Slow

byLucy1970Harker©

"So I read a bunch of your stories this weekend," he said.



She felt the blush creeping over her face.



Luckily, she was driving so she could focus on the road.



"And?" she asked.



"They were good. Really good. You definitely are too good at writing that stuff," he said.

She heard him hesitate at the end of his thought. Oh God, she thought. Was he going to criticize them? She'd be mortified.



"But...?" she said, bracing herself.



"But," he said, smiling slightly, "I do have a question, I guess."



"Ok," she said.



"Why is it always so fast? Almost never slow," he said.



Her face felt red again. Hot. 

How the fuck would she answer that?



"Um. I don't know. I never thought about it. Is it really? I always feel like there's a big buildup, actually," she said.



"Oh, yeah. There's definitely a lot of tension built up, which is great. But the actual....," he hesitated.



She held her breath, certain no matter what he said next, she'd find it unbearable.



"The actual fucking part...it is usually pretty fast," he said.



Her face was utterly red.



"I guess I never realized," she said.



"Besides, fast is subjective," she said.



"I guess. I was just wondering if I should be insulted," he said.



She laughed. 



"Well now you have me thinking about it. I guess it could be a variety of reasons. One being that if I'm writing these stories the right way, I'm feeling everything in the story," she said.



"Sometimes," she said, embarrassed but continuing, "I even have to take breaks while writing them. You know?" 

His turn to turn a little red.



"I get you," he said. She smiled.



"So in that case, when I get to that point, I have to do it fast," she said.



"Plus, I'm in total control of the story. I'm not at anyone else's mercy as to what they want or want to make me wait for. I can give it to myself exactly how I want it. How I need it," she said.



"Now, I thought you liked having someone else in control?" he asked.



"In theory, yes. That is my ideal. But the trick is, the right person has to be in control. I'll only hand it over if someone knows what I want and how to give it to me better than I do," she said.



"I have a lot of quirks. In general, but especially in the sex department," she said, smiling.



"Really?" he said, sarcastically. She took her hand off the steering wheel and punched him in the shoulder.



"What?" he said, laughing.



"Jerk. But seriously, I think I've only met one man who I gratefully handed over control to. I learned a lot about me, and other things..." she said, trailing off.



He realized she was remembering something. It made him a little jealous for a second.



"But if I'm better at it than you are, I'm taking over," she said.



"That's the general you, of course," he said.



"Is it?" she said, laughing.



"Watch it," he said.



"So what are these quirks you have?" he said.



"I'm just weird. I'll get enjoyment out of the standard sexual experience, but if someone does things the right way, it takes it to another level. For both of us," she said.



"Example?" he said.



They'd reached his house. He waited for a minute.



"Don't you need to get inside?" she said.



"Why don't you have a beer with me first," he said.



She looked at her watch.



"Come on. Just one," he said.



"Ok," she said. 

She sat on his back porch steps while he got two beers. He sat down next to her. It was early summer. The night was just beginning to soothe the sun's heat. The street was quiet.



"So you were saying?" he said, handing her a beer.



"I was just saying how we can change the subject?" she said.



"Haha. Not yet," he said.



"Example, please," he said.



"Ok," she said, taking a drink.



"For example, my nipples are insanely sensitive. Like crazy. Like putting on an over the shoulder seatbelt sometimes is irritating because I feel it every second. Play me the right way..you have no idea what could happen," she said.



"General you, of course," she said.



"Is it?" he said, laughing.



"Yes! Anyway, I've had experiences, though, many in fact, where men just look at these," she gestured to her breasts, "as playthings for themselves."



He conscientiously avoided looking at her chest, but she made it difficult. She wore low cut shirts on a regular basis and her breasts were big. Her current dress had a low cut neckline that looked like it was about to pop. 

So when she gestured, he looked. It was impossible not to.



"How so?" he said.



"Like when a guy makes a sloppy grope over or under my shirt in the throes of passion, it is not hot. It's obvious he's doing it to get himself off. Not me. I get more turned on by the seatbelt," she said.



"I can understand that," he said.



"So what should he do?" he said.



"Here, I'll show you. Give me your hand," she said.



"Now you're giving me lessons?" he said, smiling.



