BEIJING BLOG

BEIJING BLOG
By: Naughty Miranda (chrissiebentley@yahoo.com)

Maybe it was just the way those tiny speakers distorted everything, but I still couldn't believe my ears.

"My God, is that really what I sounded like?"

"You bet! And I love it. It's the sexiest sound I've ever heard."

"It's..." Actually, I was lost for words. The visuals were wonderful: eyes closed, lips tight, with just the tiniest droplets of white beginning to show, and you could see my throat working to capture as much as it could. But the soundtrack was another matter entirely. You know those wildlife specials, where the gazelles are round the watering hole, and everyone's gulping and slurping and swallowing? That's what it sounded like. That's what I sounded like.

But Campbell was right. It was phenomenal. I watched as the drips became a stream that cascaded from my mouth, as his come kept on pumping, and I needed to catch a breath. "Makes you wonder why the music's always so loud in porn films."

He flicked at the mouse and paused the DVD. "I told you, it's the best sound there is. I mean, look. It's only been five minutes and I'm getting hard already."

I reached between his legs. The cock I'd fucked to softness - actually, it was closer to quarter of an hour ago, but who's counting? - was plumping up once more, and if you don't believe how soft it was, well there's the proof on the screen in front of us. And, to think, I hadn't believed a word I was told when I first mentioned Campbell had bought his new toy.

That was two days ago, in the journalists lounge in the Olympic Village. I was sitting with Janine, the press officer who was liaising my way towards the upper echelons of the IOC, idly chatting while we waited for her cell phone to buzz, and I don't think I'd ever seen somebody try so hard not to laugh. And fail. "A camcorder? And what does he need that for?"

"Oh, you know, boys with toys. He's already filmed himself at the opening ceremony, and watching some of the other events. He'll get a few minutes more when he plays tomorrow, and then he'll leave it on the shelf to get dusty."

"Yeah, right," Janine snorted. "Until the day when you're be sitting round watching a video of something, and he'll say, apropos of absolutely nothing, ?we should make a little porn film'."

"And I'll say ?no we shouldn't,' and that'll be the end of it."

She raised her eyebrows. "You reckon?"

"I reckon."

"We'll see."

Well, we saw. Or, at least, Campbell and I saw. I don't think I'll be telling Janine about it just yet. And the worst thing was, she was right. All the way down to the manner in which he brought up the subject.

We were watching ESPN's coverage of the beach volleyball... Campbell's sport, of course, and didn't he look cute in that skimpy little suit! He'd just made the kill that pushed the Brits into the next round when he looked across at me. "Wanna watch some porn when this is over?"

"Not really."

"Well, do you wanna make some porn? Now I've got that camera."

Bam. Onscreen, he scored another point. "What do you think?"

"I think you really want to say yes, but you're not going to."

"Well, you got half of that right. Now shut up and let me watch the rest of the game."

He pouted cutely. "You mean you weren't there?"

I shook my head. Much as I'd have loved to drop everything else I had to do, and devote my days to tirelessly following Campbell's sporting achievements, my days were just as full as his... fuller, in fact, and the closest I'd got to Chaoyang Park was the aerial photograph of it on the desk of the dignitaries I'd spent the day flattering. Besides, all he had to do was cavort around on a simulated beach, banging the ball back and forth. I was trying to tie down some of the most important figures in world sport, for a book that would soon be on every discerning coffee table in the world. Ha ha. I knew precisely where I'd prefer to be, and so did he.

"How about if I just point it at you, then, without switching it on?"

"Yeah, right." I already knew exactly where this conversation was going to end; had been looking forward to it, in fact, ever since Janine first put the idea into my mind. But I'd only known the guy for three days. No way did I want him to think I was a pushover in everything.

*******

Beijing stinks. I don't care how much work the organizers put into reducing the city's legendary smog, and I don't care how much you've been fed on television back home about how it really isn't as bad as people were expecting. My chest hurts, my nostrils are burning and I will never complain about Los Angeles again.

