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

"Not more than I did."

"And now? We can have coffee again, but I've been thinking about this too much to want coffee."

"Mmmm! Me too. Of course, we can just talk about it."

"Like fish! That's a euphemism: like fuck!"

"Hm-hmm! Okay, no coffee or talk. Didn't want either anyway."

We grinned and turned towards the bedrooms. I opened my trousers and shorts, thinking that next time - if there were one - I would forego underpants. In the bedroom, I realized that I had to take of my shoes first. She was already gathering up the skirt of her dress. To keep up with her, I shoved everything down past my hips before I sat down on the already opened bed. I managed to untie my shoes without looking, grinning at her as she whipped her dress over her head, grinning back at me as she stood there in all her glory.

Geez, I don't think I had seen a girl with such a flat tummy! Not one that I had slept with. It almost looked like her mons veneris swelled out under her tummy, not just between her strong thighs, and her breasts ...! I hadn't been looking before. I had been, but too aroused to really appreciate them objectively. Haha! "Objectively?" They couldn't, shouldn't be bigger on her slender figure, but they couldn't be better formed, and her puffy nipples ...!

I struggled out of my shoes and sock. Before I could begin to take off my trousers, she dropped down in front of me and grabbed their cuffs. With a whoosh they were off, and she was grasping for my shorts. I pulled my polo shirt over my head, and then my underpants were gone, flung in the direction of my trousers and tennis shorts. She grinned up at me with a slightly growling hum, creeping closer between my legs.

She couldn't be feigning such eager arousal to avoid this time being anticlimactic, I thought, recalling our talk about that. And if she were, she obviously didn't want it to be. Same difference! She wanted it to be good again, and - like me - wanted to continue our affair. I hoped so.

Her hand was fondling my balls, my cock now rising to the horizontal. She hummed again and murmured:

"One set for you, and one for me, and then one for us both."

"Mmmm! Who wins the first one?"

"Hm-hmm! I'm not sure; I like it so much that I could think that I win the first one."

"Hmmm! But then you can't think you win the second one."

"Hm-hmm! I want to, but if you like it as much as I do, maybe you win."

"I do, ... but still hope that you feel like you did."

"Hm-hmm! Me too. Doesn't matter."

I watched her tongue raise my cock and saw its head disappear between her lips.

It didn't matter which of us won; we both did, if she liked feeling me fill her mouth as much as I enjoyed with moans and then twitching hips and grunts filling it. I had to think that I enjoyed it more, because for me it was a more seldom pleasure. Her eagerness and experience suggested that she did it every weekend. Lucky husband! Anyone else? But he deserved it.

With another growling hum, she grinned up at me, licking her lips and swallowing. She didn't waste any words, grasping my thighs to stand up and then dropping down on the bed beside me, drawing up her knees before I could move off the bed and turn on my knees in front of her spread thighs.

Her smooth pussy did swell above her flat stomach when she lay on her back! And it did remind me of a squeezed orange half; better, a grapefruit half, yes, a pink grapefruit: just that size; the smoother, paler peel squeezed together with its pink flesh just showing.

"Pink grapefruit" I murmured, and then my mouth was on it. She laughed and said:

"Oh, that's good, a juicy pink grapefruit. Oooh! It must taste good!"

It did already, but not like a grapefruit. I nodded and tried to make it juicier. She grasped the back of her knees and spread her thighs even wider. I had to look again. When had I last seen a pussy in broad daylight? But never one without hair. Oooh! It was lovely! Forget about pink grapefruits: smooth pink inner lips and pink hood trying to hide her already aroused clitoris, and her slick opening.

She seemed to appreciate that I was looking and drew her thighs down further, rolling her hips up. Did she want me to see her asshole too? Also just pink. Did she want me to lick it? Did I? I did.

Maybe she hadn't expected that I would; she responded with a surprised:

"Oooh! That too!" but moaned and drew her knees down to her shoulders to let me continue, her asshole tightening and relaxing under my tongue. But I wanted to taste her again. My tongue lapped up the firm bit to her pussy and plunged into her opening.

Oooh! I love to lick pussy! And she wanted me to give her an orgasm - not like my wife, who always had wanted to fuck before I could enjoy experiencing hers this way. Maybe she couldn't come this way, but this pussy could! I wanted it to be even better than it had been yesterday - for her and for me. Did she want me then to fuck her, immediately want a second orgasm? My cock was already aroused again. She would tell me. I reached up under her legs and grasped her breasts: yeah, maybe small half grapefruits, but they didn't have her puffy nipples, now so hard.

