3-Day Stand, Part III

The only remarkable times in a 3-day stand are that first glorious moment of reunion and the last horrific moment of separation. Heaven and hell. Any time in between is irrelevant, at best.

Want breakfast at 3 p.m.; go for it. Want to get snockered at 8 a.m.; be our guest. Want to have some fun, have at it, at 2 a.m., 4:30 a.m., 8 a.m., 9 a.m., noon, 3 p.m…. have at it – nothing and no one is stopping your from indulging.

Ruby slips out of Ron’s arms, roused from a deep sleep with an urgent need to pee. He listens, eyes closed, to the distant tinkling that, someday, he hopes she will be risque enough, or drunk, to share. “Another wasted pee,” he thinks.

Eyes closed to mimic sleep, he lets her slip across the carpet to open the refrigerator they rent. She’s very quiet, almost like a child finding and opening hidden gifts. She quietly opens the freezer door and extracts the bottle of Lemoncello he brought to them.

She IS sly. She knows that to crack the top will crackle so she tucks it between her large breasts and turns away from him. Slowly, on crack at a time, she twists off the cap.

It not being a bar, the choices for containers are limited. There are the plastic glasses from the bathroom that have already held Merlot. There are the coffee cups stained with bean juice. There are two paper cups next to the unused ice bucket, but paper is just NOT right.

She silently slips the Lemoncello bottle onto the desk top, his bemused and slitted eyes appreciating every move.she makes, and shuttles off to the bathroom to rinse out the two glass glasses.

Upon her return, droplets spattering the carpet throughout her approach, she clinks the glasses…

“Gasp…”

….

He doesn’t stir, oh, maybe moans and wiggles a bit just to make her think she might have wakened him, but settles into a position from which he can still eye her stealth.

She let’s go her baited breath and pours a liberal shot of Lemoncello into each glass. He notes what a pro she is… she tilts the glass so there is no gurgling.

When finished, she clunks the bottle down, no longer caring whether he’s awake or not. Ruby pads over to the bed and sits down to his right, her soft buttock pressed against his left arm.

“Want some,” she coos?

He murmurs, mumbles, stirs a bit, trying to make her believe he’s still asleep.

“BRAT!!!,” she hoots, “I saw you looking at my ass”!

“ooo woont,” he feigns, as if mumbling from a dream.

Ruby snickers, her famous, hmmmm, infamous, “hehehe.” She reaches out her right hand slowly, quietly. She gauges the angle of trajectory. She checks the wind velocity of his and her breath. She calculates the pressure of the photons from the lamp. She senses, no, dances, the tension in her arm and the quiver of her hand.

And then, oh so slowly, she tips her hand forward until gravity breaks the surface tension of the Lemoncello lip and turns it into a drip that lands squarely on the right side of his mouth.

Frozen Lemoncello can not be ignored! He bolts wide “awake,” first thrusting his head up toward her and then collapsing back to heave his pelvis as if stung by a cold bolt of lightening. She delights and would clap her hands if not filled with glasses of Lemoncello.

Deftly though, she spreads both arms wide like the wings of a snowy owl and glides her mouth down on his, not to lick but, like a hummingbird to probe. Now he groans for real as her tongue pierces his lips and her ample breasts curl across his chest to drip into the nape of his neck that she loves so much.

“wn smum or,” she mumbles into his mouth, pulling back to giggle and, without consent, hand him his less than full glass.

He accepts it, not sure what it will taste like, but wanting the jolt it might give him for the next 64 hours. Steady as he can, with his left elbow serving as the fulcrum point, he shuttles backwards toward the wall and leans himself up against it, two pillows under his back.

“Cheers, Ruby,” he says in earnest. “I love you.”

She clinks his glass and belts hers back in one deft tilt. She closes her eyes, tilts back her head and lets the frosty syrup slip down her throat. “Aaaaaah,” she exudes.

He’s more chary, never having had Lemoncello before. He takes a sip and smacks it around his lips. Not bad. Sweeter than his favorite, vodka, for sure, but smoother and, here, colder. It’s soothing without the mediciney taste, but’ll do the job just the same.

Ruby’s already repouring her glass. “Want another,” she asks? “You might need it.”

“Need it,” he questions? “Why would I ‘NEED’ it”?

“Well,” she tosses over her shoulder while staring at him in the mirror, “think of it as anasthetic.”

“A N A S T H E T I C,” he quivers, knowing full well what a minx she can be. “Whatchya got in mind, there, Ruby ol’ girl,” he trembles?

“Oh, not much,” she chirps. “It’s been so long, way too long, since I’ve painted and I was just thinking….” And with that, she slaps down her glass, grabs the Lemoncello, whisks the chocolate pudding and marshmallow fluff off the desk and pounces on his suppine thighs even as he tries to raise them in self-defense.

“Aaah, ah, aaaaaaah,” she cautions. “Be nice, or your punishment will be much worse.”

“Punishment,” he blurts, “for what”?!

“I saw you looking at my tits. You like ’em? Who said you could like ’em? Now we’ll see just how much you like ’em,” she chortles, settling down and clamping her thighs around his.

She tosses the pudding and marshmallow fluff on the bed sheets, grabs his now empty glass and pours a liberal shot of Lemoncello with the command, “Drink”!

He’s not sure if the steely glint in her eye is just some “Battleship” gambit, but he knows what happens if he makes the wrong gamble. “Down the hatch, then,” he cheers, swallowing mightily and dropping his dribbling glass to the carpeted floor.

“That’s better,” she intones, taking a solid belt straight from the bottle and then slots it down between both his and her thighs, the frozen glass mashed between her hot cunt and his shrinking balls. “Aaaah, what do we have here,” she feigns reaching for the marshmallow fluff and chocolate pudding. She unscrews the lid to the marshmallow fluff and sets it aside. She breaks apart the two-pak of pudding, tossing one just out of Ron’s reach, and then tears open the filmy plastic lid.

