Yo Ho Ho. . .

Let's just say that rum and my libido have always been fast friends. Rum is what makes me Randi. There's something about my chemical makeup that embraces rum and turns it into a heady desire for sex, with no regard for consequences.

The first time I tried rum, I found myself in a position where I was ready to fuck the man across the table from me, regardless of the restaurant's other patrons. But not just the man across from me; the man beside me as well. Ever since then, I've known that drinking rum was akin to dancing with the devil, for me.

There's something to be said for dancing with the devil. Sometimes that opens you up to things you might not have felt comfortable trying before. Mostly it just means that you are allowing yourself to blame the devil for something you really wanted to do in the first place.

I had rum tonight, and let me just say, oh dear God, I love sex.

Not that I don't otherwise. No, indeed. I always love sex. Even when I'm not so much in the mood to start with it turns out that I still love sex. But oh, my.

Maybe I could blame it on the gorgeous day we had today. Maybe I could blame it on the fresh air and the great exercise we had before dinner. Maybe I could blame it on Peter's fanstastic food. Or I could just blame it on the rum, which seems the safest bet.

Whatever the case, I was Randi. Even though I'd fallen down on the job and not come up with anything clever for Sunday^3, (which is nice cuz then we still get to look forward to it on Monday) I was Randi. My rocket provided me with a number of juicy orgasms, the number of which I completely lost track. One went on and on and on - I don't even know how many peaks it had. It was literally a chain of unbroken orgasms. And it was bracketed by many more. My pussy was soaked, the towel under me was sopping, there were even juices up on my stomach somehow.

I finally deemed that it was Peter's turn, but let me tell you a secret. I had this desire to get my ass slapped. This is not generally me. At least not a me that I will admit to being, even to myself, so I was mildly surprised when I felt an urge for Peter to smack my ass while fucking me.

Damn!

I've always needed somewhat harsh physical stimuli. When we were kids, my sister liked backrubs but they drove me crazy because they were too tickly for me. Me, I had to have a brushing. A hairbrush, scraped down my back was what felt relaxing to me. Tonight, in my rum-induced Randi wench state, it was an ass-slapping I needed. After my uncounted number of delicious, pussy-drenching orgasms, I sucked Peter's cock a little greedily, before slithering off the bed and bending over it, positioning a pillow under my pelvis and raising my ass high in the air. Peter stood behind me and penetrated my wet pussy easily. I was incrediby aroused and my G-spot very swollen, so each time he slid into me and out again, it was inexplicably delicious. And then he began pumping a little harder.

I have to say that there is something about having Peter's strong hands firmly gripping my hips or waist that drives me wild. Somthing about that posessiveness, strength, and control. But tonight I wanted even more. A little of my brain still held back, but my friend Rum overpowered it and I grabbed Peter's right hand and brought it down on my ass with a nice, firm smack. Oh, it was good. But it wasn't enough. Fortunately Peter got the point immediately and gave me some more firm smacks. Fuck! - even better. A thick, hard cock driving deep into me, and a firm hand slapping me on the ass. Noises of urgency escaped me as Peter kept thrusting. I was worshiping facedwown at the altar of fornication and Peter served me the sacrament shortly thereafter.

My cup runneth over.