Whoever won the first set, I know that I won the second one, all my delightful efforts being rewarded by hearing her increasingly aroused moans and then the uncontrolled twitching of her hips, and finally her pained sounding whimpers as her body convulsed and her pussy juice flowed.

She couldn't think that she won, if she sounded like that and lost all control. Or could she?! Only the loser can ask for a rematch, and she did, as soon as her body stilled, and she had taken a few deep breaths, moaning as she exhaled.

"Fuck me!"

I did. Oh, did I! With her fingers scraping up and down my back and her feet locked behind my ass, she rocked her hips up to meet the thrusts of mine pumping my cock in her clutching vagina. I assumed that she would have another orgasm very soon, and she did. And I did too, and a very good one, a little to my surprise that I could again so quickly. When our hips stilled, she grasped my head and devoured my mouth, sucking my tongue so hard that it was almost painful, and then letting me suck hers. When she retrieved it, she murmured:

"I shouldn't do that; just had to."

I nodded, understanding her feeling that kissing was an expression of emotion and that our having sex together wasn't supposed to be emotional. It wasn't, but it is called "making love;" it can't help but be emotional while it lasts.

I rose up, and my cock slipped out. She snorted with a wry smile and remarked:

"That wasn't all that slipped out."

I looked down and saw a mixture of our juices running down to her asshole. I returned her smile, nodding again. I wanted to fondle her breasts, but didn't, thinking it wasn't appropriate after her remark to do anything that could suggest affection. I held out my hands to help her sit up. She took them, nodding as she pulled herself up. When she let go of my hands she gave another wry smile and said:

"So much for the risk of its being anticlimactic."

"That's for sure; don't know if we can do that every time."

"Or even want to, but ... if you want a next time, I sure do."

I nodded with a grin, and she did. She looked down at her pussy with a chuckle and murmured:

"Pink grapefruit," and then smirked at me and asked me to find the box of tissues in the drawer of the bedside table: "... before I drip on the way to the bathroom."

We took another shower together, peeing again. This time, she grasped my cock, chuckling as she turned my stream up on her stomach, letting me wonder if she did that with her husband. His towel got more use. We returned to the bed room, exchanging wry smiles at the sight of our disbanded clothes.

"Coffee now?" she asked: "... like this?" she added, glancing at our nudity.

I agreed and we left the bedroom. I wondered if she was thinking that we might be staying naked to do something more. After a couple of steps into the living room, she remarked:

"Oh, this feels funny, 'like this,' in here."

"It does, but it was your suggestion."

"Um-hmm, wanted to try it; can't with the family, but I didn't think it would feel so funny."

"I like to go naked, getting the paper in the morning, sometimes making breakfast, but my wife doesn't like to see that I do."

She chuckled and then was filling the water boiler. She chuckled again and said:

"I hope the paper is delivered to your door."

"Um-hmm, and not visible from the street."

"Oh, that doesn't make it very interesting."

She turned to me, leaning against the counter and glancing down at my cock and then at her pussy, and then snickered, remarking:

"Bananas and pink grapefruits: I wonder what kind of a fruit salad they would make."

"Or carrots or pickles, ... cucumbers, zucchini?"

"Just bananas."

We chuckled with grins, and waited for the water to boil, still silent as she then made coffee.

"Like yesterday?" she asked. I nodded, and she got out the bowls and filled them, then adding cream to mine, slowly, until I took her hand again. She smiled and said softly:

"That was good that you did that yesterday, encouraging, else I might not have done what I did."

"My good luck; not sure I intended it that way, but I wanted to touch you."

"Mine too. Sugar?" and she gestured to the sugar bowl.

After our first sips, she chuckled and said:

"Since I can't suggest that I want to change, should we go sit down. We returned to the living room. When she nodded towards the upholstered chairs, I mentioned that nudists always had a towel to sit on.

"Oh, of course, I'll get them," she replied and set down her bowl and hurried off. When she returned, she grinned and asked:

"How do you know."

"Visited one place a couple of times, visited my sister and brother-in-law; wouldn't have otherwise."