“Hmmmm, what shall I paint,” she muses? There’s the slightest quiver in her lips and her eyes slowly narrow, scanning down from his widening eyes to his chest. She licks one of her fingers and runs it down from his chin, across his throat, further down his chest and into his belly button where her finger falls as if down a sink hole.

“HEEEEEEEEEEY,” she beams, “remember this from when you were a kid”?

And with that she picks up the marshmallow fluff, dips two fingers in and then proceeds to liberally apply the pure white sticky mess to her nipples intoning, “Milk, milk….”

He groans. “No, Ruby, don’t do this to me. It’s not fair”!

“Fair, fair, who said anything about being fair, Ron,” she whines.

“Milk, milk….., hmmmm, la la la t da, milk…” all the while swirling the white cream around her nipples and areola; grinding her crotch against the phallic bottle jutting up between them.

Now, there’s one thing about Ruby’s breasts that just, well, stands out and that’s her nipples. Ron has never, ever, seen anything like them on a real human being. They’re about as big around as an American nickel and, when aroused, easily one inch tall. Easily.

“How in the world,” he’s often thought, “could her children actually wrap their mouths around those? Lucky them.” And now, listening to her humming “milk, milk…” get’s him just crazy and he starts to reach up to bring her close and clamp his lips around her perky, hell, tumescent white nipples.

“Waaaaaait,” she screeches, slapping his hands away. “I’m not done.”

“I was afraid of that,” he mumbles to himself.

Ruby sounds and moves like a little girl, cooing her doll into a pretend world of sleep. She rocks, no, writhes, back and around on his pelvis, her beautiful belly jutting forward now and then even as her soft buttocks slip down between and then suck themselves out of his clasped thighs. All the while there is the humming…

“You’re driving me crazy,” he blurts.

“I know,” she acknowledges, never looking him in the eye but letting a wry smile barely creep across her lips.

Ruby daubs her thumb into the white fluff and tosses the jar to her right. Nothing, of course, spills except the gasp from his lips as she leans forward slightly, slides her hand around the bottle and taps her gooey thumb on the head of his penis. “Milk, milk…. cream, hmmmm,” she murmurs. “Mmmmmmmm.”

For just a moment, she surveys the success of her mission – to adorn her breasts and his penis with sweet “milk.” Then she begins to hum another tune….

He can’t, as usual, actually hear her – she prefers it that way. But there’s something in her tone, alone that gives him pause.

“Ruby, RUBY, what are you up to,” he quivers.

“Nothing,” she replies in an innocent little girl voice. “Just lie back, relax and, as you would say, ‘watch’”

He does lie back, but can not relax – he is, after all, with Ruby and she can be diabolically playful!

Her warm, ample thighs slide up with a waddle along his. Her knees reach his hips and she reaches down with her left hand to splay wide open the lips of her beautiful vagina – he loves the two dangles that he has sucked that hang a little lower than the rest.

It’s not right to say she wriggles or even waggles. She “positions,” inching forward and sideways until the mouth, oh, god, a mouth!, of the Lemoncello bottle just touches the gape of her slit somewhere close to her clit. He cants his face down to watch, grateful that she’s occupied with herself and not him.

The beauty of a bottle is that it has a hole. Use the edges as you will – hell, fingers and vibrators and dildos can do that – and then let your lips and clit drop into the hole, quivering because the know, well, feel, the edge of the bottle that will soon, sometime, scrape them to ecstasy.

It would be wrong to say that Ruby “rides” the bottle. No, as in everything, Ruby is more subtle than that. She teases herself with the bottle’s lip, rubbing it up and down and, most importantly, around, her wet and now engorged slit.

He’s watched plenty of porn, even “masturbation,” or “close-ups.” He’s never seen a real woman, oh, lord, believe me, a wooooooman, so abandoned to her own pleasure.

She teases a while, her hips bucking, her beautiful tummy convulsing, her ample breasts syncopating up and round.

And then she tilts her head forward and down, opens her eyes, stares him straight in the face and murmurs, “Just watch, Precious, just watch.”

With that, she hoists her pelvis higher and inserts the tip of the Lemoncello bottle in between her lips. She waggles a bit, staring at the ceiling, and then the first two or three inches disappear into her. From his angle, he can’t tell whether it’s her vagina or her ass, but, then, it really doesn’t matter as she groans a deep note with its insertion.

As the bottle begins to disappear, he reaches up to her ample breasts to cup them both. He grabs them each and pulls her toward him but, most importantly, down. She does not, this time, resist, but begins to hum again.

“Milk, milk, lemonade….”

“Whatchya doin’ honey,” he worries?

Ruby pumps the bottle even as he squeezes her breasts and pulls them down to help her or to suck, whichever is nearest. Ruby doesn’t wait or need his help – she wriggles down until only the label is showing. Then, staring into his eyes, breasts wagging back and forth, she postulates, “milk, milk, lemonade, round…”

“RUBY…,” he begins

but she tosses herself backward onto her elbows and reaches down between her legs to give the bottle a mighty tilt skyward. There is no sound, other than her gasp as the cold, viscous yellow liquid sloshes into her vagina.

She holds the bottle still – a huge and unnatural “dick” on such a beautiful woman, until the gurgling stops and she is full. There is a moment when neither move, even breathe, wondering how she will extricate herself from this display.

Ruby lays the bottle back down between Ron’s legs and says, “Pull it out, all the way out, real slow.”

He reaches down past his own dick to grab hers and begins to pull it out of her. A thin yellow stream dribbles from her as he pulls. Ruby forces her pelvis down to staunch the flow and begins humming her little ditty, “Milk, milk, lemonade…”

When he extricates the bottle, he holds it up to the light to view the last three shots of liqueur left. “RUBY, this is expensive stuff,” he bellows! “You shouldn’t waste it on silly…”

“WASTE! SILLY,” she screeches! “I’ll show you silly”!

