One Weekend Stand

His mouth followed his hand of its own accord, the urge to kiss and taste her breasts unfathomable in its intensity. There'd be time later to learn their contours, to explore every inch of them. But now he treated them almost reverently, gently kissing each hardened nipple, listening as every light touch of his lips changed the cadence of her breathing. Then, submitting to the signals bombarding his brain, he began licking her soft flesh, suckling the rough nipple, making mouth love to the part of her that, until now, had only fired his imagination.

He decided that her clothes were in the way at the same time she did. They both reached down and pulled the sundress up and over her head, letting it float to the floor. Her bra quickly followed. She stood there, sexy and not self-conscious at all, her bikini panties no different than a bikini swimsuit bottom, but promising so much more. He stepped back to admire her, taking it all in like a man who's desert thirst had suddenly been quenched. Her breasts were as full and firm as a school girl's, none the worse for having a child. Her stomach was flat and her hips had the kind of curves that made him want to run his hands up and down them... forever.

He pulled her close again, his arms sliding along her nearly nude body, his lips finding hers again. He felt her tugging insistently on his shirt. Barely breaking the kiss, he pulled it up and over his head, then groaned with pleasure as she rubbed her torso up and down against his chest, her breasts leaving heated trails wherever they passed. Pulling her even closer, he slid his hands down her back, then inside the waistband of her panties. He fondled her butt, her smooth flesh and muscles filling his hands. Then he bent and scooped her up onto his hands, drawing her seated form up against him, as if she was a gymnast about to climb a circus pole.

She understood his intent immediately, wrapping her legs and arms around him, balancing herself on his hands. In turn he pulled her hips hard against his, the motion unmistakable, the need openly apparent. She moaned against him, her breathing quickening and echoing in his ears. He stepped backwards with her. One step. Two. Then he allowed himself to fall backwards onto the bed, turning his face away so they wouldn't bump heads from the jolt. She yelped, surprised to find herself suddenly astride him, her panties rubbing deliciously against his rough jeans. Smiling widely, she fumbled with his belt, and he reached down to help her, his eyes finally leaving hers, sliding down her body, from her delighted smile to the sweep of her breasts, down the flat of her belly, to the point where her panties perched atop his jeans, and her hands worked at the final button at his waist.

He pulled the belt from the loops and waggled it in front of her. "For later," he said, sure that she would understand the joke. She giggled, then reached inside his underwear, her fingers encircling his hardness, insistent to know him before even seeing him. He pushed his hips up, lifting himself – and her – into the air, then pushed his pants and underwear far enough down that he could shrug them off. His twisting and contortions bounced her up and down upon him, and she moaned when his cock finally broke free of its confines and rubbed seductively against her silken covered mound.

Free of his clothing, he pulled her down atop him, his legs and arms twining around hers, the cool smoothness of her a perfect counter to the searing heat he felt elsewhere. They stopped moving for a moment, her body delicately balanced upon her mound, meeting a point just below his hips, his shaft stiff against her panties. In that moment of stillness he waited, letting the anticipation build, knowing that she also truly enjoyed that anticipation, that each was nearly addicted to it. Was she too wondering whether what was to come would completely change their relationship, whether the intricate dance they'd had over the last years would be ruined forever? Or would it grow stronger and deeper?

He felt her body shift and bump against his cock, and the decision was made. He pulled her down onto him and rolled them both over, so he now was atop her. With no more than a glance from him, she lifted her hips from the bed, allowing him to hook his fingers into her panties and pull them down. The sight of her neatly trimmed pussy shot a thrill through him. For a fleeting moment, he was inclined to push his mouth between her legs and lick her into a frenzy. But he couldn't remember if she said she liked that. And there'd be time enough for that later.

He crawled back up her body, his lips dipping along the way to kiss her loins, her belly, her waist, her breasts, her neck, her lips. He could feel her thighs brush lightly against him as she opened herself to him, could see how the arch of her back made her breasts all the more prominent and mesmerizing. But as in the way of desire, once having conquered one thing, man always wanted more. And though her breasts had tantalized him for so very long, his attention now was solely focused on the tip of his cock, and its careful positioning just outside her unseen slit. Slowly, with a care that belied his hunger, he lowered himself down, gasping when the tip encountered the soft, promising folds of her pussy. Down, the head slid, down and slightly in, searching down, like a beast finding a new cave to dwell in.

