Rainy Playground

Authors: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen <gillianinchains@yahoo.com>

Hosted by VendrediAntiques.com

1: Dirty

Rainy Playground

author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen
rating: another bit o' NC-17 goodness, smutstyle
categories: MRR, attempts at humor, Micki POV (it's her turn, now!) Oh, and total Smut, I'm not sure if that's a rating, a category, or both. I'm shooting for both, that's how dirty this is gonna get. You'll need to wash your eyes...
spoilers: No. This is, however, a continuation on the previous story, "Ryan, Just Admit It".
Author's notes and disclaimer: Shopcrew characters do not belong to me, they are propertah of the Man(Cuso, Jr.) and Paramount-n- sech. Although I do think they have more fun with me because I allow them to get some without casualties. I dunno, ask them sometime and see what they say. Summation: The sequel to what I call the Jane's Porn, this time from Micki's viewpoint, who was quite the sated chica when we last left our terrible twosome. Poof! Release the naughty goodness!

"I wanna do it outside/I wanna do it in the rain..." ~Digital Underground "April Showers"

It's early morning, the sun has yet to dawn, and Ryan and I are in the process of a good go of it in the style of sleepy sideways sex, in the room that used to be mine but now is ours. He 'moved in' almost immediately.
I'm just about to...oh, there I go, where the flavor is, 'cause it's Orgasm Country. I've been visiting quite a bit in the past little over a month since Ryan and I have decided to come together in the physical sense. It's nice here, oh, so nice. The newness hasn't worn off for us yet. For the most part, our lives have not changed that drastically. We still hunt cursed objects frequently and tend to our shop. We continue to face danger and save each other's lives, although now we've been sort of *liking* the danger. I guess Ryan always did, in his way, but for me, well...
Now, it's kind of a kick start, so to speak. Not that I need danger to get one of our now many coital sessions going, but it's *always* incredibly insane after we recover an object, and usually in a creative way or place.
Oh my; Ryan Dallion, the Stallion. It's his new nickname. We've been pretty insatiable, needing each other at least twice a day, and our public displays of affection are in short, on the disgusting side, but, as Ryan says, we could give a rat's ass.
Well, that is, until around a week ago. Poor Jack. It was later in the evening after a successful recovery, we thought Jack was sleeping, and were in the garage, going at it like jackrabbits on the hood of the Curse Hearse in the dark when the light popped on and Jack caught us, thinking we were burglars. Embarrassing. Since the incident occurred, Ryan and I decided we would give Jack a break from our "disgustingness" as we call it, and go to another city to scout for legitimate antiques for the shop.
We're leaving for St. Paul, Minnesota on a plane later this morning. Hence, the early morning coitus. Ryan finishes, panting like a puppy as he brings me back to Orgasm Country. Mmm, succulant. I feel rather spoiled, because this occurs almost every morning now. Plus, I happily enjoy sleeping in his arms. I feel secure in them.
I was afraid that we would lose our edge at first, in the way of artifact hunting, but I've been proven wrong on that, too. We are now a fully functional unit and our communication skills are as sharp as a razor's edge. Our new development in this relationship has actually made us better, more aware, intuitive...lest we not forget what occurs *after* we recover an object.
He kisses my shoulder as we remain on our side, his stomach flush against my back, "Good Morning."
I can do nothing but give him post-orgasmic giggles, "Yeah. Twice."
Ryan laughs, clutching my hip and nibbling on my cheekbone, "Good morning, twice, huh?"
"Mmmhmm." I manage to let out between giggles. I tend to laugh a lot after the fact, it's a knee-jerk reaction, and has always plagued me. Ryan tells me it's cute and he wouldn't change a thing. Which is refreshing; Lloyd used to think I was laughing *at* him, and would get huffy and irratably concerned. He just didn't get me. Ryan gets me.
"Oh, multi-orgasmic Gift," he begins teasingly, "What time is our flight?"
"Nine-something. A taxi's going to pick us up." Oh yeah, I forgot. He calls me The Gift, short for The Gift from Baby Jesus. He *is* sillier than shit, but I can't get enough. I just want to lap him up like a cat.
"So, should we make some coffee and start waking up?" he yawns against my neck.
I glance over at the alarm clock, "Ryan, we have over two hours; the alarm's not even supposed to go off for another hour."
"Woo hoo. Then I can have some breakfast and we can crash out until the alarm goes off." He kisses languidly across my shoulder blades, making me tingly.
"Breakfast?" I ask, turning in his arms to face him and cocking an eyebrow. He immediately begins kissing his way down my body, looking up for a moment, "Good morning three times."