And with that she scuttles forward, upside down on all fours like when he used to play crab soccer in grade school. Her tender, warm ass brushes across his chest as she stuffs her feet under the pillow next to his head. She’s in a delicate balancing act of having to look down between her legs to see where he is but, at the same time, not let her hips tilt up and prematurely spill her precious and, yes, expensive, liquid.

She makes a best guess as to her position, but Ron helps her out by lifting his head slightly and lapping at her dripping lips hanging close to his face. “Mmmmmmmm,” he coos as he licks his lips as well.

“Okay, now, honey… If you’re a good boy and drink up all your lemonade, mommy will give you some dessert,” Ruby burbles. And with that, she straightens her arms, tilts her pelvis forward and slowly dribbles her creamy, sweet, yellow nectar all over his sputtering face. So as not to waste a drop, he uses his left hand to pull her ass toward him and mash his mouth into her mound, gulping down all he can.

Ruby, uncaring really for the cost of her play, waggles her hips to both tease him and paint his face with the viscous issue from her cunt. She giggles and he gurgles.

There’s no real way to tell when she’s “done,” empty, that is, so at some point she reaches forward her left hand and asks him to pull her up. He pulls and she rises into the air above him, her feet still tucked under the pillow on either side of his head.

She wasn’t as empty as she thought and a honey gold dollop falls from between her lips onto his face. She giggles, Ruby looks down and pulls apart her lips to see if anything is left. Tiny rivulets course down her inner thighs. She rubs her fingers up the inside of each thigh and licks them dry. Two fingers of her right hand wriggle into her vagina and come out dripping to be sucked.

Ron is bewitched by her play. He leans to his right to finally get rid of the Lemoncello bottle by placing it on the floor and then rolls back to stare at his beloved. She is having such fun being messy and he joins in, his left hand rubbing the sticky mess on his face and his right hand squeezing her left thigh and then flagellating her lips as if to wring out every last drop.

She screeches as he touches her and then collapses onto his chest, kissing, well, licking, really, all over his face and sharing her gold with a tongue that probes deep into his mouth.

“Oo dun goo,” she gurgles over her tongue into his mouth. “Ow iz ime or ezzert.”

“Wa,” he mumbles?

Ruby disengages and sits up smartly on his chest. Her luscious breasts, still capped with smeared marshmallow cream, bobble in his face. She reaches down between her legs to savor the last few dribbles of Lemoncello leaking from her cunt and begins to hum.

“Milk, milk, lemonade, round…”

It hits him like a thunderbolt. Dozens of scenes from his childhood flood across his mind. He can still hear the boys and girls playing together in the woods, playing in ways, hmmmm, playing in ways probably all children do at one time or another.

“Oh, no, Ruby… no, don’t tell me…,” he beseeches.

A wicked grin flits across her face and slowly transforms into the most seductive smile any woman has ever flayed a human with. Ruby has this way of tilting her head just slightly, tossing her eyes sideways and seeming to pout…

“No, I’m serious, you can’…” he begins until she lands her full lips on his, crushes into his teeth, lashes her tongue onto his tonsils and then threatens, “Oh, really…”

With that she straightens up, tosses her left leg to the right over his prostrate body until she’s on all fours to his left. She stretches forward just a bit and grabs the two-pak of chocolate pudding. She breaks it apart, tossing one to the far side of the bed, and peels back the plastic seal on the one left in her hand.

She seems oblivious to him, even though, as he must, he is stroking and kneading the heft of her right buttock and the soft sole of her right foot. Ruby plays with the pudding for a while, dabbing a finger into it, tasting it, pretending to read the nutrition label, turning the container upside down to see if anything will drip out

all the while rocking and humming, “Milk, milk, lemonade, round the corner…”

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs.

“YA GOT THAT RIGHT,” she chirps, and tosses her right leg over his body so that she’s straddling him backwards, her luscious white ass glistening in the lamp light just inches from his face.

He knows what he’s in for and he knows it’s futile to resist. He decides to play along. He places both of his hands on the cheeks of her ass and spreads them wide and then hums, “Milk, milk, lemonade…”

and she joins in to finish with him, “…round the corner fudge is made.” Both of them convulse with laughter, absolutely in love with each other and thrilled to be able to be child-like, if not childish, with the other.

Now that he’s on board, she reaches the pudding container back between her spread legs, wagging it in his face, and saying, “You’ve been good… time for dessert.”

With his left hand he takes hold of the pudding pak. Ruby shuffles back until her feet are again tucked under the pillow beside his head. She can see between her legs that her ass is just above his neck. She grabs a pillow from her left, tucks it between his legs and then lays her face down on it so that both hands are free to reach around behind her and pull her cheeks wide open.

Ron daubs two fingers on his right hand into the pudding and, beginning high up near her tail bone, paints a dark chocolate line down the middle of her ass. When the pudding thins, he dips it again into the container and continues painting all the way down to the bottom of her glistening pussy.

Another daub and he begins to rub it in ever larger circles around her anus. She giggles with his touch and coos, “Lick me.”

“Oh, no way, darling, I’m not even close to being done,” he says in a dreamy voice. “It’s pay back time for all your teasing.”

“Noooooooooooooo,” she screeches in mock horror and then half-heartedly tries to scuttle away.

Knowing she might try to play this game, Ron has his left arm crooked around her left thigh with the cup of pudding protruding backwards between her legs.

He daubs his thumb into the thick, brown goo and paints another strip all the way down the cleft between her buns. Then he jabs his thumb in a little deeper to get a larger gob and begins to gently push it into her anus; kind of like trying to get toothpaste back in its tube.

