One Weekend Stand Ch. 07

She stripped, then carefully crawled back under the covers, purposely choosing the side he was facing. It wasn't the side she would normally sleep on with her husband in bed, so it felt kind of weird. But for what she had in mind, sides wouldn't matter in a few minutes anyway.

Snuggling up to him, he responded instinctively, pulling her closer without waking. She breathed the scent of him. Different, yet still familiar. A mintiness, too. He'd evidently brushed his teeth after putting her to bed. She kissed him, gently, on the brow. The cheek. The nose. The jaw. Each kiss a little longer, a little harder, a little warmer. As his eyes fluttered open she put her lips to his. Did he really know who he was kissing? Did he kiss this way all the time? Did it even matter?

He moaned, deep in his chest, and she felt the vibrations thrum into her body, channeled through the points where their flesh pressed together. He was kissing her in return now, hungrily, achingly. For a long time, minutes or hours, they fed on each other, molding their lips against together, as if to draw out the very essence of the other. She wanted to remember every sensation, yet still wanted to give him every sensation to remember. He pulled her closer, tenderly but assertively, until every inch of skin that could be touching was touching. His mouth against hers. Her breasts against his. Stomach. Thatches. Privates. Legs intertwined. Feet caressing the other's. His hand pressed in the small of her back. Hers holding the back of his neck. As close to one as two can be.

Close enough to feel him hardening, his manhood trapped between them. She'd never been one for graphic terms or dirty talk. She'd do it for her husband because it turned him on, but it never did anything for her. But now, in this place and this time, she wanted to let loose as freely and nastily as when she'd been on the sybian. She wanted to tell him to give her his dick, his rod, his staff, his snake, his fuck stick, his whatever term would turn him on the most. What came out was "cock," whispered raggedly between kisses, repeated whenever they had to break for air.

It was enough to elicit a question from him, whispered just as raggedly and with as much urgency. "What do you want?" he'd breathe. "Cock," she'd request. "What do you want?" "Cock." What do you want? Cock. What... What did she want? Was that all? Would that be enough?

He rolled over, onto his back, carrying her with him until she was pressing down upon him, his thick rod stuck between them like an extra limb. With strong hands on her ribcage he bench-pressed her upwards, until only their thighs were still touching. The sheets slid back until her upper torso was bare, and she shivered as his gaze swept her body from top to bottom.

Then he was lowering her down, slowly, edging her forward the whole time. When she came to rest on her elbows she found her right breast just above his lips. She settled down an inch and her breast was deep inside his mouth. He sucked, licked and kissed her tit with the same passion he'd displayed when kissing earlier. Only this time she couldn't respond in kind. She could, however, feed him her other breast simply by shifting her body over. After which she went back and forth for some time, any self-consciousness tempered by the evident pleasure he was taking in her. She reached between them to grasp his cock. She had more to give. Much more.

He wasn't sure which of them had decided to feed him her breasts. Or which was getting the most pleasure from it. For his part, he felt much like a king might feel. Or a barbarian conqueror, taking the queen of the kingdom he'd just won. He knew now what he'd been missing earlier, all those years in which she'd held him in some sort of spell, enthralled by her despite everything that could keep them apart.

She'd always imagined herself to be some sort of noble in a past life. A lady of the court. Or the wife of a rich businessman. But now he recognized her for what she was. And how her very presence seemed to stir such lust in all the men she met. She was not of the court, but above the court. In ancient Egypt, a princess perhaps. Or even in line to be queen. It was all there, he realized, for someone with some sense of history to decipher. Her svelte body, light skin tones and expressive eyes all prized by those who ruled so many years ago. Her facial features seemed frail, but he'd seen how quickly they could transform into a commanding presence, daring any to cross her and promising pain if they tried.

It was her breasts that had given him the final clue, once he'd really had the chance to truly appreciate them. Jutting outwards, firm and defiant, created to tease and reward. He could see her already, sitting astride a throne, the thinnest of silks cascading off her shoulders, only barely hiding what most men would give their lives to possess. Her position would be a barrier to some men but a challenge to others. And they might find a way into her bed, find a way to sample her beauty and passion. But they would never really have her. It would be like keeping a snowflake in the palm of your hand.

She didn't know, of course, and wouldn't accept it even if he told her. To have a past life was enough for her. She wouldn't presume to think that she was of royal lineage. It would put her in that group of egotistical women who did think they were something special, all those many years ago. No, she was happy to believe that her past lives were just a little more exciting than the present one. She'd think he was flattering her if he told her his theory. She'd think he was making it up.

Knowing the reason for his enthrallment did nothing to break the spell, however. He was just as greedy as ever. He rolled her onto her back and sought her lips, kissing her this time with all the knowledge he'd just acquired, kissing the empress in her, willing her to discover her past through the simple transference of passion and heat and shared bodily fluids. She clutched at him, pulling him down across her, bringing them closer than close once again. She reached between them, her hand suddenly hot on his cock, fingers measuring its girth, thumb caressing the tip. A second movement, the parting of her thighs, made her interests clear. He eased himself off her, just slightly, and let her feed the head of his cock into the entrance of her warm, wet cave.

