The first hot wave rolled through her body, and she moaned. Rope and stiff leather held her up, stretched. Her fists clenched overhead as the second and third wave flowed from her cunt, electrifying her back, arms, legs. The sudden tensing of his body and the spasms that followed coursed from his body to hers, triggering her own spasms. They both froze, pressed together, hot flesh melding, wet, slick. Just give it to me, Baby . . . pounded down from speakers above, from around them. Seconds passed with their breathing and heartbeats seeming to join. She hung gasping from the straps as he finally eased himself out of her exhausted, soaking vagina. She looked up. Her feet on the cold tile could barely keep from slipping away, her legs buckling. In the mirror, his eyes were dazed, his face flushed. The herbal scent of the candles suffused her with the sweet memory of the burning drops on her breasts, stomach and thighs. Remember, she thought, remember it all. She felt his juice run. We took a scrap piece of carpet and lay it down for a floor and stuck some of those battery operated lights to the ceiling. We hung another piece of carpet as a door. The fort was big enough to fit four or five people in a sitting position and since we didn't clear the brush and bushes out before digging it could not be seen unless you were right on it. We spent many afternoons in the coolness of our fort and smoked cigarettes and played cards. One day we were sitting in the fort with the door flap open watching the few cars that drove by, when a guy in an old Chevelle pulled over right in front of us. We watched as the driver went to the back of his car and opened the trunk. He took out three large trash bags and tossed them into the brush before getting back in his car and driving off. We waited till he was out of sight and went down to check out what he had dumped. We had talked before about a friend of ours who saw someone throw a package out of a moving car right before the cops.
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