tagRomanceFeet on the Ceiling Pt. 03

Feet on the Ceiling Pt. 03


Thank you, LarryInSeattle, for using your editorial skills to ease my anxieties about publishing this very personal story.

* *** *

Oh, how we fucked that summer!

For the rest of that week before my job started, we were together just about minute Krysten wasn't working at the burger joint. Once I started my job as a camp counselor, I'd slip away to be with her every chance I got—and I mean EVERY chance I got.

Much of our time together happened after lights-out at the camp, when the kids were required to be in bed. Sometimes she snuck into the dorm. The risk of getting caught was exciting for us both, but she later confided in me that she loved being able to put her feet up on the ceiling as we fucked in my dorm room loft. I usually popped over to the shitbox apartment she shared with Ryan at eleven or midnight-ish, after the kids at the summer camp were supposed to be asleep, and we'd spend several hours talking and laughing and fucking. I got so little sleep that people asked me why I had rings under my eyes. One of my fellow camp counselors thought I might have a drug problem.

No. I was addicted to Krysten.

It was exciting and exhausting. I found her enthralling and it frightened me more than a little bit. A large part of me felt I wasn't ready to be in a relationship like this. I'd never asked her if she was seeing anyone else and she never asked me, but we each knew the other didn't have enough time apart when we weren't working or sleeping to spend time with anyone else.

There were three camp sessions that summer, with a one-week break separating each session. During those breaks I slept every night on that cheap king-size mattress on the floor of the tiny bedroom in that low-rent apartment. I didn't go and visit my parents. I didn't travel to visit friends. I rolled around on that mattress with her, wallowing in carnality.

Unlike some of the women I'd been with, there was no position she didn't like. From above, below, or behind she wanted me. I loved that she wanted to be taken in almost every way I could choose to take her.

* *** *

One afternoon, when her roommate Ryan was at work and I had managed to sneak away from the brats at the summer camp, she lay naked on some pillows on the floor of the tiny apartment's living room and I pounded down into her as she moaned and rocked her hips to and fro. Neither of us heard someone coming up the rickety stairs or the key in the front door. Suddenly, full daylight streamed over us.

A strange man stood in the open door. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light and he turned his head quickly aside and held up both of his hands, as if to shield himself from the sight of us. "Whoa! Whoa! Uh, sorry," he said as he stepped back out of the living room, pulling the door shut. "Uh," he said loudly so that we could hear him through the door. "I'm Randy, Ryan's brother. He, uh, gave me a key. Sorry! I didn't think anyone would be here." He shouted "Sorry!" again as we heard him moving back down the rickety stairs.

From the time the door opened until we heard him depart, I hadn't stopped thrusting into Krysten. We'd both been completely surprised by our intruder. I had dropped down upon her to cover her nakedness from his eyes—and I'll admit to slowing down a bit until I was sure he was gone—but I didn't stop. It took a few more thrusts before the absurdity of the situation struck us. Laughter overtook us, deep guffawing belly laughs. As she shook with laughter, her muscles repeatedly clenched and released my cock deep inside her. I moaned at the sensation.

I resumed my position and started driving down into her again.

"Ooooh," she exhaled and began wiggling her hips again to meet my thrusts. I don't know how long that went on, but as my climax approached she suddenly asked, "Why are you smiling?"

I looked down to see her looking up at me. I hadn't noticed that I had been smiling until she mentioned it, but I realized that I was grinning like an idiot. I thought about it as I kept up the pace of my thrusts. The answer had no sooner popped into my head than it came out of my mouth: "I can't help it. I'm just so happy to be here inside you that I can't help it."

I got a little self-conscious as she continued to look up at me. We didn't call it an 'O-face' in those days, but I felt too awkward to cum while she was staring at me. I buried my face in her neck and grabbed her sweet, soft ass I my hands and begin to plunge into her slowly, but with terrific intensity. My pelvis slammed into hers. I felt her frame shake with each solid impact.

