One Weekend Stand Ch. 08

He asked her what the special occasion was. Her answer, that he would probably need the extra energy, made his eyes widen and a grin appear on his face. Maybe he hadn't missed his opportunity after all.

She sat cross-legged in front of him, tantalizingly close, their skin separated only by the thin sheet atop him and her own thinner clothing. Though he tried not to stare, her position gave him a full view between her legs, the promise of her mound not at all inhibited by the sheer fabric of her panties. In fact, the opposite was true. He found it more and more difficult to move his gaze away. And her constant shifting, plus the precariously balanced tray, meant he always had to keep an eye on things in that area. It took him a while to wonder whether she was doing it on purpose. And even longer to decide that it didn't matter. He'd just enjoy the view. And damn the blush creeping up his neck.

They talked freely and cleverly in between bites. He commented on the freshness of her melons, which elicited a reply on the lack of good sausage. Soon the innuendoes and double entendres were flying, mixed in with many veiled references to the many activities they'd shared over the past 48 hours. It occurred to him that even if they never again shared of each other, they'd still have those memories to share. It wouldn't be nearly as good, but it would be better than nothing.

She flirted with him much more openly than she had before. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. She would lean forward with real or feigned interest, giving him a quick flash of her full breasts. Shifting on her seat would pull her panties enticingly tight. And her smile was alternately bemused and beguiling, as if she was privy to a secret that he couldn't seem to unravel.

Before too long, her teasing had the desired effect. Solemnly, he set aside the tray in his lap, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. Silently, he placed his hand behind her head and leaned in, pulling her close, not that she needed the prodding. Tenderly, he captured her lips with his.

Their kissing wasn't the frantic passion shared on the first day. Rather, they kissed each other with confident ease, their tongues jousting playfully. She tasted of strawberries and melon. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her neck, the surface of her skin and let himself swoon in the exotic richness of it. He felt apart from himself yet deeply connected to her.

Her hands found him under the sheet even as he pushed his hands underneath her top, finding and cradling and caressing her smooth breasts. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his palms. Her breathing shortened, her body swayed within his arms. Her fingers closed upon his manhood, fondling it, juggling it, stroking him. His erection swelled and hardened, as did her nipples as he thumbed and pinched them.

They fumbled together with her top, trying to pull it off without breaking their kiss. Once it was gone and thrown in the corner, they resumed with a feral urgency. Now he felt like they were sharing a soul kiss, that he was pulling something from deep within her core, savoring it, trading it back and forth, impressing it into his memory like a precious jewel, to be brought out and admired when life itself became too plain and staid and uninspiring.

He leaned back, using his feet to push down the sheet and grinning as she slid her panties off her cute ass, leaving nothing to impede the feel of hot skin on hot skin. He pulled her atop him, so she lay facedown along the length of him, his legs split and cradling her waist, the reverse of the position they'd shared during much of the past two days. She rubbed her torso maliciously against him. He could see from her eyes that she wasn't done teasing him, but that she wouldn't be upset if he put an end to it in the most dramatic way possible.

He drew a deep breath, held it, then let it go, psychologically and symbolically expelling all his inhibitions and fears and internal qualms. He let his hands wander over her body, squeezing her ass, rubbing the backs of her thighs, caressing the smooth curves of her hips and waist. He kissed her with unleashed passion, letting the fire within leap out and sear her flesh, fuse their duality into a single monument that would last for eternity.

When they finally joined, she was as ablaze as he. Her hands roamed his body, squeezing his shoulders, guiding his hips. His own limbs roamed as wantonly; no part of her went untouched. His cock remained sheathed deep in her cunt as they rolled from edge to edge, atop, astride, aligned, again and again. They writhed together like snakes in a pit. He wondered whether he was fucking this woman or every woman, but then a particularly sharp pang of pleasure shot through him and the question was gone.