It is now around four in the afternoon, and we are in our rental car. Ryan's driving us to our destination; he made all of the travel arrangements, just to toy with me, because he knows I hate surprises. I prefer control over my situations; this is indicative of the redhead. Ask another girl with red hair and she'll tell you the same. I *do* trust him implicitly and have been working hard to learn how to compromise with him, because he is not the enemy and only has the best in mind when it comes to me.
He glances over at me, taking his eyes off I-35, "Official card-carrying members of the Mile-High Club. The Gift, you kick 'Penthouse Letters' ass up and down the street!" he exudes gleefully, "Have I told you how incredibly awesome you are today?"
"Twice that I can remember." I shoot back at him as I run a hand through his hair, "Stallion, keep your eyes on the road."
"Yes, Ma'am."
I must admit, my face has a consistent, bemused grin plastered on it, pretty much since the plane ride. We got a lot naughty on our flight, having hurried airplane bathroom sex. All I have to say is, thank God I wore a skirt. That bathroom was terribly claustrophobic, but we worked things out.
We always do.
It's mid-August, and Minnesota still carries a gorgeous lush green-ness to it. The sky is a clear, bright blue and I'm only seeing a few sun scorch marks despite the lateness of the season. It's quite pretty here, even sitting in rush-hour traffic isn't as bad. The weather is still hot for a northern state with 10,000 lakes, the temperature is a humid ninety-five degrees outside. I'm doubly grateful that we dressed in lighter colors today, although as soon as it gets warm, I tend to do a lot of white loads of laundry. Gotta stay cool. Plus, before we resolved the tension, it was sort of fun to wear white around Ryan and try to gauge his reaction. I had to enjoy myself some way. We have human life dying around us all the time, it's good to try to keep positive. Tempting Ryan with a penchant for white and hatred for the brassiere became like a game for me, which kept me going for a long time after Lloyd and I called it quits and I decided that the store was where I wanted to be. Too funny, Ryan thought I didn't know what I was doing. I knew *exactly* what my next move was. Like I said: redheads like control.
Then absinthe at a Jane's Addiction concert happened and we both lost *all* control and came together for the first time on a beanbag chair in a semi-private room of the venue right before obtaining a cursed wine bottle. It was abbreviated but outstanding, feeling like true completion. Suddenly, the dance was over and everything started making sense: He is mine and I am his and we are disgusting together. End of Story. I wonder if that's why the sex is so explosive when it's tied to an object. I suppose three days in St. Paul/Minneapolis looking for ordinary goods will give me an idea.
Ryan pulls the car onto an exit, surprising me with his knowledge of the roads here. We haven't even broke out the map, yet. I give him the eye, "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Did you know that Charles Schultz lived in St. Paul?" he teases and I smack his shoulder, "Okay! I spent a few summers here with my cousin Josh and my Dad's brother. They lived on the West Side up the hill. St. Paul is a den of antique stores, Micki. This was a good place to go for midwest finds. Between here and Minneapolis, we should be set for stock for a while."
He pulls the car into a parking lot off a wooded road, and I can see the downtown skyline through the tops of the trees. As I get out of the car, I observe that we're right by a river and that downtown is directly on the other side.
Ryan sucks in a breath and puts an arm around my shoulders, "The mighty Mississippi. Third largest river in the world. She starts from a little stream about four hours north from here in Itasca State Park."
I look at him in confusion, "Are you giving me a tour? Why did we stop; I *am* a little exhausted after the plane ride..."
He quells my questioning with a short kiss, "No problem. We're checking in right now."
Good. Our little 'Mile-High Club' excursion on the plane has me bushed, and between that and the heat, I could *really* use a nap. We follow a paved path to what appears to be a boat landing and dock. What did he do? We reach a medium-sized paddleboat that's painted a charming white and adorned with colorful potted flora of all sorts. "Surprise!" Ryan says, beaming from ear to ear.
"We're staying here?" I ask in amusement. He *would* choose to stay on a boat on the river. So far, I'm pleasantly surprised, until I read the sign that says Covington Inn: Bed and Breakfast. I hate Bed and Breakfasts, personally. They always seem to be run by incredibly lonely old women and their cats, and aren't the greatest for privacy. He looks so pleased with himself, though, I'd hate to be a joykill, "It's adorable."
"I thought I'd do something special for you." he tells me, laying the puppy face on rather thick, "We'll check in and you can lay down very soon." Ryan assures me, "I'll get our bags and everything."
"You're so good to me, Stallion." We lock lips and proceed to the office.
As I expected, the mistress of the houseboat is an extremely old widow, and I see at least three cats milling about the place. "Mr. and Mrs. Hawke. We have a reservation for evening check-in?" Ryan says to the lady with white hair in a grandmotherly bun behind the counter.
Aliases? He needs to quit with all these surprises.
"You must be Micheal and Ophelia! Welcome to the Covington, I'm Marge Sunderson." she greets us with a thick midwestern scandanavian accent.
"Thanks, you can call me Mike." Ryan says, smiling.
Mike Hawke? He can't be serious. *Ophelia* Hawke? I try not to burst into giggles as Mrs. Sunderson launches into the list of rules and amenities that apply to the B&B. Ryan did that on purpose, just to see if he could make me crack. He's gonna get it. Later. I hear Mrs. Sunderson say something about no phone calls after nine and Ryan stops her.
"Why nine? That's only incoming calls, correct?"
"Nope, Mr. Hawke. Incoming and outgoing, no one touches that phone after nine p.m. House Rules." she tells us, a little testily, I think.
"Just checking."
She leads us to a door on the open-air deck hallway at the rear of the boat, "I do hope you enjoy your stay." she tells us, handing Ryan a set of door keys, "I'll be around if you need me."
I wait a few beats after she leaves and Ryan opens the door, "Ophelia and Mike Hawke, Ryan?" I burst into laughter as we make our way inside, "You ass, I almost lost it back there!"
"I thought you'd like that." Ryan chuckles, "I felt it was rather fitting."
The room itself is also quite charming, with porthole windows, white walls and painted wicker furniture, cornflower blue accent pillows and a large queen-sized bed with fresh white linens. I land on it gratefully as Ryan turns the wall-unit air conditioning on and leaves to grab our bags. Ahh, rest. Travelling always causes me to be extremely tired.
Mike Hawke. What a maroon.

