If It Rains

Casting me a look of doubt she shuffles her skirt off her hips and steps out of it. Holding it up she sees the mess for herself: a perfect imprint of her cheeks picked out in flecks of noodle, scraps of vegetable and a healthy sheen of sauce. I can't help but laugh and, obviously suppressing a grin of her own, she tosses the skirt at me and grabs my hand.

"Too hot and too dirty," she announces and pulls me in to the living room area and straight across to the balcony door.

"What? Wait!" I blurt, very, very aware that I'm only in a pair of shorts.

But she's pushed the door open and dragged me outside. The storm is still battering the building, thunder rumbling in the distance suggesting that it'll be with us all night. Thankfully the air and rain are warm now, the wind hurling the huge wet drops along the length of the balcony. At least the balcony is unlit and all we're really offering now in terms of a show, is silhouettes.

"This is better," Lana says, raising her voice to be heard. "Nothing like a good storm."

I smile and put my arm around her waist, I couldn't agree more, I love a really intense storm.

"Makes you feel alive," I reply.

She takes another sip of scotch and hands me the bottle before stepping away. The wind is whipping her robe, first wrapping it tight around her, then tearing at it to expose all but her arms.

"That, and this," she says, her mischievous smile toying on her lips, a hand on my shoulder pushes me against the side railing as she sinks to her knees and pulls my shorts down.

Briefly I'm conscious of the silhouette my member will present against the lights inside, but that concern dissipates with pretty near every other rational thought as her tongue slithers over my swollen head and circles down to my sensitive underside.

I look up, out from the balcony, feeling the rain soak my face and hair, water running in endless rivulets down my chest. Then her fingers take me in her grip, soft and tender as she puckers her lips to kiss along one side. I look down and find her eyes staring back up, happy and hungry.

"I take it you've have had someone suck your cock before," she says, the movement of her jaw beside me driving me wild.

I nod.

"Well let's see if I can be best at that then," she suggests, eyes aflame.

Moving back she kisses slowly along to my head, fingers wrapped partially but tight around me, dragging along behind her mouth. Reaching my tip she licks over my urethra. I've been wet since she spread her legs on the kitchen table but now I'm leaking pre-cum like there's no tomorrow. She laps at it, drawing it on to her tongue and moving her head back to show me the myriad threads in the dim light.

"Fuck," I mutter, the sound lost to the wind.

Lana sinks her lips around me, pushing my head over her tongue and grazing it along the inside of her cheek. Her tongue leaps up and slips around me, its dexterous tip never breaking contact as I'm ejected. That tongue is unbelievable, lapping and licking around me like a thing possessed. It finds the ridge behind my head, shooting around the circumference, once, twice, three times before she engulfs me again, taking me deeper, her eyes back up on mine as she holds me there, both hands now around me, squeezing, massaging the inches not in her mouth.

Several years ago I got in to the habit of shaving down there and as Lana pulls free from my length and tips her head to suck softly on each ball in turn, I'm reminded of just why I began in the first place. As she sucks she pumps slow and steady, milking a constant stream of pre-cum from me, not caring as it descends unbroken on to her robed shoulder and back.

Her mouth comes back up, tongue out, hand tapping my head up and down to make me groan and gush so much more of that clear fluid. Closing her lips around me she uses it to lubricate another long insertion, one hand holding my wetted balls, the other disappearing down her own body.

Her lips stay locked around me as her mouth moves back and forth, withdrawing until her tight grip bumps over that ridge, a brief lash with her tongue, then slowly pushing all the way forward again. I know I'm so close to coming, a flicker of decency somewhere in the tangled mess of my mind makes the suggestion that I might want to mention this to her, maybe ascertain her opinion about it before I just pour the whole lot down her throat. But she pulls back, jerking her hand in ragged movements up and down me as she stares up, mouth hanging open.

There's a massive, violent flash of lightning, accompanied by an apocalyptic crack of thunder, and in the bright light I see her hand inside her underwear, frantically jolting her fingers up and down.

"Fuck," she manages to moan in the relative silence following the thunder.

There's a desperation on her face, her hips moving without control as she begins to buck on her hand. Her free hand reaches for mine, places it on her head and she nods up at me. I pull her back, feeling her mouth take me once more, her uncontrolled moans vibrating around me, her fingers locked tight around my base as her head rockets back and forth.

Another flash and unbelievable crash, illuminating my swollen girth, red and soaked with pre-cum, saliva and rain. Lana raises her hand, I can feel it slick with her own juices as it touches my stomach before slipping down to complete her grip around me. Fuck I need to come so badly. I'm not sure if she came on her fingers or not but now her attention is focused solely on me again.

My hand on the back of her head is loose, resting more than guiding and as I feel that pressure rise I stretch my arms up. More lightning and I turn my head. There are people standing in the lit windows of their apartments directly opposite. On the floor above there's a lone figure also out on her balcony, the light catching the glass she's holding.

I don't care, and I'm not sure I could do anything about it if I did. My body tenses and Lana looks back up, dragging her lips off me with a questioning look. Her hand grabs my wrist as I reach back down for her head and she manages to flash a devious smile before her own hunger takes dominance once more.

She pulls at my arm, bringing me down to my knees between her legs as she sits, she pulls me forward immediately locking me in a ferocious kiss. Her hand is around me and angling me down, I understand her intention at once and can't move quickly enough.

A prolonged lightning strike lights up the balcony, the rain covered ground, and our impatient movements as I pull my shorts the rest of the way off and Lana pushes her underwear down her sodden thighs. I yank them the rest of the way down, pulling her calf up to tear the twisted and soaked scrap of cloth off over her ankle and leaving it redundant around the opposite knee.