It's a fascinating city, of course, especially if you stay with the official tour groups and don't go wandering too far off the beaten track. But of course I did, which is how I met Campbell in the first place, the lone non-local in a tiny restaurant I found on the far side of the Marco Polo Bridge, tucking into an indescribable mass of food that I would swear, and his guilty smile confirmed, is not on any athlete's list of approved dining choices.

Of course we fell into conversation. Service was slow, the menu unintelligible, and the babble of voices around us made me feel so homesick that I had no compunction whatsoever about joining him at his table. I think he was a little surprised that I didn't recognize him; I was surprised that he thought I would. I didn't know the Brits even played beach volleyball... hell, if I hadn't once seen one on vacation, I wouldn't have known they even had beaches. Well, he soon put me right on that score, even if he did seem more interested in finding out if I could introduce him to Misty May, than filling me in on the full complexities and history of his chosen sport. At least to begin with.

But we walked back to the Olympic Village together, choking through the midday smog while we tried to figure out how the taxi service worked and when he stopped into a little electronics store to pick up a camcorder, he looked more like a teenager going crazy on vacation, than one of his country's top athletes, and sex symbols, too.

The Brits love this boy, let me tell you. Back at my hotel that afternoon, I Googled him and turned up page after page of rapturous reportage all proclaiming him the sexiest thing to hit British sports since Thierry Henri's underwear commercials. Whatever they were. And you know what? I agreed with them.

I saw him again just before the opening ceremony, told him I'd be watching for him as the Brits made their circuit of the Bird's Nest, and pointed out where I'd be sitting. And later, when he finally passed by, I could see his face scanning the crowd, trying to pick me out of the throng. Afterwards, he said that he saw me as well, because how many flame-haired beauties were there in the stadium? At least, I think that's what he said. But, as I was sitting on his face at the time, it's hard to be certain.

We'd spent every available minute together since then, although that really isn't saying much. Those damned schedules again, coupled with a team coach who didn't approve of his charges doing anything on the eve of a game that didn't involve training or resting. But Campbell didn't care and, in the mad flush of lust that was devouring every fiber of my being, neither did I. Hell, I even missed a breakfast meeting yesterday because I was... well, I was having some breakfast of my own at the time. A girl has to keep some priorities straight, after all. Including the circumstances under which she was going to make her movie debut.

We were in his quarters at the Olympic Village, a cramped but comfortable boxful of rooms, where a visitors' pass was worth its owner's weight in gold, and suspicious guards were even demanding to see one another's ID, so tightly was the place locked down. Campbell's game was still going on, but the result was a foregone conclusion now. It was time to stir up some action.

"So, let me have a look at this technological marvel."

He looked at me uncertainly. I'm not sure whether he'd expected me to leap at the chance of stripping for his camera, or whether he'd simply lost heart when I appeared so disinterested. But he hadn't mentioned it again for ten minutes now, and the silence was getting oppressive.

"Okay, but let me just get another soda." He rose and, as he disappeared into the tiny kitchenette, I stretched myself across the bed, my head overhanging the end. He stepped back into the room, paused as he took in my new repose, and then stepped towards me. The moment he was within reach, my hands lashed out and clasped his legs.

"Hey! I thought you said you wanted to see the camera."

"I changed my mind." My hands were still on his knees; I pulled and he toppled forward, catching himself just in time to avoid falling on top of me, his legs parted behind my head. I tugged at the sweatpants that hung baggy around his waist and was gratified to see he'd not bothered with any underwear. I grasped his cock in one hand, fat and soft, relaxed within its loose-fitting foreskin, and as unsuspecting as he seemed to be - hah! Just how I like them to start with.

I felt him shuffle forward as his arms held his weight above the bed, then pulled him to my lips, rolling the fleshy head against lips I'd just moistened. There was a twitch as the blood began to rush in; I held him in my mouth as he hardened, sucking a little, but mostly not moving, thrilling as his weight and thickness stretched my lips wider, and pushed my tongue down.