With each deep thrust I felt my cockhead slide up across her cervix and into the back wall of her vagina. With each passionate thrust I felt her arms squeeze me tighter, her feet on my ass forcing me down into her with more intensity. With each excited thrust I felt my orgasm mounting higher and higher until the dam burst with a white light behind my eyes and a white hot intensity in my groin. With each increasingly erratic thrust cum surged out of me, shooting again and again, filling her. With each spastic, reflexive thrust my cock sloshed wetly within her as I relaxed and weakened before coming to rest deep within her.

Krysten held me tightly, her arms and legs wrapped around me as she did sometimes, as if I were the only solid thing in the universe. Exhaustion washed over me.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," she told me when neither of us was sure I was actually awake.

I didn't respond. I didn't have the strength.

* *** *

Krysten was always willing when we were together. I won't say she was always wet by the time we got naked, but we both seemed to get a thrill by having me begin to penetrate her before she was fully wet and ready. She hinted that she sometimes liked to pretend she was helpless before my lust, my cock taking her whether she was ready or not. She also hinted that she liked a little pain from time to time. Going into her when she was fully wet and ready certainly put less strain on my member, but when she wasn't, I savored the slowness with which I had to probe her, moving slightly deeper with each inward nudge, until she became so. There is something exquisite about the initial penetration and being forced to slow down to a crawl to accomplish it magnified it by making both of us focus solely on the tiniest movements of our most sensitive organs.

Neither of us was particularly passionate about oral sex. Sure, it felt wonderful to have her mouth kiss and tease my cock, but at that point in my life I had never been able to find release in a lover's mouth. On our first night together Krysten had told me that being eaten "didn't do it" for her. That summer oral love remained a mere garnish to our main course of fucking.

Like so many horny young guys who are exploring their horizons with horny young women, I introduced the topic of anal sex none-too-slyly to our conversation as a way to express fantasies and my desire to try it with her. She admitted an utter lack of experience and a healthy curiosity, but expressed the universal concerns regarding pain and uncleanliness. She refused to say that she wouldn't do it, falling back on a refrain of, "It will have to be when I know I'm ready. Don't try to push me or rush me on that. Now come and fuck me; I'm so wet for you." She gave great consolation.

* *** *

Oh, how we talked that summer!

We talked about the popular. We expounded on the obscure. We liked the sound of each other's voice. We talked about books we liked or songs we couldn't stand. The vast differences in how we grew up and the places we'd been kept us talking for hours. We'd talk and screw for hours before I'd have to go back to the dorm, then one of us would call the other on the phone and we'd talk for hours after. We confessed secrets and desires. We revealed private things that we'd never before shared with anyone.

"Do you know why putting my feet on the ceiling in your dorm room while we fuck does so much for me?" she asked during one of these intimate dialogues as we lay naked on the mattress.

I confessed that I didn't.

She had been looking down shyly at the mattress, but she looked up and met my gaze with her huge, crazily-blue peepers. She brought to mind a naughty little girl about to confess a naughty little secret. "It feels so right," she confided, "because that's how I masturbate."

She was studying my face to see how I'd react to that intimate revelation, but I just blurted out, "On the ceiling?"

"No, stupid," she scolded with a chuckle, "on the wall. I lay in bed like this." And she positioned herself with her head toward the foot of the bed and her ass about where the pillow would be. Her legs were apart and bent, knees not quite touching her nipples, and the soles of her feet were solidly against the wall. Her hand sort of waggled over her bush to approximate masturbation.

"Oh, is that how you do it?"

"Yes. I don't know exactly why, but I like being able to push against the wall using my legs when I do it. It's how I've done it since I was small. In the loft in your dorm room, when we were doing it that first night, my feet just accidentally touched the ceiling and an old habit took over. It made things so intense for me."

I noticed that she made no move to get out of her personal pleasure position. In fact, the hand she had put between her legs to mime self-pleasure hadn't moved from between her legs.

"Intense, huh?" I asked.

"Mmmm hmmm," she purred as I noticed the tiny motions of her fingers on her sex get larger, more intense.

I watched her for a while, in awe of her sexuality. She started to moan. Not wanting to break the spell she was casting but not able to resist the urge, I began to gently caress her nipples.

"Yessssss!" she hissed and I could see her leg muscles flexing as she pushed with her feet against the wall. She panted louder and louder and I watched her face. Sweat began to break out across her forehead as the tension grew. Finally, she exhaled heavily and her tension eased.

