Annette Goes Undercover

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shaunreagh
shaunreagh
1,238 Followers

The sheath didn't cover it all, but it covered enough to look safe. It looked dangerous as hell, in fact, but sort-of safe too, if you know what I mean. Thus protected against the ravages of nature, looking dangerous but safe ... and hard, and very strong, and with just one thing on its smutty little mind ... I gave rein to my own, similarly smutty little thoughts.

I stretched my right leg over him. I poised myself above the gentlemanly part that was beneath me, appropriately dressed and masculinely primed, and, taking hold of him some halfway up its length, I aimed the bulbous sheathed tip at the corresponding unsheathed part of me, and nervously guided its head as I gingerly descended ... part opened, part squeezed, until the tip was in the vaginal vestibule, of Graham Fillshape's lovely wife. That budding -- though currently gasping slightly-- undercover operative, who was no longer under very much cover at all.

Then I stopped. I stopped -- I realised, as soon as I did -- in order to savour what was there and where, precisely, that was. And where we were. And who we were ... strangers, passing in the ... well, early evening, at least. I stopped to savour this ... this what, this sin? Is that what it was?

The situation had arisen through no fault of its own. Through no fault of ours, one might argue, for neither of us planned it. We were pawns. Pawns which, once we had completed this pleasantly-anticipated interlude -- for judging by the trembling and gasping that was coming from us both, we were undoubtedly dialled up pretty high for what comes next -- would say our polite good-byes, and be on our way. An encounter earned and paid for one might say.

I felt the bulbous head inside the vestibule. He was unhurried, large. Easing around, as it were. Getting used to the construction, constriction, constraint. The inner furnishings perhaps. The heat and moistly welcoming allure that is the inner part, of girl. Liking what it felt, I sensed. Wanting what it promised. A swallowed once, above; a thought of one, below, and then ... I slowly eased my weight onto this interesting point.

Of view.

Of him.

Of where we'd got to, he and I. He didn't move. He let me do the moving, which was kind. Considerate. I reached for his hand and put it on my breast and squeezed mine over his to let him know that's what I wanted him to do. And cleverly, he did. Happy to do, to me, what I liked him to do, to me. What I wanted him to do, to me. He seemed to like doing that. Liked doing what I liked. Which I liked. I cautiously eased myself down on him and he made a face, and closed his eyes, as if I had just bequeathed on him some wondrous honour. That very look filled me with more than just the mere physical part, it filled my inner self with a glow of being wanted, and needed. Appreciated.

Was this why they called it 'fulfilment"?

Is that where it came from. A look like that. A feeling like this?

He was deep inside me now.

DEEP.

Inside ME.

I arched my back and urged his other hand onto my other breast. I encouraged them both to work on me. Work hard, then gentle, hard, then playful on the nipples, scratch a bit, then hard again. I squirmed and waved like a sapling impaled and encouraged his hands to be rough as my eyes, half closed, roamed the ceiling above and my lips spread wide. Then my teeth closed over a lip and I let out a groan.

I had arched my back and found that the act of arching like that had the effect of increasing the amount of him gorged inside me, and the change of angle felt enthralling as his tip, deep inside, nuzzled a part of me I wasn't used to being nuzzled in this fashion. A part of me that hadn't been nuzzled before. I did it again. I coiled and stretched and arched and thrust and found that deep nuzzle again. I was doing something with my pelvis and sensitive inner parts I'd never done before. I groaned, I sense with lust. I thrust, I knew with vigour. No-one could hear us here. No-one would ever know what we had done. What we were DOING.

This was a mere transaction.

A business agreement, if you will.

A contract, start, finish, done, pack up, go home, get on with life.

A note in the margin of existence. The hurly burly of business.

Albeit a form of hurly burly that took you places most transactions didn't.

A hurly burly you had to like ... so long as you kept it a secret.

Another arch, and curl, and thrust, and pelvic grind and ... there it was again. The deeply probing member finding virgin inner lands that had never been grazed like this before.

It felt ... sooooooooooo good.

shaunreagh
shaunreagh
1,238 Followers
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5 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 8 years ago
good job

I kind of skimmed it. I envy your ability to tell a story the way you do.

GimletEdgeGimletEdgeover 12 years ago
It's all in the counterpoint.

Annette's innocence is the perfect foil for the author's sensuous prose in this steamy tale of mutual seduction.

Man, was that good!

ReefkeeperReefkeeperalmost 13 years ago
Excellent!

Even though you know the inevitability of the outcome you're never absolutely sure she won't back out. Very good read.

schubbaschubbaalmost 15 years ago
finally

a story of you again. thanks - it's fantastic as always.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 15 years ago
UK

Another well written story, Shaun. I was afraid you had retired. What a pleasant surprise to come home after a hard day's work to find a new story of yours!

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