In a Tent Somewhere in Eastern Europe During a Music Festival

I was pretty sure I could hear the smoke alarm going off in the other room, fighting for my attention with Toy Orbison as he buzzed dutifully between my legs. From my bed, I craned my neck a little, seeing if I could maybe catch a glimpse down the hallway and into the kitchen to see if there actually was any kind of real emergency that had caused all the beeping. Unfortunately, an unexpected rogue spasm of pleasure sent my head back, practically touching the space between my shoulder blades, as my back arched sharply and then the rest of my body essentially followed suit. Toy Orbison was a powerful little vibrator, and nobody seemed to quite know their way around my sensitive parts the way he did.


Using Toy Orbison always took me back. He took me back about eight years, to be exact, to a sweaty tent pitched outside a music festival somewhere in the middle of Eastern Europe. I genuinely can’t remember exactly what country we were in; that stretch of my twenties was one blurred experience after another, most of it having by now melted together into a miasma of carnal adventures and sensory augmentation, all of it whipped and whirled into a swirling stew of experience, one ingredient becoming all but impossible to discern from the next.


But I’ll never forget Enzo. Probably couldn’t forget him if I wanted to.


It had been the third day of one of those four-day music festivals. The kind where a caked-on layer of mud and grass is basically what you’re wearing when you leave the place, and maybe you’ll have some clothes left on under all that, to be found and removed once you’ve chipped off the outer layer of festival attendance residue. This particular festival had been a mass of bodies, all blurred together like oil paints, smeared against one another in the formation of this incredible, throbbing, writing tapestry of flesh. And there I was, in the middle of it all, letting every sensation flow through me. On that third night, I found myself pressed up, more than just once or twice, with a particularly sinewy Italian guy, who I would later come to learn was named Enzo, of course. The first time we bumped into him, I had been with a few friends. We struck up a conversation whilst waiting in line for the same concession stand or some such…and while there’s comparatively little that I can actually remember about those blurry four days, I can absolutely remember the charged moment that Enzo and I shared when we made eye contact. That little ball of lightning that hung in the air there, as we looked at each other, exchanging names with our mouths while our minds were almost certainly busy imagining the various things we could be doing to each other with those same, exact mouths.


Turned out I wouldn’t have to wait very long to find out. Not long at all.


Enzo and I actually wound up bumping into each other again later on that same day, this time in one of the massive EDM tents. By this time, my experience had been handily augmented, and Enzo’s enormous fucking coffee-cup eyeballs told me that his had been, as well. We came to each other in that tent, like opposite ends of a magnet that had been denied connection for entirely too long. It was as though we had lost each other at some point, in some past life, and were only just realizing it now. When we found each other in that tent, lights glinting off each other’s faces, sound and color smearing together into one, it was like the joining of two puzzle pieces. Our bodies writhed and ground against each other, synching rhythmically to the music. I could feel his erection against my leg, and I positioned myself against him so that it was practically pushed directly against my pussy. I wondered if he could feel how wet I was. As we danced I took his hand, moving it up my thigh, guiding it slowly and deliberately across my belly, eventually cupping it around my breast and squeezing it, hard. I could feel him get harder against me, his entire body seeming to grow more rigid. I wanted him inside me, and something, somewhere, made that happen.


I’m not entirely sure what happened next. I can’t tell whether it’s the passage of time or the chemical interference that’s blurred the memory so thoroughly. Probably both. What I do remember is that at some point, we teleported from the grass under that tent to the spread-out nest of sleeping bags and pillows that was the inside of my tent. We were a whirling and roiling mass of aroused flesh, seeking mouths and probing fingers, each of us impatient to explore the other as thoroughly as possible.


I started peeling his shirt off, and then taking a moment to just marvel at the impressive physique with which I was presented. I don’t think of myself as a picky woman. And there’s a lot more to a man (especially in bed) than the way his chest looks. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t stop to smell the roses when you do happen to walk past them. And this chest was a straight up fucking Valentine’s Day bouquet. I mean, forget about anything else this guy might have been rocking. For that brief few seconds, suspended in between when I took his shirt off and whatever happened to go down next, I wanted to fuck his chest. I wanted to lay him down and straddle his torso. I wanted to drag my vulva across his body, feeling my lips sliding across every single ripple and ridge of that impressively sinewed chest, all taut curves, his skin looking as though it had been stretched firm over the muscles beneath. I wanted to plant my hands just below that finely-contoured collarbone and slide my clitoris across the rippled washboard of his abs until I came, dripping juice and cum out of me and coating his body like a glazed goddamn donut.


I looked from his chest, up to his eyes, and practically fell into them. I honestly couldn’t tell you what color they were, and that’s not because I couldn’t remember. His pupils were so wide that they absorbed any and all available light, blotting out the landscape behind him and giving me vertigo. I lost my balance, teetering on the edge of his gaze, my hands hovering inches above his gently-pulsing body as I struggled to maintain my balance and keep from teetering over into the blackness that would soon become both of us, twisting us together in that tent and pushing us into as-yet-unexplored regions of intimacy and pleasure. In that moment, I wanted to know this man more deeply than I had ever known anything or anyone else, and I wanted him to know me back. I wanted him to fill me, to understand every inch of my being.


