Annika

And it wasn't soon over. She collapsed when I did but I stayed in her for awhile, stayed in her as I felt myself pressing into her skin, hot and moist and willing. It felt wonderful, felt like the most comfortable place I had ever been, her sea of skin there for my mouth and tongue.

I didn't know what to say when I flopped out, so I quickly got off the bed and went into the bathroom to wash.

She was there a few moments later, beside me, taking the facecloth from me. She soaked it, rubbed soap on it and then took my half erect cock and gently clean it; she cleaned me as if it was her duty; cleaning me while resting her head against my shoulder. I kissed her on the forehead and when she looked up, on the lips, a soft, lingering kiss that tried to connect.

And it did. When she finished she dropped the cloth in the sink and put her arms around me and kissed me deeply as I kissed her back. She was pulling me back towards the bedroom when I stopped her, picked up the cloth from the sink, ran more water on it, rubbed in more soap then led her over to the bath. When she stepped in, I ran the cloth up her legs, scouring the cream and I went between her legs and cleaned her thoroughly. When that was done I pushed her a little so she leaned against the wall and she spread her legs. I took my time, I wanted to, she wanted me to and when she was clean I pushed my fingers along her crease and into her wet pussy.

I felt it for awhile, felt now delicate and responsive it was, then it just came out. "Pee on me."

She did. Immediately. I felt the pee dribble onto my fingers, warm and sensuous. I brought my fingers out and I tasted it and a moment later I got in the bath and lay down and without my order she straddled me, her fingers directly the flow, a little dribble on my belly at first, then my stomach, my bra, my chest and then as I opened my mouth she edged further up and I felt a rush I could never have imagined as her pee drilled into my chin, my lips then into my mouth. It was an intimacy that transcended any I could imagine and before she finished I pulled at her leg, pulled at her hip, pulled her down to lie on me kissing, frantically kissing as an over-powering feeling of love washed over me. I shot my orgasm into the fleshly washed thigh pressed so hard between my legs.

She took her bra off me before I turned on the water. After she dropped it on the floor she lay back and opened her arms to me.

As I've said, Annika doesn't talk very much and I didn't know her well enough to know whether she means what she says, whether she is punctual, whether she is really into me as much as it seems so when I went to the lingerie shop at 5:30 the next day, as we had somewhat obliquely planned, I had no idea if she would be there. But she was. She was outside waiting for me and she smiled in what seemed relief when I rounded the corner.

There was no greeting between us, we just bumped together and headed in as if it was a business appointment. I didn't expect to feel comfortable inside the store, I had wondered about it on my walk from the house. I had never been in one before, don't think I've ever seen a man in one, and didn't know how to act in one, I mean, what was I suppose to do? Study the things? Feel the material? What? And I didn't feel a whole lot more confident after she told me she had never been in one either.

So we browsed. Just browsed. I was waiting for her to say something — 'I like these, I like this colour, I like this material.' But she didn't. We just looked ... for maybe 15 minutes, it was weird then she finally said, "Do you see anything you like?"

"Ya," I mumbled, "I see a lot of things I like."

"Well, pick something out. Everything in this rack here will fit you."

Huh? "Me?" I whispered, there was a couple of women nearby.

"Ya," she said with a confused look on her face. "We're here to get you some things."

This entirely stunned me. "Me? No we're not!" I tried to whisper through clenched teeth. "We're her to get YOU some things, whatever you want."

"Me?" The surprise was nearly shock. "Really? I don't have any money for this."

"I do, that's why we're here, I want you to get some of this stuff, whatever you want."

"Really?" Her hand almost shot out to grab a hanger with some panties and a bra on it. "It's expensive."

I knew, I had seen the prices ... and was stunned. "Get what you want, Annika."

"I want to get what you want. You can wear them, too." There's nothing much that's very discerning about Annika; she isn't a very sophisticated lady: she didn't see any reason to lower her voice when she said this and she didn't see the two heads snap towards me.

I had prepared dinner before I left for the store so when we got back I just cooked it while she was downstairs. We ate, as usual in near silence, but quickly, she as well as me as if she had the same thing in mind.

She was at the sink when I took her by the hips. I could feel her relax when I leaned into her, she relaxed as if she had been expecting me, wanting me ... she has a wonderful willingness to her body, it seems to surrender in acceptance every time I touch her.

