Second Time Around

It twitched again and this time I knew it was returning interest, because I could feel it hardening. So could Catherine, for she gave me an arched eyebrow look and wink as she took the head of my prick into her mouth, licking, sucking, nipping lightly with her lips. I had a moment of that inspiration which seems to come so rarely to we men, and touched her head. She looked up enquiringly, my thickening prick between her lips.

"If you swing that luscious ass of yours round here, I can give you the benefit of my mouth, too." I arched my brows. "Yes?"

"You want to eat me?" she whispered, letting my prick slide from her mouth.

I nodded. "Yes, I do."

She shuddered. "Chuck never wanted to, after - are you sure?"

"Yes, love, certain. Come on, swing those hips over here."

Catherine wiggled round and lifted one leg over my head, then settled herself so that her pussy was inches from my face. "Okay there?" she said.

"Just a sec'," I said, and pulled a pillow under my head to give me a little more lift. I extended my tongue and stabbed her dead centre.

She jumped and giggled. "I guess you are," she said and her lips closed over my prick again, warm, wet, alive.

I gave a tentative lick at her pussy, tentative only because I wanted to be sure of my range, not because of any doubt. I ran my tongue the length of her slit, tasting her, tasting myself, a faint familiarity in the taste, throwing my mind back to hormonal surges in my experimental, adolescent self. Catherine had left the pubic hair on her mons, trimmed back only to her bikini line, but her lower lips were bare, swollen now, succulent, her pussy slightly open, a trickle of moisture in her slit. Not for long, as I entended my tongue again and swept her clean. I kissed her upper thighs, her lower lips, I licked, I sucked, and I pointed my tongue as hard as I could and pierced into her depths. She moaned softly around my prick, warm breath in exhalation stiffening me further.

We settled to a rhythm, almost in sync, my tongue slurping her length, or sluicing across her labia, occasionally flicking lightly at her clitoris, lightly because I knew from experience how sensitive that little portion of a woman's anatomy could get, while Catherine fucked my prick with her generous mouth, her head rising and falling as she licked and sucked, her tongue weaving patterns on me as she moved. I could feel that familiar strain building in me, the breathless tension that goes before climax and I knew it couldn't be long.

I began to move my tongue faster, pressing harder, giving more attention to the little nub of pleasure and in turn Catherine moved quicker. I was close now and I let a little moan trickle into my throat. I flicked her clitoris and felt her thighs clamp lightly on my head in reflex. Encouraged, I intensified my efforts and felt her grip tighten again. Her movements on my prick quickened and I was almost there, I knew it.

I flattened my tongue and swept it the full length of her sex, then flicked her clitoris again, trying to ignore the urgency that was rooted in my very core, but a flick of Catherine's tongue pushed me over the edge and she gulped and swallowed convulsively as I came, my seed jetting into her throat in five or six hard pulses. I had briefly paused as the climax took me, but I redoubled my assault on her sex. Maybe it was the excitement of my coming, maybe it was just that she was so nearly there herself, but it took only three strokes of my tongue and her thighs clamped on me, a mew of pleasure escaping past my prick and then the two of us were lost in the agony and the ecstasy of climax.

Long moments passed before Catherine almost painfully unclamped the grip of her thighs, my prick slipping from her mouth as she eased herself off me, turning, smiling, and laying down beside me, her head on my shoulder, the whole, warm, naked length of her against me.

"That was wonderful," she said. "You are an ace pussy-eater."

"And you, my love, are an equally ace cock-sucker."

Catherine laughed. "I can probably do better. I'm out of practice."

"I'm not sure I can take better," I said, hugging her. I glanced at my watch. "It's almost seven-thirty. A shower and a nap, before dinner?"

"Sounds great. Take turns in the shower, or together?" she said

"Together! That means you can wash my back, and I can wash your front!"

Catherine giggled. "Come on, then, before you trickle out of me completely."

The shower was fun, but it was mostly a sweet, wet time of caresses and kisses, warm hands on smooth, wet skin, nothing overtly sexual. We were still learning about each other, we knew we had the night to come and we just played. We snuggled together in the bed for forty minutes, kissing, caressing, saying the silly things that new lovers do, then dressed and presented ourselves at the restaurant a couple of minutes after nine. The meal was good, although I couldn't tell you now what we ate, but by eleven we were back in room seventeen. I'd only had one glass of wine, Catherine little more, and we were both excited at the prospect of spending the night together, evidenced by the rising bulge in my pants. I'd had to walk very carefully leaving the restaurant.

Catherine had taken my arm and was snuggled against me as we walked, humming some popular ditty whose title escaped me. As soon as I had closed the door of the room behind us, she was undressing, and by the time I’d turned from locking the door, she was naked on the bed, legs spread, smiling at me, her eyes smoky with her passion.

“I want you,” she said.

