A Professional Collaboration Ch. 02

At last my cock could wring no more cum from my balls, and my tremors subsided. For a long pause, we both remained in that position, motionless, my body against hers, my cock comfortably sheathed in Jen's cunt, my semen bathing her insides. Jen had not orgasmed. I supposed that it was a mental thing—that an orgasm would be too much like a betrayal of Pete. It did not seem a physical matter, since there was no doubt that her body had enjoyed the sensations of penetration and ejaculation.

After a while I started to soften up a little, and began to pull out. As I did so, she moved as if to rise up to her knees. I put a warning hand on her back, and said softly, just above a whisper, "don't get up yet. Stay with your head down and backside up. That's best for maximizing fertility." She complied, laying her arms above her head, forehead onto the mattress, breathing rapidly, face still concealed under a jumbled cascade of hair.

I moved beside her, and after a moment continued: "I'm going to, uh, massage you for a little while. It's supposed to promote contractions which will shepherd the sperm to their destination." This latter part was entirely made-up. I mean, maybe it was true—it sounded plausible. But the actual fact was that I wanted to enjoy her body for a little longer. This might be the only chance I would get to possess Jen, and I thought I should make the most of it. I couldn't see any harm.

I reached my hand over behind her ass again. Her clit was still engorged, her pussy still spread, and I could feel that her hole still gaped slightly from the recent arousal and penetration. At first I simply lay my fingers lightly across the expanse of her open pussy and gently pressed her flesh. This gesture delivered an exquisite feeling of proprietorship. Our 'task' had been accomplished, my own lust assuaged, and yet here I was, freely handling her hidden jewels, laying a claim of ownership to the space between her legs. Whatever happened in the future, both of us would always remember this moment of her vulnerability, and my quiet possession.

Gradually I began to fondle her again. I moved my fingers into a V and slowly followed the line of her lips, both at the same time, encouraging her pussy not to hide itself away again. Lightly, I traced the circle of Jen's vagina once more—periodically penetrating it, just a fraction of an inch, with my finger, to remind her of my recent presence there, and of the seed that I had left inside. I began to touch her inner folds, very tenderly, moving in slow, rhythmic strokes, down and under, from vagina to clitoris. Then I moved on to her clit itself. With a very gradually increasing pressure and tempo, I rubbed her meaty nub in a circular motion with three fingers, while my upper palm continued to press against her vaginal opening.

She was breathing heavily again, her neck and shoulders flushed. I moved faster and more assertively, sensing that her body sought release. And finally, just as my pace reached its a crescendo, still moving in firm, fast, cyclical strokes, I felt Jen's body shudder, and her pussy spasm. A short, soft moan escaped (begrudgingly, I thought) from her lips. She had not surrendered herself to passionate abandon—how could she, with another man?—but she had orgasmed. It was enough. Softly I pressed my hand once more against her pussy, fingers lying to either side of her clit, and just held her there.

After a few minutes, she spoke—her husky, slightly shaky voice emerging from the cloud of hair that still veiled her. "It's probably been long enough, right?" Silently, I removed my hand from between her legs. She got back up on her knees, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and stepped off the bed. Droplets of wet, and sweat, and lube glistened in her pubic hair, and blobs of cum began to run along her inner thighs. Her freckled face was ruddy and damp, her chest flushed and still heaving. I couldn't read the expression on her face. Her back and shoulders slumped slightly, and her breasts seemed to sag a little in her bra—signaling, I thought, the weight of the sensations, and emotions, and tensions that she had just experienced. I got up too, and we just stood there for a minute, breathing, looking at each other, as my cum continued to ooze down her legs.

"Thank you, James," she said at last, sounding a little shaky. "I'm going to need to get a shower and blowdry my hair before I can go home. Do you want to wait around and shower too...?" Her tone indicated that she had extended this invitation out of courtesy, but was not eager for me to accept it. Clearly what she really wanted now was graceful disengagement, and solitude in which to compose her thoughts and emotions.

"No, I'll stop by the gym on the way home and shower there. Just take your time."

"James...," she said, with a question in her voice, "... do you think we did the right thing?"

"Jen," I answered, trying for a calming tone, "we absolutely did the right thing. Never forget: you did it for Pete. So here's what I think you should do. Tonight, get cleaned up, go home, and get a well-deserved night's sleep. Then, tomorrow, tell Pete he should bring home chocolates and flowers after work, and when he does—pardon my French, but—you should fuck his brains out all evening. This has always been about you two." It sounded good, huh?

This seemed to restore some of her usual self-assurance. "I think you're right James... Good night... and thank you again." She gave me a small, platonic hug around the shoulders (keeping a discrete distance between our still-bare genitals), picked up her clothes, and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I left with a million emotions buzzing around in my mind, but beneath them all lay a deep substrate of warm, smug, instinctive satisfaction.

To be continued...