And she has a wonderful feel to her, solid and soft and warm, there is something meaningful to her, something nurturing; I seem to enter a different space and time when I have my body pressed to her's. And I get instantly lathered.

With my cock grinding hard into her ass I brought my hands up her sides and gripped her breasts, hard and I pressed my face into the back of her neck; the smell of her hair stung me, it was like a trigger, just the smell of her hair sent me over the top. I sprang off her body, stood back, roughly pulled the t-shirt over her head. She cooperated fully and swept away the bra when I undid it, I barely noticed it was a new one. And as I pulled at her pants, she undid them and they and her underwear were off in a moment. She knew what I wanted, knew the urgency. As I furiously tore off my pants she leaned over the sink and spread her legs in a fabulous act of surrender that stunned me; she wanted me as badly as I wanted her and I loved her for that. I noticed the wide welt on her back where her bra had been, a wide, angry welt on her perfect back and again, I leaned in and kissed it, rubbed my face on it as if to erase it, I did this for a full minute before grabbing her breasts, pushing my cock against her bum and rubbing my face around her wonderfully wide, wonderfully soft expanse of hot, moist skin — nothing gets me going like that. Then I placed myself next to her opening. I thought I could feel it quivering in expectation, I thought I could feel her panting. When I entered her I could feel her energy, could feel that her cunt was sopping wet, could feel that she was pushing back at me — I could hear her moans us we became one, one in body, one in ecstasy, one in commitment.

I rested on her when it was over, rested and hugged and licked her shoulders until I realized her discomfort and I pulled back, pulled her with me and I turned her around and pulled her into my arms. "God, Annika," I had nothing to say, no words could describe how I was feeling.

She didn't say anything, either, she just squeezed me, her one hand on my upper back, her other on the small of my back reaching down.

She kissed my chest when I let her go. Then she bent down, picked up my jeans and pulled my underwear from them. "I thought you liked to wear mine."

"Only sometimes."

"Oh," she said, disappointment a frown on her face.

They were there the next morning. On the floor beside my bed, her new bra and panties were there for me as I got out of bed. She was downstairs getting ready for work — the one thing I did learn is that she isn't just a student. I hurried to the kitchen to make our breakfast, I put the bra and panties on before I did.

There was joy in her eyes when she saw me. Joy. I had read stories about men in women's underwear and how the perceived perversion grossed out the wife; a means for divorce. But it wasn't a perversion to Annika. It was the opposite. She was aroused. She felt around my panties as if to make sure they were real, then she brought her hand up and felt the cups. The joy was there all the time; I didn't understand why, maybe she felt it was something that pulled us together; I felt it it, too.

"Will you go downstairs and masturbate today?" I knew she wanted me to. She asked the same question yesterday and said it gave her something to think about at work. Yesterday I had told her I did. Today, I implied that I would. "I'm always horny now," I said. "Always." It came out like a complaint and it should have because thoughts of her, thoughts of her body were dominating my entire day.

She kissed me and was gone.

I lasted until 11:48, when I went downstairs, got into her bed and ultimately left the wet panties on her pillow.

The email from her came just after lunch. It was the first I'd ever had from her. There was no text only a picture. She was sitting on a chair, the camera was pointing down just above her, just high enough for her panties to fill the entire shot. I could easily see her pubic hair through the purple tinted transparency and the small hickie high on her inner thigh where I had sucked too long last night.

I lectured her when she got home. "You should never send pictures like that through the internet, you never know where they could end up."

She appeared at once confused and defiant. "I knew it would end up on your computer just where I wanted it to."

"But from there ... from my computer," I added.

"The picture was for you, Mike, it wasn't for anyone else. You know that so where will it go? Anyway, you said you were horny all the time. So am I."

"I had already been downstairs," I said, stupidly.

She smiled, "So did you go down again? Did the picture work?"

"Ya," I grimace, "of course it worked."

"Good. What's wrong with a daily picture?" She wanted to know. She looked at me, waiting for an answer.

"Nothing," I said, logically. "Thank you."

They came, most every day, just after lunch, never her face, usually she was sitting at her desk, panties, bras, breasts and in the washroom she took reflections of her back, usually braless with the welt. We never talked about it, just like we never talked about anything else, the pictures just came and when they did soon after so did I. And the timing couldn't have been better. I would work and wait for it, there was always only one, and then I would study it while I thought about her and flog, then I would go out for my walk.