"Oooh! And how was it? Living with them, all of you naked? And everybody else?"

"No problem, really. If I had been a teenager, I think it would have been, but when everyone just takes it for granted, one doesn't think about it, not about sex. Oh, a couple of more attractive younger women - like you - made it difficult to just look at their faces."

"Hm-hmm. You don't have to just look at mine."

I did, but her nipples didn't tighten, and my cock didn't stir, of course. I snorted and said:

"See, it just becomes natural, why they like to call themselves naturists."

"Um-hmm, and not after what we've done, but with your sister?"

"She's several years older and even back then not competition for the younger women."

"Funny! I wouldn't have expected that you did that."

"I wouldn't have either."

We smiled and sipped our coffee, and then talked about other things until we had finished our coffee, just sipping, apparently stretching it out until it was time for me to go. She picked up our bowls, and I gathered up the towels, and with nods she went towards the kitchen and I back to the bedroom and bathroom, hanging up the towels.

We met in the bedroom. She tossed her dress on the bed and turned to find underwear, while I began to dress. She found something else to wear, giving me a smile and then glancing at her dress, remarking:

"Just for you."

As I was pulling my trousers up over my tennis shorts, it occurred to me that I was going to have to take them off again before I got home. Dressed, we smiled at each other, and I remarked:

"Also a little funny."

"Um-hmm. ... Next time?"

"Wednesday? I don't have to play."

"I hope so. Like I said, something could always happen, not likely, but you understand."

"Of course. I hope not."

"Me too."

We smiled and went to the door, parting with "Next time."

I left the building without meeting anyone and drove off, parking in a side street to take off my trousers; a struggle in the car, since I had to take of my shoes and put them back on again. Driving home, my thoughts were more about how to make sure that my tennis schedule wouldn't be upset by someone's asking me to substitute, maybe calling and my wife agreeing that I would. I should have mentioned that possibility to her. Next time; yes, "next time!"

At home, I checked whether there were scratches on my back; no real ones, but enough to make me avoid letting my wife see them. I found her telephone number and memorized it, so that I could at least call her on my cell phone in the last minute, if something came up - not my cock. It wanted to, however, during the intervening days, more at night, of course, when I wondered how else we could do it; whether she would surprised me again, may already naked at the door, ...?

She did surprise me, but not in any of the ways I had imagined. She was fully dressed, more grinning than smiling, greeting me, and then chuckling before she said:

"I have a surprise for you," and led me to the kitchen.

I had wanted a surprise; all the better that she had thought of one. She snickered when I saw the two halves of a pink grapefruit on the counter. I snickered, returning her grin. She said:

"Had to go a couple of places to find them. Oh, the boys like them, said they tasted sweeter than the other kind. I had to stifle a chuckle when they said that."

She didn't stifle her chuckle then, and I didn't either, replying:

"But not as good as the one I was thinking about."

"Even sweeter?"

"Just a lot better."

We laughed. She picked them up and handed me one, saying:

"I want to see if you are right. Oh, this is going to be messy, we need a tray."

She got a large metal tray and led me to the dining table. We sat down with it between us on the corner of the table and leaned over it. With twinkling eyes, she held her half up and began to squeeze, catching the juice with her mouth. I did the same. It was a little messy, but we both soon had our halves squeezed enough so that we were pressing the edge of the peel together. Snickering, I looked at mine and hummed, thinking that I had been right about comparing her pussy with a pink grapefruit. I looked up at her and licked up it.

"She snickered, nodding, then looking at hers and did the same, grinning at me. I murmured:

"Nice and smooth on the outside and sweet and pink inside."

"You said it wasn't sweet."

"Your pussy is sweet, just a different way."

"Hm-hmm! I want to see it, see if you are right."

"I am. ... With a mirror?"

"Um-hmm, haven't looked at since my hair started to grow, and Mom had to tell me what it was for."

"Hm-hm-hmm! She told you what it's for?"

"No! I only thought about it that way a couple of years later."

"Just a couple?"

"Maybe three."

"Hm-hmm! I won't ask!"

She feigned a disappointed expression and replied:

"But then almost a year later."

"Before I did, for sure."

"Bedroom."

We snickered and put our squeezed grapefruit halves on the tray, and I carried it to the bedroom, while she started to get undressed. I put it on the corner of the already opened bed, and we got naked. She fetched her hand mirror and lay down, chuckling, remarking:

"Like when I was twelve."

