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Andrés + Mila
chapter 1
"a thousand times"
With shrieks of pleasure, Mila goes off, first by his hand, then his mouth, a woman magnificent with sexual joy. Now she lies on her back, descending, each breath a sigh like the word yes. Andrés lies face down, senses filled with the scent and taste of Mila, hip pressing hers, hot for his turn. Just as he stirs to take it, she rotates onto her belly, pulls knees up and under, arches her back, bottom rising high. This ballet sends him white-hot behind the eyes.
M: “Please.”
Andrés moves behind. She tilts up further, thighs separating.
M: “Here.”
His urge leaps. The entry, one power stroke.
M: “Oh oh oh oh oh.”
First time in Mila.
The sensation of having rushes through. Having her. It thrills his organs, the physical organs and those of the numinous sexual self. To have her.
He slides out.
She twists at the waist and looks over her shoulder, right in his eyes. Her fingers caress the flesh between thighs to quicken it for pleasure. The sound of wet flesh slithering lights his mind.
M: “Please.”
A: “Move your hands.”
Mila splays both hands face down on the bed, fingers shiny with juice. He positions between the lips. She steadies her bottom. She is so open, so ready, his breathing stops in awe. Andrés thrusts in, thudding all the way deep, groaning, thick with satisfaction, the world succulent and ripe.
M: “Oh no oh no oh no.”
Andrés begins his strokes.
M: “You made me scream.”
His penetrations accelerate.
M: “Your mouth on me. I love to scream.”
Her words infuriate his drive. The sight of lips forced apart by cock – fat lips all swollen – his thrusts grow fierce. Her pelvis adjusts after each stroke to be perfect for the next, swiveling hips to deliberately take penetration, to aim her body best for slick entry. This is thrilling.
Salacious talk, flung it at him while peering over her shoulder, one word on each thrust …
M: “Yes, more, more, deep, more, more, in, in, in. In. Hard. Hard. Hard.”
She shifts again, spreading thighs a fraction more – to expose the fucking hotrod center of a woman. Into the juicy core of it he slams home his thrusts, grunting, braying … twenty, thirty, fifty times. Her sex remains perfectly tilted to take all.
Fire races up his spine. His roar fills the studio. “Grrphff.” Emptying, spilling, spraying.
Mila coos sweetly, a giggle of girl-happiness for giving herself like a woman. She uncoils flat onto the mattress, straightening her legs. Andrés collapses on her back, moaning, staying in, throbbing with aftershocks. She wiggles under his weight.
M: “Crush me.”
He sinks on her frame until close to smothering. She squirms. Fighting it. Resisting.
M: “Crush me.”
He releases his weight off one elbow. She screams into the sheets.
Finally, Mila twists around, throwing him off. Jerks of release continue to rack his body. Arms around his neck, she presses her front to his.
They soak in the sweaty afterness.
They do not speak while he catches up with breaths. A carnal scent floats in the bed. Eventually they drift to rest.
This is how it will be with Mila.
He wants her a thousand times.
M: “I can’t believe you held back like that. You made me come first. Twice. Why didn’t you just spread me open and do me fast, right away, like most boys would?”
A: “Do me?”
M: “Fuck me. You’re okay with that word?”
A: “Yes.”
M: “Because I don’t like to use if for ugly. Only for fun.”
A: “I’m okay with that word for it. There’s no better one.”
M: “We don’t mean anything hurtful or cruel with it, okay? Or crude.”
A: “To fuck each other is beautiful.”
M: “Dirty-beautiful.”
A: “We make that word sweet.”
M: “Why didn’t you fuck me right away?”
A: “The sound of screaming and moaning – I wanted to hear it. I crave it. It gets me going. And the taste of it …”
M: “Me first? Just this time, or …?”
A: “Every.”
M: “Wait a second, wait a second, I want to write that down. I’m going to make you sign it.”
A: “I’ll sign.”
M: “You’ll make me come first, every time?”
A: “Yes. At least once, first, every time.”
M: “Andrés, I love your fucking mouth!”
A: “That is so sweet.”
They laugh, each safe to let the other see in after orgasm.
A: “Mila, your words? Talk while I’m in you. Talk like that. Say things. It made me boil over.”
M: “Dirty talk or sweet talk?”
A: “Both.”
© John Kirnan 2003-2025
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Backstory from The White Sky:
In the night, Mila executes a sculpture, with Andrés as model. They have known each other for 12 hours, with sexual sparks flying. Then, he challenges her:
“Mila.”
“What?”
“Why is it your mission to sculpt a man who loves women?”
She returns to fussing with the coffee preparation, not looking up from it. He walks to her at the gas stove and twists off the burner under the water. The sound of the snap jolts the room. He reaches for her.
“Not now,” she says, and casts her body against his.