Man, my twenties were fucking nuts.


It was his turn, then, to peel off my shirt, and off it came. Our chests came together, the softness of mine meeting the contoured hardness of his, and our arms snaked around each other endlessly, coiling downwards until we were all but pressed into one another, our mouths tangled and our tongues combatting each other for slippery dominance. He squeezed my side, just above my hip — a secret weakness of mine that there’s no way he could have known previously — and I positively melted into him. I was, for a very brief moment, actually wondering whether he could hear how wet I had just gotten, a fresh wave of desire positively pouring out of me and sloshing down onto the padded cozy of layered sleeping bags that lay beneath us. If he didn’t hear it, he was inches away from feeling it, as he slipped that hand next under my jeans, sliding it over and around to the font of me, using his other hand to unbutton the snap and let down the zipper as he did so. While he did this, I unhooked my bra, slipping the straps over my shoulder and freeing my breasts after what had, if I’m being honest, been a super fucking long day, guiding his hand up to my chest once it was finished unbuttoning my pants.


My entire body was alive, then. I could feel him moving against my skin, my flesh clocking every single centimeter of movement as his hand crept from my hip towards the center of my body, inching its way closer to my warm and throbbing wetness with an almost infuriatingly tantalizing patience, my thighs trembling at him in a response of aggressive desire. His free hand made contact with my breast, cupping it gently at first and feeling its shape. He caressed it, almost lovingly, and I could feel his affection radiating through my body, pulsing outward from his skin as his hand glided softly around my breast. The light friction of his palm against my nipple brought a river out of me, standing my nipples both on edge and raising goosebumps on my entire body. My hips tightened and I could feel my pussy practically begging for penetration. As Enzo’s finger made contact with my clitoris, his other hand squeezed my breast firmly. I nearly came right then and there, my entire body going slack before immediately tightening up again, almost every muscle I had–and some I was pretty sure I didn’t– going rigid and erect in response to his touch, his finger beginning to apply light pressure and make small circles around the fiery, raw nerve of my clit. He kissed me, deeply and fully, as he slid a finger inside me then, finally complementing my wetness, drawing his fingers lightly down my breast before coming to a firm pinch on my nipple at the end of the gesture. His finger was joined by another, and he kissed me as he worked two fingers up inside me, his hand full of my breast, my body already on the verge of orgasm. Once his hand moved down from my breast to my belly, to push on my G-spot from the outside while his fingers worked against it from the inside, I came hard, practically gushing all over him, and probably moaning loud enough to drown out each and every act performing at the festival that night.


At this point I remembered myself at least a little bit, and managed to summon a nominal amount of control over my body while he skillfully drew out my orgasm, extending it far beyond its normal, natural lifespan and sending me coursing down an powerful river of pleasure. I unfastened his belt as he worked his fingers inside me, both fingering me and massaging my clit at the same time, and somehow managed to unbutton and unzip his pants, although I couldn’t tell you how in retrospect. I took him into my hand, feeling his powerful girth come alive at my touch. His body seemed to ripple in response to my own, his flesh melting into mine in the places where we had made contact, and I grasped him more firmly, his erection seeming to grow even larger in my hand, expanding and getting thicker as I worked it, up and down between us. He slid his mouth down my neck, his warm, hot breath leaving a trail of sensation along my body, kissing my collarbone and chest until his mouth was on my breast, sucking hard on my nipple and causing me to come yet again, his fingers still inside me, still working to set my entire body on fire with desire. I came against him and my grip intensified, his cock seemingly continuing to grow in my grasp until I couldn’t handle it anymore.


I pushed him down, upsetting his center of gravity and knocking him back onto the soft nest of pillows and sleeping bags, tugging off his pants in the same fluid motion. He lay there in front of me, naked and tight, his body taut and rippling and positively begging for me, my own feeling alive and powerful and in commanding harmony with the air and the sky above us, the trees around us, the grass spread out wide and inviting beneath us.


I was naked, then, straddling his body, having crept up onto it with an almost reverent caution. I settled myself onto him, feeling his cock beneath me, moving my hips so that it slid between my lips. It continued to grow, throbbing and pulsing beneath me, getting larger and more generously vein-latticed with every throb, motivated further by every thrust of my hips. My wetness was beginning to coat him, each movement of my hips causing him to slide more easily against me. I could feel the rigidity of his erection as it glided against my clitoris, encouraged by the wetness that positively poured out of me, painting him and covering him almost entirely. His back arched, his body tense and pulsing, mine in complete control of its response while he kneaded my breasts with his hands, fingers pinching and rubbing my nipples before sliding down my sides to grip me at my hips.