"Pretty pussy."

"If you say so."

She held her mirror between her thighs and looked. It was still closed, no pink showing, just the extra little curve at the top of her slit. I hadn't seen it like that before. She murmured:

"Could be a little girl's."

"Maybe. Last time I saw my daughter's was when she was ten or eleven, and she was just standing."

"Hmm! Still running around naked?"

"After her bath."

"Like my younger one. His brother doesn't any more."

"Too many hairs, or he can't control it."

"Hm-hmm! You would know. Now show me my grapefruit."

I took one half and pressed the peel together again and held it down next to her pussy so that she could see both in the mirror, very pleased with the comparison and that it had occurred to me.

"Oooh, yes! ... And the pink," she murmured, then grinning up at me.

Her other hand slid down, and her fingers spread her pussy lips. I let the sides of the peel separate. We both hummed. I had really had a good idea, and she had, letting us both see how good it was.

"My pink grapefruit," she murmured.

"And just as juicy."

"Hm-hmm! Not yet, but I want it to be."

She tossed the mirror up towards the pillows and drew her thighs up. I put the grapefruit half back on the tray and dropped down on my knees.

It was juicy again, and tasted better than a juicy sweet pink grapefruit, and she wanted to be fucked, not more than I wanted to fuck her, both of us fucking with our tongues in the other's mouth.

This time she didn't apologize for all our kissing. When I saw her leaking again, white streaks, I chuckled and murmured:

"Banana cream."

"Hm-hmm! And grapefruit juice."

"Lots of it!"

She moved around on the bed, and we lay together, chuckling again, as she fondled me and I fondled her breasts. We were silent for several minutes, our hands still, almost dozing. Then her fingers moved again, rousing me, and she murmured:

"We forgot to keep score."

"Just as well; guys talk about 'scoring' with a girl, but it's not a flattering expression."

"Didn't know that."

"Besides, yesterday we couldn't decide which of us won. Oh, it occurred to me, when you said 'fuck me,' that only the loser could ask for a rematch, so I must have won that set."

"Hm-hmm! I shouldn't say that. Even if I think I won, next time I'll try to remember to say 'rematch'."

"Love all, love fifteen, love thirty, love forty, game, set ..."

"Rematch," she interjected, then chuckled and massaged my balls, and said:

"Or love sixty-nine."

"Mmmm! You know I love sixty-nine."

"And you know that I do too. Hm-hmm! And banana cream."

"And grapefruit juice!"

I hoped the tray wouldn't slip off the bed as we moved around. It didn't, and we both got our banana cream and grapefruit juice.

We rolled back with our heads on each other's thigh, chuckling after we had recovered. She murmured:

"I like grapefruit juice too."

"Really? You'll have to kiss me if you want to taste it."

"He likes to kiss me after I do that."

It was the first time she had mentioned anything about sex with her husband. Of course, he wanted to kiss her after she had made him come in her mouth. I did too - "making love." But she was reluctant to kiss me after sex, if she could help it. How to reply?

"I would too. Next time?"

"Next time."

"And you like grapefruit juice?"

"Hm-hmm! Tell you next time."

"Hmm? Sort of like "Thousand and One Nights."

"Um-hmm, just to make sure there is a next time."

"As though that were necessary."

"I didn't really think so."

I reached down and fondled her breast, and she fondled my cock and balls. We hummed and got up and had our shower, peeing, and got dressed, smirking when we looked at the grapefruit halves. She remarked that she had to be careful to clean up evidence that I had been there, having forgotten to wash and put away our coffee bowls the first day. I told about my possible problem with scheduling and that I would call her if something upset our plans.

By now, it was tacitly obvious that we both assumed that we were going to continue our affair. At the door, when she asked: "Tuesday, Wednesday?" she suddenly added:

"Oh, shit! I can't next week. You know why. Have to just play tennis."

"Of course, see you there."

She smiled with a nod, and we parted.

It was good that I didn't have to have an excuse at home or with my my tennis friends the following week. I also got to see her playing. My thoughts about how she opened her thighs when she took her last step before hitting the ball were now even more distracting; I knew just too much about the inside of her thighs and her pink grapefruit between them.

I called her, and she agreed to the day that fit with my schedule. That seem a little too perfunctory, but what we did was not.