“And I want you,” I said. They were the only whole words either of us spoke for ages as we explored each other’s bodies again, our mouths working overtime to excite each other, fingers stroking, using our bodies to stimulate each other. It was the most intense involvement I’d had with a woman for years and when my prick finally slid easily into Catherine’s soaking-wet pussy I was as hard as I’d ever been. We were so excited that I knew it could only be a matter of moments before I came, and I was startled when after only three or four strokes of my prick Catherine cried out wordlessly and I could feel the pulsing of her pussy as her orgasm washed over her.

The excitement tipped me easily over the precipice of climax I’d been skirting and my vision almost blurred with the intensity of my own climax, my seed surging from me in intense bursts which drained me. The two of us were drawing in deep, shuddering breaths as we fought to regain equilibrium and long moments passed before I withdrew weakly and collapsed to my back beside Catherine. She rolled over into me, her leg going between mine and her arm coming across my chest. She murmured something but when I spoke there was no answer, and I realised almost with shock that she was asleep, so drained was she. The next thing I knew was the bed moving as she came back from the bathroom. I looked at the green display of the bedside clock. Three-fifty.

She settled beside me, moving carefully so as not to wake me, and she smelled fresh and felt slightly damp when I put my arm around her. She chuckled and stretched to kiss me.

“I was trying not to wake you,” she murmured. “I had to take a shower, you were running out of me.”

“It will be a while before I can manage to replace your lost liquids, madam,” I said, teasing.

Catherine giggled. “Probably just as well, because I need sleep!” She reached down and squeezed my prick. “But I want him again, soon as I’m properly awake.”

“Do our best to oblige, ma’am,” I said, giving her a quick caress from throat to knee, with just a little emphasis at breast and mons. She made me do it again before we slept.

I didn’t wake normally. Catherine woke me by licking at my prick as if it was a popsicle. By the time I’d gathered my scattered wits my prick was acting independently and well on its way to being hard. Catherine smiled around my prick when she realised my upper brain was functioning and gave me a wink as she worked. I lay back, enjoying. I was disappointed when she removed her hot mouth, but my disappointment vapourised as she moved to straddle me, shuffling forward so that she was poised above my hot, hard length then lowering herself slowly, sensuously feeding me into her hot wetness, the folds of her core enveloping me, squeezing me, pure sensation as she took my full length within herself.

She took my hands and raised them to her breasts, the nipples hard with her want, her eyes on me, warmth in their smoky depths as she rode me slowly to the violent tumult of a shared climax, my hips almost bucking her off as her measured pace took me to exquisite agony-ecstasy.

Breakfast was taken late, partly because there was no rush, partly because we’d wanted to make love again and didn’t intend to rush it. It was almost eleven before I drove out of the car park. Catherine looked back with a rueful look. She looked across at me and smiled.

“Good memories,” she said.

“The best.”

“Ben?”

“Mmm?”

“When we get home?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I pack a bag and come and stay with you? While the girls are at camp?” She was hesitant.

I reached across and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “As long as you like.”

“I have Monday and Tuesday off. Wednesday I’m back at work.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m well ahead on my current contract so I can afford to take a couple of days off. What would you like to do?”

“Make love,” she said instantly.

I grinned at her. “What were you planning to do with my corpse?”

Catherine laughed. “Okay, I concede. I might need to let you have the occasional rest, but can we make love every night?”

“Morning, too, if I can manage it.”

She frowned. “Am I too demanding, Ben?”

“Never! As long as I can manage an erection, it’s yours, sweetheart.” I reached across and squeezed her hand. The road was easy, the traffic light, and we held hands for the next fifteen miles, just chatting. It was a long time since I’d been able to talk so easily to a woman. Catherine reminded me of Lisa, my five-years dead wife. Not in looks, but in personality, with the same simple, lusty, active joy in love-making, and positive outlook on life.

By the time we were approaching home, it was late afternoon. We stopped briefly at Catherine’s house, while she checked that everything was okay, and packed a bag, and we reached the house that Judy and I shared just after seven-thirty. We’d stopped briefly and picked up some Chinese food and we sat at the kitchen table, elbows on the table, feeding each other with chopsticks. Clearing up was the work of moments, and we sat for a while with a glass of wine, but shortly before nine we went upstairs hand-in-hand and into my bedroom.

Lisa’s photograph was on the dresser and Catherine picked it up. She looked across at me, her face solemn. “How long is it now, Ben?”

“Just over five years.”

“You still miss her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Every day. I just have to look at Judy.”

“I can see the resemblance.” Catherine smiled wryly, putting the photograph back on the dresser. “Ben, I feel as if I’m intruding.”

I moved across to her quickly, taking her hands. “No, Catherine. You are not intruding.” I glanced across at Lisa’s picture, taken before her illness. The laughing face, the blonde hair, blue eyes. “When we knew she was dying, Lisa got me to make a promise.”

“A promise?”

“Yes. She said I wasn’t to mourn her for ever, that if I found someone, even if it was the day after the funeral, I must go on living.”