2: Dirtier

part deuce!

Did I happen to mention that our room has a linen chest at the foot of the bed? Well, it does, and currently, Ryan and I are making good use of it; I'm thrown across it lengthwise on my stomach as Ryan lives up to his new nickname, riding me valiantly from behind with his legs straddling the chest. Oh, my Stallion. This feels a-fuckin'-mazing. I woke from my nap with Ryan snuggling next to me and we immediately launched into a nicely creative bout of lovemaking. The linen chest made a great addition to our exploits, and I'm feeling like quite the saucy filly right now. He *is* decieving, for a man with such a sweet face and demeanor; I had no idea he fucked like a volcano, forever hot and consuming. He fills me perfectly, always leaves me satisfied, *and* he's big on cuddling. Oh, ohhhhh, back to where the flavor is. Euphoria. My face rests on a blue throwpillow at the end of the chest, my breathing quick and violent and I feel my toes curl as he leans down to lave kisses across my back and grasp my breasts under me. This one is lasting a while. The orgasm I'm currently in, I mean. He does this to me; they've never been as powerful as they are with him. It takes over my entirety in such a way that I tend to go slightly blind. My oh my. My thighs tremble involuntarily while his pace achieves Jesse Owens status, riding me hard as he works toward his own completion.
KnockKnockKnock. "Mr. and Mrs. Hawke, I made hotdish for supper!" we hear from beyond the door, "We convene in the dining room in five minutes!"
"We're okay!" I manage to reply in the least breathy way possible.
"Are ya sure? I make a mean hotdish!" Mrs. Sunderson continues to my dismay.
"We're sure!" we counter in unison, Ryan resuming his speed again as we hear her reluctant "Okay." and pray that she leaves quickly.
After being so rudely interrupted, what was there manages to find it's way back to me, as Ryan growls "Legendary!" loudly against my back, his body shaking with it's own pleasure principle. Woo, I can't see, and I feel out of this world. The linen chest was a fantastic idea.
I burst into cackles after it all subsides as his chest slumps fully against me, "Mike Hawke is legendary." I wheeze through unbridled laughter.
My Stallion, he is a blast.


