Love All, 0-15, 0-30, ... Love-69

She tossed her skirt on the bed and turned to me. Too late to do anything about my cock! I took a drink of my coffee with both hands. When I lowered my bowl, there she was in her sports bra and tights. They were pale green, like the rest of her ensemble, complementing, emphasizing her tan - but not the light color of her flat stomach. She smiled, as though she were enjoying that I was looking at her, as though she were enjoying presenting herself to my view.

"This is getting a little uncomfortable," I murmured, hoping that my cock wasn't showing how I meant it. She just nodded once and murmured:

"For me too, ... but I don't mind."

"I do, ... a little."

"Just 'a little' doesn't matter."

"Maybe more than just a little."

My cock certainly was trying to be. She began to peel down her tights. I was relieved to see that she had something under them. She murmured:

"I don't mind that, either."

When she glanced down to step out of her tights, I quickly helped my cock to a more comfortable position. Even if she saw it, it seemed that she knew what my problem was and didn't mind. Maybe even wanted to see that she was arousing me?!

When she stood up again, I was more relieved to see that her panties didn't show more than my wife's cotton ones did. That didn't answer my question about whether she shaved, but they looked like they were glued on, not leaving much to the imagination about how she would look without them. Wouldn't her nipples be aroused from this demonstration. Maybe they were, when I looked, just slight bumps in her sports bra, or were they always like that?

She must have been following my eyes - and thoughts. She smirked and remarked:

"Just relax; I don't have to change them. I said just 'half naked'."

I snorted and replied:

"I'll try, ... but you're making it difficult."

"Fun," she replied with a grin and crossed her arms and reached for the bottom hem of her sports bra.

If she thought it was "fun" to strip for me, I wasn't going to complain. I nudged my cock to full. central erection, as she peeled her bra up, revealing her breasts. It was reassuring to see that her nipples were very aroused: stiff and pretty pink with just the right circle of pink around them, and that also with its own curve up from that of the pale skin around each of them. And her sports bras had always done injustice to the nice shape of her firm looking breasts.

I gasped silently, knowing that I had to say something when her face reappeared. It was obvious that this wasn't just because she was a bedroom exhibitionist, a tease of the worst sort.

Her face reappeared, as her hands pulled her bra up over her head. At least, she looked slightly embarrassed as she smiled at me. My eyes had returned to her breasts, appreciating how they looked with her arms raised, but they looked just as good, when she flung her bra on the bed, lowering them.

Shit! She didn't have to cup her hands under them to emphasize that she knew where I was staring! What does one do when an almost naked woman is standing in front of one, having led one in her bedroom to take off her clothes? My hand - I managed to hold my almost empty bowl with the other - reached down and fondled my balls.

While I was realizing what I was doing, I heard her hum. My eyes shifted up to see her nod with an aroused expression, her eyes looking down at my hand. When my eyes noticed the motion of her fingers, they dropped back down, seeing them pinching her nipples. I grasped my balls with a hum. She hummed again, moaned.

Our eyes met. I still didn't know what to say. She murmured:

"Want to see the rest?"

"If you want to," I murmured, thinking I was agreeing that she could take off her panties.

She understood it differently, taking the two steps between us and taking my bowl from me, obviously insinuating that I had meant that I also wanted to take of my clothes.

I did, pleased that I only had on a shirt, shorts and underpants - and socks, but they didn't matter in connection with getting naked with her. My shirt was off before she turned back from setting down my bowl. She grinned with another hum, not that my torso was anything to make a woman hum. She was already thumbing the elastic of her panties, as I jerked down my tennis shorts. She hummed with a grin when she saw my cock standing in my underpants.

That isn't quite true. I heard her hum and just assumed that she had grinned. She was, when we looked at each other and stripped down our last piece of clothing. She did shave: the first and since then only woman I have seen that did.

We looked at each other, our eyes taking in each other's nudity, my arousal more evident than hers, but her aroused, puffy nipples were the most attractive ones I could remember. Our eyes met again, and she murmured - very superfluously at that point - I want to."

My cock had already shown that I did; I only nodded. She turned and threw back the covers, chuckling as her clothes flew past the foot of the bed. She looked back at me and murmured:

"Any way. I'm all wet."