“Relax,” he encourages, “and I’ll go easy on you.” Ruby looks down between her legs at the big, broad smile painted across his face. But she does relax and he’s able to stuff a few spoonfuls inside her.

He takes the pudding pak out of his left hand and drops it on the nightstand. With his left hand, he removes the ring from his right hand; a ring that has never been taken off in more than thirty years unless there was some serious masturbation in the offing. He takes it too and places it gently on the nightstand.

Ruby hasn’t seen any of this.

Ron raises his head and plants a gentle kiss on each cheek of her ass. Aside from being a luscious mouthful, he figures it might throw her off guard, getting her to relax even more.

He feels the muscles in her left leg relax and she droops forward to lay her head on the bed between his splayed legs. He quietly and quickly sticks three fingers from his right hand into his mouth and slathers them with saliva.

Two more kisses on her cheeks as he positions his fingers at the entrances to her orifices.

“I love you, Ruby,” he says hoarsely and then inserts his forefinger and middle finger into her vagina and his ring finger into her ass.

Ruby jumps and screeches, “ASSHOLE,” and throws her mane of wild red hair toward the ceiling. He tenses his left arm against her thigh to hold her close.

The ring had to come off because he’s going deep. He pushes and wriggles until the web between his middle finger and ring finger runs into the thin wall of skin between her cunt and her puckered asshole. And then he pushes deeper; pushes her own skin into herself. His two fingers are so deep that he can swirl around the tip of her cervix and just barely probe into her external os.

She loves it. It’s a tickling that no toy can mimic. She’s always loved his fingers; soft, fleshy and yet, sometimes and in some places, calloused. As he pushes deep, then pulls out slowly, she can feel the ridges in his fingers and the knuckles rubbing across her most sensitive skin.

As he inserted his ring finger into her ass, a dollop of brown goo was forced out and meandered down between his fingers to coat his middle finger working its way in and out of her pussy. It’s a nasty sight.

“Oh, Ruby, you should see this,” he moans and then raises his head to use just the tip of his tongue to clean around his fingers.

“I wanna see, I wanna,” she murmurs, wagging her ass in his face.

“We’ll work on that,” he mumbles into her, and then keeps on licking while wiggling his fingers deep inside her.

At this point she’s abandoned all hope. Aside from the trembling beginning in her legs, she’s resigned and relaxed.

He extracts his left arm from between her legs and reaches down to fumble for her left wrist. When he has it, he tugs on it gently until she takes her weight off it. With that he pulls it back and guides her hand between her legs.

“Why don’t you do the honors, sweetheart,” he coos.

Ruby begins to rub herself in ways and places only she can. He continues to probe and play inside her, all the while rubbing his face in the sticky, brown mess of her ass. They could be making pudding, what with the beating she is taking.

Her right arm isn’t strong enough to hold her in this position and, besides, her right hand is the better hand. Ruby raises herself straight up into a kneeling position and snakes her right hand down to her vulva.

This new posture positions her ass directly above Ron’s lapping tongue. He probes. She pounds. He licks. She flicks.

And then she begins to bounce. “Unh.” “Unh”! “Ugh,” begins to issue from her lips.

The bouncing begins to jab Ron’s knuckles into his own face. He decides to pull out and does so with a two consecutive “blurps.” His left hand reaches up to twizzle the sticky white nipple on her left breast and his right hand coils over her thigh to hold her ass down on his face. He smears himself left and right, up and down in the crack of her ass.

“UM IM MA MOUF” he shouts into her!

“YEA, YEA, BABY, RUBY’S GONNA COME IN YOUR MOUTH,” she screams!

And she does. His ears are all but buried in her thighs so he can barely hear the gurgling that dribbles from her lips. But his entire face feels the gurgling in her vagina even as he pulls on her to firmly seat his nose up in her ass.

Ruby shudders twice and then collapapses to her left with a moan. Ron tires desperately to inhale his first full breath in minutes.

She lands on the bedspread spread eagle, legs akimbo, arms flailed out to either side. The heaving of her gorgeous tummy speaks to the breath-taking orgasm she just had in her lover’s mouth.

No one can move other than their lungs for a little while and then, as he knows her, the fingers of her right hand begin to dabble with the lips of her vagina. Every now and then she raises her right hand to her mouth and licks down the sticky, sweet mess that he’s left behind.

“You’re IMPOSSIBLE,” she murmurs, two fingers stuck in her mouth!

“YOU STARTED IT,” he retorts, his voice choppy with the heaving of his lungs to regain composure, if not life. “And I haven’t even had milk yet,” he whines.

“You haven’t had milk! You haven’t had milk – hell, you’ve had cream and fudge and all of me,” she screams at the ceiling!

“Yea, oh, Ruby, it was good, like it always is, but, somewhere along the line I WAS hoping for some titty milk. I mean, you know, you have fantastic breast; well, the most fantastic breasts I’ve ever been close to, but you didn’t let me suck them before we got on to, what was it, the, hmmmmm, ‘lemonade” part, which wasn’t half…”

“YOU WANT MILK,” she shrieks. “FINE, I’LL GIVE YOU MILK – I JUST CAN’T DECIDE WHETHER TO DO IT FROM MY BOOBS OR MY TWEENY! What’s your preference”?

Crap and a half! “Sophie’s Choice.”

“Well, there’s no rush, really, is there. Can I have both, one after the other,” he implores.

Her breathing quieted, she tosses to the ceiling, “YOU can have whatever you want whenever you want, love. But, believe me, when I get done with what’s left of you there ain’t gonna be nothing left of you for round two! So, WHAT do you want”?!

…

“Boobs – your boobs. I, ah, want you to pretend to feed me milk from your boobs…,” he whispers beginning to turn toward his right to the edge of the bed; almost ashamed.

