Lust Transmission

"Come on," she said, taking his hand and helping him to his feet. He stepped out of his pants and underwear and went with her.

She led him to the studio, to the mattress she'd been using in there, stepping over the canvases placed around it. It had mostly dried out from last time. She unbuttoned his shirt with one hand and held his slick penis, which was starting to show a little flaccidity, with the other. She wanted to feel it getting all the way hard again. To her delight, it began to stir as soon as she placed a hand on his bare chest. She worked his foreskin up and down, kissing him again, and shimmied her skirt off so she was naked from the waist down.

He looked down at her, then into her eyes. "What... what happened?" was all he could manage. He was so confused, the poor thing. But he wanted her. His hands reached for her hips and held them tightly, then slipped around to her buttocks, kneading them uncontrollably, building a new agony in her.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "I just..." She let go of him and removed her top and - as slowly as she could manage, given the heat in her body and the dripping from her crotch - unclasped her bra so they were both fully naked.

Her nipples stood out, with small droplets of sweat beading up on the flesh around them. She took his hands and had him massage her breasts, which may have been the most purely enjoyable moment of the whole thing; stimulation, but not so much to completely override her bodily control. She went back to rubbing his cock up and down, feeling it return to full length and thickness. It pointed directly at her pink, wet, puffy vagina. Time to get back inside.

She had him get on his knees with her, then placed her legs either side of him and stretched out on her back. He moved his body over her and inadvertently tapped his cockhead against her clitoris. "Oh!" she cried, then frantically grabbed for him and guided him into her.

That astonishing fullness again, pressing her vaginal cavity outward in all directions, penetrating her thoroughly.

"Oh," he gasped. Losing control, he drew himself back and thudded into her again, then pounded her hard and erratically, making her shriek with pleasure each time he banged into her raised clitoris.

They fucked like that for a while, maybe a minute, maybe five. Thud. Thud. Thud. Every microsecond of infinitesimal friction drawing them into each other's pleasure. Every bang of his balls against her ass ratcheting them both closer to orgasm.

She imagined it before it happened, and that made her drench herself all over again and come.

She felt him let out a stream of semen on a downward thrust, which he then withdrew and pushed back in, groaning. He collapsed against her and the full-body touch made her come again. She squirmed and gritted her teeth through almost painful vaginal contractions as he drained his balls inside her. She was so aroused that she fell back to a plateau of high arousal and up again to spasming orgasm twice more underneath his bulk. He took a minute or so to rest, his panting slowing to deep breaths, then pulled out and slid off her.

John's semen ran out of her again onto the mattress. Cherie couldn't help reaching down and rubbing it around her crotch, feeling an exciting rush of moving particles in these two mingling fluids. Still at a high plateau, she stuck two fingers inside herself and rubbed her battered clitoris to another orgasm, looking at John's astonished face as he watched her pleasure herself.

After she came, she pulled her hands away from her body, holding them with fingers splayed in front of her chest as if to say 'please, no more'. John reached for her shoulder; she gently moved his hand away and said, "Just a sec," knowing that she might need more of him if she felt him touch her again.

They lay there like that for a couple of minutes while she composed herself and came down from that dizzying, extended high.

"Thank you," she said, still staring at the ceiling above her.

"Thank you," he said. "I've wanted that for so long."

"I know," she replied.

"I just had to say that. Sorry," he said.

"I know," she said, turning to look at him. His puppy-dog eyes filled her with warmth, and she smiled. "It's okay. I know."

"I never thought you-"

"I didn't," she said. "Not until recently."

His stomach rumbled.

"Come on." She got to her feet, ignoring aches in her thighs and genitals. "I need to feed you, and explain a few things."

*

Over dinner, Cherie told John the truth. She'd realised she had to if she was going to live with herself, and that the truth would show them both what they should do next. To his credit, John didn't simply smile and thank his good fortune, nor did he storm out in anger. He listened attentively, asked a lot of questions (but none too probing), and considered his part in the episode carefully. In real time, she could see his attitude toward her evolve from the immature pining that had crippled him to curiosity about who she really was. He had tasted her intimately and enjoyed her physically, and she was now opening up to him in other ways, and he was suddenly interested in her on a deeper and more intellectual level.

They continued to drink water throughout the meal, knowing it would poison their minds and lead them back to bed eventually, but agreed in advance that he would stay the night and see what happened. They had eaten well by the time she stood, took his hand, and led him back to the mattress, where they made love for the first time - slowly, with mouths and hands initially, drinking in each other's scents before she lay on her side and he joined her from behind, rubbing his hands over her breasts as she came around him with brow knitted and mouth wide open. He grunted and spurted into her again, somehow as much as before. They managed to extract themselves from their sticky patches and go to her bedroom, where they slept peacefully until the morning.

Cherie woke first. Her body was sore and weary. She looked at the nape of his neck turned away from her and felt a romantic satisfaction, but no great lust. Hmmm, she thought.

She stood and staggered naked to the bathroom, worried something down there was broken. She took a look as she peed. It was red and rough but otherwise fine. No pink stuff.

Then she walked gingerly to the studio, aching all over and nervous at what she might see. To her delight, the canvases on the floor were arrayed with beautiful patterns of pink and light and sweat, a story in moisture and dryness. And in the centre, the mattress itself, still impressed with the lagoon-like shape of their intertwined bodies, still wet to the touch.

That was when she saw it, and when her misgivings about her reputation fell away. The piece was right here, and all the words to go with it were right there in her brain, ready to go onto a wall panel or a booklet. And in the other room, there was the man who could share this episode with her, and maybe more in the future; the man against whom she could reflect and contrast herself, the man who would give of himself for her for as long as she needed him.

To think that all this time, it had been John who would solve the puzzle. John, for goodness' sake. But God, that cock. There would be experiments and results, and they would enjoy it all, and they would produce something beautiful together. And along the way, perhaps she would learn to enjoy other things about him, too.

Cherie walked back and poked her head in the door of the bedroom, where John was stirring. She smiled, went to the kitchen, and set some coffee brewing. Then she drank a large glass of water, pausing afterwards to inspect the remaining droplets once she'd drained it.

"Thank you," she said.