A Welcome Surprise

"I never realised you looked so good with your shirt off," she breathed, with a smile.

"Why thanks," he replied. "You're pretty good-looking topless too, you should make a habit of-"

"Enough talk," she said, and they kissed again. They pressed even closer into one another, sharing and enjoying the sensation of skin against skin. She took the opportunity to move her hands and fingers across his back, running them over his shoulders, down the hollow of his spine, and lightly across his lower back, tracing the curve into the transition of his buttocks.

His skin tingled at her touch, and he realised for the first time how good it must have felt when he did the same to her. So he returned the favour, and for the longest time they just stood there, kissing and pressing against one another, gently running the very tips of their fingers across the tender skin of their backs and giving each other the most delightful coverings of goosebumps.

Presently she felt his hands come to rest on the strap of her bra, and as they kept kissing, she grinned. 'Here we go,' she thought. It was time for that eternal and monumental ritual, the wrestling with the bra; she knew of the difficulties that the young and inexperienced male could have with unhooking a bra, having heard tales of epic hour-long battles the frustrated boyfriends of her friends had waged. And she knew she was wearing a particularly uncooperative bra, with three tiny hooks on a thin little strap, which she often had trouble putting on; 'he's in for trouble,' she thought. But he simply grabbed the strap by both sides, and with one smooth and easy motion he had all three hooks undone and the straps dangling loosely.

She broke off the kiss, and regarded him with astonishment. "You've done this before," she almost accused.

He said nothing, merely favouring her with a wink and a grin, before he slowly slipped the bra off her shoulders. He didn't remove the bra entirely or immediately, though; he hung back, savouring the anticipation, with the fact that he was doing so clear upon his face. Here was what he had been dreaming about for donkey's years: he was about to lay eyes upon her breasts for the very first time, and he was getting set to burn the image forever into his mind. She almost laughed; it was so very cute of him.

After a few more seconds of agonizingly sweet anticipation, he let the bra fall off her breasts, and his jaw almost hit the floor before the bra did. There they were: full, round, nicely sized and admirably self-supporting, with a pair of nipples that just stood up and almost said 'hi there!' "Phwoar," he heard himself say.

She did laugh at that. "You're hopeless," she grinned.

He was aware that he probably looked quite foolish, but he was far from being able to help that. "Look at them!" he simply said.

"I've seen them before," she informed him, kindly.

"They're just... they're so..." he was beyond words, so he just shook his head in wonder, took another look, and kissed her again. He may not have been able to express his sheer appreciation of the sight of her breasts in words, but Cher was right: it was there in his kiss. She could tell that she was being kissed by a man who had achieved a life-long dream, who had seen what he had been wanting to see for longer than he cared to remember, and that having seen them he was not disappointed or underwhelmed in any way. Her breasts had more than surpassed what he had imagined; if anything, he seemed pleasantly surprised. It was all so very cute and puppy-like of him, she was amused and thrilled by his reaction, so she kissed him back, warmly and rewardingly.

He started moving, guiding her backwards, and shortly he picked her up and sat her on the desk, on top of his homework. She knew instantly what he was up to, confirmed as soon as he stopped kissing her: her breasts were now level with his face, and he was in close, looking right at them. She was loving this, and she rested an arm on his chest and placed her hand upon his cheek, holding his face tenderly, almost benignly. He looked up, briefly; it seemed that he so scarcely believed that he was faced with what he was faced with, that he almost felt compelled to ask permission for what she knew he was planning. She shut her eyes and laughed softly, resting her forehead against his; then she looked him in the eye. "Go on, then," she said, indulgently.

An expression of delight flashed across his face, but it wasn't to be seen for long, because he quickly buried it in her cleavage, smothering himself in her breasts. She rocked with laughter, and ran her fingers soothingly through his hair as he indulged himself. It didn't take him long to regain some control, and he returned to his more passionate-yet-restrained self, moving his hands gently along her outer thighs and buttocks, and pulling himself out of her cleavage to cover her breasts with kisses. Shortly his hands went upwards again, and he caressed and massaged her breasts while he started kissing her nipples, occasionally running his tongue around the outer rim of the nipple. She was surprised to find that having one's nipples tickled gently by a considerate tongue felt quite good, and she communicated as much by pressing his head a little more into her bosom, her eyes closed, head raised and back arching with pleasure as he poured sweet love upon her breasts, the minutes passing by.