"On top, you?"

She nodded, hardly smiling. We were too aroused for better smiles, I thought as I lay down. As she immediately clambered over me and grasped my cock, guiding it to her pussy, I thought: this isn't about emotional anything: sex, fornication, adultery, not making love.

Her pussy was all wet, her hips descending on mine as we both moaned. She had had two children, like my wife, but her pussy was much tighter, like I remembered before we had children, like the other ones before. Yes, there had been more than a few. Oh, one had been older than me, and had also had two children, but her pussy hadn't been tight like Mrs. O's. But I couldn't remember one of the girls or women who had moved so aggressively, almost desperately on my cock. She wanted me to suck her nipples, not just suck them, as I greedily almost chewed one, she moaning and then offering me the other one.

I didn't think that she would want to kiss - this was about pure sexual satisfaction - but then she did, rescuing her nipple from my eager mouth and sliding back, lowering her head and finding my mouth with hers. Fucking tongues! Hers and then mine, and sucking them, like her vagina was trying to draw my cock even deeper in her pussy! When had I last fucked like this - if ever?

Our orgasms only underlined that question for me. Hers seemed as good, but a man never knows. I felt more sure, after she recovered and raised her head and shoulders with a final moan and murmured:

"God, I wanted that! Fuck! Just like that!"

She kissed me again, before I could reply, and before I could return the thrusts of her tongue in my mouth, she raised her head again with a snort and murmured:

"I wasn't going to do that, even just now, but it's the only way to say thank you after that."

"Then I have to, too; you didn't let me."

She did, eagerly sucking and caressing my tongue in her mouth, chuckling. My cock slipped out of her pussy. She nodded and murmured:

"Always fresh sheets on Friday."

She relaxed on me, straightening out her legs, just lying on me with her head next to mine. We were silent, our stomachs rising and falling together. It had been a long time since my wife just lay like that after sex, and when she had - or anyone else had a couple of decades before - I hadn't appreciated the sensation like I was now, wondering, if this had been a one-time, desperate episode, or if she wanted it to be repeated. I did, only worried about the logistics.

I snorted at my choice of word - "logistics." I had certainly delivered the goods, or she had called them up: just in time logistics. Or had she delivered the goods, coming just in time with me? She gave a questioning "hmm?" and asked without raising her head:

"What was that for?"

As I started to tell her, she rolled off me with a chuckle, then replying:

"Either way - any way - you sure did ... deliver the goods. One orgasm right on time."

"Two!"

"Even better, but I knew that. And why 'logistics'?"

"Probably shouldn't say it: more about longer term scheduling."

"Hm-hmm! Like days or hours?"

"I didn't want to ask."

"Hm-hm-hmm! I will then. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Supposed to be playing tennis."

"Me too, but if I missed today, just need one excuse for also missing tomorrow, and can find a substitute. You too?"

"Mmmm! Of course, ... if you really mean it?"

"And if! A lot better than playing tennis."

"And I thought I was getting better, playing with you."

"Maybe, but not better than this: game, set, match."

"I thought the score was tied, deuce."

"Even better, then game isn't over yet."

"Hm-hmm! Oh, I think that one is. Maybe I meant the set score was tied: six-six."

"And we have to play a tie-break?"

She grinned and slid her hand down from my chest towards my cock. I grinned back and said:

"I know you would win, if we had to play it out without one."

"Hm-hmm! Maybe I would let you win so we could continue the set."

"Not the same day."

"Oh no, it would be worse than that match at Wimbledon that went over three days."

"With lots of rain breaks. 'Worse' or better?"

"Better, of course. Hm-hmm! And maybe our court needed to dry out sometime."

Her hand slid down to my pubic hair. I wondered if it was still wet from her juicy orgasm. Apparently, at least enough for her to chuckle and remark:

"I think it's almost dry enough to continue play."

Her hand slid down and found my soft cock. I was again surprised at myself, that I was being able to return her volleys. I chuckled and replied:

"Don't they warm up again after a break in play?"

"Of course. ... Hmmm! Hm-hmm! And they often like to eat a banana: magnesium, to avoid getting cramps."

"Wouldn't want that to happen. Haven't I seen some sucking juice out of little pouches?"

"Or squeezing and sucking it out of an orange."