Okay, so my cursed object theory was wrong; proved so by our little linen chest escapade. It's obvious now to me that we're just a scorching couple and I don't have to worry about what's going to happen when we completely run out of the danger. It's good to know that we're not total slaves to kink.
The only thing we do have to worry about is the constant interruption by Mrs. Sunderson. It's relentless. She's come knocking twice for coffee and dessert, once for scrabble on the top deck, and all while we were still laying in bed trying to regain our bearings after travel and acrobatic sex. It's been annoying, but Ryan's currently making up for it. We just got out of the shower and he's enjoying his new favorite past time with his head between my legs; trying to make me purr. Again. It happened a couple other times that he's done this, and now it's become Ryan's new game. He calls it 'Bringing Out Kitty'. I wish I was lying about the name, but his pursuits are enjoyable. He's the first man I've known that genuinely *loves* doing it. I *am* pretty spoiled. He has me positioned on the edge of the bed, kneeling naked in front of me with his knees on his damp towel and I do believe he's almost to where he wants to be. He's clamped his mouth around my clitoris and has began sucking moderately and continuously. I begin to just tingle, all over. The first signpoint to purring. Now, I can't feel my toes. Second sign. Almost a minute passes and he's still doing what he's doing. Insane, he's insanely fantastic at his new game, and I am the lucky beneficiary.
KnockKnockKnock! "I brought up fresh towels!"
Who brings up fresh towels at ten at night? "We're a bit indecent right now; can you leave them by the door?" Ryan looks up and says from the crux of my thighs as my head falls back onto the mattress. I put a hand over my eyes so he doesn't see me rolling them. *This* is why I hate B&Bs.
"Sorry kids, we've got an outdoor hall out here and the Mississippi River; it's not really wise. It'll just be a sec." Mrs. Sunderson argues, and I get up in frustration, heading to the bathroom to hide.
"*You* deal with her." I whisper a bit harshly as I close the bathroom door, leaving him moist-faced and confused looking on the other side.
"Okay, give me a minute!" I hear him say to her.
I might as well get dressed now. It doesn't look like I'm going to be purring involuntarily any time soon. Dammit. I normally like our octogenarian friends, but this woman is getting under my skin. I was so close. Fuck.
My stomach growls violently as I pull on my long, white spaghetti strap sundress that had been hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. I am starving and it now dawns on me that we haven't eaten since the bad airplane food, which was before we had the strong airline cocktails and ended up in that bathroom together. I have to get out of here and eat. My mind is made up. I hear the door close and immediately exit the bathroom after, finding Ryan shirtless in jeans, holding a stack of towels, and appearing crestfallen at my state of dress.
"No more kitty?" he asks in disappointment.
"That ship has sailed, Mike Hawke." I answer as I swipe up my purse, "I need food. Keys, please." I hold out my hand for the keys to the rental car, and he sets down the towels on the linen chest, fishing them out of his pocket and giving them to me.
"I know there's a gas station close by if you take a left on Plato Boulevard; could you pick me up some Ruffles and other various goodies? Get donuts if they have 'em." Ryan rattles off, "I know it's not five-star cuisine, we'll go out tomorrow, I promise." he adds in apology.
He's funny. I'm giving him a look of mild irritation, but the truth is, the gas station was exactly where I was going anyway, "You must be starving too. Plato Boulevard? Left?"
He nods and slips his arms around my waist, "Well, if I can't eat what I *really* want, chips and donuts and bad gas station sandwiches will have to do." he kisses my forehead and gives me a smile, and I can't help but melt a little.
I lay a small kiss on his chin, " I'll get ya plenty of Slim Jims while I'm at it, Stallion."
His face reads glee, "This is why you're my Gift."


