Kate Ch. 02

Kate and I caught our collective breath, calming ourselves after the great screw we'd just completed. I looked at her, admired the small and winsome breasts, noticed the seep of cum between her legs, the rosiness of her torso. Of course, my penis was a mess, for that was the source of the muck, and I imagine my skin was just as red with the passionate friction.

Outside, the temperature was in the teens, and the drafts in the apartment were cooling us quicker than either one of us desired. I stirred, then stood, then gave her a hand to rise. I started gathering my clothes, she asked, "You don't have to leave yet, do you?"

"No, I've got no place to go."

"Stay for awhile then. We can warm up in bed."

"I've had worse offers," I accepted.

She grabbed the laptop, led me into her bedroom. It was decorated in typical girly fashion, lots of pinks, stuffed animals, Thomas Kinkaide on the walls. The queen size bed was covered with a huge goose down comforter, and we cuddled beneath it, allowing the warmth to seep into our bones. "Your feet are cold," she complained.

"This is warm, though."

"It should be, it's been humped pretty well. So, I take it this isn't the first time you did this?" she joked.

"With you it is!" She looked at me in faux amazement. "Okay, once before, maybe twice."

"Yeah, right."

"And you?"

"Oh, I've been around the block," she admitted, "It's a nice block to go round."

"Yes, it certainly is," I concurred.

"You know what I like almost as much as screwing?"

"Let's see . . . broccoli? . . . the dentist? . . . taxes?"

"Being read to in bed."

"Really! And what do you like to read?"

"In your case," she urged, "erotic fiction."

"Oh, you got around to it?"

"Yeah, I looked you up on ASSTR. You're good, graphic with out being too graphic, if you know what I mean. I read Backgammon for Blood, and the other two stories that went with it. So, what do you say? Read me a bedtime story . . . please?"

I opened the laptop, brought up my stories on the web site, said, "Okay, this one is called Full Caribbean Moon. It's right for tonight because it's about a very warm place. 'The Carpentaria palms danced in the trade winds as the couple strolled barefoot . . .' while I read the six-thousand five-hundred words, Kate cuddled against my right side, fondling me and my now slack tool. When we got to the good part, she put a hand somewhere deep in the covers, and I stopped while she whimpered through another orgasm. It wasn't too long after that when I finished, 'Would you want me to?' 'Tonight is the full moon,' he curiously concluded."

"Oh, that was nice. Was that something you've actually done? Gone to the Caribbean and let your wife take a lover?"

"No, that was just a fantasy of mine. For a long time, I wondered about what it would be like knowing my wife was with another man."

"It's a nice fantasy. I'll bet everybody who reads it thinks it's wonderful."

"Oh, no, not at all."

"Why not?"

I brought up Literotica, let her read the comments people had left on the site. Some of them were complimentary or constructive in their criticisms, and I've always appreciated those notes, even if I didn't agree with the evaluation. It was the others that either irked me or amused me, depending on my mood at the moment.

Kate reviewed the bad notes about Full Caribbean Moon. "So, they're upset because the woman is fooling around?"

"I don't think so. They're upset because the husband is a cuckold, allows his wife to be with someone else. It doesn't fit into their idea of 'the proper thing to do.'"

"And so they're rude."

"Yep. That's the price of putting my work out there, I have to accept that some comments won't be nice. Do you notice that the really bad ones are mostly from people who won't post their names? I think they're chicken."

"But if they don't like the stories, they don't have to read them. You've got enough stories out there by now. Don't your readers know by now what your style and plots are going to be like?"

"I suppose so. But I guess the ones that are rude - they're losers, don't have anything better to do but to sit around and bitch about how other people don't share their 'values.' I've often wondered how they think married men are going to get laid in these stories if married women don't screw around. A few of the idiots have left their screen names, and I've looked at the stories they do like. It's pretty much 'He bumps into a girl, screws him, she screws somebody else, everybody screws.' Not much of a plot. A lot like the movies you see on Cinemax."

"Screw them!" Kate pronounced.

"You screw them, I don't care." By this time, we'd faced each other, and the feel of her skin on mine, and the idea of what we could do to each other was bringing my guy back to a semblance of life. We started kissing again, and before long she was down my torso and had my rod within her mouth. It was warm in there, and the rubbing of her lips and tongue on the shaft and head excited me, and soon the miracle had occurred - I was stiff enough to provide her pleasure.

She climbed up on top, wriggled until she was at the proper attitude, and sunk down on me. Once again we were linked, and she moved to her own peculiar rhythm. Although I enjoyed stroking her, flicking a nipple or pulling on the waist, I knew I had no reason to expect anything other than the pleasure of a lovely female reveling with me; and that was pleasure enough. She was obviously practiced in the passionate art, and knew her own body well. She started slow, shifting her hips in a lazy movement, watching my face. Then, as her nerves pricked up, she closed her eyes, and began a forward and aft motion, altering every so often with an up and down transition. I watched her the skin above her breasts become rosy, her breath became labored, her eyes closed. I grabbed both nipples between thumb and forefinger, pressed forcefully, it sent her over the verge. Once more she came, hard it seemed, I wondered what it must be like to be a female in heat; unfortunately, it is something I'll never know. But it must be wonderful!

She slowed her pace, collapsed on top of me. I pulled the comforter back up, covering her, warming her. She kissed me, quick pecks meant to assure me she had had a great time. Without the movement, my wand quickly lost it's firmness, plopped out of it's refuge.

It was time for the toilet, washing up, I retreated to the living room and put my clothes back on. She came to me again, this time she was wrapped in a lush robe, slippers on her feet.

"I really enjoyed it," she confessed, "and thanks for working on . . ." she paused, smiled, ". . . my iPod."

"Never a problem, is there anything else you'd like me to work on?"

"I can think of a couple of things," she laughed, escorted me to the door, gave me a final kiss. A finger pointed at my chin, landed gently on the cleft. "Call me."