That Song

Tilting her face forward, Sarah fastened her lips onto Michael's nearest nipple, to stifle her giggle. She sucked his breast, swirling and flicking his nipple with her tongue, occasionally nibbling it. She could feel his response accelerating, arousal rippling through him, his breath shortening, and his cock growing under her grasp. She pulled her hand from his thickening member and quickly reached it across to his unattended breast, dancing her fingers around his stiffened bud. With a quick lick of her free hand to activate the lubricant qualities of their mix fluids, without interrupting the rhythm, Sarah resumed jacking Michael's cock, bringing it once more to a vibrating rigidity.

"You up for another go?" she asked with a jocular frivolity that belied their blatant desire. They were curiously uninhibited by any feelings of guilt or decorum. Fueled by the rising pressure of his burgeoning arousal, Michael could only nod. After a few more strokes, still looking up through her eyelashes, Sarah whispered, "Do me Doggie." When Michael didn't immediately say anything, she added, "I just love it Doggie-style."

"Really?" Michael questioned. "Isn't it a little too impersonal, that way? I mean, I don't get to see your face, look into your eyes."

"Perhaps so," Sarah replied, "but I do so like it. It gets so much deeper—so much fuller! I love the feeling of being stuffed! Just this once, I want to be filled by you—filled with you."

"Okay," Michael assented, for how could he argue with that.

Sarah scrambled to the middle of the bed and perched herself on her hands and knees, back arched, looking over her shoulder, as Michael moved into position behind her. Michael's erection, by then, was throbbing and bouncing impatiently. Flexing his hips, he bumped her vulva a few times. Sarah whimpered and moaned as silently they shared the same thought, "This is going to be good!" She welcomed his stiffy, smoothly spearing her. Smacking the front of his thighs against her buttocks, with one thrust he buried himself completely; fully ensconced, Michael entered a deepness in Sarah that she hadn't known existed.

She could sense, once again, just on the horizon, the enormity of her earlier mammoth orgasm. Then, all at once, her flaring arousal blotted out everything. Gasping and crying, wailing and moaning, her whole being shook with the onset of her orgasm. Her arms and legs wobbled like rubber, and if it weren't for Michael pulling on her hips and holding her securely, impaled on his hard-on, as he pumped and spat and howled and trembled through his own climax, she certainly would have collapsed.

However, Sarah was truly drained of energy, and the anaerobic combustion could only produce a scaled down replica of her initial climax.

'But tomorrow go back to your man; I'm back to my world, and we're back to being friends.' Had their meeting been coincidence or a trick of the fates? "Perhaps," Michael mused, "the world is just making fun of us—playing with us. Whatever," and he hummed silently, "'Tonight let's be lovers.' 'Hear me call, oh, soft-spoken whispering love.'"

Oddly enough, instead of guilt, Sarah felt some sort of fulfilment. She hummed lines from 'that song' without even being aware of it. 'Tonight let's go all the way, then, and tomorrow, say goodbye.' It was like there had been a hole in her life she hadn't even been aware of. Something had been missing, but she didn't recognize what it was nor, even, that there was an empty space waiting to be filled. Now, she was complete. She could carry on with the rest of her life a little more smoothly, and, although the difference would be imperceptible—or virtually so, she would know.

At last, in the wee hours, they lay panting on the rumpled bed—glistening, entwined, drained. As Sarah moved languidly, Michael tightened his hug, whispering, "Stay. Please. Tomorrow is soon enough to say goodbye." They fell asleep spooning—surprisingly untroubled by any lack of respectability or decency.

As dawn peered around the curtains, Michael crept down the bed, under the bedsheet, and stopped with his face poised over Sarah's pussy. He breathed her in before lowering his mouth into her bush, to eat her. Sarah woke to the wonderful sensations elicited from the long, gentle strokes of his cunnilingus—his tongue splitting her labia and caressing her clitoris.

The night had been long and late, and the morning was early. Neither Michael nor Sarah had anywhere near recovered their energy, but... Sighing, Sarah pulled at Michael's raised buttocks, and levered his leg over her, capturing his dangling penis, still flaccid, in the warmth of her mouth. Michael rapidly stiffened as their soixante-neuf became increasingly active. As Sarah lifted her head and pulled him down, trying to completely engulf him, Michael fought to stay calm, licking effectively but not too fast, touching her with a sense of urgency, but not too hard. They rocked and bounced on the bed with a sweet harmonics. Michael fought not to cum as he felt Sarah's orgasm ignite and rocket through her body. Slowing, without stopping, they paused, panting—Michael slurping the juices leaking from her snatch.

Then, starting to rock again, ever so slowly, they finished greeting the day in a gentle, loving missionary position. As Michael's release approached, Sarah, came along, too, to climax with him, albeit modestly. Their shared climax was more long and smooth, more rolling, less peaky, so as to make it last, as if even their arousal knew it was the end.

Sarah quietly gathered her clothing, donning only what was necessary to return to her room. Unwilling to break the silence—the almost palpable mix of satisfaction and disappointment, Michael whispered, "Breakfast in half an hour?" Sarah simply nodded as she slipped out of his room.

They met for a quiet breakfast in the hotel's Morning Room. Both a little awkward, smiling secret smiles in reminiscence.

"Certainly," Sarah mused, "It has been more than just sex," watching him across the table watching her, "but, really, not too much more. After all this time, we're just acquaintances—hardly more than friendly strangers."

Michael studied her over his coffee. Trying to decipher how he felt—what he felt. "Affection, nostalgia, sadness for time gone by? But not love, there hasn't been enough time for that."

After passing through airport security, they walked, pulling their luggage, down the concourse to the departure gates. Stopping first at Sarah's they stared at one another for a long moment; both unwilling to break the silence. The last line of 'that song' kept going through their heads—both of them: 'And tomorrow, say goodbye.' "Well, tomorrow is here," they both thought, "is now!"

That the night had been wonderful went without saying. That they would see each other again, in the foreseeable future, was, they both knew, unlikely. That they would keep in touch was rather dubious, too. So, what was there to say, but simply 'goodbye'. With a chaste, yet quietly passionate, kiss, they whispered, in unison, "Goodbye." Sarah turned swiftly on her heel and marched around the corner and into her gate. Just as she disappeared, she smiled over her shoulder and, perhaps, said something, like, "You can find me on Facebook." Michael wasn't quite sure.

"Sex with Sarah," he hummed to himself. "One less regret to live with." "Yes," he mused, "Who would have thought? Something I never thought I'd ever be able to check off life's list—the so-called 'bucket list'."

By noon, they had departed on different flights, to different destinations, both feeling rather melancholy, just like the final suspended-second chord of 'that song'.

'That song' - SAY GOODBYE

by the Dave Matthews Band