One Lonely Breast - So What!?

Utterly dumbfounded by his attitude, she found herself unable and unwanting to resist as he started them walking towards the restaurant again, swept her under his right arm, and slid his hand over to where her breast had always waited eagerly for its warmth. She stiffened, then relaxed slowly against him as his fingertips ever so gently caressed her missing tit through her clothes. (How was that possible? Phantom boob, like a phantom limb?) It seemed so perfectly natural! Where had the awkwardness gone, so fast, so fast? Her dissection-trophy was tingling even through the clothing as his fingertips found it, as his body studied her reaction, echoed it. As they got to the restaurant door, she was watery-kneed and nearly in tears. And scared almost witless about the rest of the evening.

It went amazingly fast, and well. Halfway through the appetizer, she was explaining, lightly, quickly, what had happened through her marriage and her operation. She watched his eyes: he obviously saw and heard through the words to what she was really saying, she opened up more, and then he was holding her hand across the table, and when she tried to pull it back, so she could use her fork, he let her go with a delicious reluctance. By dessert, his toes were caressing the back and side of her calf: she wondered how he had managed to get free of his shoe?

As they approached her door, she pondered the obvious: What next?

Before they got to the steps, before any awkwardness could arise about ending, or not ending, the evening, she turned to him and asked him in for a glass of wine, if he wanted to, if he had the time: maybe there was more they could talk about?

"How lame, how plebian!" she thought to herself - "Surely, girl, you can do better than that!?"

It was, nonetheless, adequate - he accepted with obvious enthusiasm.

Inside, they faced one another in the entryway, and fell into another long kiss. Then, during it, John's hands were moving gently up her sides, pushing their experienced way beneath the sweatshirt, gliding slowly upwards, and she was shivering, holding back, fighting the urge to flee, and then YES, the fingers were simultaneously cupping her breast and roaming delicately over her scars, the flatness and desolation of her side, cupping and caressing her titless nipple, making lightning explode in her head once again.

But when he broke the long kiss and moved to slide his face downwards, when his hands made the tiny moves leading up to raising her XL to give his mouth its old free access, she froze rigid, clamped his head in her hands, whispered fiercely to him "Please, John, could we... I mean, it's way too..." she paused, inner turmoil painfully obvious, finally managed to carry on, "...It's just that it's so bright out here, would you mind, I mean, I'd like very much to continue, but could we go to my bedroom and turn out the lights? Please?"

John looked at her, real understanding showing in his eyes, put his finger to her lips and said "I'd love that!"

She relaxed, led him by the hand into the room, stood silently as he faced her, stroked her chest with both hands, his touch delicate, loving.

Then, the lights still on, he had his hands on the hem of the XL. She reached towards the light switch, and his voice stopped her, arm extended.

"Sandy, no... Please? I don't really know, I can never really know, what you've been through over this..." Fingers slid over her ravaged nipple, more lightning. He continued, "But, you know, you're going to have to face it, sometime, and I'd like to help. I really don't CARE what you look like, about the loss or the change. I'm not going to be upset or disgusted or turned off."

She looked at him, undecided, her hand still at the switch.

"Please? Please, Sandy, do me the honor of trusting me and letting me help you? Let me back INSIDE?"

Shivering violently, she pushed her fears aside almost physically, let her arm drop to her side, said in warning, "John, I'm pretty ugly under there, it's not what you remember!"

He said it again: "So what?" and with that he raised the hem of the sweatshirt, pulled it over her head as she thought to herself, oddly disconnected, that it was a good thing she'd spent so much time on the "raise the arms" exercises.

She stood there, hugging herself, burning red, waiting, soul bared and completely vulnerable. She wished she were anywhere but here, doing this! John's eyes slid over her nakedness, and her nipples, both of them, sprang to attention. She watched his eyes, his whole face, body, reading. Those eyes scanned her personal moonscape, and all she could see was delight, no panic, no revulsion, nothing negative. Impossible!

Suddenly, he was sitting her on the bed, kneeling before her on the floor, his face moving down to her chest, lips and tongue exploring, voice murmuring "Well, hello there, long time no see!" and WHAMO she was leaning back on her arms, thrusting herself upwards towards his eager mouth, her armpits drizzling.