The hand she has on his left knee senses his turn and grasps him. She won’t stop him, if that’s what he needs to do, but she encourages him to stay – her hand says “it’s alright, I get it, I’d like that too.”

…

They lie still for just a little while longer, he dying into her, she expanding as best she can for this man that she loves and wants to please.

It is deathly quiet in the room.

Ruby, refreshed in body, but now challenged in spirit, raises herself up on both elbows to look at him and tell him it’s…

An ear-splitting guffaw bursts from her lips! The boobs he wants thrash with the shaking of her body! Her arms almost collapse sending her back on her back, but the writing of her legs keeps her upright.

“YOU’RE HILARIOUS,” she shouts!

He, almost still drugged from their most recent, aaaaah, encounter, can barely raise his head to stare and her and asks “Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat”?

The movement of his chocolate lips, revealing, in contrast, neon white teeth, sends her into paroxysms of laughter, Ruby rolls to her right on all fours facing the other direction and then turns like a brown bear on trout to lumber over his body and stare down at her prey.

Even as she waggles over him, the tits he wants so badly swaying, hmmmmm, chaotic, just above his chest and then face, he still wants to know “Whhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat”?!

Ruby bends over and starts licking his face. She rises up a bit, licks her lips and coos, “You’re soooooo yummy.”

With that she moves to his left and lies down on her right side. Her right arm shimmies under his neck to cradle him. Her left leg snakes across his and hooks under his knee, pulling him into her closely. Her left hand slides beneath her messy, white left breast to grab the nipple of her right. She pulls it taut toward his mouth and then turns his head toward her with her right hand.

“Be a good boy and make momma all clean,” she murmurs.

With that he latches his lips around her sweet nipple. The tip of his tongue swirls around the marshmallow teat. She hefts her heavy left breast and lays it down on his right cheek and pulls him closer still by bending her right arm up.

He’s very content.

And so is she.

Finished with his ablution of her right nipple, he cocks his head to the rights and begins to clean the breast he had smeared in the throws of her passion not long ago. Ruby moans and uses her left hand to press herself into him and to turn her boob back and forth so that his darting tongue can reach the expanse of the sticky mess.

He can’t reach it all, not from his supine position, and she stops him by pulling him deeply into her cleavage. He breathes in the sweet smell of marshmallow, a lingering hint of her perfume and the pheromones of her sweat.

They lie quietly for the first time in a long time – drowsy, drugged.

But, never one to overlook an opportunity, Ruby eventually uncoils her left leg, raises herself on her right elbow and swings over to his right side so that she is once again straddling him.

“Time for some ART,” she pronounces, giggling with anticipation. “I’m quite good at it, ya know.”

Ruby leans back on her haunches, first to her left to retrieve the marshmallow fluff and then to her right to grab what’s left of the chocolate pudding pak.

She sidles down his torso slightly so that her butt can splay itself across his thighs. This has the double benefit of revealing more of his belly and also pinning him to the bed in case he had in mind escape. Fat chance.

She drops the pudding pak to the messy sheets – good thing it’s the spare that she brought with her to the hotel.

She jabs three fingers on her right hand into the marshmallow goo, extracts a substantial gob and begins to smear it across his chest. The sticky mess tears at the hairs on his nipples causing them to perk up.

“First,” she announces, “we have to prepare the canvas. It needs to be sized and sealed. This should do nicely.”

Ruby, as is her wont, gently squirms against his thighs. Her gorgeous naked body wriggles and weaves slightly. She’s completely absorbed in her ministrations like a little girl preparing tea for her doll or getting ready to “cook” in her Easy Bake oven. He watches her intently, warmly, intrigued by her rumpled red mane and the twinkle in her blue eyes.

“Hmmmmm,” she ponders, “it’s a little too thick. We want this to be just a thin film over which we can apply the paint.”

“Paint,” he wonders to himself? “Lord help me.”

Ruby pats her fingers into the sticky mess on his chest, thinking up a strategy. “A ha,” she chirps, and then leans over the edge of the bed to her left to grab the neck of the Lemoncello bottle. “Perfect”!

She holds the bottle up to the light, swirling the part she didn’t pour into her cunt and then down his throat. She tilts the bottle to her lips and takes a big swig.

He can see her swallow and is grateful.

But this, after all, IS Ruby.

Still holding the bottle in her left hand, she slides forward so that her breasts drag up his belly until she is staring him right in the face. She is placid. A winsome grin creeps across her lips as she looks deeply into his eyes. The longer she looks, the more worried he gets.

She cocks her head to the left, looking down at him with the same, shy glance she gave him the first time they ever sat across from one another in a hotel room.

Ruby starts humming. There are no words, her lips pursed tightly with what has now turned into a smirk. But he can hear the tune…

“Milk, milk, lemonade…”

And with that, her lips pucker, she bends down and blurts the hidden half mouthful of Lemoncello all over his chest.

She’s giggling and he’s gaping at the yellow splatter all over his chest.

“Now,” she chirps, as if handing the cup of tea to her imaginary friend, “we can appropriately thin…”

“GIMME THAT,” he blurts, grabbing the Lemoncello bottle from her hand and belting down the last shot of sticky yellow liquid.

He drops the bottle to the floor, grabs the tops of both her thighs, hoists himself slightly up off the bed and blasts a golden patina all over her face and bosom!

“AAAAAAAAAA,” she bellows, “I’ll get you for that”!

“Get me for what, Ruby,” he grins! “What goes around, comes around”!

“Oooooooooo,” she threatens in mock disgust and then leans forward to drag her dripping breasts through the mess on his chest. She pastes herself to him. He reaches up his right hand, grabs a handful of hair on the back of her head and pulls her up to mash his lips to hers.