I return from spending twenty dollars on a plethora of junk food, pulling into the parking lot to find Ryan standing on the grass next to our bags.
What the hell?
I get out of the rental car, snatching the two giant plastic bags of empty calories and launch into 'the look'.
"I made a phone call after nine." Ryan says glumly.
"What?" I bark out in confused laughter.
"I went into the empty office to call Jack and let him know we made it and old Lady Sunderson busted me. That woman's scary, Micki. She assaulted me and kicked us out."
"She assaulted you?" I repeat, trying not to laugh.
"Yeah, she was hitting me and screaming at me to get off the phone. It was ridiculous! We're gonna have to find someplace else to stay, now." he breathes out, "I'm sorry."
"Ryan, I need to eat *now*." I say to him as my stomach feels like it's consuming itself.
He picks up our bags and brings them over to the car, shoving them in the backseat, "I thought about that, too. There's a park almost around the corner, we could find a picnic table and our problem's solved."
"Let's do this." I agree, following his lead as we stroll quickly to our destination. We arrive at a picnic table and I set the bags down. I start pulling out sandwiches, a big bag of Ruffles, donuts, cookies, popcorn, Rice Krispie Treats that a lady was selling outside, gummy bears, four giant Slim Jims, two cans of Shasta Cream Soda, and two veggie trays.
Ryan snickers, "Yeah, that'll help." as I whap him in his side.
We sit down and start munching in a frenzy, Ryan looking up halfway through devouring Ruffles to shoot me a grateful "Thank you."
I glance up from a face full of Rice Krispie treat, "You're welcome." I let out with my voice coated in marshmallow.
It's still pretty warm out and *very* humid; outside has a still, heavy air and it feels about eighty degrees, which around eleven at night reads peculiar. I continue devouring junk and take in my surroundings: the empty playground area to our left, immediately to our right is the river and the bridges crossing over it into the downtown skyline on the other side, yet all around us are trees and greenery that glows in the moon and street lights. It's very pretty. My gaze lands on Ryan, who sits on top of the picnic table next to me with a cookie in one hand and a Slim Jim in the other, the cookie winning the battle to be the next in his mouth. I could just eat him alive, he's so cute. My muffin. I stuff the rest of the blueberry donut I'm eating in my mouth and continue to stare at him, in awe at how one man could be so adorable yet still so fuckable at the same time. He catches me staring at him and smiles with chocolate traces on the corners of his mouth.
"What's up?" he asks before I attack him with a kiss, tasting chocolate and beef jerky, but happily. My body still just sings when we kiss.
"Yummy." I say, ending it with another short peck and smiling with an impish accent.
Ryan stares at me, a little taken by surprise, "I'm taking it you're not mad at me for losing our room."
"Why would I be mad? It *was* a really odd rule, and truthfully, I hate B&Bs. This is the best thing that could have happened to us." I soothe him, "Thank you."
He laughs, "You hate Bed and Breakfasts?"
I nod, "They're the worst, and that one was hitting a new high. That woman was too much. Besides, we're a couple who needs their privacy. We're too indecent." I wag my eyebrows at him.
Ryan looks around, "We seem to have a lot of privacy right now." he says observationally. There's no one around, no sign of late night bikers or park rangers; anything. We look up at the sky and notice rolling storm clouds in the distance. Everyone must be inside due to an incoming storm. Cool.
I can barely blink before he blindsides me with a kiss of his own, inducing squidginess in my center as sticky, foodstained hands begin to explore each other. I fall back onto our pile of junk food, my right hand finding it's way to his crotch as he kisses his way down my neck to nuzzle his head against my breasts. It's now that I get a good look at that playground, and the swingset directly across the path. I'm hit with an inspiration lightbulb, "Mike Hawke, ever done it on a swing?" I manage out in a breathy moan as he dry humps me into our now smashed pile of treats. He looks up from between my breasts, giving me a look that's a mix between impressed and intrigued.
"No, but what a great idea." he answers, shaking his head, "The Gift, you're a genius." His mouth meets mine again to the sound of low thunder in the distance, his arms wrapping around my waist and assisting me off the picnic table. We make out toward the nearest swing as I slide my hands down from where they were resting against his chest to the button of jeans, unfastening and unzipping him expertly. "Mmm, that's the stuff." he groans against my mouth as I find his cock through the hole of his boxers, grasping it gently at the base and stroking up his smooth but rock solid shaft, "How do you want to do this?" he asks, his voice catching slightly as I continue to play with my favorite new toy, my pal, Ryan the Second. (p.s. I almost died laughing when he revealed *that* name to me.)
I readjust him and push his pants and boxers down enough to free him, "You should sit down on the swing." I tell him, running a hand under his t-shirt teasingly to trip my fingernails across the plane of his chest.
"Okay." he says, kissing me once more before complying, sitting on the swing and grabbing onto the chains on either side of him.
I am now very grateful that I was too hungry to put on underpants before I left for the gas station earlier. He shoots me an expectant 'What now?' look and I raise an eyebrow and begin to hitch up the floorlength skirt of my dress. Carefully, I sit on his thighs and place either leg on each side of hips, inching forward to place my feet on the ground as my groin meets his. Ooh, that's a nice little tease. A closeby bolt of lightning illuminates the world brightly, showcasing Ryan's spreading grin as I latch my hands onto the chains and raise up slightly to get into position.
Our mouths connect as I ease onto him slowly, my feet going from tiptoe to flat. This moment will never get old. No matter where we are or how we're going about it, when he enters me...it's just...there are no words. The swing begins to rock gently back and forth with our efforts and this adds a whole new flavor I didn't even know about. I feel the wind pick up and sprinkles of rain beginning to fall as Ryan breaks our kiss and stares into my eyes in a blend of disbelief and wonder, "Oh my *God*."