"Oh, that's better; I like doing that."

"I do too. ... Won't tell you what it makes me think of."

"Like I won't tell you what seeing people eating bananas does."

We both chuckled, smirking, and she fondled my cock and balls with surprising familiarity, making me try to recall the last time someone had like that; probably my wife, but years ago. Before I could pursue that thought further, she chuckled again and murmured:

"I think we should warm up."

"For the next set?"

She was already beginning to curl down over me, replying:

"Or maybe just to enjoy without starting a new set."

"Um-hmm! I would like that just as much."

"Me too."

I rolled towards her, and we drew our thighs up under each other's head, hers a very firm cushion for mine. This was going to be the first shaven pussy I ever ate. My soft cock was already in her mouth. I licked over her so smooth outer lips and murmured:

"The smoothest skinned orange I ever sucked.

She chuckled with a nod. I snorted and added:

"If you feel anything get hard, it's not a muscle and certainly not a cramp, ... just a banana."

She chuckled again and sucked and licked. I slid my arm under her waist and grasped her firm ass with both hands. Oh, this was going to be good! Not just because she tasted good and because I love cunnilingus; she had suggested that we go all the way, that she wanted to let me come in her mouth - my wife never did. No one had done that since before I got married. Oh, this was going to be good!

It was; she did, responding when my fingers rippled over her asshole, and she must have known that I would be able to give her a good orgasm with my tongue on her firm, aroused clitoris. I did, maybe cued by my orgasm; she moaned when my cock spurted, and then almost bit it with a much more aroused moan, as her hips quivered and her pussy juice flowed. God, I loved it! Both ways!

She did too, still licking my cock as she recovered. I moved my head back a little and looked at her pussy; kind of hard to believe that two babies had slipped through it; it looked as good as the ones I remembered from before I was thirty. I had licked a lot more of them than the girls had wanted to suck my cock. But she had, and so good! And we has sort of agreed that we would do it again tomorrow! Did she still want to?

I slid my hand down over her side and fondled her breast. She nodded and rolled back, my cock flopping down on my thigh. She held my hand squeezing my fingers around her breast, and nodded on my thigh with a soft "um-hmm," and then murmured:

"I just love that, too. Hm-hmm! Kind of like trying to keep the ball in play, enjoying that the other can return it."

"Um-hmm, nice simile, no competition, a win-win situation."

"Hm-hmm! That's good! I could kiss you for that, but I won't."

She sat up and smiled down at me, then remarking:

"And I really didn't expect this would happen. Oh, I'll admit that I had been thinking about. Maybe I think about it too much during the week, and I wanted it to, but didn't expect that it would."

"I sure didn't, and was even more surprised, but also thinking about it, and you made it hard - not that way! - not to think about it more, saying that your bed was too big most nights."

"Did I say that?"

"Um-hmm!"

"Hmm? I think it often enough. ... I guess it will be again tonight."

"Mine too. We have separate rooms; I snore too much."

We exchanged wry smiles. After a moment, she suggested that we take a shower, and we got up. The adjoining bathroom had a tub and a shower stall, larger than most. Taking a shower with a woman was something I had done before, not at home and not just because our shower stall was too small for two people. It had been many years before with a 23-year old, before we made love. We were both single, didn't have to worry about going home smelling of sex. And she had been one of the few that really liked to suck cock, entirely surprising me when she did the first time we were in bed together.

She turned on the water, big overhead showerhead. Then I was surprised when she started to pee. She gave me an apologetic, wry smile, remarking:

"I always go in the shower, sorry."

I snorted with a nod, and replied:

"I do too," and did. She grinned, remarking:

"Have to try not to when I take a shower at the club."

We chuckled and washed each other. Luckily, I stopped her from using soap on me; couldn't go home smelling of a strange soap. Washing her, I discovered a fine scar. She noticed and nodded, remarking:

"Yes, caesareans, good work."

"And good for something else, too, ... like a virgin, well, not quite."

"Um-hmm, that's why."

We smirked and finished our showers. She handed me the other towel and said:

"Also change these on Fridays."

We returned to the bedroom. I helped her gather up the clothes that had been on the bed. As we began to dress, I remarked:

"This will be first, seeing you in something other than tennis clothes. Your sports bras gave me the wrong impression of your figure."