"A wise man once said a day without learning is a wasted day," she said.



"True," he said. 

"Of course, a wiser man once said if a girl offers you the chance to feel her up, you don't turn it down," she said.



He laughed. 

"That was a wise man indeed," he said.



He put down his bottle and rubbed his hands together to get rid of the condensation. He gave her his right hand.



"Here's the wrong way," she said.



She took his open palm and squeezed her hand over his, cupping her breast hard.



"That's what I expect a 13 year old boy to do the first time he gets near a real boob. Not hot," she said.



Despite the roughness of the touch, the fact remained that it was the first time either one of them had felt his hand on her like that. They both stopped for a minute.



His thumb grazed her skin, just above her neckline.



He pulled away.



"The right way?" he said.



She took his hand again in hers, and put it on her breast gently this time, and she guided his fingers to trace the neckline of her long dress. It was so silky soft. Her eyes fluttered a little.



He moved his thumb out from under her hand, stroking her with his other fingers, his thumb finding her nipple through the thin fabric and gently tracing over it back and forth through her shirt. She took her hand away and put it on the porch behind her. 

The dress was so soft, so silky and addictive. Her cleavage was so close to his fingers. 

Slowly, so slowly, he brought his fingers to her hard nipple and worked it, steadily, gently, slowly, he heard a gasp deep in her throat, and teased the neckline of her dress, pulling at it, not going underneath, teasing her nipple once more, and she pushed his hand away.



She opened her eyes.



"Well? Did I pass the test?" he said, picking up his beer again.



She took a sip of her beer to calm down.



"You passed the test," she said. She still couldn't look at him.



He smiled into his beer.



"One thing I do like about your stories is the kissing — that, you take your time on," he said.



"Oh yeah?" she said. Her face was still slightly flushed.



It was quiet for a minute. He was thinking about how soft her dress was.



"Yes," he said.



She pulled her leg under her as the fireflies blinked lazily in the twilight. Her knee touched his hand.



"In fact, I was wondering if you might want to continue your lessons," he said. 

Her eyes fluttered a bit. She still hadn't entirely recovered.



"Oh yeah?" she said.



"If you wanted," he said, looking out into the backyard.



She put her beer down.



"I suppose I could, if it is purely for the sake of education," she said.



"Of course," he said.



"Plus it will show you I'm capable of going slow," she said.



He turned toward her. 

"Right," he said, smiling.



She leaned into him, gently, slowly, just touching his lips with hers.



"The thing is," she whispered, kissing his mouth, "I really like it hard."



Her tongue found his and she inched closer to him.



"Hard and fast," she whispered again, pulling away, "they sort of go together, you know what I mean?"



He ran his fingers into her hair as their tongues slowly teased each other, each unconsciously moving closer, their kiss warmer, deeper. 

As her hands closed behind his neck, he whispered, "I do, but.."



With his hands sliding around her lower back, he managed to quickly turn her, pull her across him, so with her hands still around his neck, he had her below him, across his lap, romance novel cover style.



Still kissing her, he whispered, "Hard has nothing to do with fast."



Moving his hand from under her back to run over her hip and down her leg, sliding easily over the silky dress fabric, he said, "Hard and slow...you should try it sometime."



And tightening his hand on her hip, he kissed her hard, so hard, she couldn't breathe for a minute, so hard, so slow, his tongue deep in her mouth, wrapped around hers, his hands tightly on her body, her fingers grinding into his shoulders.



Her hips started to writhe on their own in his lap as she crossed her arms behind his neck to get more of his tongue, his mouth, on and in hers, and he lifted her hips to him to do the same, stroking them with his fingers.



The silky dress was driving him crazy. His right hand ran up and down the side of her body, down her thigh, circling her knee, back up her inner thigh, feeling her shiver, over her belly, up again, finding her hard nipple through the front of the dress, teasing him, daring him for more. He pulled his mouth from hers, still stroking her, and said, "You can't ever wear this dress around me again."



Trying to breathe with his hand touching her everywhere, she asked, "Why..why not?"



"Because I can't keep my hands off you in it," he said.



She smiled.



"I could take it off if it would make you feel better?" she said.



He laughed softly.