The routine was working out well, just as my life was working out well ... until she went away. It was just to her mother's for four days, she said, but it felt like an eternity, a dreadful, unending eternity with only a few pinpricks of light. Her pictures. They came every day at about the same time. They were better composed then the ones from her office. She was standing naked in two of them and masturbating in one. By the third day I was frantic. I wanted to call her but didn't know the number, didn't know the city, didn't know her last name, didn't know what to say. Instead, I cooked for one, cleaned for one, did laundry for one and I looked at her pictures and paced about my house and her apartment.

I knew the day, didn't know the time, didn't know if it was a bus but that's where I was, waiting at the bus station. She came in at 4:38. I didn't know if she would turn away when she saw me, I thought she might, I thought she should because, the more I thought about her, the more I felt I had been too aggressive with her, too insistent, too horny, too rough; I had invaded her place, looked through her things, even wore her underwear — if I was filled with self-loathing and doubt, how must she feel about me?

But when she saw me all doubts disappeared. She smiled brightly and my long sigh of relieve felt as total as air escaping a pricked balloon. When I took her bag and kissed her like a father I immediately wanted to do all the things that caused my self-loathing and I wanted to do them now. She hurried with me.

It was over just a few minutes after we got home; I was draped over her bum licking and sucking her back ... and apologizing. I had been rough, too rough, too needy, too greedy.

"I'm a big girl, Mike, I can take it." She was lying on her arms totally relaxed as if sunbathing.

"You shouldn't have to." I said, reasonably.

"And I shouldn't have to tell you." She languidly mumbled the words.

"Tell me what?"

"Have you ever heard me complain? Even once?"

"No."

"And you won't. I love it when you take, Mike. Do you understand? You go down to my room. I love that. I love that you go through my things, put on my underwear. I love that you've thrust yourself in my life and you take my body whenever you want it. That drives me crazy. And I love it when you took me at the sink before I left, you just came up behind me and took me. I love that. And I love it when you just tore my clothes off when we got here, just tore them off, pushed me on the bed and had me, took me. Do you have any idea how I feel that you want me so bad? But it's not just the sex, I love that, but it isn't just the sex. It's that you want me, you can't control yourself; it's that I drive you crazy ... that's the way it feels to me — that's why I send you pictures: I'm driving you crazy and that really, really turns me on. But it does something more, Mike, much, much more: it makes me feel alive — I don't show it, I know I'm quiet and kind of inconspicuous, I've been that way all my life and I'll be that way til the end. Its just the way I am. But I'm not with you. The world doesn't know I exist but you do and you care. I don't know if it's more than sex, but I know you care."

She struggled to turn over now. I had to rise up so she could then I eased back down on her with my chin in her pubic hair, my face on her belly.

She was looking at me with an oddly serious look, a look I had never seen before. "Look, if you just want me for sex I'm happy with that. I'll stay here until you're tired of me and I'll go away when you want me to. That's me, that seems to be how I operate. But if you want me for more than sex, if you want to start building a life together than I'm up for that, too. But there would have to be some serious changes. I've lived in poverty until I got my scholarship and I'm not going back. I'll be working full-time in a few months, I'll have a good job, good pay ... a good future. I've worked hard; I now have ambitions. If you want me for more than sex we'll have to get a new house, a more modern house we can be proud of. You'll have to get an office somewhere, no working in the living room. We'll have to try to socialize, try to appreciate the arts. We'll have to travel, see new places, learn new things — I'll want our lives to be all about experiences, Mike, like I've been all about learning up 'til now."

She must have seen something on my face because she quickly changed course.

"This isn't an ultimatum, it isn't anything like that so don't take it that way. I'm just telling you what I'm thinking and I guess I'd like you to start thinking about telling me what you're thinking."

I crawled between her legs and pushed my face into her belly, just above her pubic hair. I had been thinking non-stop for the four days she was gone: her absence left more than a huge hole in my life, without her the very reason of my life had gone.

My face melted into the hot wet fat. I thought of the metamorphosis, the gradual change from the solemn, chair-bound interloper to the woman she has become. And I thought of who I was becoming, a me with real possibilities, possibilities that would disappear if she did.

"We will look for a place tomorrow, whatever you want."

She went rigid, ere eyes grew huge.

"And when I carry you across the threshold it will be as my wife.

The shriek was a surprise.