She rode him. And he wished he had more eyes to behold her or a camera to record with as he saw the pleasure in her face and the quiver of her breasts and the ripple of her torso and the tremor of her womanhood as they joined in pleasuring the other and themselves together.

He rode her. And his lips dipped down of their own accord to taste whatever bit of her he could reach. The top of her head, the lobe of her ear, the nape of her neck, the side of her breast, her fingers, her wrists, her shoulders, her lips. He moved against her, slowly but with authority, changing speed and forcefulness as his nature decided. It was as near to making love as he'd been in a long time.

They had no timetable. He reached the edge several times and held it back each time, selfishly wanting to make it last. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel guilty about that. Much unlike his home sex life.

He took her to the edge as well. And pushed her over it, too. When she went home, he wanted her to be exhausted and sated. It was a sneaky way to punish her husband, but he didn't care. If the man didn't know how lucky he was, then he deserved to be punished. When she came, she moaned not her husband's name, but his own, among her cries and gasps. It was the first time all weekend that she'd done that. He worked all the harder to get her going again.

They slowed and sped up, rested and rushed, clung together or pulled apart, each to their own internal rhythm, responding as much to their subconscious as to the other's prompts and requests. They talked and whispered and giggled and gasped. Their silence was as potent as their screams of pleasure. She played him as much as he played her, their lust unguarded and their intentions intense.

When he finally came he was as deep inside her as he could thrust himself. She lay tightly pressed beneath him, her legs pinned between his shoulders and her own. He continued thrusting even after he came, even as his erection began to flag. The urge to keep going overrode all other thoughts. Soon, though, he had to pull free, his lust finally slaked. He was sure she had orgasmed again just before the end. For once he could just lay back and catch his breath, confident that he'd done all he could. If there was any doubt, they were driven away by her exhausted sigh and languid kiss.

She had to lay back and catch her breath. Her heart was threatening to pound out of her chest and she didn't dare try to stand up. She was sure her legs wouldn't hold her up. She hadn't been that wild in bed since, well, since almost never. Back to her days in college, probably. And even then...

This weekend felt like a honeymoon. Or unlike one, as both of her honeymoons had been a lot more sedate and a lot less exciting. Probably because she'd been in a sexual relationship well before the big day. So there wasn't much to discover about her betrothed on their magic night.

Bliss was a word that she didn't throw around very much. But it was the best way to describe how she felt. The ripples from their latest activities were still echoing through her body, emanating from a spot just below her stomach and radiating in circles to splash upon distant shores. She let her mind float free and imagined it bobbing and ebbing in time with the waves, untethered to any worries. Not that it was true. But it was an appealing conceit.

Inevitably, though, her thoughts circled back to the enormity of what they'd done. This was no simple, explainable one-night stand. Nor an alcohol-fueled coupling. No, they'd planned and conspired to leave their mates for a full weekend, to steal away under the cover of cover stories to lay under the covers and uncover each other. Even that clever wordplay failed to alleviate the sobering effect of the thought behind it.

Still, she'd made her decision and it was too late to regret it. And, honestly, she didn't regret it in the least. They'd shared some experiences that some couples might take a lifetime to discover. And some that couples might never bring themselves to even try. Most intriguing of all, she hadn't just been a passive participant in many of them. She was an instigator. And that felt better than she'd expected.

She was surprised to notice that her teeth were clenched and her body tense in anticipation of something. But what? She searched her thoughts and suddenly it became apparent. She was still expecting some sort of a warning from him. Some sort of subtle reminder that telling anyone about their weekend would be catastrophic for both their marriages. For her part, she couldn't see a reason why she'd reveal anything to anyone. If she wanted to get rid of her husband, she had more than enough just cause to justify a split. And if she wanted to hurt her husband, she had better ways to do that, too.