Krysten rolled onto her side and moved away from the wall somewhat. She reached over and tapped the head of my swollen penis with the tip of her index finger. "It looks like someone enjoyed the show," she teased.

"You have no idea how sexy that was."

"Oh, I think I have some idea," she said, and again tapped my hard cock again with her finger. "I've never done that in front of anybody before," she added, grinning naughtily.

"So, did you just cum?" I asked.

"No, not really," she answered. "I don't, really. That is, I'm not sure that I can."

"You can't cum? Not even when you masturbate?" My extensive reading of Penthouse Letters had taught me that for many women masturbation was the only sure-fire way to climax. I hadn't heard of someone who couldn't even give themself an orgasm.

"I don't know. I mean I can reach these 'peaks'," she explained. "But I've never had, um, a 'big release' like I've read about and heard people describe."

"You mean that none of the many, many times we've done it have you ever cum?"

She tried to reassure my male ego, which was part bruised and part confused by her latest revelation. "I haven't ever cum—that I know of," she said. "I like sex. It feels good. I really love sex with you. If it happens, it happens. I'm not going to let worrying over something that may or may not happen ruin the pleasure of sex."

That made sense to me. It was pragmatic. I didn't have to think about it further as Krysten began to distract me by stroking my thighs with her soft little hands. Her hands met at my cock, which she lovingly fondled and tickled and stroked until my distraction was complete, the conversation forgotten for the moment.

* *** *

From that day forward I became obsessed with Krysten's lack of an orgasm.

I sought tips, tricks, and solutions in dirty books and magazines. Without revealing any details, I sought advice from friends I thought knowledgeable. I guiltily read as much as I could on the subject in the awkwardly small Human Sexuality section at Waldenbooks from books that I really couldn't afford to buy. It would have been really useful and convenient to have had the Internet back then!

Over the next couple of weeks the sex was still good—or as good as it can be when it is revealed that one partner doesn't or can't orgasm. (Please note that I'm not saying she ever faked an orgasm. She was so passionate during sex, and she seemed so satisfied afterwards, that I had previously assumed she was having some sort of climax, but she never tried to pretend that she had.) Our lust for screwing in no way diminished; neither did our frequency, or the intensity of my cumming into the pussy that felt perfect around my cock. That pussy happened to be attached to a woman about whom my feelings were growing stronger, but I wasn't ready to put a name to those feelings yet.

My growing obsession with making Krysten cum led me to places I was taught respectable people should avoid. A friend of mine told me of a used book store he'd found in a bad part of town that also traded in dirty magazines and had a limited selection of what the store owner called "intimate accessories" in a glass display cabinet in the back. There I purchased a cheap vibrating dildo. It was the only model they sold, but what kind of vibrating dildo selection can one expect at a used book store? Honestly, I had never seen a dildo in real life before that day.

I bought some batteries and planned to surprise Krysten the following day when we were both off from work.

I find it funny now, but I wanted to make the day I introduced the cheap vibrating dildo into our sex life special. I took her to lunch, which immediately marked the occasion because of my frequently empty wallet. She started to play footsie with me under the table. My arms were long enough that I could reach under the table and gently rub her thighs as we waited for our food.

After lunch, we went downtown and returned to the fountains we had visited on our first night together. It was fun and flirtatious and this time we only did a bit of splashing around with our toes, instead of getting soaking wet from head to toe.

When we returned to her apartment, she led me into the bedroom. There were meaningful gazes, deep into each other's eyes as we stood there next to the mattress on the floor and playfully kissed. I ran my hands along her curves. She wrapped her arms around my neck and the kisses deepened. My hands stroked her curves more firmly, gripping her tightly.

"You've been kind of romantic today," she said when she broke our kiss.

"Uh huh," I agreed, leaning in to lick her neck as I began kneading both of her wonderful breasts through her shirt and bra.

"You don't normally do romantic. I like it. It makes me horny." She shivered as I moved my tongue up from her neck to her ear and gently licked her earlobe. "I need you inside me."