For long minutes he paid homage at both sides, alternating, caressing, but his attentions were asymmetrical in the extreme, and when she asked why he was spending so much more time on her damaged side than her remaining breast, he said, grinning at her with his old wantonness, "Frankly, it only took a second to discover that your tit here..." He bit gently on it - "...was responding just like it always did... But this titless nipple looked lonely and neglected and probably really needs to be re-educated. So that's my job for the moment." He went back to nursing on it, obviously enjoying himself.

And tears had come for her, he licked them away, held her at arm's length, studied her. Now she wasn't shivering any more, could accept his gaze without flinching, heard him say "Sandy, this is just a battle-scar, you should be proud of it! I am, proud of it and of you, because you won! If you were a Prussian officer, it'd be a badge of courage: that's what it is as far as I'm concerned."

Then he too was naked to the waist and they were in one another's' arms on the bed, scrambling madly to get themselves stripped down into the wonderful nakedness they'd always so enjoyed, giggling over having so much room instead of the confines of the Plymouth. Wonderfully slowly, they re-connected with one another's' bodies. Urgency aplenty, but no hurry.

With John between her legs and his cockhead in its old accustomed place - lip-deep but not a millimeter more- she spasmed hard, biting her lip before giving up and letting loose with the moans she needed to vent.

When she came down, his cock was still outside and he was smiling at her: she whispered, "Remember our very last night, what happened, how we..." She couldn't quite say it even yet.

He held her, ordered her gently, "Say it, Sandy! It's easy! It's called "butt-fucking", even among the elite of society!"

For some reason, she giggled, then managed: "Remember how you butt-fucked me?"

But he wasn't ready to hear it that way, corrected her, asked "You know, I don't like the way you put yourself into a passive mode just then. That's not at all how I remember it! I do believe there was some enthusiasm and cooperation on both sides! Could we edit that to read "Remember how WE buttfucked?"If so, then of course! It's my all-time favorite real-memory fantasy!"

She burned bright red, whispered "Could we..."

He nodded, said "Oh, yes indeed we can! Only too willing to oblige the Lady!", helped her up onto her knees, and then smoothly, as if they'd had years of practice, he was deep inside her butt once again, and his cock and fingers were sending her soaring, crashing, his long, powerful penetrations almost reaching to her tonsils it seemed, and she came down off her own climax wondering when it would be his turn, wanting him to come again inside her, but he was withdrawing and turning her over, rotating and rolling so he was on his back and she was astraddle him, his cock free of her ass now (how empty!), touching the entrance to her pussy. His hands were tight on her hips, holding her poised over his cock, she was dripping, ready beyond anything she could ever remember, aching to have him inside her.

What was the hold-up?

He locked his gaze with hers, said carefully, "I remember something else that happened that night. Do you?" She nodded. "Your body gave me permission, for the umpteenth time, and I took it. Then I waited for you to look at me and say it was okay, but you never opened your eyes. I'm sorry!"

She smiled at him, dumbfounded, and managed to reply "John, I DID open my eyes, I had decided to say YES, but your eyes were closed and I hid again immediately!"

They looked at one another, still poised. Finally, John whispered "Bad timing! Now, this time, keep your eyes wide open, on mine, okay?" Sandy nodded, did so.

John pressed her down towards his cock, and asked quietly "Permission?"

Sandy grinned at him, took his hands from her hips and placed them over her breasts (!! She heard herself thinking in the plural, amazing!) and said "You know, John, I'm really more of a virgin right now than I was that night."

Then, almost shyly, she muttered "Permission granted! To us BOTH!" and sat down hard.

Later, with his cum drizzling from her body, she lay atop him: his hands, free to roam, spent long minutes on her back and neck and scalp. Then, slowly, she slid her face down his belly. His motions stopped. When her mouth got to the top edge of his pubic slope he was fully erect again, waiting.

She shifted, moved to between his spread legs, trailed her hair over his cock and balls, looked up at him, whispered "Remember?" and he nodded. Eagerly, effortlessly, she took him deep into her mouth and loved his sputtering, ecstatic groan. Such a wonderful toy, this cock thing! All those wasted years!