This time he eased himself in, his lips never leaving hers, supported by his forearms, his lower body cradled by her open legs. He wanted to catalogue the sensations, to remember them forever. This moment. This time. Her eyes closed tight in concentration. Her breathing harsh in his ears. Her mouth questing against his. Her breasts so welcoming, quivering with each motion. Her lean, flat stomach, wicked with sweat. His cock, deeply embedded within her, their bodies moving only slightly in a timeless rhythm. Her legs now locked powerfully around him, keeping him in place. As if he'd ever want to leave.

They moved together slowly, she answering each thrust of his with one of her own. He was an oral and aural lover. The oral part he'd quenched for now, with kisses about her face, neck and breasts. The aural part now loosed itself, unbidden and unstoppable. "What do you want?" his nature whispered. Silence. Then, softly, tremulously, "Cock." "What do you want?" he repeated, the emphasis on the word want. "Cock," she whispered back, her voice harsh and demanding in his ear. Back and forth he urged her on. "How do you want it?" "When do you want it?" "How do you like it?" The nastier the question, the cruder her answer, and the harder he fucked her. Soon he was looming over her, slamming himself into her, against her, eyes closed in concentration, his every sense tuned to the point of impact, where her wet, hot cunt convulsively squeezed his cock with every stroke, drawing his cum closer and closer to the surface while bringing him closer and closer to losing complete control.

It was his greed that finally caused him to slow for a few moments. He was of two minds for a moment. Part that wanted to fuck her silly, spew his cum all over her and rub it deep into her skin like an age-old body cream. And part that wanted to make it last as long as possible, knowing that this time might be the last time, and the last time should be the best time.

When he slowed she knew exactly what he was up to. He didn't need to say it. She doubted if he would've, anyway. But she felt the same way. Could they make it last just a little bit longer? Who knew what the morning would bring? Maybe she could get him hard one last time. Or maybe this was his last stand, so to speak. Who knew how much stamina he really had? For her part, she was nearly used up. She already dreaded the thought of her husband "welcoming her home" when she returned, wanting sex when all she'd want was a long night's sleep. Ack! Why was she thinking about him? She had other things to think about.

They both slowed down, barely moving together. He whispered in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was. Telling her that she was from another age. Telling her about the kingdoms she could command and the legions that would fall to her feet. It wasn't the type of pillow talk she was used to. It was better. He painted pictures with words of an empire where she was the empress. An empire dedicated to truth and beauty and above all, a love of animals. And while he moved within her and spun tales of her past, she felt a flicker of recognition light within her. She'd dreamed of such things, often enough to be memorable. She'd never spoken of it, she was sure. So how would he know these things? How could he so accurately describe her dreams?

Suddenly her need for him was more carnal and nasty. She whispered her need to him. He withdrew, turned her over and then slid his cock back inside her, taking her like a dog in heat. She unleashed her passion, sliding back and forth on him, pulling his hands forward to cup her breasts, shaking her head wildly. She spewed all manner of filthy suggestions at him, urging him to take her as violently as he wanted.

They continued that way for some time, minutes of unbridled passion followed by slower, more intimate lovemaking. And then back again. She'd never done it quite like this. His cock rarely left her pussy. And when it did, she used her mouth to cool it down or heat it up. Normally, she didn't like to do that. But now, here, she was more than ready to do it. She wanted to make it last, too. Make this the best part of the whole weekend. Though her time on the sybian set the bar pretty high...

He wouldn't last much longer, that much was clear. He'd been within a few strokes of cumming several times already. Actually, it was a miracle he'd lasted this long. Usually his efforts to hold back never amounted to much at all. He'd get to the edge, think about holding back, and then his body would take over and he'd lose all control. This night, though, it was as if she was on the same wavelength. Every time he needed to slow down, she helped him. The difference between a woman who enjoyed anticipation versus one who liked instant gratification, he guessed.

The question wasn't when to cum, but where. He was sure she'd be OK with pretty much anywhere, except her mouth. She provided the answer without being asked. "Inside me. I want it deep inside me," she murmured to him even as he took her hard, looking down at her. They locked eyes then, his cries intermingled with hers, and suddenly he was spasming deep inside her, coating her pussy with stream after stream of hot, viscous liquid, his body as rigid as his cock, her body writhing and quivering beneath him.

He kept pumping inside her, her fingers now tenderly trailing along his back, his body spent but his passion still seething. Then he allowed himself to settle onto her, careful not to crush her but still covering her whole body. He kissed her as tenderly as he could, not as a matter of course but in abject thankfulness. He wasn't sure if he should say thank you. "I love you," bounced around his brain, and then, without warning, it was on his lips and then past them. What? He waited for her to stiffen beneath him, to begin the long and painful explanation of why that couldn't be possible, why they couldn't allow that to happen. But, to his relief and surprise, her answer was a simple, "Me too."

She hadn't been waiting for it, so to speak. Just half expecting it. A weekend like this could set anyone's emotions into a jumble. Besides, she knew that he didn't really mean "love you" like I want us to get divorced so we can live together in newly-wedded bliss. Or even "love you" like we should start an affair and complain about our spouses after making love every weekend. No, he meant it like a man who just had a wonderful sexual experience and wanted to say thank you. As did she. "Me too," she replied, pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Me too."

To be continued...

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