Still, despite how right the weekend felt physically and emotionally, it still felt wrong mentally. Due, probably, by her strict interpretation of her marriage vows. She'd always said that once she'd made the promise she'd stick to it. But had she really broken it, or just bent it a little? OK, a bit. Alright, a lot. But it wasn't really broken. A lot had to do with her feelings for her husband. The extenuating circumstances. She loved him in an abstract sense for the home life they'd built together. The companionship. Most of his fathering skills. His sense of humor. And the occasions when he at least tried to be romantic. It was the rest of the time that caused her grief.

Their assignation hadn't changed any of those feelings. She was no more or less happy with her life now than she had been during the drive to the cabin. Her life would go back to the way it was as soon as she left his Jeep and hit cell phone coverage again. Even thinking of that first phone call caused her fists to clench.

Perhaps he noticed that or just the tension in her body. Either way, he touched her chin and turned it towards him, leaning in for a soft kiss clearly designed to help calm her thoughts. With a definite effort, she turned her mind away from the speculating and focused instead on the comfort of the bed, the coolness of the air and the pleasure of his body next to hers. No, she wouldn't be telling anyone about this. It would ruin the memories.

He let the kiss linger, her lips soft and accepting. He didn't know what had made her tense up, but if he had a guess, it would be her husband. He'd known her a long time, even before she'd met her present spouse. He wasn't going to let himself get caught up in wondering why she'd married him. He'd done that all before and it was all academic anyway. What mattered now was how she would handle this past weekend. He hoped she'd be handling it as he was: a very special break from a mundane existence. A secret vacation. A memory that they could pull up far into the future, exaggerate as needed, and brighten up their lives inside the sanctity of their own minds.

He couldn't imagine a reason why he'd tell his wife about this. He didn't feel particularly guilty about it. He thought of it as more of a vacation from married life than a betrayal of any kind. He and his wife both operated under the philosophy that life was a fluid thing, That what you "know" now might change in the future. That what you say today might be different later. That how you live now will surely be evolve. That's what all of life is for. They'd make lousy politicians. They were constantly changing their minds based on new information. They were inveterate flip-floppers.

So, it wouldn't ever be in his best interest or in his wife's if he came clean about this weekend. In fact, if he told her in order to alleviate some guilt he might feel in the future, he'd be hurting her in the process. How selfish was that? Others might think of that as more rationalization, but the same could be said of any second thoughts. He categorized rationalization as the mind's way of interrupting potential pain. Or at least diverting it.

Back to the original question. Would she or wouldn't she? A man probably wouldn't, as keeping the guilt to himself would be more caring, or at least less damaging, than inflicting it on his wife. Assuming that he still loved his wife and wanted to keep the marriage intact. A woman? They were much more complicated. More likely to assuage their guilt by getting it out in the open. Or use another man as a weapon. Or just drop it into an argument as a kind of atomic bomb, excellent for steering the discussion into a whole new level of combat. Get a man overly emotional with an atomic bomb statement and a woman can win almost any argument.

He didn't think she'd use it that way. She already had plenty of weapons in her war against her husband. She had no bones to pick with his wife. And if the two of them ever had a falling out, he didn't think she'd ever use it as a weapon of mass destruction. The collateral damage would hurt both of them too much. However, thinking that he knew what she would do and knowing it were two very different things.

He knew he'd painted himself into a corner on this one. He'd positioned himself as Mr. Kind, Caring, Trusting guy, and now any mistrusting comment on his part would put a chink in that image. He did want to remind her to keep quiet. He didn't totally think she needed the reminder. But he'd look condescending if he did so. And, in the end, it wouldn't really matter. There'd always be that seed of doubt in both their minds, no matter what the other said. It was mutually assured destruction on a personal level.

They showered. Separately. She'd half expected him to join her under the cold stream. When he didn't, she wondered if he'd begun distancing himself from her. A paranoid thought. But, she mused, probably just the first of many. While he showered, he also washed out his shirt that she'd worn during most of the weekend. A good thought. It probably carried her scent. That was the kind of thing that spouses would subconsciously notice. Then become suspicious about. Then start probing about. And then, well, nothing good.

