Naked: How to Dress the Truth Ch. 02

She was about to compliment the arrangement when Tom stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and waited. She willed her body to not tense up, but could not control her runaway heart that pounded with the anxious admission that she had no idea where this was going. He touched her neck, traced up behind her ears, down along the line of her jaw, over her throat. Alison half-turned to him. He held her cheek, turned her face to his and began to kiss her lightly, barely brushing her lips with his, then held his mouth to hers with only a hint of pressure. She parted her lips in hesitant invitation, which he declined, first exploring her lips with small short pecks, then held longer and when Alison again parted her lips she felt the tip of his tongue against hers, heads tuned and mouths shaping to each other, pressing closer.

Alison took a step back and unfastened the top button of her blouse, then the second. Tom stopped her hands, turned her around, and continued to unfasten the buttons himself, deliberately, without haste. Alison stood, and waited. When the blouse was slid from her shoulders, then down her arms and onto the floor, she could sense Tom quickly removing his own clothes. In two movements she undid a clasp, pulled down a zipper and her skirt joined her blouse at her feet. Her practical consideration, she smiled to herself. Before she could undo her bra, Tom's bare chest pressed against her back, his bare arms encircled her, his fingers traced the line where her bra met bare skin. Moments later the bra joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.

Alison had expected more urgency from Tom, and was unprepared for the inquisitive touching. When his fingers brushed over her hips, the hollow of her waist, when his thumbs teased the swell and curve of her breasts, she wanted to scream Tom, I'm ready. I've been ready for the past week. He cupped her breasts in his hands, felt their soft weight, squeezed them, massaged them, pulled her to him. Alison sighed in relief, her head fell back onto his shoulder, her temple against his cheek. Something wasn't right, she thought, as she turned in his arms parted her lips and pressed her mouth to his and thankfully she felt his moist tongue. His pulled her closer, her breasts pressed against his chest. She took a half step closer still, naked bodies embraced.

Tom broke the embrace and led Alison across the room to his bed. Something in Alison watched her walk barefoot across the floor, and interrogated her, what are you doing? Naked but for her panties, only a few more steps to Tom's bed, and Alison thought she had already made the same mistake she had made in the threesome. She had been guided by a specific expectation how Tom would behave, and the reality had already laid waste to it. Now, heart pounded with trepidation, she sensed that with each step she was entering the same unexplored territory, that she was too far away from what she wanted to repeat. It was Tom's gentler manner. She was looking for that urgent hunger and had to find it again, but she didn't know how. Maybe it wasn't even there to be found at all.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed, Alison stood before him. He slid her panties down to her ankles and she stepped out of them. He kissed her abdomen, caressed the inside of her thighs, not touching her anywhere that she needed to be touched. She ached. Something was not right. He moved back onto the mattress, coaxed her down beside him. She lay down on her back, her forearms raised and hands extended to accept his body into her own embrace, to hold him against her. Instead, Tom lay on his side beside her. With one arm cradling her head, he began exploring her with his other hand. It made Alison feel self-conscious, self-aware of her own nakedness and where she was. She turned her head, took in the strange room she found herself in, and had agreed to enter. I'm getting ahead of myself, a voice admonished. I'm making the same mistake. It's like before, it's the situation, that's what is twisting my stomach in knots. It's not why I'm here, I didn't come here to be fucked by some guy in his bed. She winced, stung by her own brutality.

Tom massaged her mound with the heel of his hand, scissored her labia between two fingers. Alison shifted under him, pulled his face down to hers and kissed him again, slow, to calm herself, slow, to let the warmth spread. She pushed her hips slowly into his massaging hand, his fingers spread the petals of her labia, felt her receptive wetness, probed into her. Alison coiled under his touch. God I'm ready she thought, I didn't come here for this.

Tom positioned himself between Alison's legs, and supported himself on outstretched arms. He slid his erection along her wet groove, enticing Alison to rock her hips into him, both in anticipation and invitation. He probed the wet entrance to her, the swollen head of his erection pushing into the folds of her labia. Alison held onto his arms, watched, just as Tom watched. Each time, she thought, each time the same agonized anticipation of this same intimate joining of bodies.

