally, her feet pop free, both they and her legs slathered with wet sand. Faith wants to crawl a little further forward, but finds her hips have unfinished business, as they continue to gently thrust against the wobbling beach. The thrusting accelerates, and then with a sharp groan, she climaxes, shuddering in response to the sudden hot, wet release of pleasure.
Lying prone on the sand, relishing the feeling of slippery dampness soaking the inside of the crotch of her jeans, she starts to cry. This small piece of intense physical ecstasy has not happened to her in a long time, even with the help of her fingers and a handful of baby oil, and she is reluctant to abandon the afterglow.

Panting and spent, Faith crawls forward until she reaches firmer sand, then stands upright again, swaying as her muscles struggle to recover from the strain of the previous battle. Even here, she can feel herself begin to slowly sink into the soft landscape, which moves and jiggles sluggishly beneath her. Looking around carefully, she sees a shallow, water skimmed dent some ten feet away. It trembles in response to her movements, causing her to hold her breath.
So this is quicksand...
Her adventure in the knee deep patch convinces her this is indeed the genuine article, and judging from how the rest of the beach is reacting, this whole area must be paved with it. Her recent experience has her shaking, and not completely with nervousness.
I wonder.... I wonder how deep this is?
Faith finds she has to wrench her feet free of the sucking sand, which had consumed her past the ankles while she was standing still. Her jacket, jeans and shirt are soaked and weighed down with water and sand, and it is only the pants' tightness which keeps them in place on her hips. The cotton shirt is plastered to her body, clearly showing her curves from her waist to her breasts.
Faith then notices she has somehow lost her sandals. They were in her hand before she had gotten stuck... must have slipped through my fingers while I was clawing my way free...
That loss didn't bother her, though. In fact, it meant one less thing to carry around out here.
On impulse, she removes her jacket, finding it too heavy to deal with any more, and flings it away into the fog. It lands somewhere damp. The t-shirt follows, and she relishes the cold sting of the air on her bare chest as she strips away the sodden fabric, allowing her breasts to bounce free.
The jeans remain in place. Faith always loved the feeling of wet denim painted to her bare legs and hips... and the added weight of the sand has been making this better...
Her feet have sunk again into the wobbling surface, and with a grunt, she pulls them free. Slowly, she makes her way towards the depression in the sand, finding herself enjoying the sensation of the muck sucking on her ankles, the wet slurping sounds it makes as she slogs forward...

There was no warning, no hint within the sodden sands, no change in consistency to detect.
Instead, the quicksand simply melts beneath her... Faith finds herself being driven deeply downwards, her legs and hips gliding smoothly under quaking slurry, forcing a thick wave of sand rippling ahead of her, its coldness making her gasp.
Sunk up to her bare waist in moments, she takes time to assess the situation. The sand transforms from something loose to a thick jelly, and she finds it nearly impossible to move easily. Beneath its gently bubbling surface, her feet are pointed downwards, her toes stretching in vain to find any hint of a bottom.
Faith rolls her hips slowly, finding herself relishing the way the sand moves against her in response. She feels it squeezing her legs tightly through the denim, and oozing its way up the cuffs. The narrow cut of the jeans prevents the legs from being forced upwards, and instead the sodden fabric is pressed firmly against her flesh, gently massaging it as she wiggles in place.
Around her hips and groin the quicksand presses softly, kneading her buttocks and crotch in a sensual way. She finds herself rocking her pelvis gently against the sand which traps her...
Unbidden, her fingers dip below the quicksand's surface to undo the top button of her jeans, allowing the gritty slime more direct access to her private areas. The fly is next, the zipper falling open as she draws the tab downwards through the dense mud.
Faith shivers as the quicksand flows thickly inside her pants, and groans as her innards squirm with the sensation. She finds she has to struggle to extract her hand... the wet sand has formed a heavy seal around her wrist, and it only let go after she pulls hard with her arm. The effort drives her deeper, the churning sand slopping against her belly, then swallowing it...