She held him in her hand, lifted her face, said "Here's another virginity for you - I really don't know what I'm doing, so correct me as I go..."

She needed no correction, and in moments John was spurting deep inside her mouth, just like in his decades of imaginings. Sandy studied the process, the medicinal odor of his cum filling her head, taking her back to those nights in the Plymouth, coating the whole inside of her mouth.

When John was done, she released him, slithered back up along his chest, giggled at him "I wanted to do that so BADLY when we were kids! But this time, we don't need paper-towels!" Then she kissed him long and deep, and shared the taste with him.

He told her, "So, score another virginity of MINE for you... I've never tasted myself before."

It pleased her mightily that there were still newnesses to share.

They spent the night in a blur of erotic sensuality the likes of which she had never even imagined. If only she'd had a chandelier in the bedroom, they'd have used it! It was, she thought at one point, as if they had together assembled a little bundle of straws, held with a rubber band, each straw was one of her secret desires or fantasies or, more important, a fear or an inhibition. And they'd been busy all night pulling straws from the bundle, examining each, then crumpling it and feeding it, laughing, into the candle-flame.

Visions swirled, of her stroking his cock with her tit, fitting the nipple first into his cock's eye, then stroking it across his anus and the back of his ballsack, of his hands gently massaging lotion into her chest-leather, of her discovering how much more sensation there was in that expanse of tissue than she would have believed, of his cock sliding everywhere, repeatedly, freely, especially of his putting two fingers way deep inside her ass and pressing into her g-spot while sucking deliciously on her clit and pinching her nipples at the same time, of him sitting behind her with a hairbrush, just working her hair for minutes on end, the underside of his cock against her spine but him not touching her in any other way until she had been so dripping hot that she'd spun around and sat down hard atop his still-hard cock and let his thumb bring her off yet again, of that cock sliding effortlessly from her hand into her ass to pussy to mouth to armpit and back again, round and round. Of her own hand, at his urging, four-fingers deep into the velvety hot inside of his ass and him groaning at her that now she'd gotten yet another of his "virginities"!

And somewhere early-on, John had retrieved her razor and lather, set up the mirror so she could watch, and shaved her crotch and ass-crack completely, producing baby-skin smoothness to match his own startlingly-naked crotch, explaining about how many unused nerve endings there were beneath that bush, and oh MY how right he'd been!

Then, in the long drowsy afterglow, Sandy had nuzzled into his armpit and whispered "John?" and he'd said quietly "What is it?" He let her work up to it, and she finally said "John, how do I keep you from going away again?" Inside, she was quaking, hoping that this wasn't just some sort of spectacular one-nighter, incredible though it had been so far, hoping against hope that he wasn't simply here for a reminiscence fuck, to clear the cobwebs of desire and imagination and regrets about a lost opportunity.

No hesitation on his part - "Just ask me!"

She nuzzled him harder, then raised up on one elbow and gazed at him, took her heart in her hands and said "Please don't leave!"

With both hands, he held her head tightly, stared at her, and said "I'd like that very much: I have no plans to leave. So I won't! And thank you for asking!"

In the morning sunlight, wrapped in the raspberry-fog scent of their marathon lovemaking, John woke. For minutes he studied Sandy beside him. Light regular breathing. Quietly, he slipped sideways, put one foot over the edge of the bed. She woke, smiled up at him, utterly relaxed, exquisitely happy. He leaned down to kiss her, started to move away again.

She asked "Where do you think you're going?"

He grinned, said that he thought he would sneak into the kitchen and make a little something for them, bring it back and they could have breakfast in bed.

She shook her head, snaked her hand out from under the covers, caught him by the cock and balls, tugged him toward her as she rose on an elbow. The cover slid away and onto the floor - and she didn't think about it at all, didn't even notice her chest's exposure, kicked the remaining covers off, pulled on him gently until he climbed back aboard the bed. She held his cock in her hand, looked at him silently for a long moment, waiting until his cock was fully hard again.

Then, finally, she whispered, "I thought you agreed not to leave? And besides, after all these years of dealing with women, John, don't you know by now what a girl really needs for breakfast?"