Still standing, he wrapped his arms around her lower back again, and pulled her forwards on the desk, and he moved his hands slowly about the waistband of her pants. She could guess at what he was planning next, and she slipped off the desk, their lips locking as they came face-to-face once again. Sure enough, he came to her zipper, and he slowly unzipped her pants; he held on to them for just an instant, and then he let them go, and they tumbled slowly down her legs and around her ankles. Again, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare legs, and her whole body in general; she almost didn't realise that she was very nearly naked, with a thin and somewhat moistened pair of panties maintaining what little mystery there was left. He paused; she could tell he was trying to decide what to do next.

"Stuck for ideas?" she enquired.

"Hardly," he replied. "I'm paralysed with indecision, such is the large number of things I want to do to you."

"Really?" she grinned, as he stooped slightly to kiss her on the neck again.

"Mmm hmm." He placed both hands gently on her hips, and turned her around once again, and she took the opportunity to kick her pants over to the side of the room. He was behind her again, and again they pressed into each other; it was the same as before, except he was wearing less and she was wearing even less than him. He ran his hands all over her bare skin, softly yet quickly, seemingly covering every square inch that he could reach: they ran over her breasts, her chest, her stomach, her hips, her crotch again, her sides, and her thighs. He kissed her again on the neck, and this time his kisses extended down her neck and along her shoulder, and back up again, sending exquisite little shivers over her skin in all directions. She was waiting for him to slip her underwear off, but it didn't happen; he was still intent on building up their excitement, stroking and touching and kissing her, and pressing his bulging pubic proboscis into her back. She was on fire: she was burning with lust, with expectancy, with three weeks of alertness and awareness and horniness. She wanted him, she wanted it to happen and to finish, but she was also loving the delay; just waiting for it to happen was simultaneously the most enjoyable and the most agonizing feeling she'd ever had, the anticipation teasingly delicious.

He could sense her urgency, her expectancy. Her breathing was ragged and raucous; every inhalation sounded like a whispered moan, every exhalation a trembling sigh. He could feel her body quivering with anticipation. He knew he had kept her waiting long enough, so he ran his hand down along the centreline of her stomach again, and he kept going, tucking his hand into her undies, his fingers passing briefly through her pubic thatch, until they parted her lips ever so gently and landed right upon her swollen clitoris.

The sudden contact with her most private and sensitive of places made her gasp, large and loud, throwing her head backwards; and there she froze, her every extremity tingling with unbelievable sensual pleasure. He froze briefly too, not with indecision, but deliberately; eventually, ever so slowly, ever so gently, he stroked her, up and down, with exactly the right amount of pressure and in exactly the right way. She was frozen as much with stunned surprise as she was with paralysing pleasure; there was no doubting or denying now that this guy knew exactly what he was doing.

Onwards he stroked, slowly and rhythmically. His other hand moved very slowly too, roaming around her body: from cupping her breasts, up along her neck and face and through her hair, down her back, down her bottom and around her thighs, from outer thigh to inner thigh, brushing up her pelvis and stomach, and back to her breasts, with his other hand stroking her clit the whole while, ever so slowly, ever so beautifully. He alternated between kissing her shoulders and neck, sucking and nibbling on her ear, resting his cheek against hers, and over to the other side to do the same. She could feel her pleasure building up inside her; it was like a growing force, starting from some impossible depth in her pelvis and slowly spreading through her body, a warm, reaching, pervasive, indescribably pleasurable sensation.

Never had she imagined that she could feel this way, let alone that someone else could know how to make her feel this way, and he hadn't even taken his pants off yet. She felt her control slipping away; she was giving in, giving herself to him. She wanted to give herself to him. She wanted him to take control, to do what he was doing to her, to take her as far as she could go. She was his.