Passion... she is experiencing it... really experiencing it... and her body craves what had been denied her. As insane as it seems, the quicksand has become Faith's lover, even as it sucks her downwards, encouraged by her thrashing.
The sandy mire has formed a thick ring around her upper torso, a mere handspan beneath her breasts, which bounce in time of her movements. Both her hands dig deep into the firmer parts of the sand, her arms straining as she uses them to try and increase the force of her thrusts. Her legs and feet ache with the strain of moving against the dense sand, and despite the cold, her body becomes slick with sweat.
Faith gasps and moans from effort and the bursts of pleasure shooting wetly through her. She squirms at the sensation of quicksand oozing inside... Suddenly, even her pants seem too tight against her skin.
Oh, God... I have to... have to feel this all over... I have to...
Arching her back, Faith places her hands behind her, and, using her arms as leverage, wiggles backwards. Slowly, she can feel the sand releasing its grip on her body, somewhat amazed how her hands don't sink deeply into the sand. After several long moments, she finds herself sitting at the firmer edge of the quicksand pit, wet sand dropping off of her in clumps.
She remains in place, gasping. Her body is tingling, throbbing intensely. Her right hand slides down her sandy belly to her groin, itself slathered in gray quicksand. She finds herself massaging the grittiness over her clitoris and her outer folds, biting her bottom lip to keep from howling as waves of pleasure radiate outwards.
When Faith climaxes, she falls backwards onto the sand, back sharply arched, hips thrusting into the air and against her hand. She cries sharply, thrashing as she rides it out.
Lying back again, basking in the afterglow, she toys again with the idea of stripping off her jeans and jumping in naked. That's madness, her rational side thinks. What if someone comes by? What if I can't get out this time? You don't really want to drown in this stuff, do you?
A vision of Rosanna disappearing into the Shivering Sand flashes through Faith's mind... only in this instance, she isn't wearing anything...
I have to do it... she thinks. I'm practically naked now... and i don't know if I'll ever come out here again... If I don't, I'll regret it...

Rising to a sitting position, then standing upright atop the unstable beach, Faith hooks her thumbs under the jeans' waistband, and gradually pries them loose from her body. It wasn't an easy task. The pants were slathered in sand, sodden and heavy, and plastered tight of her flesh. With a lot of wriggling, she manages to peel the denim off, and slides the clothing off. The jeans fall from her legs in a soaking heap with a damp sound, and she deftly steps out of them.
Standing bare before the patch of shaking sand, Faith takes a deep, shuddering breath. The air remains cool as it moves over her body, and yet she doesn't feel it. Her eyes remain fixed on the center of the sand pit, which lies about three feet away from where she had been wallowing.
Faith is trembling. Her crotch throbs with slippery heat, her breasts and nipples ache and pulse. She stares, as if hypnotized.
What if I don't come out again? What if...
Before she is aware of what she is doing, Faith has launched herself off of the cold sand and arcs towards the quicksand pit. Arms and legs windmill as she flies... landing ass and groin deep with a wet "spluck!" as her feet and legs glide under. The sand reacts by sending out a thick tsunami of sand slurry rippling sluggishly in all directions.
"Ugh!"
She grunts on impact, eyes bulging as she feels the slimy sand force its way inside her... and not just into her quivering womanhood. To her surprise, she can feel sand pushing its way past her anus, a gritty finger working its way deep into her lower bowel. This is unexpected, and she squirms in reaction, finding herself enjoying the sensation of slowly being filled.
Rocking and twisting her pelvis, which is swiftly drawn under the sloppy quicksand, Faith drives herself deeper. She pushes down hard with her legs, again sunk deep inside the beach mire, trying ot force herself downwards. In response, more and more sand is pushed inside, and she can feel its mass rolling around inside her as she twists and thrashes.
Grunting and moaning from exertion and physical pleasure in equal measure, Faith feels her insides writhe and twist violently, almost painfully, as her body reacts to the stimulus. Her heaving belly slips below the quaking surface, as she claws and thrashes against the thickening sand. Sweat pours down her nude form, and drips atop the quicksand as she speeds her way towards...

