A Welcome Surprise

Again, he seemed to be placing her enjoyment above his own; anybody else might have gone hammer-and-tongs from the very get-go, but he was taking his time, putting all of his effort into building her back up again. Before long she felt that warm, growing sensation again, welling up deep inside of her; there was something about this that felt so good, so instinctively satisfying. "You..." she whispered, "...are so good at this." He answered her with a kiss, so soft and with so much feeling that she felt like she could have turned to a boneless, wobbling jelly in his arms.

He could see her excitement returning, and he could feel his own excitement building. There was the urge to just get a good hold of her and pump away madly until he popped, but he beat it down and ignored it. Any quicker, any faster than this, and he would lose it. It was all against him; she was so close, so warm, so soft, and so achingly sexy that if he thought too hard on how long he had dreamed of it and waited for it without any reasonable hope of ever getting it, and how exquisite it was to actually be doing it with her, he'd blow it all for sure. So he cleared his mind, kissed her as well as he could, and kept tickling and pumping slowly and surely, forever monitoring the immensely pleasurable sensations being transmitted by his almost painfully rock-hard cock and going no faster than he had to.

Again, she found herself softly moaning. She had never imagined that being breached and separated in this way could feel so good; it had always felt like a clamped steel vice down there, never before had she felt so soft, so pliable, so... lubricated. And of course, his hands were working their magic again; how could he know how to tickle her clit so well, so expertly, so perfectly? His other hand didn't miss a step or a beat; even when it went to places on her body one would consider mundane, it felt amazing, at the nape of her neck, through her hair and over her scalp, tracing down along her side and skirting over her breast; everything responded to his touch, everything tingled and made her gasp and tremble, as though any and every part of her body became an erogenous zone as soon as he touched it.

Onwards they shagged, the time passing by long and unnoticed. They were in it together; they could feel each other's building excitement, they could feel the final moment approaching from afar. He was still growing, ever so slowly, and she could feel it, as the far end of his cock gradually penetrated further and further inside her. His excitement grew bigger and bigger, as though he was becoming acclimatised to the sensation, the upper limit of what he could contain within himself increasing with time, which allowed him to gradually go faster and faster, deeper and deeper. Her excitement grew too, just as before, and she gradually lost control of her breathing, her voice, and her inhibitions. Before long, he knew it was becoming too much, more than he could hope to hold on to or contain, and he found himself stepping up the pace, going harder and deeper and more frenetic. It worked wonders for her; each plunge of his cock, progressively diving deeper and harder, built her up higher and higher. They held on tight to each other, building each other up and willing each other on, until neither could last any longer. She screamed. He yelled. They came together with an almighty cry, and they rode high on the peak of their pleasure, every driving thrust of his hips making her holler with ecstasy, every hot white shot he let go welling up from deep within him and exploding forth under exquisite, incredible pressure; his cock spurted and convulsed, time and again, which she could feel even through the condom, until finally they settled down and went limp in each other's arms. They had done it. They had done it together, as one. And it felt damn good.

They just stayed that way for ages, wrapped in each other's arms, cooling down, bathed in the incomparable bliss of a post-coital afterglow. Finally, unwillingly, he had to withdraw; they prised themselves apart, and started cleaning up. "Well," he said. "Did that fix your frustration?"

"It certainly did," she beamed, breathing hard, as though she had just completed the three minute mile. She was absolutely cured of the delectable woes she had been suffering prior to his ministrations; her heartbeat was settling down, her senses were dulling, her nostrils flared no more. He had helped her release whatever had been pent up inside her, building for so long; she had released it and plenty more. He had worked a sexual miracle upon her, and it was something she wouldn't ever forget. "And you?"

"Oh yeah, I'm plenty fixed," he affirmed. "That really hit the spot."

"I'll say." She found her watch, and boggled at the time. "Holy shit; we've been doing this for two hours. Lunch is almost over."

"Bloody hell," he frowned. "How did we not get busted?"

"If we had been busted," she grinned, "do you think we would have noticed?"

"Hmm, good point," he allowed. They were both fully clothed again, and aside from some messy hair and a good, healthy, dozy-eyed glow, they didn't look too worse for wear. "Well..." he said. "That was fun, wasn't it?"

"Mmm hmm," she agreed. They paused, a little awkwardly, until they met each other's eye, and shared the same thought: what they had done was a hell of a thing, and it was something they'd have to do more often. "Same time next week?" she suggested.

He grinned. "Depends on how frustrated you'll be."

"Oh," she said, stepping towards him, "I have a feeling I'll be nice and frustrated by then." She favoured him with one last lingering kiss, and left him to marvel at his unexpected turn of fortune, and to try to do something about his homework. She found her friends a few minutes later; they looked her over, and instantly knew.

"He was good for it?" her best friend asked.

"You have no idea," she smiled.