Tom weighed down on Alison and the head of his erection slid past the inviting moist folds of her labia and entered her. He pushed deeper. Alison felt strangled, unable to make a sound. He withdrew again and she watched dizzily while the swollen head of his erection probed at her entrance. He's not teasing, she realized. He is savouring every detail of this. He is doing it all again in slow-motion, not like that rapid first-entry during the threesome. Tom held himself over Alison, the only contact between them being his erection probing at the entrance to her vagina. Alison watched and felt, enthralled by what she was permitting, and spread her legs wider so that all she could feel was their bodies joined at that one place.

Alison gasped in ragged anticipation as Tom shifted then plunged deep into her and her head arched back and she heard herself moan with relief that it was done.

Tom continued a rhythm of long deep languid thrusts, rocking his body like a pendulum over Alison. She tried to make eye contact but he was intent on watching his erection disappear into her, then withdrawn gleaming with her wetness. Alison watched what he watched, how each thrust of his body into her sent a shockwave up her body, her breasts quivering. He lowered himself, lay half on his side to keep her breasts exposed and watched them shake in response every time he pushed into her. He gripped them, pliant and soft, then paused and kissed Alison's mouth, slid his tongue between her open lips. He thrust slowly into her, then withdrew and again he pushed into her, and kissed, and caressed, and thrust and squeezed. Alison felt powerless to do anything. When he at last propped himself on both his forearms and continued a steady rhythm, Alison closed her eyes and abandoned herself the waves of pleasure that rose up from their joined bodies and flowed through her.

Yes, he is repeating all of it, she thought, and she laughed, a hoarse deep laugh in her throat. Tom didn't know about the photos, and this is photo number one, Alison thought. She moaned and sighed. She closed her eyes, bit her fingers, released herself into a light delirium.

Tom began to move his hips in a rolling motion, and the change pulled her back into his room. She opened her eyes, took in where she was, the mattress, the curtained windows to the left. It's the situation, naked on this bed, with Tom caressing her breasts and sucking on her nipples and an erect penis gliding in and out of her, those seductive sucking sounds. She felt it build, an orgasm gaining force, drawing energy from that hard shaft moving inside her. She began to struggle against Tom's movement. She groaned with each push of her hips against his, then together finally, in rhythmic unison, and she rose and arched her back, motionless, suspended in space while he fed the building wave until it broke over her. This isn't the way it was supposed to happen, she thought in her delirium. Alison threw her arms around Tom, buried her face in his neck and cried out in an agony of relief. She gasped and whimpered and moaned softly, hugged Tom's body with arms and legs, then collapsed back onto the bed. Tom continued to move inside her, slower, shallower, and followed her down to an area of calm.

She felt a weight removed yet still found herself in a state of sexual arousal, electric in her mind, turned on by her own sexual excitement. She saw this with a sense of disconnection, as though she was outside of herself, watching. The arousal was not just what she herself felt physically, what Tom's physical stimulation had brought her to. It had to do with being here in this room, and even more to do with how she had made Tom react. She was acutely aware of her own naked body that Tom was now licking and caressing. She could tell how it affected him, and she was aroused by her own body's power to have this effect, to have been able to bring him to where it did.

Time passed. Tom stopped eventually, eased out of her and lay beside her. Alison lay with eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Her orgasm had released her into a warm, electric place and, for the moment, a calm place. She felt pensive, wondered whether this was why she came. "I'm thirsty," she said, the first words either of them had spoken since entering the apartment. Tom got out of bed and returned with a large glass of water. Alison sat up, and drank half of it without taking a breath. Tom lay on the bed beside her. She held the glass to him and he shook his head. Alison took another sip, sat cross-legged, one arm around her waist. She took another long drink of water and placed the glass on the floor. She drew up her knees and clasped them with her arms. It didn't feel right, an irritated voice kept telling her. Yet somehow the warm afterglow of her orgasm sharpened her senses. She felt aroused by where she was, daylight streaming in through the windows, illuminating the unfamiliar room.