He could hear her now. It started quietly, barely audible, but it was there: a definite, occasional, low moan. He knew he was doing the right things. He was enjoying, loving every second of it; every touch of her skin, every stroke and caress, every rub he made down below, was sheer unadulterated enjoyment for him. There was nothing else on this earth he could imagine that he loved more than making a woman feel this way, pleasuring her, giving her the best that he could. If there was a way that he could do this all day, every day, for the rest of his life, that would be his definition of heaven.

Onwards he went, caressing and stroking her body and her clit, and gradually she became aware that she was making noises. They were nothing overt, but still a little embarrassing: a soft, high-pitched, short and quivering "ohh..." with every other exhale. She couldn't stop; to try to hold the noises in would have been wrong, anyways. She was alive, aroused and well on the way, and there was absolutely no point in trying to hide it from him or from herself. She didn't want to hide it. She wanted him to know.

Suddenly, things started building up quicker, as though her pleasure was bottling up, under pressure, and threatening to explode. Every rub felt better and better, every caress tingled more and more, and that growing force inside of her felt like it was expanding and doubling over upon itself, multiplying exponentially with every passing second. She lost all control over the noises she was making, the "ohh" quickly growing into a louder and more urgent "oh!", and then "uh!", and then "ah!!": a surprisingly high-pitched, feminine, almost helpless noise that she had never dreamed herself capable of making, but she was making it and she was making it over and over, and she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. Her breath was catching in her throat now, her voice echoed off the walls, and her body arched backwards into him, every muscle seizing up to pull her into a rigid pose of unbelievable, pent-up sexual excitement; she wanted to come, she wanted to let go, but it kept building up and up and up until she thought she would surely explode. And then the gates opened, the metaphorical dam broke, and she was coming, finally, mercifully, well beyond time; her knees went weak, and she had to throw her weight against him to keep from clattering to the floor; she was gasping and screaming and shrieking as he kept rubbing her clit and she was thrown about by violent waves of almost unbearable orgasmic ecstasy. And it didn't stop or slow down or abate in the slightest, it just kept coming, he kept stroking and she kept coming, until her throat burned and his ears rang and finally he slowed down, and let her settle down slowly, until finally the screaming turned back into moaning, the moaning back into gasping, and she was done, chest heaving, energy spent.

"Oh...my...God..." she finally gasped. "Oh," she said. "Oh," she said again. "Oh God I needed that."

"I could tell," he said. "Do you normally get so worked up?"

She shook her head, hanging limply in his arms. "This... this has been building up for weeks," she tried to explain. "I don't know how, or why; but I've been needing this for so long..." She turned in his arms, and kissed him, long and gratefully and thankfully. As they kissed, he leaned into her, and she realised that he was still in the mood.

"Oh boy," she said, and looked up to see he had a somewhat naughty little smile. "I'm not sure I have the energy for anything more."

"Don't you?" he asked, with a bit of feigned indignation. "Nah, you'll be right; all you need is to catch your breath and recuperate a little. Come here." And he kissed her again, lightly and sweetly as always, but with even more restraint; he backed off from pressing himself into her so much, and kept his hands upon the back of her neck and in her hair. He bent down, and picked her up off the floor, carrying her back over to the desk where he sat her down and let her rest her legs, kissing her all the while. As he kissed her, her sheer exhaustion began to lift, and she started kissing him back stronger, reaching around to get a couple of handfuls of his delightfully tight and perky buttocks, letting the passion and the lust come back into their embrace.

'He's been doing all the work,' she realised. 'I think it's time I started pulling my weight here.' Releasing his bum, she came back to his front, and laid hands for the first time upon the intriguing and flattering bulge in the front of his pants. There was no mistaking it for anything else; it was a hell of an erection, the shaft wide, long and round and the head large and swollen, straining hard against the confines of his pants. She almost felt sorry for the thing; it so clearly wanted its freedom, so she set to work on freeing it, undoing his belt and his pants, unzipping him as he had unzipped her, and pulling both pants and jocks down and away. Breaking the kiss to lay eyes on the prize, she almost fell off the table; the damn thing must have been ten inches long, pointing proudly and urgently at the ceiling, almost throbbing; it was underscored by a very tightly-packed scrotum, and fringed by a large, almost afro-like untamed growth of pubic hair.

"Whoa," she said.

"You like?" he said, somewhat surprised.