And then I saw the camera, in the hand that I thought was holding a Coke can, the black lens zooming in on my face as the red light stared unblinkingly down at me. I thought of protesting, but hell, what's the point? I was going to say yes anyway. He'd just saved me the trouble of making him sweat.

The position in which I was lying made it difficult to move my head too much; holding hard to his butt, I began swaying his hips back and forth... to and fro... feeling him slipping in and out of my mouth. Occasionally I'd stop, hold him still while I sucked, or breaking for a breath, lapped my tongue around his shaft, across his balls. I drew one into my mouth, sucking hard and then releasing it abruptly; he gasped aloud, and I felt him tense as I set to work on the other.

I raised my head and looked down my body. He hung over me, his eyes closed tight, his mouth open; worming my fingers under his T-shirt, I ran my hand up his torso as far as I could reach, tweaked a nipple and smiled as he gasped again. "Just making sure you're awake up there," I smiled, then pulled him back into my mouth.

"Oh, I'm awake alright." I didn't need to coax him this time, his hips were moving of their own accord, driving his hard meat into my mouth, harder and faster as he realized that I wasn't going to stop him for anything. My fingers crept across his butt to his anus, stroked the sensitive opening slightly, and let one fingertip slip gently in and out, echoing his thrusts.

His breathing was hard, loud. I left his ass and gripped his balls, tense and tight. He shouted my name as he finally came, and a hot, salty mass flooded into my mouth. I was swallowing hard, greedy and loud, but there was simply too much for me to deal with. I moved my head away, and he continued to spurt, spattering across my T-shirt, soaking through the fabric.

He rolled to one side, landed flat on his back, breathing heavily. "Wow, we need to make movies together more often."

I kissed him, sliding my cum-coated tongue into his mouth and thrilling as his own tongue coiled hungrily around it. "Believe me," I told him, "that was only the first scene. We've got a lot more to get through before the final credits run." Sitting up, I peeled off my sodden shirt, slipped off my panties as well and, as Campbell reached for me, I slid over to sit on his chest, enjoying the prickle of his hairs against my buttocks, and the slightest hint of his breath on my pussy.

His eyes watching me like a hawk, I traced a finger through the stickiness on my chin, raised it to my lips and sucked the moisture away. I felt his hands on the small of my back, drawing me closer to his face; ladling up another fingertip of cream, I wiped it lightly against the lips of my pussy, just a split-second ahead of his tongue. I felt him draw back a little, but laid one hand on the back of his head and pressed it forward. The next lick was tentative, but delightful in its uncertainty, and I wanted to feel that again.

Two fingers now, and a glob of white that I deliberately smeared around my clit. He went for it immediately this time, his tongue swirling around that taut little nub, chasing away any other thoughts I may have had brewing. I threw my arms behind me, let them take my weight; my head hanging back, my eyes closed tight. Behind me, the television was still muttering to itself; outside, a group of noisy synchronized swimmers were making their way back to their apartments, to the accompaniment of some hip-hop music.

I seized the beat, caught it with my ears, harnessed it in my hips, and began slowly grinding its rhythm against Campbell's face, thrilling as he picked it up with his tongue and ran with it, licking and flicking and sucking, face-fucking - was that singing I could hear now? Or my own cries? So close to my end, now, I reached down and roughly spread my pussy wide with my fingers.

He gasped... afterwards, he'd tell me that that simple move was one of the most exciting things that he'd ever experienced, and I wondered what sort of cold fish females he normally went down on. But it worked. His licking grew firmer, the flicking more regular and, as he zeroed in on my clit, standing so firm to attention that it could have poked his eye out, I fought to stop myself from raising and rolling, with his head between my thighs, and grinding out my orgasm across his face. Instead, I let his motions tease me towards it, until I really couldn't hold out any longer, and my hands clutched the top of his head, and held him still while I raced to the finishing line.