And then he let gravity take over. Dropping down. And pressing in...

She gasped, then moaned, an animal sound, as the familiar feeling of fullness replaced what had been a burning emptiness. She found that she had thrust back against him, not meaning to, and her body was half lifted off the mattress. Slowly she lowered herself back down, grateful that he stayed inside her, following her back down all the way. She'd worried, for a moment, that their first connection would be disappointing, that nothing could live up to the anticipation stoked up over all these years. But his first stroke had been electric, and her instinctive reaction had emboldened him, given him permission to loose all his passion and treat her not as a fragile flower, but as a passionate woman, home to as many unquenchable urges as he himself felt.

Don't think! Feel! She admonished herself. He was sliding back and forth in a steady rhythm now, clearly trying to make it last. Every so often he would withdraw completely and then press back into her pussy, so it felt like he was taking her for the first time, again and again and again. She wanted to ride him, to take him to the hilt. Wanted him from behind, like he wrote about in his stories. Wanted him to pin her to the bed, an avenging angel with a sword of fire. But there'd be time for all of that later.

She let herself go, answering every thrust with one of her own, her legs raised and crossed about his back. For every thrust of hers he had an answer, violently slamming himself against her, the slap of their bodies filling the room, the grunt of his efforts matched by her own animal keening. She closed her eyes tight, erasing her sight so she could concentrate fully on that intimate contact, the skin on skin, the sound of his breathing, the scent of them both. She shuddered as a small orgasm rippled through her, all of her muscles tightening, especially those between her legs. She could feel his body arch against her, the point of contact so small yet communicating so much. She tensed her pussy again, physically urging him to release himself deep inside her, to conquer her body with his seed.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" he babbled incoherently, confirming what she already knew as he spasmed inside her, again and again. Then an even more powerful orgasm slammed through her, its impact amazing her, leaving her quivering and breathless. She was in shock. When was the last time that had happened? Coming together? She didn't even try to remember, content to know that it was long enough that she couldn't remember. Even after he was spent he continued to stroke inside her, eliciting more tiny orgasms and tremors from her overwhelmed sensory system. Not until he slowed did she lower her legs back to the mattress, wanting him to stay deep inside her as long as he was able.

He stayed atop her for a minute, maybe two, his shaft softening inside her. Finally he slid off her, pulling her onto her side, his cock sliding wetly out of her. He'd released himself deep, deep inside her, so she didn't have to worry about making a mess. But soon she'd have to get up and wash herself. For now, though, they lay side by side, facing each other with mere inches between them. She wasn't a big fan of spooning, but this felt natural. She could look into his eyes, watch his chest as it slowly calmed, feel the nearness of his body along the whole course of her own.

"Hi there," he said.

"Hi yourself," she replied, wondering why he was suddenly shy. Was he regretting what they'd done? His fingers answered her unspoken question, reaching out to slip through her hair, caressing her shoulder, tracing the peak of her breast, smoothing the curve of her waist, then resting comfortably on her hip. Throughout this journey she'd wriggled and giggled, for she was ticklish nearly everywhere, and more susceptible to a light touch than any purposeful tickling. She watched him watching her, seeing how he smiled at her discomfort, not cruelly, seemingly just pleased at the nearness of her.

"That was..." he started.

"Hmmmm?"

"...Nice."

Nice? Her suspicions fired off again. She'd expected a compliment more... more elaborate, something erotically descriptive from a writer's mind. But 'nice' was just too plain. Was he letting her down easy? Was her lovemaking not passionate enough? What more did he want? Then she noticed concern in his eyes. Why was she getting worked up? She shouldn't judge the word, but the way he said it. 'Nice.' Perhaps she'd left him incapable of coming up with any other word. She smiled outwardly at the thought. Whatever doubts she had left flew away as his hand slid down off her hip, down between her legs, two fingers finding her slit and gently opening it, while another strummed lightly at her clit, encouraging it to engorge, to reignite her feminine desires.

Too soon, she wanted to cry. It's too soon after all we've just done. And as if he'd heard her silent entreaty he pulled back, releasing her clit from his loving torment. He knows it's too soon, she thought with an inner smile. He knows that it's better to wait. There'll be time for that, she thought drowsily, tiredness overcoming her. Time enough for that later.

To be continued...