Finally unimpeded, after a seemingly torturous stripping of obstacles, we collapse together on to the wet surface of the balcony, Lana's thighs automatically parting and rising around my hips as I feel that delicious soft pop of my head penetrating her tight entrance. Her nails dig deep in to my shoulder blades, her head tipped back and offering her throat to me. I tear my tongue up that stretch of taut skin, biting below her ear at the summit of the lick, feeling her squirm under me.

She is tight around me, offering a perfect sheath but not a passive one. She rocks her pelvis up in time with mine, clenching at the zenith of each thrust. Unsurprisingly it's not long before I feel that familiar pressure rise and this time I'm sure there's nothing that's going to suppress it. I take her hands, pin them above her head and accelerate. Her mouth is open, her eyes roll back momentarily at the sudden increase, but she regains her composure.

"Harder," she mouths up at me, biting her lip as I oblige.

There's another flash of lightning and to my disbelief she lifts her legs, sliding them up under my arms and out to place her calves on to my shoulders, her feet crossed behind my neck. The change of angle sends me diving deeper, her body thrashing against the wet ground under me, her head tipping back and her insides suddenly locking tight, holding, and releasing.

There's no intention now, no skilled manipulation, lock and release, lock and release, the tension around me comes in waves, irregular, each accompanied by a cry yelled over the storm. The convulsing massage twists and pulls at me, sucking my head deep within her and finally I come, a torrent of built-up lust and need pulling along my length and erupting longer and harder than I've ever felt before, a continuous barrage.

Lana's body continues to milk mine, lock and release, as I collapse on top of her, our warm, dry, ragged breath against each other's ears. I am utterly exhausted, totally spent.

The storm hasn't let up yet, it seems unconcerned that we're done. Occasionally it illuminates our still bodies, shaking the ground with its angry noise.

Eventually Lana rouses, her hand on my shoulder to push me off and on to my back. I pull from her, half-mast and blessing the cooling rain as it all but sizzles where it falls on me. She follows my body over, kneeling between my knees, her hands on my thighs. I lift my head just long enough to look down my body at her. She's back, that stalking jungle cat.

"That was-," I groan, stretching.

"Not done yet," she finishes bluntly and lowers her head to take me back in her mouth.

"Jesus," I groan, her tongue cleaning our juices from me.

Against my expectations she's resurrecting my length, bringing it back up in her hand as her lips and tongue caress. She moves forward, straddling me and lowering her face to mine, our mouths meeting. I can taste her and myself on her tongue and the thought bounces off my libido and taps my head up against her raw lips. She smiles and dips her body down, sharing my silent gasp as we fit back together.

Gone is the rampant urgency. Lana pulls the soaked robe off her arms and lets the wind tear it away and hurl it off the balcony. Next, as if perfectly timed, a flash of lightning lights her as she removes her bra, a perfect pair of breasts on display, impossibly erect nipples like beacons. I rise and take one in my mouth, sucking slow as she cradles my head and begins to move her hips against mine rising up and down on her knees to stroke her exquisite interior over every inch of my aching cock.

She pushes me back down, permitting one more brief suck and lick of each nipple before she rises, her hands on my chest. Her dance begins anew, the slow elliptic roll of her snake hips, now with a heavy pair of breasts shown swaying with her movements.

I turn to look, seeing our audience still out, perhaps as surprised as I am by our continued coupling. I notice that on one balcony some of our neighbours are getting pretty close to each other, him behind her, bent slightly over the railing as they watch us.

Lana's grind upon me is lazy and deep, pressing herself up and down to massage me with no particularly evident intention. I idly reach up and cup her breasts kneading them together as my thumbs graze back and forth over those hard nubs. She responds by leaning backwards on her outstretched arms, offering her breasts skywards and adjusting her pace.

Her slow grind gradually hardens until it's a firm, insistent thumping jolt against me, making me grunt as each slap of her thighs against mine elicits a whimper of effort from her.

"You like it, huh?" she asks, her voice punctuated by her humping hips.

I can only nod as she subjects my raw column to a renewed urgency.

"Come," she pants, "suck my tits."

Her hand on my shoulder pulls me back and I latch my mouth back on her breast, nuzzling and sucking her nipples in turn.

She moves her legs, placing her feet flat on the wet ground behind me, her knees pressed against my flanks and her hands on my shoulders, swaying her body in short, little, enveloping thrusts that throw me deep inside her hot hole. Our bodies pressed firmly together, sharing our heat, our sweat and our breath, that lock and release returns, forcing her down hard on me, aching and sore.

Lana holds me, nails in my wet skin, mouth to my ear as she gasps her last, trying to thrust on me, movements half-guided by the flicker of sentient thought, one of my hands low on her back and the other in her hair as I feel her relinquish herself and melt.

We stay like that, through the final release, through the aftershocks that spasm at our union and send shivers of unlit pleasure up her chest and out along her arms while her folded legs twitch her ankles low against my back. Infrequently lightning illuminates us and eventually our bodies soften in inaction and the cooling rain.

We disentangle ourselves, helping each other to stand, then, hand-in-hand we return indoors, to dry and wash and dry, sharing awkward looks until the glow makes one of us smile, lip bit and giggle, then hand-in-hand once more, to bed.

When it rains, I have found, there is a fourth party of men. I am aware of only myself in this party, although I am sure there are others, I'm simply not in the habit of raising such topics of discussion and therefore unlikely to find such brethren. This is the party that stays indoors, or approximately so, and enjoys the company of women. And so this is what I now do, a standing invitation from my neighbour that during inclement weather I should knock.