The languid mood of cuddling just minutes ago disappears in a flurry of grinding lips and stabbing tongues. All the while her massive breasts swirl the yellowish white mess around his chest. They pummel one another until they’re out of breath and she collapses onto him, nibbling away at the at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

When they regain their composure, or as composed as one can be all slathered with slop, Ruby slides her lips up Ron’s neck to his left ear and whispers, “Thank you for letting me be a kid.”

Ron wraps his arms around her broad, soft back, gives her a bear hug and murmurs, “Oh, Ruby, my love, I wouldn’t know you any other way.”

She peels herself off him, one sticky inch of skin at a time until she’s sitting up on her haunches over his waist. She inches backward, back to her perch on his thighs, and surveys her handiwork. She uses the palms of both hands to scrape down her beautiful breasts; gathering what’s left of her share of the goo. She turns her hands palms down in the middle of his chest and then smears them sideways saying, “We have to get out all the wrinkles before we can paint.”

He’s not sure whether she’s talking about the wrinkles in the yellowish white patina in which he’s been “sized” or his middle-aged skin underneath.

Satisfied that the surface is well prepared, Ruby holds out one palm to Ron’s lips and begins to lick the palm of the other hand. “I always did like licking the beaters, didn’t you,” she chirps. She giggles as he runs his tongue between her fingers and nibbles at their ends.

Having “washed up,” Ruby grabs the pudding pak and plunges three fingers of her right hand into he. She digs deep and twists, scraping every morsel out and then pastes it on her ample bosom. She’s got that little girl humming going again and in a sing song voice says, “This is ‘areola art.’ I’m really quite good at it, ya know.”

The pudding pak is finally empty and gets discarded to lie on the floor next to the marshmallow fluff jar and the Lemoncello bottle. Ruby and Ron always have LOTS of housekeeping to do!

She leans forward and plants each filthy hand on the sheets to the side of his shoulders. She raises her ass up and begins to rock. She looks down at her dangling breasts as they begin to swing. Not quite satisfied with their arc, she adds a slight gyration to her hips. Now her enormous orbs begin a counter rotation; bouncing off one another with a sucking sound as the pudding squishes together and then unzips.

“That’s more like it,” she muses, raising her head to stare into his eyes. “Like ‘em”?

“Oh, my god, darling,” he moans, straining to keep his hands from reaching up to pull each bouncing titty into his mouth. His eyes following the two pendulums as a lurid smile creeps across his face.

Ruby bends both of her arms at the elbow which lets her dip forward. Her fat brown nipples, now almost black with pudding, begin ever so lightly to skim across his chest painting faint dark circles onto the white canvas. With a slight twitch of her hip, she gets her breasts swinging even wider and paints some larger circles around his two nipples.

Another shift in gears and her boobies begin to swing back and forth, dragging their broad undersides over his chest on the downbeat and up to his lips with the upswing. Ron nips into the air trying to gauge her beat and catch one of the creamy nipples with his teeth. Ruby likes this game and teases him mercilessly.

She plants her ass back down on his thighs and lets her orbs slap back into to place, trembling deliciously as they subside. She cocks her head to one side and then the other, surveying the developing masterpiece. “Hmmmmm,” she muses and then leans forward.

“I think we need a more bold statement over here,” she judges. With that, falling forward to balance on her left hand, she uses her right to grab her left nipple and distend it with a mighty tug. “Oh, yea,” he thinks, “stick it in my mouth.”

No such luck. Seemingly oblivious to his desire, yet all the while taunting him with every tug, she pulls herself into a variety of shapes. As she manipulates her flesh, her right breast drags back and forth across her forearm turning it too into a smeary brown mess.

Ruby settles on a shape and lets her nipple slip from between her fingers. Her brown boob plops down onto his chest with a smack painting a broad brown dollop directly on his belly button. But her busy fingers are not done and she pulls out the nipple of her right breast by pinching its thick areola. She leans forward, repositioning herself and aims squarely for that belly button, stuffing her right nipple in as deeply as she can. Once inserted, she lets the weight of her breast spread itself outward painting a smaller, but darker orb inside the larger, fainter one.

Ruby sits back to contemplate her work. Her hands are clasped as if in prayer, but the tips of each forefinger touch her lips. She has very interesting fingernails. They are long, but not so long as to make them brittle. Far from it. They are deeply curved across her finger tips and are sharply rounded; perfect for cleaning out belly buttons or tickling the underside of her clit.

She taps her forefingers together as she scans her art. Then she sighs, readjusts her position slightly, bends at her waist and begins to work on her masterpiece with those finely chiseled nails. The nails all vary in size making them like in brushes with lines of varying breadth being drawn depending in which brush is chosen.

Ruby’s tactic, however, is to unpaint Ron’s chest. She uses her nails to scrape away the pudding revealing the white undersizing. With a little more pressure, and by turning her hand over, she can meld the pudding and the marshmallow into a tan line or swirl. And with still more pressure, she can cut right through both layers to the whitish skin below.

She’s absorbed in the different uses of her nails and the patterns that she can we’ve. Her humming starts again.

But Ruby’s been around the block with Ron enough times not to be too absorbed. Nope, he’s a dangerous man when left to his own devices and she’d be a fool not to keep one eye cocked his way if only peripherally.

That’s how she happens to see his left hand beginning to creep across the bed.

Oh, it’s barely noticeable. At first he moves his left arm up toward the head of the bed. Then he very slowly, he cocks his elbow to the left, slowly swinging his hand up toward an unused pillow. Were he moving with more alacrity, she might think he was about to stretch. But, no, he’s being far too coy.