He guided my body forward, moving me up and onto his chest (the very one that I had wanted to fuck so badly earlier), and I dragged my slick vulva across his abdomen, almost coming yet again against the rigid reality of his body. He moved me into position, guiding me above his face, and then settled me down onto him, eating me out from below me as I concentrated on maintaining my balance without a headboard to hold onto. He gripped my thighs intensely as his tongue painted my clitoris, licking and sucking my pussy as though it had the cure for cancer in it, pushing a purity of pleasure into every single crack and contour of my body in ways that I genuinely didn’t think had been previously possible. His hands explored every single inch of me, sliding smooth across my skin, caressing me as his mouth did the same, his tongue flicking teasingly against my clitoris before then running itself up and down along my lips, exploring my inner thighs, making its way back to my clitoris, his entire mouth kissing me and taking me into its warm and wet and inviting touch.


I came, and he practically drank me in, my body pulsing and writing and loving every single moment of pleasurable contact with his face, and his body drank me in, complete and full. I could feel myself melting into him then, our perfect physical chemistry practically lighting the entire night on fire. Every single inch of me was alive with the electricity between us, every instance of interaction between our bodies causing a minor thunderstorm, and earthquake of concentrated lust and desire and pleasure and release, all of it happening over and over again, every time he kissed my clitoris, taking my pussy into his mouth and loving it like it was the only thing in the world. His hands caressed and massaged my breasts, his skin flitting over my nipples before taking them firmly in his fingers and pinching them, twisting to exactly the right amount and stopping just before it became uncomfortable.


I rocked myself back, adjusting the angle of our bodies and beginning to push him inside me. He had been growing this entire time, his cock inflating in front of my very eyes, getting larger and harder every moment our bodies made contact, and by this point I was unsure if it would even fit inside me. The moment the head of his cock touched my lips, my body decided it would devour him. I could feel myself widening, inviting him in only so I could then clench down on him again, and hard. My body pulsed and writhed, and his did the same in concert with my own, as I worked my hips, taking him inside my little by little, my body assuming control over his with every centimeter that entered me. I could feel the head of his dick pass inside me, could feel every single ridge and contour of the texture of his skin, could feel its bulging tip widen the space inside me, pushing me open to make way for it. I was so fantastically wet, and getting wetter, my body pouring out around him as the space inside me grew bigger, tighter to accommodate him, fitting him inside me and sliding deeper than I ever thought it had been possible for anyone or anything to go. My eyes grew wide as I spread apart, my body swallowing his and loving every moment of pleasurable, concentrated effort. I could feel my cum coating his shaft, dripping down and out of me as my pussy clenched and writhed, working to take him in, sliding him in further and further with every rock of my hips, every twitch of his body. I ran my hands down the ribbed ripples of his chest, leaning forward and kissing him. The adjustment in the angle of my hips slid him deep into me in a single, unexpected thrust, his fantastically huge cock filling my body as I doubled over and kissed him, feeling my breasts and nipples pressed hard against his chest. He held my hips still in his powerful hands then, drilling himself up and into me while I pretty much just screamed into his ear. The sensation was enormous, the flood of pleasure constant and unending, his cock sliding in and out of me at speed. I’m pretty sure I came twice in rapid succession, or maybe just one long orgasm, my cum gathering at the base of his cock and pouring down from between my legs.


I sat back then, bracing my arms against his shins, and rocked my hips against his pelvis, grinding my clitoris against his flesh and bringing myself to another powerful orgasm. My body wanted to devour his. To fuck him and fuck him and fuck him until his entire body had slowly, sensually, slipped all the way inside my own, our twinned orgasms building and intensifying and eventually becoming unbearable as our bodies welded themselves together, stitching into one single being of constant and pure orgasmic light.


Suddenly, he threw an arm around my midsection, wrapping his powerful strength around my waist, and seamlessly flipped our bodies, throwing me gently down beneath him and into the soft bed of sleeping bags. He steadied himself, and continued, his motion having been so fluid that he stayed inside me the entire time. He was above me now, his eyes melting into my own as he barreled himself inside me, my legs spreading wider and wider as his cock continued to grow, becoming larger and thicker and stronger even as it was inside me, my body tightening just enough to accommodate its every expansion, coming harder and harder every time it grew.


He came inside me, and I welcomed it, my body filling with his, growing wider and bigger to accommodate his, taking him fully inside of me and drinking every single part of him into me. I wanted him to become me, to fuck me so deep and so completely that I subsumed him within myself, and as I felt him pulsing and coming inside me, his hands gripping me as intensely as mine gripped him, I came again, my own cum mixing with his, our combination overflowing and spilling out and flooding the earth as we continued to fuck, our powerful orgasms combining and spiraling as we only increased the speed and rhythm of our interlocked hips.


Who knows how long we fucked that night. Who knows if we even slept. There may have been that patchy, momentary flirtation with sleep. That fleeting dip into unconsciousness that falls just shy of being what one might consider a full sleep cycle. Every time I opened my eyes, I landed on that body next to me, and I had to have it. I had to feel his erection grow in response to my touch. Had to feel him inflate inside me, had to rock myself down and around him and feel my wetness grow and spread down and around him. Had to feel his hands on my breasts, to feel his mouth on my nipples as his incredible, hard cock pushed and slid its way inside me. I had fucked Enzo three more times before the sun finally came up.


And when the sun came up? I fucked him a fourth.