"It would definitely make me feel better," he said, finding her cleavage with this thumb, running it up and down her bare skin, and sliding it under the seam of the neckline of her dress, opening it slowly, excruciatingly slowly.



"But I doubt it would help me keep my hands off you," he said.



A light summer rain started.



"I should go, you should get inside," she said.



"In a minute," he said.



His thumb moved up to her collarbone, up to her face and teased her lips, damp now from the rain, and she gasped.



"What's that about?" he said.



She bit her lower lip.



"My lips are ticklish, touching them like that, so sensitive, it drives me crazy," she said.



He laughed then.



"If you keep giving me this type of ammunition, I might never run out of ways to torment you," he said.



"I'm counting on it," she whispered.



The rain got harder.



He teased her mouth again with his thumb and she tried to push his hands away.



Firmly, he caught both her hands and held them together behind her back with one hand, and touched her mouth, her lips with the tip of his thumb again, watching her catch her breath, her teeth chatter, her back arch.



"Stop! Stop..," she said.



He let go, and she pulled his mouth to hers again, eager for his tongue in her mouth lifting herself up and turning to straddle him. They were both getting wet. She ran her hands through his damp hair as they licked rain off each others' lips.



He reached up and, with both hands, pulled the top of her dress and bra open easily, letting her get wet with the rain, working her wet nipples with his fingers, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, head back, his hands pulling her to his mouth, working her nipple with his tongue, licking it, getting it wetter, harder. 



He pulled back and pulled her mouth down on his again, whispering.



"How's that? Is that the right way?" he said.



"Oh yeah...yeah," she said.



Her silky dress, her wet, soft, slippery skin, he knew he was done. She wasn't going anywhere.



Her hips rocked in his lap, feeling his dick hard under her, and felt his hands on her, everywhere. Her nipples were like rocks, wet from the rain, wet from his tongue, his mouth, and finally he pushed her back. 

"Come on," he said, and pulled her to her feet, and into the house. 

They had just gotten inside the door, when he grabbed her and lifted her onto the kitchen counter.



"See, if this was one of your stories," he said, his hands under her dress, pushing it up, up, over her knees, to her hips, and sliding himself between them.



"If this was one of your stories, I'd be fucking you right here, fast," he said into her mouth, her fingers always in his hair.



She tasted his mouth again, and whispered back, "No, that's not what would happen."



She slid off the counter and dropped to her knees in front of him.



"If this was one of my stories, this is what would happen next," she said.



Her hair was wet and wavy from the rain and his hands were tight in it as he felt her opening his pants, pulling them down, away, and finding his hard dick.



Her pussy was already soaked and got only wetter from the feel of his hard dick in her hands, and he heard her sigh with utter and complete lust. She gently reached out to taste the tip of his dick with her tongue.



He wanted slow, he was going to get it.



She felt his body weaken, his knees weaken as she slid him slowly, slowly into her mouth.



He moved to lean against the kitchen counter, still stroking her hair, pulling it slightly, as he felt his hard dick deep in her hot, wet mouth, her hungry tongue teasing it, running back and forth under it, never stopping as she slowly slid him in and out of her mouth.



Her hands stroked his dick, finding his balls and gently holding them in her hands, cupping them, stroking them, sucking his dick gently into her mouth, holding it in her hands as she worked the tip in circles, circles, circles, tasting him, salty, delicious to her.



Spinning her tongue around him as she slowly, evenly, paced herself, working him in, and out of her mouth, his hands left her hair and moved to her shoulders, pushing the dress again off her shoulders so he could watch her nipples poking over her dress.



But it was her face he was hypnotized by, her eyes fluttering, totally consumed with sucking his dick. Stroking it, licking it, working it, a little faster, her tongue twisting around it toying with it, and then circling the tip, circling, circling, while his mind willed her to take it in her mouth again, and just when he couldn't' wait, she would, tongue moving back and forth, back and forth, under it with every time she swallowed him again.



Her sighs were killing him, and he wanted it more. Wanted it.

...."Faster" he whispered.



He couldn't help it.



She smiled, her eyes fluttering open, and with her hand keeping him hard, keeping him going, working him up and down, she said, "What about slow?"



"Fuck slow," he said. His knees were shaking.



"You're sure," she said.

"Do it," he could barely say.



