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June 8 - a realistic contemporary romance.

While Cyndi continued to suck her way up and down my shaft like an express elevator in a big hotel during a convention, I began to sense that weird combination of feelings behind my scrotum, that mixture of intense pleasure, slight discomfort, and pressing urgency that I knew would soon become irresistible. But before surrendering myself completely to that feeling, I did something that surprised and shocked even myself.

I stuck out my tongue, rolled it into a cylinder as best I could, and started to lick (not too lightly, mind you, but not too assertively, either) along the flow line of Cyndi's butt crack. I started at the small of her back, up over the plump little hill there, swooping down into the deep pink valley, and along it to the Grand Canyon. My mind recoiled at what I was doing, and sent me a crudely-worded telegram to "be prepared for my first taste of shit straight from the source."

But my tongue refused to be dissuaded, and plowed steadily onwards, tasting nothing other than perspiration, body oils, and maybe a little something carried over from our earlier activities.

But I noticed, as I passed the Grand Canyon, Cyndi's successive strokings and vacuumings of my erect penis took a sharp uptick in intensity.

I pushed on, passing over that bridge of material between the anus and the vulva which I have since come to know as the "taint." Again, the flavor and aroma was surprisingly pleasant.

At last, I arrived at the more familiar territory of Cyndi's outer lips. Serious delving into these treasures as I had done before would have to wait for a later opportunity, as her legs were together and I simply didn't have proper access; I certainly didn't want to divert Cyndi from her current task, either.

But I noted that the entire region seemed to be suffering from a series of small earthquakes, as Cyndi wiggled around in response to my explorations. I noticed also that a small but productive artesian spring had sprung forth from between Cyndi's lips, and availed myself of a little sip before wandering back to her nether regions.

I wandered through the taint again, and decided to bivouac on the south rim of the Grand Canyon. For one thing, I noticed the strength and frequency of the earthquakes there grew significantly when I was dragging my tongue through the Grand Canyon region. For another, I sensed imminent eruptions from Mt. Foreskin in our immediate future.

I closed my eyes, and leaned forward, pressing my nose into Cyndi's asshole, as my penis erupted into her waiting mouth. Her wet, soft, warm, caressing, stroking, sliding, lapping, squeezing mouth.

It is my unconscious habit to count things as they happen. I have a talent for remembering the pattern of a repeated noise, like firecrackers or gunshots, and can easily replay them in my mind and count them accurately at my leisure. So with this ejaculation. With my nose buried in Cyndi's ass, I felt rather than heard a quick series of spurts leave my penis, and I was rather too busy appreciating the aesthetics of the experience to count them right then.

But shortly after I settled down from my orgasm, I subconsciously counted my ejaculations into Cyndi's mouth. Ten. There can be no doubt, although I find it very hard to believe myself, as I'm sure I never ejaculated with more than three or four spurts before in my life. But there can be no doubt ... I shot exactly ten spurts of semen into Cyndi's mouth that day upon waking from our nap.

Not to say the last spurt could have been much to speak of in terms of volume ... I'd just had one of the most massive orgasms of my life maybe a half hour previously. Like the anemic guy at the Red Cross Blood Drive, I don't think I had a lot more to give. And I hadn't even had my juice and a cookie yet.

But what the tenth spasm into Cyndi's mouth lacked in volume, it made up for in intensity.

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