"Why I wear them, so they don't bounce around and get flabby."

"My good luck to see that they haven't."

"And mine too, that you have."

We smiled, and she put on her bra, hooking it behind her back and then jiggling her boobs in their cups. I grinned and said:

"Much better, but not better than without."

As we continued to dress, she remarked that she really hadn't meant for me to see her underwear on the bed, but we agreed that that made it even nicer that I had, that it had been another unintended suggestion to me, and that we were both pleased with what had happened. We chuckled with smiles and took our coffee bowls back to the kitchen.

I didn't want to be the one to suggest or ask if we would do it again; that was the lady's prerogative. She turned back from the sink with a slightly quizzical expression, then snorted and remarked:

"Still looks like you've been playing tennis."

"I hope so, but I wasn't, we weren't."

"Better. ... Should we do it again? We were talking about it."

"Sounded like we wanted to then; I did, I do. Maybe we 'shouldn't', but that wasn't what you meant."

"Oh, we 'shouldn't,' but if we want to? I do."

"Risk it? Might be anticlimactic, after the thrill of the first time?"

"Oh, it was that! But good enough to risk."

"Only one way to find out."

"Um-hmm, even without that. Tomorrow, substitutes?"

"Um-hmm, an hour later. ... And if you change your mind, you can tell me on the intercom when I ring."

"You're sweet, but then we wouldn't know. ... But if a kid is sick or something else, well, I won't make up an excuse; it will be true."

"Good that we can be honest. I'll expect the worst, not to be disappointed."

"I hope not."

"Me too."

We parted at the door with smiles, and I waited for the elevator, hoping no one would join me on the way down, especially someone from the floor just below hers. I escaped the building unobserved and went to my car. It was too early to drive home, since I should have been playing tennis for an hour with my supposed friend and then an hour and a half doubles, plus at least half an hour drinking coffee.

What all can happen in a couple of hours on a weekday morning! I drove off and parked somewhere else, continuing my thoughts. It had been the best sex I had had in years, the fulfillment of all my fantasies - and maybe hers too. And tomorrow? We both wanted to risk it. No first time thrill, but we knew how to have good sex, give each other good sex. It would still be good. Didn't we both want it to be? And if it was, next week? The week after? Could we arrange our schedules to allow that? I couldn't continue to play with my supposed friend, but I could say that I was substituting for another player; my wife never looked at my lists, and I wouldn't leave them lying around any more. And, of course, every couple, three weeks, I wasn't scheduled to play. But would she want to?

I fondled my balls through my shorts, trying to remember the last time I had had two orgasm in one session. It must have happened, right, once with her. She had also sucked my cock. And once with her. She didn't do that, but we went to bed with three rubbers, and the last time we didn't have one. Hadn't really been that good, but we had done it four times, at least, I had come four times. Back then I wasn't so conscious, considerate about whether she did. But Mrs. O had. What was her first name?

We never used first names, or addressed each other by name after that, but that is getting ahead of the story, also revealing that it continues, but I wasn't sure at that time.

I drove home, remembering to have something to say about my tennis partners, in case my wife asked. She didn't. I took another shower and then - where she couldn't hear - arranged for a substitute.

Wednesday morning, I slipped a pair of trousers in my tennis bag and then put them on over my shorts in the garage. At her building at the later hour, no one was going to work. I rang. After several seconds, this time the light on the intercom video camera went on, and then the buzzer unlocked the door. The elevator was waiting. Her door was already open.

She greeted me in house dress, smiling as she closed the door and remarked that my trousers were a good idea, agreeing with my explanation that I didn't want always look like a tennis player.

"But at home?" she asked with a smirk.

"Under the trousers."

"This is all I have on," she replied with a smirk.

"I knew you weren't wearing a sports bra."

"Hm-hmm, feels better," and she shook her shoulders, making her breasts move under the cloth.

"Hm-hmm, like when I dare to forego undershorts."

"Um-hmm, that must feel even better."

"As long as it doesn't get embarrassing."

"Like yesterday?"

"Even with them, but you didn't seem to mind, so I didn't."

"Oh, I didn't. By then I was just hoping that you wanted to let me see more."