Again, her mouth found his dick. Because she was waiting for that. All she wanted was to see him come, feel him come, make him come, taste it.



She licked him and sucked him and worked him into her mouth, finding just the right rhythm. He bit his lip, glad she couldn't see it, his white knuckled grip on the counter backwards getting painful. 

Faster, even, in, and out, in and out, of her wet mouth, her merciless tongue, her teasing fingers, hands, faster, faster. It was close.

She could feel him trembling, Feel him getting hard as a rock. Feel him tasting saltier, slippery. Feel it coming. Coming. Oh yeah, it was coming.



Just as she knew he was close, she attacked his dick with a feverish, frantic, pace, fast, hard, deep, faster, faster, faster, down her throat, and it was so wet, and so hot, his hands tight in her hair, holding on, and as he came he brought his fist down on the kitchen counter that felt hard enough to rattle the whole room, including them.



And like it was her life, she held on, gently sucking him empty, clean, deliciously working him until he was utterly spent, and he pulled her up from her knees.



"Holy fuck," he said.



"So much for slow," she smirked.



"Watch it," he said.

He took her by the hand and led her to his bed.



"This is the slow I was talking about anyway," he said, pulling her dress over her head, gently pushing her back onto the bed.



He kissed her as she opened the buttons of his shirt, and slowly kissing, pulling at clothes until they were both naked, under covers, she felt his dick hard against her again, his hands teasing her lips, running down her sides as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

He could feel her soaking wet pussy against his dick. It was so hot. And he knew if he didn't do something she'd win her fast argument once again, so he pushed body back, as her mouth tried to find his dick again.



"No, wait," he said, but she found it, and he found her pussy with his fingers, as she kneeled over him sideways, he opened her, throwing her off, and she tried to swallow his dick again, but her sighs as he slowly slid his fingers inside her, and her knees buckled, and she fell gently back to yield to him, laying next to her, her legs opening more, more.



She was so wet, she was hot and dripping wet, and he pushed his fingers into her wet, hot, flushed pussy, deeper, deeper, her hips rocking to meet him, sliding out again, watching her eyes, as they fluttered, fluttered.



In, and out, his wet fingers opened her, teasing her clit, back inside, and he could feel her shuddering deep inside, her fingers tight in his back, sighing turning into moaning, moaning turning into rasping.



"Now?" he whispered.



"Faster..." she said.



"It's better this way," he whispered.



Sliding his fingers just a little faster, in and out, feeling his dick hard against her thigh, her legs opening more, exploring her, getting a rhythm just right. In and out. In and out.



"That's it, that's it," she sighed.



"That's good?" he said.

"Oh yeah, fuck yeah," she said.



"I want you to fucking come when I count backwards from five," he said.



"Don't say that," she said.



"You'll do what I fucking say," he said.



"No no no no," she said.



"Five," he said, his fingers a little faster, even, in, and out.



"Four," so deep. She was so wet.



"Three." She couldn't breathe. She bit into her fist.



"Two. Get ready" he whispered.



And at one, fast, in and out, in and out, faster, harder, and she came, a ragged, screaming, moaning, clawing at his back, and it kept going, and going, more, and more, until at last, she was still, with slow, shuddering breaths. 



He took her mouth with his again, and moved over her, sliding his hips between her legs, their kisses warm and wet, deep, tongues tied together.

Her arms were around his neck, her pussy against his dick, wet and hard friction against her raw and sensitive clit, his hands stroking her back, her nipples against his chest, 

Her mouth moved to his ear, working it with her tongue, her teeth.



"I always knew it would be like this," she whispered.



His eyes were closed.

"Me too," he whispered.



He leaned down to lick her nipple and back up to her mouth, her neck, her fingers in his back, her legs tightly around him, his dick sliding against her wet pussy, rubbing together, she was so open, he was so hard, and without even trying, in one motion, he slowly slid into her, so deep, so hot, so wet, and the sensation was so overwhelming that for a minute both of them froze, couldn't speak, couldn't move.



And then she whispered.



"Oh...yeah..." 

And then he moved. He moved right. Slowly sliding himself out, and then in, her legs open, sighing, he wanted this. He wanted her. 

And fuck, did he want to go fast.

But he didn't.



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