I return the same gaze, "I *know*." I echo in hushed whisper. This feels so good, it doesn't even seem real. He pushes forward, I'm pushing opposite, and he's using his arms on the chains as leverage to thrust into me with a shallowness that teases and pleases simultaneously. The rain starts falling harder, quickly soaking us in a welcome way, cooling off the world but not our actions, because I've figured out my grip on these chains finally and push myself down to the hilt with my own force when it's my turn to swing back. This feels so good I think I've lost the ability for speech.
"I am the luckiest motherfucker alive." Ryan praises me lowly, swinging his way back into me just as deep. We continue quite a few more swings this way until I feel it hit me. Hard. I have completely lost sight, raindrops falling hard against my skin causing an outward tingling to match the inner tingle that crawls through every cell of my body. I have also lost the strength to hold onto the chains anymore, and manage to get my arms around his neck before I fall backwards. He takes this as a sign to kiss me because I now feel his lips crush into mine, lingering for a second before trailing down to my neck, biting softly and pushing into the intensity of my orgasm. Mymymy, I never thought we would end up like this, boning away on a swing in an empty playground in the rain; doing the naughty see-saw. My vision returns, although all I can really see is Ryan and rainfall. It's *pouring* now, so much so that water is pooling between our bodies and making splashing noises as my soaked Stallion tries to pick up his pace a little, but I can see he's about as fast as he's gonna go at this point. The way our bodies are positioned doesn't allow for much else.
I am struck with another lightbulb of inspiration, and I cautiously re-grip the chains one hand at a time and lift my feet off the ground, straightening out my legs. Ooh, that helped a bit, and it feels rather nice, too. I am given a groan of approval as he discovers he has more freedom of movement, although I think I may be able to do this one better. My hands inch their way down the chains and I lower my back onto the tops of his thighs as he continues pushing, pace accelerated, and I use my skills and flexibility from childhood gymnastics to swing my legs up to wrap securely around the chains. Gracious. I thought the linen chest was adventurous; what we're involved in momentarily is the pinnacle of sexual olympics. I raise my head slightly as to not get drowned by the pouring rain, sensations of fabulous beginning to coil in my lower back as I feel his legs shaking slightly under me, his feet digging into the mud, bracing and controlling the way he pounds into me. Ryan is officially my favorite person. Period.
Suddenly, we hear an abrupt, sickening snap, and the swing gives way. I am stabbed in my thigh by his erection as we fall into the mud below us, exclaiming in surprise. I think I heard Ryan yell "Oh, shit!" and I know I cracked my head into his knees.
Just when it was getting *really* good, too.
I sit up in his lap, "Are you okay?" I ask, checking him out.
He nods, "My ass is a little sore, but I'm okay. Your head alright?"
I return his nod with one of my own and notice that we are just splattered with mud. I start to laugh, scoop up a little beside me, and smear it onto Ryan's back, "You're a mess." I giggle.
"Oh, you're gonna get it." he growls, overpowering me and pushing me onto my back into the wet, muddy ground. His mouth attacks my left nipple through the material of my dress, and one of his hands maintains my skirt's status above my waist as he slides back inside. My legs follow their automatic response to circle around his upper waist, visually taking in rivulets of water that flow down his neck and feeling the urge to have a drink, but not having the advantage of movement, because he's found the right one now and nibbles gently as he builds momentum. He knows what I like; I could go off at any moment, feeling that body tensing sensation that I now know so well. My fingers move into his wet hair and pull up, giving his head a tug. He takes the hint, kissing his way back up my neck to meet my bottom lip, nipping on it as his hands find mine, pushing them down into the mud over my head, and grunting with his efforts as I tighten up all around him. Wowwww. I feel like I'm being fucked all over. Even my eyelashes are coming. His forehead meets mine, intense fuckface accented with tiny drops of mud, and I feel him swell inside me, which feels so amazing, if I hadn't lost my vocal chord ability, I'd be screaming right now. We exchange a series of short, frantic kisses as we both ride our one-way ticket to paradise, slowing down after reaching the peak of pleasure to a gradual stop and punctuating the whole deal with a luxuriously long liplock that reassures me that this all just actually happened. The downpour that was has eased up into a more general, steady rainfall, which doesn't aid us as easily in washing off the mud that is now all over us, especially me, since I'm on the bottom.
Ryan's nose nuzzles mine and we exchange disbelieving laughter, "Dirty girl." he chuckles, raising a mud streaked eyebrow.
"Glass houses and stones, you know." I manage to say through a stream of giggles, "I can't believe we broke that swing." I add.
I feel a twinge of after-sex sadness as he pulls out of me, although I can't deny the satisfaction that was given. "I guess with the weight and pressure, it was bound to happen." Ryan comments, pulling me to my feet, "Nice moves, by the way. You're like a way sexier version of Mary Lou Retton. Who knew?" he kids me as I try to use my hands and the rain to wash the mud out of my hair as best I can.
"Thanks; that did work out nicely until the swing broke, didn't it?" I comment, glancing down at my ruined dress. I sigh in disappointment at my loss; this was one of my favorites. Well, I suppose, it's a small price to pay to the orgasm gods for the experience.
"I don't call you my Gift from Baby Jesus for nothin'." he agrees, "I think it's time to find a bed. It's cuddle time." he yawns, putting an arm around my shoulder.
"Shower time; then cuddle time." I correct, slipping an arm around his waist as we trudge slowly to the car. For some reason, it's a little harder to walk than usual. Hehhehheh.


