This beautiful autobiographical piece was written by a friend of mine. Enjoy!
The room is lighted only by an incense candle on the nightstand and the occasional flash of lightning through the window accompanying a deep crash of thunder, compliments of a fierce nighttime summer thunderstorm. Inside the bedroom, there exists a storm of another kind. It is a whirlwind of lust, enveloping the two naked, sweaty young bodies, driven by the jet stream of hormones and the heady attraction that passes for love during the turbulent college experience. The girl is on top of him, moving herself down and up, their bodies dancing together to a primal rhythm that has satisfied sexual drives for eons. He reaches around her body, places a palm on both hips, both to steady her position and influence the rhythm of the thrusts. He squeezes just a bit in a moment of extreme pleasure, his fingertips sliding into the cleft where lies her anus and further down, the source of her heat and wetness. Never breaking the pattern of movement, she whispers fiercely to him, "Spank me." It is something they have discussed before, read about in erotic literature, but never attempted. He hesitates, wants to know she is sure. He looks into her eyes, sees prurient desire almost pleading for the extra stimulation. "Spank me...please spank me," she moans into his ear. She is sure.
He rubs her bottom with his palm, all the while thrusting inside of her at a now slowing pace, sometimes deep, sometimes gentle. His right hand moves away from her body and hesitantly swings into the air behind her. He feels her body tense. The sharp crack of his palm on her skin causes something like an electric jolt to course through both of their bodies. It is a delicious dose of stimulation foreign to them, but certainly not unwelcome. They reach a new plateau of excitement, their every nerve ending alive with pleasure, their senses overwhelmed, their heads spinning. She moans into the night air, throatily, "Again!" He arcs his hand another time, the impact possessing more velocity. Her moans correspond. The rate of thrusting increases as now the left hand delivers the blow. She asks for still more, the stings providing her with a sensory input she now craves. After several more, the slaps to her now reddened bottom are forestalled by an all powerful, all consuming orgasm that overcomes both of their bodies and makes further deliberate movement impossible, save that of the instinctual thrusting that will carry them both to that destination they are striving to reach together. It wells up with momentum and power, and they become one, their bodies and souls erupting simultaneously with a sensation no substance on earth can render. It continues for several seconds, to them an eternity. In its wake they collapse onto each other, their bodies touching at every point, inside and out. And outside the window, the storm rages on.