So she will be too. She continues drawing patterns on and in his skin canvas, humming little girl ditties, licking her fingers every now and then to add some “smear” to her brush strokes and staring, seemingly, engrossed at her developing work of areola art. He watches her intently, believing that if she looks up to look at him he will appear entranced by her beauty and totally involved in her art. But, he does not look at her hands; just her face. Aside from it being one of the most beautiful and beloved faces in his entire life, he’s watching for a flicker of an eyelid. Or it might be just the slightest uptick in the corner of her mouth.

Cat and mouse. It’s a game they’ve played, actually, perfected with each other over the few minutes spread over years when they can communicate. When they first “met,” she asked whether he played chess. He said he did not. He lied. He just doesn’t play it with inanimate things to no end.

There’s an insane tension building. He knows she will finish her art (as if any art can ever really be finished) and turn her attention to “the room” in which she’ll find, he believes, his hand creeping under the pillow to the left of his head. She, on the other hand – no pun intended – is already fully aware of this sly move on his part and is just waiting long enough for him to spring the bear trap.

Science is wonderful! Oh, “science” is a beautiful epistemological methodology – but it is what is studied that is wonderful and beautiful. In the hub bub of our lives we almost never see, let alone appreciate, the “turning point.” But, everything has a turning point.

What do you like… – chemistry, astronomy, nuclear physics, food.

Food, let’s take food – hell, Ruby and Ron take it as often as they can, but not necessarily for sustenance.

It is possible, slowly (one of their favorite methods of torture), to dissolve more sugar in water than can be dissolved and suspended by water and sugar alone. This is called supersaturation – something that Ruby and Ron are all too familiar with during a 3-day stand. Gently warm, as they always do, add “sugar,” as they must, stir gently but continuously.

Now drop in one more grain of sugar!

The whole container implodes into a slow shower of glistening crystals. What seemed once one differentiates into crystals and liquid. There are things like supernovas – something 20 times bigger than our sun collapsing to the size of the earth in microseconds – that do the same. There is nothing in the universe like Ruby and Ron!

His finger tips reach the pillow. She sighs, knowing it’s time. She feigns being finished with her art and looks up to catch his eyes. He smiles, appreciatively, lovingly.

She pounces like a cat on a mole, grabbing his left wrist with both hands; her left breast pasting him across the chin.

“Whatchya doin, love” she challenges!

“Just stretching, Ruby, just stretching,” he counters.

“Reaaaaaaally,” she parries. “Then, here, let me help you stretch.” Both hands clench in an iron grip around his left wrist and she pulls it toward her. He does not budge. As much as he may regret it and need aspirin tomorrow, he steels his arm against her tug and keeps his hand tucked beneath the pillow.

She tugs again and, almost as if she was playing with his penis, coos “Oh, come one, honey, give mommy a little titty squeeze.” He doesn’t budge. In fact, just to bug her, he raises his right arm and clamps his thumb and forefinger around her left nipple to squeeze and tug.

“Oh, you mean like this,” he grins.

“You know what I mean,” she exhorts, tugging once again on his left wrist buried beneath the pillow!

He does know what she means and he knows that she will not be able to resist the temptation of not knowing – she’s not good at deferred gratification. Against all odds, in an Indian rope burn maneuver, he twists his arm 180 degrees so that the treasure he covets is hidden beneath his palm.

True to form, she releases her right hand from his wrist and rips the pillow off his hand to fling it across the room toward the bathroom.

“Auuuuuuuuuuuch,” she bellows, realizing that he is still hidden and resolute! “COME ON, honey, show me whatchya got”!

She tugs again, much harder, now trying to turn his hand over or, at least, pry his fingers apart.

He IS resolute. Every muscle in his left arm strains against her and he pinches even harder with his right trying to distract her from her mission.

It doesn’t work. Not only does she continue to tug and turn, she clambers off his body to kneel straight on to his recalcitrant hand; hoping to drag it up over her thighs into her voluptuously fluffy belly and then work to pry open his fingers and reveal what he is hiding from her.

In comparison to the way they live together or, rather, can not, this tug-of-war is fun and tame. The brutal emotional and mental beatings they give each other when 500 miles apart, dissipate into play when they’re together.

They both know it’s theater. A personal kind of “chess.”

She tugs, he resists. She grimaces, he grins. She sways and, lord, how he watches how her body move. For that alone, he could do this forever.

But, SHE can not do this forever. No, it’s not a matter of exhaustion. It’s not EVER a matter of defeat. She will win. She will…

Everything about her relaxes. She still has her right hand on his wrist, but her left hand wanders to caress his face – first his brow, then his nose, then his lips. She is so gentle. She stares into his eyes and then leans to her left to kiss him fully on his sticky sweet lips. Were it anyone but Ruby, he might relax.

And then it comes, as it must. Like a lightnig bolt in fog, she heaves back not just her right arm, but her entire body and screeches “WHATDYA GOT”!

He didn’t start to giggle when she kissed him; that would have given it away. But the second he feels her tense, a lioness ready to spring, he does begin to giggle and completely relaxes the muscles in his left arm.

There is no resistance. With Ruby, really, there can finally never be. Why would you? But, in this case, it’s his tactical move – chess, just chess, my dear.

She heaves back, not only with the momentum of her voluptuous body, but the frustration of pleasure – she assumes pleasure – so far denied. He, having relaxed all muscles, has his arm yanked forward as she tumbles backward completely surprised only to find that to find that she still does not know or have what he has in his hand.

Ruby’s flat out on her back, legs akimbo. “I hate you,” she murmurs to the ceiling.

He laughs heartily and raises himself up on his elbows. Faintly, beneath the gurgling of his laugh, Ruby hears a different sound; ball bearings on linoleum? ice crystals on a glass pane? …

“Didn’t you forget something,” Ron chortles?

“Whaaaaaaaaat,” she bleats, raising her head just enough to see down past her breasts and through her legs?

“SPRINKLES,” she shouts and then lunges across the bed to push him backward and plant a slobbery kiss on his pudding encrusted forehead! “You remembered”!