She was lost for words. "This..." she started; "...this is amazing. I haven't even touched you, and look at you! You could dent a car door with that thing!"

He laughed at that one. "Listen, my dear," he said. "If any guy had seen the things I've seen here, done the things I've done, and heard what I've heard, they'd have a big fat one wrapped around their ears too."

"You're a natural poet, did you know that?" she chided. "Shut up and kiss me."

He did as instructed, and she left her hands down there to caress and explore. She ran her fingers up and down the shaft, ever so lightly; it was covered in ridges formed by bulging veins, the foreskin pulled back tight by the state of his arousal. She moved down to caress the tightly-drawn skin of his firm young scrotum, and was surprised as he broke off the kiss and quivered with sudden and surprised pleasure; she grinned, and gently tickled his balls again, provoked a stunned, strangled gasp of ecstasy. "You like that?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he whispered. "I've never felt that before."

"Well, first time for everything," she grinned, and kissed him again, as they both got back to touching and caressing each other's naughty bits. She grabbed his cock by the base of the shaft, and stroked him up and down, very gently; he placed both hands upon her inner thighs, and traced his fingertips up and down, in and out, gradually building closer and closer to the treasures between her legs. Upon reaching her panties, she lifted herself off the table, allowing him to peel them off her, and he found himself staring at one hell of a sight.

"You know something?" he said. "You look incredibly good with your clothes off."

"I know," she shrugged. "Now please tell me you have a condom."

Quick as a flash, he reached into his nearby backpack, and came back with an unmistakable slim blue plastic packet; she rejoiced, and he gave it to her, standing proudly as she placed the condom atop his formidable member and slowly unrolled the length of the prophylactic, down over the bulging head and along the shaft. She came to the end of the condom several centimetres before coming to the base of his cock, and they stared at each other in surprise. "Cripees," he said. "First time for that, too."

"You must really like me," she grinned, and gave it a tug. "It'll stay on."

"We'll keep an eye on it," he agreed. They paused to share a rather naughty grin, and then she was on her feet and in his arms, and they were kissing each other yet again. He picked her up, and pinned her against a nearby wall; she yelped with surprise at the feel of the cold plaster against her bare back and arse, but she gave him a reassuring smile, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Think you got your energy back?" he checked.

She looked him square in the eye. "Fuck me," she simply said.

"You're the boss," he winked, and he lowered her slowly, until she was almost balancing upon the tip of his cock. Eyes locked into his, she positioned herself until she felt the flange of his bulbous, rounded nob up against her opened, waiting lips; then she lowered her hips, and he slid into her slick, moistened depths, ever so slowly, penetrating inch by inch. Her eyes widened as she felt herself parting to accept his bulk; he was so wide, so long, so very very hard, like a warm, gently curving rod of steel or concrete. It seemed to be going in forever, and she realised that as he was going in, he was growing even bigger.

"How big can this thing get?" she whispered, with just a little awe.

"This is a personal best, babe," he replied, as stunned as her. "Forgive me if I don't stop and grab a ruler, eh?"

She chuckled at the thought of that, and pressed her body firm against him again, as he pressed against her to rest more of her weight against the wall. Still further his length disappeared into her, until finally she came to rest against his hips, his scrotum resting gently against her parted lips. "We're in," she whispered.

"Let's go," he replied, and slowly, ever so slowly, he began to pump in and out. His first movement was very slow and drawn-out, only withdrawing a very little way before going back in again; she shut her eyes and rested her chin upon his shoulder, revelling in the incomparable feeling of making sweet sweet love. They held each other even closer, her breasts pushing hard against his chest, her nipples warm and hard and very near to his own. He kissed her on the neck again, which she was thankful for; he was very good at that, not to mention how good he was at what he was doing below: stroking in and out more firmly now, with longer and slightly quicker strokes. His shape and length was hitting her in all the right places, the walls of her vagina clinging close about the slight banana-like curve he had that made his dick point a little towards his stomach. And after a while, his hand came back, somehow craning into the fray and finding her clitoris, first time, yet again. She felt her excitement returning rapidly, as he continued working with her and for her, pumping smoothly and slowly into and out of and back into her.