In her mind's eye, this morning she had shrugged off the robe, closed in on Jeff like a jungle cat stalking its prey... He protests, mentioning obligations, his parishioners, his duty to...
But what about your wife? she growls throatily. What about your obligations to your wife?
Naked, she embraces him tightly, kissing him hard on the mouth to smother his protests. He struggles, but is unable to break her grip... he feels the wetness of her desire soaking through his dress pants... her breasts press hard against his shirt, nipples stabbing him. Her hot mouth sucks in his tongue, ending further discussion as she slowly forces him down onto the bed...

Hips pumping sand, Faith pictures her husband beneath her... his penis deep inside... gasping, matching her thrust for thrust... like he used to... before exploding like a volcano...
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod... I'm.... gonna... gonna...
Faith screams, a shuddering sound of animalistic passion. Her innards turn themselves inside out, gushing hot fluids into the sand bog. Her body strains as it is forced backwards into a painful arch, her pelvis slamming uncontrollably against the quicksand. She grinds her buttocks deep into the shivering sands, feeling them being consumed, then the edge of the surface slowly oozing its way up her bare back... surrounding her waist... working its way upwards the deeper she sinks...

Her strength drained, Faith collapses against the quicksand, spent and unable to move. She pants heavily, her muscles aching. Her hair is plastered to her forehead by sweat, and she notices her skin is splattered with flecks of sand.
Holy crap... that was... incredible...
She feels her face being pulled into a wide, silly grin. Too bad you weren't in our backyard, she thinks, running her fingers through the wet sand. I'd certainly would have a lot less complaints...
Sighing, Faith rests her arms on the quicksand's surface, then it dawns on her how deep she has driven herself down. Her breasts rest atop the wobbling surface, liquid sand oozing softly between them. Bubbles softly pop around her, and the sand seethes slowly against her flesh.
Deep inside the sand, her feet are still not touching a solid bottom. Wiggling to and fro in place, she is amused by how the sand moves in reaction, but at a slower pace... it continues to slide against her for a time even after she stops moving, massaging her body from toes to tits.
Faith giggles at that thought, and any lingering concerns about jumping into the quicksand have mostly evaporated. The possibility of being sucked under seems unfounded, as she remains floating at breast depth despite her motions. She also knows she is well above the high tide line, so there is no danger of being drowned that way.
Still... she wonders what it would be like to go deeper... maybe even all the way down...
Using her buried hips as a piston, Faith starts to bounce up and down in place, causing the quicksand to shudder thickly around her. She relishes the slapping sounds it makes as the muck smacks against the underside of her breasts. Beneath, she finds she can move her legs slowly through the sand, which flows over her limbs like a heavy gritty syrup. She senses her feet beginning to slip deeper as she stirs the quicksand with her legs, moving in a scissoring motion.
Plunging her arms up to their elbows into the sandy morass, Faith pulls slowly, feeling the suction of the dense, rubbery surface. Gasping with effort, she can feel herself being drawn downwards as she pulls... her breasts press hard into the quicksand, then push through the surface, which oozes to fill her cleavage and flow over her hardened nipples...
Moaning quietly from the combination of effort and sensation, Faith keeps moving in place, forcing herself under inch by inch. She watches her breasts slowly disappear, the sand flowing softly over the rippling flesh... she senses the chilly surface rising up her shoulder blades, lapping at her freckled skin...
"Oh... God... oh... God..." she finds herself gasping. The thick sand closes in around her naked body, sealing it within the quaking quagmire. Faith writhes against the feeling, her moans becoming louder.
Still pulling herself down, she sees the wet sand slop against her collarbone, then consume it, and shudders as she feels cold quicksand flow over her bare shoulders and neck...
Her chin presses against the wet sand, even as the rest of her thrashes under the surface. Her arms have been consumed, but she finds she can still use them to pull herself under...
The sand slaps gently against her lower lip, and she shivers as it flows into her ears, stopping up her hearing. Tilting her head back slightly, her nostrils flare, drawing in as much air as her lungs can hold...