Packing was interesting. He kept sneaking his underwear into her luggage. He wasn't sneaky with his comments about what her husband would do if he found another man's underwear in her luggage. Or the wild stories of alien abductions she'd need to concoct in order to explain such a scandalous discovery. Finally, she thought she'd removed all his clothing surprises from her bag. But then, he stared at her with such intensity that she felt compelled to pull her bag apart again. Of course, there was nothing of his in it. She pretended to be upset at his mocking laughter, but in the end she couldn't hold in her own laughter. And when she tried to retaliate, he'd taken her panties and stuck them in his pocket, for use "in a dark ritual to be held later." In the struggle to reclaim her possessions they ended up on the bed again, and only after distracting him with a long kiss was she able to reach into his shorts pocket and grab her panties. That he momentarily trapped her hand in there did nothing to detract from the fun of it.

Soon they had everything ready by the door. The cabin was cleaned. All the toys were back in their proper spots. She wondered briefly what the cleaning crew might think, then pushed the thought away. Not something she really wanted to speculate about. Instead, she turned her attention back to him. He seemed as reluctant to hit the road as she was. After a brief discussion they decided that noon would be a good time to hit the road. That gave them almost two hours to kill.

Having freshened themselves and the cabin, it seemed like it would be a bit of a hassle if they returned to bed. Though she would've if he said he wanted to. Instead, though, they agreed to just take a walk through the forest.

They weren't far from the cabin when he asked if she knew where they were. She pointed to the arrows painted on the bottom of the trees. It wasn't long before they were playfully sniping at each other. He insisting that she just noticed the wayfaring clues. And she insisting that she'd known all along and had just been humoring him. She thought she got in some good shots before he silenced her with a long kiss. That kept her quiet for a while. It also proved that she'd won.

They didn't stray too far from the cabin, though the hills took their toll on her legs. Maybe if he hadn't left her so weak-kneed that morning? Not that she was complaining. It would be nice to go back to the abandoned homestead, but she didn't want to be all hot and sweaty when they returned to the car. The day was already shaping up to be a hot one.

It was oddly peaceful in the woods. No birds were trilling in the trees. No squirrels scampered along the ground. The air felt completely still, not oppressive, but almost as if waiting for something to happen. She knew that some would think such a thought to be silly, believing that nature might act in one way or another. But she'd always felt herself to be an extension of the natural world; tuned in more than the rest of the population. Just as she'd always known, somehow, that she'd led other lives in the past. Her friends called her an old soul. Even they didn't know how right they were.

She stopped at the crest of the next hill to see if she could locate the source of the weird feeling. But all she saw was hills and more hills, topped with trees and more trees. She wondered how far the land went on like that, folded upon itself like bunched up cloth. Maybe for miles. Maybe only as far as the next ten hills.

She wanted to head out, right now. Just pick a direction and head out and not care if she got lost or not. She'd ask him to join her if he wanted, but if he didn't, that would be OK too. She imagined herself just striking out, in a random direction, hiking the hills until she was good and lost, a modern pioneer woman not dependent upon anyone or anything. Independent. Responsible for only herself. And without any man feeling responsible for her and expecting unwarranted gratitude for doing things she would rather do herself anyway.

He could tell she was thinking about her husband. Her whole stance changed when she did that. She got a faraway look in her eyes. Like she wanted to be far away from him. From what she told him of the man, he could see why she was disappointed with the way things turned out for her. Alright, not everything. But some of it. He knew he was only hearing her side of the story. She was probably exaggerating on some of it. He even sympathized with her husband on some of their issues. Not that he told her so very often. She was convinced of her husband's failings, and he didn't really think he could convince her otherwise.

Besides, even if she was exaggerating, the guy did have quite a few issues. Being that insecure when you have a beautiful wife is simply a formula for disaster. And being an old-school "Me Tarzan, You Jane" kind of husband when your wife prizes nothing more than her independence is like adding gasoline to dry wood; all it takes is a tiny spark that explodes way out of proportion.