Now it was my turn to collapse, panting, gasping, and laughing too, as Campbell rolled with me, and suddenly flipped around, so his mouth was on mine, his chest pressed my breasts and, down below, a miraculous hardness that did not even need to knock. It just slid right in, filling me with a glorious warmth, an indescribable weight, and an irresistible pressure.

My legs wrapped around his back; he was fucking me like a sewing machine, hard and fast, not missing a beat between strokes. Raising my head to bite at his shoulder, I wondered where the camera was, hoped it was capturing every moment of the action. As if he'd read my mind, Campbell turned his head, caught my eye and then glanced down to the foot of the bed. Pointing down at what sure looked like just the right angle, the camera was on automatic, and my only fear now was that the batteries might fail.

I pushed my weight against Campbell's body; held him tight in mid-gyration, and forced him onto his back. He rolled willingly, and only sighed as I disconnected our bodies for a moment, and swiveled around on his hips, my back to his face, my ass on his belly, slipping him back inside of me as he ran his hands up my spine, and then reached around to my breasts.

I was facing the camera now, and began moving slowly; this angle can be tricky sometimes, it's easy for his cock to slip out... there, it just did. I pushed him back in, then lay my hand on my snatch, to hold him fast while I kneaded his balls, and let my palm flicker across my clit. Then, an idea. I reached out, grabbed the camera and pointed it directly downwards. There was a moment of panic as the focus slipped away, but it righted itself in a moment and I stared into the viewfinder, hypnotized by what I was seeing; the shaft that plunged in and out of me, as my hungry pussy lips sucked at the hard flesh, pulling him back inside....

You know how, sometimes, you'll be talking to someone, and they're bemoaning the fact that their sex life's so straightforward, that there's no adventure any more, no excitement, no real passion? Believe me, it's there; you just have to see it from the right angle. The tongue on the clitoris, the lips around the knob-end, the cock crashing into the spread, red cunny; they're all present and correct. It's just that when you're in the midst of doing it, you usually have no way of seeing it. I could, and it was getting me even more worked up than I already was.

I could see every move we made, every plunge, every drop of juice that caught the light and glistened in my pubes, on his shaft, dripping and oozing, so wet, so wonderful - and I could feel myself cumming again as well, as his thrusts grew more urgent and I knew he was as well. I ground my hand against my clit, willing us both to make it together - and we did, although as my hand flew back to the mattress for support, I felt, more than saw, his cock pop out again, and shoot its seed across my thigh.

I almost spoke... "damn, missed..." but the words were lost in my throat and, besides, it didn't matter. Instead I rolled over and kissed him hard on the mouth, and it was only after we'd lain there, not moving, for a while, that he finally spoke.

"You found the camera, then?"

I aimed it at his face. "Oh yes. And, what's more, I figured out how to use it as well." I panned down his body, zoomed in on his softening cock, and then handed him the camera while I bent to lick the last drips off the end. He groaned gently as I suckled the helmet, and I sensed, rather than saw, the camera zooming in closer; I waited, then turned to face it, sticking my tongue out to show off the cum that I'd collected.

"And... cut!" I cried as I tired of the pose, then reached across to the chair where I'd deposited my laptop. "It's time to edit the highlights together." With a laugh and a lot more energy than I expected, Campbell plugged the cable into the port, pressed a few buttons, and then chuckled triumphantly. That first scene was already unfurling across the screen and, though the angle looked strange (and my chin looked too big), there's no two ways of putting it. It was hotter than hell. We were hotter than hell.

I glanced at the television. Bob Costas was going into raptures about the latest American gold medal triumph, and I have to admit that my heart swelled with pride as the Star Spangled Banner chimed out across the stadium, and Michael Phelps stepped up to receive his third gold of the games. But then my ears picked up another sound, and that intrigued me even more.

"My God, is that really what I sounded like?"

Campbell hugged me. "You bet! And I love it. It's the sexiest sound I've ever heard."