Dear Log Part 4

 August 28th: Butt worship session with Gina

Dear Log,

I’m writing this with trembling hands, my skin still humming, every breath pulling her scent deeper into my lungs. Gina. Just thinking her name makes my pulse stutter.

She appeared above me in the library like a living eclipse—her shadow cool across my tiny table, then the slow bloom of her warmth as she leaned down. Cocoa butter, yes, but layered with something richer: warm skin after a long day, the faint spice of her body oil, and underneath it all, the unmistakable throb of arousal, thick and heady, like dark honey left in the sun.

Her voice wrapped around me first—low, velvet, a rumble I felt in my ribs before I heard the words: “Come with me,Tiny.” Then her hand descended, palm wide and soft, fingers curling with effortless possession. The heat of her skin seeped into me instantly; her lifeline pressed against my back like a thick rope. She lifted me slowly, deliberately, letting me feel every shift of her muscles as she tucked me against the heavy swell of her breast. The fabric of her cropped hoodie was thin, warmed by her body; beneath it, her heartbeat thundered—deep, steady, powerful—each beat rocking me gently as she walked.

In her room, moonlight poured through the window and painted her mahogany skin in liquid silver. She turned her back to me, and the air changed—grew heavier, warmer—as she peeled away her hoodie. Then the leggings. The sound of the fabric sliding down was a slow, sensual whisper, interrupted by the soft snap when it cleared the fullest curve of her ass. No underwear. Just endless, flawless skin, the deep cleft between cheeks so round and firm they seemed sculpted from dark marble, yet impossibly soft to the touch.

She placed me on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight, and stepped back until her ass filled my entire world. The heat radiating from her was immediate, a humid wave that carried her scent straight into my lungs: rich, earthy, faintly musky, laced with the sharper tang of fresh arousal. It coated my tongue before I even touched her.

“Worship me,” she breathed, voice thick with need. Her fingers—long, strong, nails a deep crimson—reached back and parted those glorious cheeks, revealing the tight, dark ring of her asshole, already glistening faintly with her excitement, fluttering in tiny, eager pulses.

I fell forward.

My hands sank into the plush heat of her flesh first—skin so smooth it felt like warm silk over firm muscle. I pressed my face between her cheeks and inhaled deeply; the scent was overwhelming up close, intoxicating, a dark, intimate perfume that made my head spin. My lips brushed her rim, and she shivered—actually shivered—her entire massive body rippling with it.

I started with soft kisses, tasting the faint salt of her skin, the subtle bitterness that was uniquely her. Then my tongue—flat and broad at first, tracing slow, reverent circles around the sensitive pucker. She was impossibly warm there, velvet-soft, the ring tightening and releasing under each pass of my tongue. When I finally pressed the tip inside, she let out a low, guttural moan that vibrated through her hips and into my chest. The taste intensified—richer, deeper, addictive. Her inner walls were slick and scorching, clenching greedily around my tongue as I pushed deeper, thrusting in slow, deliberate strokes.

Her moans grew louder, breathier, each one rolling through her body like distant thunder. I could feel the subtle tremor in her thighs, the way her cheeks flexed and pressed closer, smothering me in soft, suffocating heat. Sweat beaded on her skin; I tasted it as it trickled down, mixing with her natural flavor. My face was slick—her arousal dripping from below, her sweat, my own saliva—until everything was wet and hot and pulsing.

“More,” she gasped, voice breaking. “Use all of you.”

I wrapped my arms as far as they would reach around one massive cheek, pressed my entire body against her hole—chest, stomach, hips grinding instinctively—and rubbed in slow, desperate circles while my tongue plunged again and again. The friction was electric; her ring fluttered wildly against my skin, hot and slick and alive. I could hear the wet sounds of her fingers working between her legs now—fast, urgent—matched by the slick slide of my mouth against her.

She started rocking back, slow at first, then harder, grinding her ass against my face with shameless need. Each push buried me deeper in warmth and scent and taste until I could barely breathe—only steal quick gasps laced with her essence. Her moans climbed higher, rawer, until her whole body went rigid.

When she came, it was cataclysmic.

Her thighs clamped around my head like warm vices. Her ass pressed back so hard I was pinned, completely enveloped. A deep, primal cry tore from her throat—long, shaking—as her ring spasmed violently around my tongue, pulse after pulse. I felt the flood of her climax even from behind: the sudden rush of wetness dripping down her thighs, the way her entire body quaked and shuddered for what felt like forever.

Only when the aftershocks faded did she ease forward, letting me gasp for air. My face was drenched, lips swollen, jaw aching—but I’d never felt more alive.

She turned then, eyes dark and glassy with satisfaction, and scooped me up. Her lips—full, soft, tasting faintly of her own lip gloss—claimed mine in a slow, deep kiss. She licked lazily across my mouth, savoring her own flavor on me, and smiled.

“Good boy,” she whispered, voice husky and sated. “You taste like me now.”

She pulled me against her chest, one massive hand cradling me possessively, and let me drift off to the thunder of her heartbeat and the lingering heat of her skin.

I am hers too!!

Completely.

Irrevocably.

To be continued ...

To be continued...