His reply was garbled due to me falling on his dick like a starving puma. His heels dug into the mattress, his knees falling open, giving me access to his tight little hole. I wasted no time, head bobbing, to find his opening, then began teasing the furled skin around it. “Yes, shit, Brann, shit…give me that finger.”
I did just that after I pulled my mouth off his cock to sloppily wet my finger. His cock was a glorious sight, wet with saliva that glistened in the soft lamplight. I nuzzled his balls as I slipped that lone finger into his ass. His abdomen tightened as he inhaled. Knowing exactly where that magic spot was, I gave it a bump as I pulled one fat ball into my mouth. He arched from the bed, fingers now clamping around my head, and pulled me from his nut back to his cock. Pride surged through me. I swallowed him down, gagging slightly as his cock slipped down my throat. He pumped into my mouth a dozen times as I massaged his prostate. With a yelp that Fred and Wilma down the lane probably heard through the walls of their coop, he blew apart. A hot splash of cum slithered down the back of my throat. I swallowed the next pulse and the one after that, rubbing that knot of nerves steadily until he began to tremble.
“Four stars,” he panted as I licked up the frothy foam of spit and spunk from his softening prick. “Would highly…recommend.”
A chuckle rumbled out of me while I kissed my way back up his tummy and chest, finding his willing mouth. His tongue darted out to tangle with mine as he took hold of my ass cheeks, tugging me into him and wriggling about underneath me. A hot breath escaped me as my cock rolled over his. He slipped a hand between us to fist my cock. I humped his hand in a frenzy. His lips roamed from my mouth to my ear and down my throat as my orgasm rolled over me. Cum coated his palm, fingers, and stomach. My balls contracted. He bit down on my shoulder, justhard enough for me to suck in a sharp breath, which sent a zing to my balls. More cum oozed out of me.
“Fuck!” I gasped as I fell to one side of him, my arm falling over his abdomen before I realized I had just blown my wad all over his hip, navel, and belly. “Oh that’s messy,” I huffed before dropping a few dozen kisses on his scruffy chin. He barely moved. His eyes were closed, his hair covering the pillow, and his chest rising and falling as relaxation set in.
“You do have a thing about coming all over me,” he whispered as I let my cheek fall to his shoulder.
“On you, in you, beside you. If I’m coming anywhere near you, life is good.” I snuggled in close, feeling the first wave of contentment and orgasm lethargy falling over me like a soft blankie.
He chuckled softly, his long fingers skimming over my spine. I may have snorted. Not sure. But for some reason, he poked my spine. I jerked, cried out in a shocked, high-pitched manner, and flailed madly.
“Exhibit number one. He does indeed giggle,” he teased while I began to grumble.
“That was a yelp, not a giggle. You poked my spine.”
“Yep, which is a ticklish spot, hence that giggle.”
“Whatever.” I was too content to argue with semantics. “By the way, the text was about a gaggle.”
His reply took a second. I lifted my head. His eyes snapped open and flew to me. “Sorry, I drifted. Long day travels. What about a gaggle?” He moved to his side and wiped his belly and my arm with the corner of his sheet. I rolled to my left to look at him as little frogs outside sang a summer serenade.
“I think Wilma is seriously setting.” He blinked at me as if I had just spoken Latin. “She has some eggs in a nest and is being super protective and grumpy.”
“They’re always grumpy,” he replied with a softness for my feelings, I was sure.
“Not always,” I quickly countered as we tugged the coverlet up to our waists. He cocked an eyebrow as a soft breeze rustled the white sheers on his bedroom window. “Fred is grumpy. Wilma is usually pretty placid. She’s laid about half a dozen eggs. I guess she must have covered them up because I missed them before we left for Canada. Lyle spotted them. I’m not sure what to do about it.”
He reached out to run his finger along my shoulder, touching the spot where he had nipped me to see if I reacted. It didn’t hurt at all.
“You only have two choices, right? Let her hatch the eggs or take them from her.”
I pushed some long hair from his face to better see his beauty. A man could get lost forever in those eyes of his.
“Yeah, pretty much.” I let that reply drift out the open window. “I’m not sure taking them from her is a good idea. She’s probably getting older, and what if this is her last chance to have babies?”
“Are you trying to talk me into it or yourself? They’re your geese, babe. You don’t have to convince me of something that I already knew you weren’t going to be able to do.”
An owl hooted outside. “I’m sorry. What is it that you think I can’t do?”
“Take her eggs from her. You’re too much of a softie.” With that, he tweaked my ear.
I frowned. “I am not a softie. I’m just thinking of the emotional well-being of my goose.”
“I know, and I love that you love your geese so much.” He wiggled closer so he could kiss my wrinkled brow. “If you want a gaggle, then have a gaggle. I’m not going anywhere and will happily watch you play with your geese from a safe and respectable distance.
“Babies are cute and do not pinch. They’re fluffy and have adorable little webbed feet. And they make squeaky noises. Have I mentioned how fluffy they are?”
“You did, but please go on. I kind of adore this sweet-as-frosting side of you.”
I snorted. “Please, there is no side. I’m no-sided. Flat Brann is what they call me.”
He laughed out loud before hugging me tightly to him as we whispered as lovers do until sleep overtook both of us.
That night I dreamed of fat little yellow goslings and woke up with the realization I was about to become a fowl grandpa.