“And?”

“I said I would, of course. I would have said anything to please Lisa, but she made me swear. I never thought I would meet anyone, of course.” I looked into Catherine’s eyes. “Now, I have.”

Catherine moved forward and was in my arms, her head on my shoulder. I just held her for a while, then released her. “Do you want the bathroom first?”

Catherine laughed, taking my hands. “How big is your tub?”

I laughed. “Ample for two, and it’s a whirlpool tub.”

“Excellent,” said Catherine and started to undress.

I don’t know if it was the moment, simple tiredness or what, but for some reason we didn’t make love that night. We made up for it in the morning, the two of us coming to a shattering climax together. We showered, with much tickling and caressing, and nine-thirty saw us in the car again. We’d decided just to play tourist and we spent the day visiting antique shops, historical monuments and the like. We dined at a little seafood restaurant I knew near the marina. Over-priced, but the food was good. Nine-thirty saw us home again. Nine-thirty-one saw us in bed.

Next day was more of the same, except that we were in bed by nine. Wednesday, Catherine had to be at work. I drove her to the library, wondering what her colleagues would make of the smartly-dressed, confident woman that she was in place of the dowdy mouse of the previous week.

“Ben, I’m announcing to the world that I have decided to live again,” she’d said to me. “If anyone asks what changed my mind I shall merely point at you and probably get a silly smile on my face. I’m sorry, it’s just the way I feel.”

I laughed. “The silly smile will probably just be a reflection of mine, love.” I kissed her. “I’ll pick you up here at one.”

I went home, actually did some work, although I was a good week ahead on my contract, and at one I was waiting for Catherine outside the library. She was prompt and we drove to the mall. We grabbed some Mexican snack food and strolled hand-in-hand window-shopping. Gradually I steered her round to my chosen destination. Like a lot of women, a jewellery store window was almost irresistible to her and she was happy to look. I took a deep breath and Catherine’s hand and moved her away, to a conveniently empty bench. We sat and I took her hands in mine.

“Catherine, there’s something I want to ask you?”

She smiled. “So ask.”

“How well do you get on with Judy?”

Catherine looked startled for a moment, then smiled. “Very well, Ben, she’s almost like a second daughter.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. I get on great with Annie, too. How do you feel about us making them sisters?” I held my breath.

Catherine looked at me, eyes enormous, her expression solemn. “Ben, are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes, I am. Catherine Johnson, will you marry me?”

She stared at me for a moment, then flung her arms around my neck. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

I held her, my heart full, oblivious to the curious looks and knowing smiles of the passers-by. Catherine disentangled herself and sat up, love in her eyes, a smile on her face. I indicated the jewellery store. “Shall we get the ring?”

Smiling, Catherine shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Ben, I think Annie and Judy need to know before we do anything else, and I’d like them to help pick a ring.”

I grinned. “Fine by me. We’re visiting them on Saturday, so we can talk about it with them then. Shall we see if Trout River Lodge has room seventeen available for Friday and Saturday?”

Catherine grinned back at me. “Yes!”

We spent the rest of the week in a haze of love, early nights and wonderful sex. I picked Catherine up outside the library on Friday and by ten that evening we were in bed in room seventeen. Next morning was the first morning we hadn’t made love before breakfast since the previous weekend, but at nine-thirty we were among the first visitors at the camp. Judy and Annie were waiting for us, both in shorts and t-shirts, tanned, happy, arms linked. Judy hugged me and turned naturally to Catherine, hugging her too, while Annie was equally naturally performing the same manoeuvre in the opposite order.

“And how are our two favourite girls?” I said.

“We’re great, Daddy,” said Judy. She blushed a little. “There are some really nice boys here.”

I laughed. “Come on, get in the car. We got permission to take you out for lunch, as long as we have you back by five. Anything you need to fetch, get it now.”

The girls looked at each other. “No,” said Annie, “we have everything we need.”

The four of us got in the car and I drove us down to the bay, where I knew we could get a good meal later. When we’d parked, I turned to the two girls as they sat together in the back.

“We have a question for the two of you,” I said with a smile.

“A question?” Judy frowned.

“What sort of question?” said Annie.

“A very important one,” Catherine said. She took a deep breath. “How would you like to be sisters?”

They got it immediately, and - thank God - there was delight on both faces. The girls hugged each other and us and then there was a babble of questions. It took an hour before we got moving again. There was no decent jewellery store on the bay, but that didn’t matter. Three weeks later the four of us went shopping together. The distaff vote was a unanimous decision in favour of a simple solitaire diamond, which wiped out my bonus for my last job but which is money I have never regretted spending. I bought the girls matching bracelets as mementos of the occasion. They wear them constantly.

That all happened a year ago, and Catherine and I have now been married for five months. Catherine is pregnant, and the girls have told us they want a baby brother. We’ve told them they’ll have to wait and see, just like us.