I shrugged my backpack onto the floor and pulled my shirt off over my head. While she was pulling her T-shirt off and exposing her bare torso, I resumed caressing her bra-clad breasts. She clucked at my impatience and, after removing her bra, began undoing my belt while I massaged her soft, floppy boobs.

"You like my, saggy boobs?" she asked.

"Bah," I disagreed. "These aren't saggy. They're fat and floppy and wonderful—and you have incredible nipples." I pinched and pulled them for emphasis. "And, yes, I like them a lot."

I leaned over to suck them and she started to remove my jeans. When they were down to my knees, I lost my balance and fell onto the mattress. I kicked off my shoes and shucked my jeans off the rest of the way and watched her do the same. I liked seeing her breasts swing low as she bent at the waist to finish undressing.

"Mmmmmmm," I hummed appreciatively, admiring that view. "Come here, woman."

She didn't wait for foreplay.

She straddled me. Her hand placed me at her entrance. She wasn't as wet as she would soon become, but she began to make tiny motions up and down. With each downward motion she went deeper. It seemed like it took five minutes just to get the head in, but I savored the feel of every millimeter of slow penetration. By the time the head was in, her juices had begun flowing thickly enough that, while still delicious, the rest of her impalement was achieved at more rapid pace.

I loved it when she was impatient to get me inside.

After a few dozen deep upward-and-downward lunges of her hips, my cock was soaked with her wetness and the room was filled with her bouquet. She began a different motion, sliding her pelvis forward and backward, instead of up and down. It put a delectable strain on my cock. Each forward movement forced the base of my cock against one part of her cunt and levered the tip against the opposite side, deep within. Each stroke backward reversed this process and brought wonderful sensations that I don't have the words to describe.

She moaned. I moaned. The wetly languid motion of her hips began to have its effect on me. I released the soft breasts I had been massaging and squeezing. My hands gripped her hips and I began pulling her farther forward and pushing her farther back as I tried to make what movements I could with my own pelvis pinned to the mattress by hers. My urgency increased. We both knew I wouldn't last long if this continued.

She gave me few more strokes before she moved to her hands and knees. "Fuck me this way," she said, and I did. She made a noise I can't transcribe here--because I wouldn't even know what letters to use, but it was a damned sexy noise—and gasped out, "Yes! Fuck me harder!"

I put a hand on each of her shoulders, controlling how far away she could recoil from the impact of my groin on her generous ass. I bottomed out on each stroke. Her insides took the impact of the end of my cock before that ass absorbed the shock of my body slamming into it.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as I watched her head snap to one side, then the other. "Oh!"

Turning over her shoulder, she looked at me with those eyes (those eyes!) and said, "I want to feel you cum in me! Fuck me hard until you cum! Let me feel it!"

I had no choice but to obey. For a time, the rest of my body became nothing more than a delivery vehicle for my cock. All I could feel were the sensations of slickly sliding in and out of her. In this state of total absorption, could feel my climax approach and I slammed into her even harder than I thought I could. It got closer and closer until it shot out of me. I kept pumping, ecstasy shooting forth with every thrust, until I could do so no longer.

I leaned over and kissed her back several times before sliding out of her and almost collapsing onto the mattress. After some time she started to shift, to get up. "No," I told her. "Don't move. "I'm enjoying the view."

"Pervert," she mock-complained. But she didn't move. She stayed like that, on her knees with her head down on the mattress and her ass up in the air. My face was only a foot or so from her wet, swollen cunt. There was a wet spot on the sheet beneath it where our fluids had spilled out and the halo of curly hair that surrounded it was still glistening wetly.

Something occurred to me. "Close your eyes. I've got a present for you," I told her.

"A present?"


"Will I like it?"

"Let's see," I responded. I reached into my backpack and brought out the cheap vibrating dildo. It was purple and featureless, made of hard, unyielding plastic and was about seven inches long. I looked from it to her, eying her sex again. "Tell me what you think of this."

I stroked it along first her outer, then her inner lips. She started slightly at the cold, artificial feel of the plastic. She couldn't see what I was using to touch her, but when I positioned the tip between those lips and pushed inward slightly she settled back down into the mattress and pushed back slightly to meet it. She was usually game for most of the things I tried with her in bed.

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