Fifteen minutes later, and we're now soaked and muddy in the lobby of a nondescript Ramada. This is more our speed. No disturbances, a continental breakfast, and the ability to be the dirtiest, most disgusting couple we want to be without consequence.
The desk clerk barely even looks at us, choosing to file on his nails instead of asking about the fact that we both look as if we've been extreme mudwrestling. "Names for the room?" he asks in a bored, nonchalant tone.
I don't even blink, "Dick and Virginia Woods." I say, shooting Ryan a devious grin.

Finished! Oh Holla!

This is an inspiration fanfiction, running the gamut of tributes. It's a tribute to St. Paul, where I have lived for 15 years, but am now moving across the river to Minneapolis, so I thought I'd put this story in my current hood as a way of saying goodbye. There is a real place called the Covington Inn, but everything else about it I fully made up. The only fact lies in that it's a boat B&B. I also paid tribute to the movie "Flirting with Disaster" with the B&B scenario, the movie "I Heart Huckabees" with the whole mud sex thing, Kathy Griffin's "Gift from Baby Jesus" line, Digital Underground's song "April Showers" for the whole outside/rainsex thing, and the "Legendary" line is straight lifted from this hilarious sex scene in "Weeds" between Kevin Nealon and Elizabeth Perkins's characters Celia and Doug. I am also forever inspired by my own life partner Ryan, who is also a brunet man who handles his own sexy urbane redhead (moi) in the best way possible. I heart you, my Stallion. Oh, and p.s. The pill you guys. She's on the pill. If it makes you feel any better, let's just say he also had a vasectomy. No babies for these two. F'reals.

~"I don't know if you know this about me Joe Rogan, but I smoke rocks." -Tyrone the Crackhead "Chappelle's Show"