It's not so different this time, she thought, alone with Tom in his apartment, on his bed. It is slower than the threesome but it's repeating, she argued against the skeptical and uncertain voice in her. It's all happening in the same way, even her first orgasm, even though the last time it was from .. different but still the same order. We'll get to the same place, she reassured herself, then I'll know. She brushed some loose strands of hair from her face, and realized that her hair band had loosened and her long hair was now an undisciplined tangle. She removed the hair band, gathered her hair together, redid the ponytail.

Tom pushed himself off the mattress. "Excuse me a moment."

Alison watched him cross the room then got up and followed him to the bathroom. She leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed, and watched while he sat on the toilet and urinated. I don't know why I'm watching, she thought to herself. I pee at home, I'm indifferent to it. When Tom finished she went over to the toilet and sat down. Tom stood by the sink and rinsed off his penis. Alison watched him, and caught herself tempted to take the cold wet thing in her mouth.

When she went to wipe herself with toilet paper it fell apart in her hand. She stood and entered the shower stall, turned on a tap, and gasped when the cold water sprayed over her. She quickly rubbed herself with the palm of a hand, rinsing off her pubic hair and the insides of her thighs. She dried herself off and returned to the room.

Tom was stretched out on the bed. Alison crossed the room and paused in the living area. She was in a far corner of her own mind, bemused by the thoughts she was having, looked at the couch and wondered what it would be like to have sex on it. Deep in her mind, she giggled, because she did not usually think that way. Except, now, the raw sexuality of the situation invited such an expression. She repeated the thought, what would it be like to be fucked by Tom on the couch? It made her feel dispassionate, almost cold. A cold sexual heat. That feeling split her world into two parts. If she had just had this experience with Greg she would want to cuddle up next to him, cradled in a soothing warm afterglow of physical and emotional intimacy. Now, even with the same afterglow of sex, satiated and yet still aroused, she felt dispassionate. As though she was now inside an isolated bubble, and Greg and her other feelings were somewhere else. Connecting the two worlds was that maze, that labyrinth of confusion.

Alison looked through the bookcase divider to Tom stretched out on the bed. He was watching her. She felt extremely conscious of being naked, something about the situation that made clothes the false element. She wanted Tom to see her naked, not in a lewd way, but seen as a self-evident part of the reality of why she was here. If he wants to continue, I'll do it, she decided, and felt another wave of heat rise in her.

Alison returned to the bed and lay down propped up on her elbows facing the foot of the bed, her feet crossed on a pillow. Her gaze wandered, looked about the room, over her own body, back to Tom. Alison held his eyes for a few moments. She didn't think of smiling, just held his eyes. She looked down over his torso, lingered her gaze on his penis, down over his legs.

"You're looking very thoughtful," Tom said.

Alison took a deep breath and gave an apologetic shrug. "I don't know what to say."

"I haven't been very talkative myself." Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Tom again broke the silence. "Why did you agree to meet me?"

"Why did you ask in the first place?" she returned the challenge. She again waited a few moments before continuing. "I know your invitation to meet for a chat was just a way to give both of us an easy way out. I wanted this to happen," and indicated, with a quick sweep of her eyes over their bodies, what she was referring to.

Tom sensed the challenge in Alison's casual posture. Her legs separated, trying neither to show or hide anything. He could see her still swollen vulva and the delicate protruding leaves of her inner labia. She didn't give him any room for evasion. "That's what I wanted to meet you for," he acknowledged. "But you haven't said why."

Alison was finding it difficult to breathe. "Neither have you," she replied. "Fine. I sensed something from you last time and I wasn't sure if I imagined it. I wanted to check."

"And did you imagine it?"

"No, I didn't imagine it. It's there." She held his eyes, felt defiant, her breathing uneven, her nerves alive. Her gaze drifted down to his penis and thought that she wanted it hard and inside her. No, that's not what I want, she corrected herself. I want him to want it. I want to feel him wanting it. She looked back over their naked bodies to his face, held his eyes. Can he read my mind, she wondered. Are my thoughts written on my face? Her lips parted. She saw the tenseness in him. It's there.