This is it... Faith thinks, as the sand covers her mouth. This... is... it!

With a last pull of her arms, thrash of her hips and pumping of her legs, she holds her breath and drags herself under the heaving quicksand... feeling the muck fill her nose, glide over her face... Faith closes her eyes just as it spills over them, pressing against her eyelids...
She feels her hair get thick and sloppy with sand as it floats briefly on the surface before being dragged under in a dense swirl of sand and water...
After managing to bury herself a couple of feet deep under the sand... she stops, moving slowly to feel it flow and surround her all over... stroking and tickling every part, every crevasse of her body... Faith relishes the weight of the sodden quicksand pushing on top of her head... the way it has crept inside her, filling her intimate areas... the grit is painful, but in a way which she finds stimulating...
It's wonderful... so peaceful...
Part of her wants to go even deeper, but the growing strain on Faith's lungs persuades her otherwise. I don't want to actually drown out here, she thinks.
Moving slowly, she eases her arms upwards. At first, she experiences a stab of panic when she sinks down another few inches, but then finds she can use her arms to claw back upwards by using gentle swimming motions. She feels her right arm slide through the thick sandy ooze, then moves her left arm. She alternates arms, moving slowly upward...

The quicksand's gray surface bucks and bubbles, quivers and wobbles like a massive gelatin mold. It bulges and shakes... and then erupts as a sand covered hand bursts through its thick surface. It is followed by a second one, which claws at the wet slurry.
Slowly, a larger bulge appears, and as sand flows off of it, a head is revealed, then a mouth appears, coughing and sputtering...
Faith wiggles upwards, finding once she got moving it was easier to rise to the top that she thought it would be. She manages to work her way up to her shoulders, then uses her hands to wipe thick clots of quicksand off of her face. With a bit more struggle, her breasts break through the surface.
Floating chest deep, Faith rests, using her fingers to scrape sand out of her hair.
God... I must look like a mess.... She starts thinking of what to do next... I've no idea where my clothes are, except for my jeans... I have to find my shirt at least...
She smiles to herself. No matter. Anyone asks, she can describe her life and death struggle against the sea coast quicksand... although she hopes to rinse herself off in the ocean and be back home before anyone realizes anything.
Faith's eyes narrow, and a wicked grin plays itself over her mouth as she plans for a return visit. A rope would be a good thing to have, she thinks... maybe water to rinse off her face and a change of clothing....
She is also beginning to think of ways to lure her husband here... a naked struggle in the sucking sands would do them both wonders...

[DJlurker]

Nice job on this story! Your last-story, though well-written, was a bit too 'out there' for me... I guess I prefer (slightly) more realistic scenarios.... or maybe I just don't care for futuristic sci-fi stuff, save Star Wars and the Star Trek reboot...

[Chimerix]

As soon as I can get my jaw closed, I'll gush appropriately!

[sixgunzloaded]

Well done PM2K! I really like how you chose a middle aged, lonely wife for this story. It definitely adds to the extremely well written and vividly descriptive (as always!) scenario. Believable and exciting. Sexual quicksand has never really been my area of interest - I always preferred the dramatic scenes - so, congrats and thank you! You made me sit up and take notice. I truly enjoyed this one! Excellent work!

sixgunsloaded

[Rusty Shackleford]

This was quite enjoyable, thank you!

Rusty

[cnelson566]

As always, your stories deliver with a powerful punch to the senses...and then some!

[quagmire_uk]

Excellent! Really enjoyed that.

[Sirsinksalot]

Great as always!

[PM2K]

THanks all for the kind words. Just trying something different. I don't usually go erotic, preferring the adventure/dramatic stories, but every now and then...