She begins to lick him all over, not to clean him up, hardly, but to get him just sloppy enough again for the sprinkles to stick. Having licked her way down to his pubic hair, she takes up her position on his thighs once more. Clapping her hands in delight, she chirps, “GIMME”!

He almost dreads the outcome but dutifully hands over the prize. He does so like to watch her play and this could absorb her for hours.

“Close your eyes and make a wish, love” she murmurs, “and then I’ll sprinkle you with fairy dust to make it come true.”

He does close his eyes knowing that she will sprinkle him whether he likes it or not. But a small trickle of tears runs from his left eye, coursing a muddy path across his filthy face, as he thinks of all the wishes he’d like to come true with and for Ruby. She sees his tears and knows what they mean. In a small, choked voice, she asks, “Did you make a wish”?

He lies, nowhere close to being able to make just one, “Of course, can I make another”? “You can make all the wishes you want,” she coos and, with that, begins to drop the multi-colored fairy dust onto his cheeks. With his eyes still closed, he does not see the tears that well up in her fiery blue eyes and spill across her cheeks to drip across her breasts.

There are times to talk about these things and this is not one of them. No sense wasting even one precious second in a short 3-day stand commiserating about Fate!

Ruby goes on bejeweling her areola art, now and then stopping to strategically place a colorful bead on her own nipples like an aboriginal decorating herself for the moonlight lovers’ dance. Colorful rays spew from Ron’s belly button sun and multi-hued swaths across his chest intimate the galaxy dust from which it was formed.

“Ruby,” he intones in a sing song voice, “I’m getting sleepy.”

“Oh, reaaaaaaaally,” she squeals, “we’ll see about that.” She crawls up his torso and dangles her spangled boobs in his face. “Here, this’ll give you a little sugar rush and keep you awake for my surprise.” He just groans, half out of lust and half out of fear, then lifts his head to suckle first one and the the other sprinkle encrusted breast.

Ruby pulls herself away from Ron reluctantly; she loves the way he treats her breasts. But she has a different kind of suckling in mind.

She swings her left leg over his body and scuttles backwards just a tad. Then she crawls on her knees to his hips and dumps a small pile of sprinkles just above his pubic hair. With that, she caps the sprinkle jar and tosses it to the floor among the jumble of other jars and bottles they’ve managed to litter the room with.

She shuffles backwards a little ways again and then lies down across his legs just above the knees. She makes herself comfy, tucking him in under her armpit and hoisting her pendulous breasts up onto his thighs. Ruby dips her head forward and literally sucks his penis out from between his legs, grasping it gently with her left hand as it plops out of her mouth.

This is one view of Ruby that he loves. Not only can he see all of her from head to toe, but he loves the look of her soft belly and breasts dripping to his legs. He lets his gaze wander from her gorgeous face breathing warmly on his cock down across her shoulders and right side to the fleshy bulge of her hip. She watches him look and when she sees his gaze travel across her hip and down into the bulging cleft between her legs, she raises her right knee high, splaying herself wide open for him.

He’s a little confused by the pile of sprinkles, but not for long.

With the thumbnail of her left hand, she gently pries apart the lips of his stiffening cock. With the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, she tweezes a tiny sprinkle and inserts it into his glistening hole.

“Ah, Ruby,” he gurgles, “you think that’s a good idea”?

“Whaaaaaaaaaat,” she feigns?

“I mean, ya think it’s a good idea to be putting sprinkles INTO my penis,” he mumbles.

“I think it’s a YUMMY idea,” she chortles. “It’ll put the finishing touch on my art”!

And with that, she returns to tweezing a few sprinkles between thumb and forefinger and inserting them into his tiny hole. As they pile up, she uses the small nail of her smallest finger to push them deeper inside like using the ramrod on a flintlock rifle.

When the whole pile of sprinkles has disappeared, she purses his lips back together and licks them. Then she reaches down with her right and pats her pussy. He gets the message.

As she strokes his boner, he uses the forefinger of his left hand to flick her clit. Soon enough she begins to hump – classic Ruby.

She’s gazing intently at his penis. Every now and then a tiny sprinkle pokes its way paste his lips and begins to dribble down the head. Her tiny, pink tongue, so used to probing for his tonsils, flicks out lick away the tiny morsel of chocolate.

That’s what drives him crazy, watching her mouth his cock. He grabs one of her pussy lips and tugs on it hard. She breaks her concentration just long enough to shift her hips forward so that he can bury two fingers deep inside her and then returns to her ministrations.

Impaled again, she knows she won’t last much longer and begins to more vigorously massage him. He decides to help (nothing else to do with his right hand) so coils two fingers down into his balls to pinch and pull them. She, too, decides to help and begins to rub and tweak her left nipple drooping over his right thigh.

A little precum dribbles out of his penis and with it come a few sprinkles – white, red, yellow. As much as she’d love to dive on it and suck it up, Ruby uses her thumb to push his penis up so that he can see the rainbow drool. THEN, she pounces on him.

The sight of food coming out of his cock and her mouth nibbling around it sends him over the edge. Little pulses begin deep and then, like a pig through a python, throb their way up. The first little spurt ejects a few more sprinkles in a glistening, prismatic spew. Ruby gasps! Her fingers play more vigorously with her nibble and the trembles begin.

Clogged with melting sprinkles, his cum flows from his tip like lava coursing to the sea. Her cum, unclogged, drenches his hand deep inside her.

When all is done, Ruby engulfs his rod, swirls her tongue across it’s length and then uses her strongly pursed lips to squeegee his penis like squeezing Italian sausage from its casing. She raises herself up on her left elbow, looks Ron straight in the eye, and lets his precious chocolate milk drool from the corner of her lips.

“You’re gonna have to pee,” she encourages. “I can’t wait”!