Tom didn't say anything. He sat up and knelt between Alison's legs that she had spread in invitation. Alison lay back and crossed her arms behind her head and let Tom massage her. He did it with an air of possession, as much to arouse himself as her. She wondered if she was indeed forbidden fruit for him, turned on by the access to her body that she granted him. She felt it in the way he paused from the long massaging strokes up the sides of her body, to grip her breasts, fondle them, run his fingers over her nipples. She closed her eyes and let his actions warm her, partly from the physical touch and partly from the idea of what she represented to him.

Alison thought she was on the verge of another orgasm and yet her body was slow to respond. They licked and kissed each other, touched and teased with slow caresses, naked bodies rubbing against each other, entwined limbs. Finally, her body was wet and receptive and Tom began pushing at her opening with his erection. Alison gripped the wooden frame above her head, kept her eyes closed and concentrated on his progress, that mind-spinning moment when the swollen head of Tom's erection pushed through the short door of resistance and entered her. She tightened her vagina. She gripped Tom with her thighs. She wanted to feel the effort of entry deeper into her.

The pulse and throb of entry and re-entry drove Alison into a swoon, rudderless and adrift, tossed about by the deep and shallow and slow and hard of Tom's frantic pursuit. Her head slid off the mattress, and she reached back to brace herself against the floor to keep from sliding entirely off the bed. Then her shoulders followed and her hands flailed to find support on Tom's arms, but his relentless surge drove them both off the bed. Tom was on his knees, clutched her hips and pulled her to him, thrust into her, buried himself in her body. Alison offered no resistance, let herself be dragged about. His wildness, every penetration of it, fed something in her.

That elusive sense of contact was this time not achieved with shared eye contact. When she managed it, drugged with hot sexual arousal and smiling through half-opened eyelids to read the expressions on Tom's face, when his eyes met hers he appeared to be bewildered. Whatever it was that was driving him, he found it elsewhere, in how her body shook with his thrusting, in how Alison arched her back and pushed her hips into him to deepen his penetration.

Tom paused, panting, bent over Alison. She looked up at him, and thought she'd try to coax him out of his aggressive urgency and into accepting that he didn't have to struggle, to slow down and enjoy where they were together. Alison held onto his arms and pulled herself to a sitting position, sat across his spread thighs, his erection nestled within in her, folded her arms around his neck. She raised herself on her knees, and let herself glide back down over his erection, held Tom close, drew her nipples over his skin. Tom had an arm round her waist and supported her as she leaned back to allow him to fondle a breast, hold the firm nipples between his lips. Alison rose slowly, then lowered her face to his, touched noses, drew her wet lips over his mouth, rocked her hips slowly over him, and buried her tongue his open mouth. She held herself to him. She rocked slow and deliberate, her body pressed against his, wet, delirious.

Tom couldn't bear it. He lifted Alison, turned and threw her back onto the mattress, knelt on the floor, raised her legs, and pushed into her. Alison grinned up at him. She pulled both knees up to her chest, held them tightly together and Tom leaned onto them and continued a long rhythm of slow and deep thrusts. When she felt a shift of tension in his movement she opened herself and took him closer and let him find his release. She spread her legs and he fell onto her, held her, kissed her neck, her shoulders. He held onto the bed frame above her head and burrowed deep into her by sliding his whole body over hers. Alison lay with arms and legs spread under him and when she sensed him getting closer, she slowly tightened her body vice-like around him, enclosing him just as his own approaching orgasm was engulfing both of them. His movements became more erratic, more urgent. There came a moment's pause, a shift of his position while he balanced on the brink of the final plunge. Alison held him to her, and she was swept up in his orgasm as he pounded hard into her again and again emptying himself into her embrace.

* * * * *

Alison lay across the bed, her head on a pillow. Tom's exhausted body half-covering hers, his right leg between her spread legs. She could feel his penis, sticky and soft, pressed against her right thigh. For a while he had been soothing himself and her, lightly caressing between her legs. A post-coital drowsiness quickly overtook him and he stopped, his hand rested on her abdomen, his head on a pillow beside her. Alison still had her right arm around him, a remnant of the last moments of hugging passion.