The End and The Beginning Ch. 01

After more than a decade the final moments of waiting were tortuous. I padded around the hotel room looking for imperfections to correct, for some item to straighten, or fold to reset that the last half hour of obsessing had missed, but there was nothing.

I checked the mirror, wondering once again if I had pitched things right: trunks for control; jeans to be relaxed and casual; a short sleeved, fitted shirt, not to be too casual; barefoot, because we had joked for years that the only requirement of hotel was to have clean carpets.

I took one last look in the bathroom, numbering off my preparations. There was nothing to do but wait. I forced myself to sit at the desk in the room and flipped up the lid of my laptop.

The first knock on the door was faint, I wondered if I had in fact heard it, then firm and bold. I tried to squeeze down the butterflies and settled my breathing as I walked to the door and opened it.

There was a moment when we just looked. Faces familiar from photographs at last made flesh. I took two steps back, opened the door fully and tilted my head slightly. She returned my shy smile and walked in.

So relaxed and casual had been the wrong call. She was in boots, partly covered by a black calf length skirt, a crisp white blouse topped by a bolero shrug. Formal and classical.

She parked her pull along case beside the wardrobe and hesitated. A thread of fear ran through my gut, if I hesitated too the moment may be lost. I walked behind her and placed my hands gently on her waist, applying a subtle pressure to turn her around. She responded, dropping her shoulder slightly to come round into my arms. Instinctively our lips met in a kiss, and then another as she straightened, and another as we settled into a more comfortable embrace.

The first kisses were soft, the first drops from the dam that had for so long contained our passion. The ardour increased, our mouths battling. I tightened my hold on her, pulling at the small of her back so that she could feel the hardness in my jeans.

Her tongue slid across my lips, and then quested inside my mouth. I met it with my own. We tangled for some moments more, slowing into the relaxed trading of tongues.

I pulled away and opened my eyes, hers were still closed. "Take off your clothes." My voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. She opened her eyes and nodded.

I moved back a few feet and watched as she slipped out of the shrug and threw it over the back of a chair. She unbuttoned the cuffs and half the front of her blouse, and then seemed to change her mind. She leaned against the cupboard and tugged off her boots, leaving them where they fell. I caught my first glimpse of her cleavage. Perhaps she hadn't changed her mind after all.

She finished removing her blouse, revealing a lacy white bra. Her eyes held mine, as if daring me to fixate on her breasts. Her hands went behind her back to unclip her skirt. She stepped forward out of the puddle it made on the floor. In matching, pretty underwear she looked at me expectantly.

My fingers fumbled slightly on my buttons, and then my shirt followed the shrug and blouse onto the chair. I stepped out of my jeans and trunks in one go and kicked them to one side. My erection waved with the movement and then stilled.

She wriggled out of the knickers first, not losing eye contact, and then shuffled her shoulders out of the bra, and unclasped it. We stood in front of each other naked at last. We both stepped forwards, away from the clothes, and stopped a foot apart.

My hands seemed to reach up of their own accord, and caressed the broad nipples of her breasts. She closed her eyes then, relinquishing her control over my gaze, and giving me permission to admire her at last.

I ran my fingers over her, cupping, weighing, enjoying the pliant firmness. I stepped a little closer and took a deep breath at her neck, drawing in her perfume, spicy and flowery. My cock left a snail trail across her belly. I would need to be careful.

I lowered myself in front of her, exhaling as I worked my way slowly down her body. I placed a kiss on the small triangle of neatly trimmed trimmed pubic hair, and then took another deep breath in. The pungent musk of her readiness was rising.

I was ready to explode. Her skin, her smell, her presence after all the years of waiting was enough. I think she knew. Her hands were on my shoulders, and she pulled me up. Then her mouth was on my left nipple. She left her own snail trail of saliva down my stomach, a breast hung for a moment on my shaft, and I thought I would come right then.

She kept going until she was kneeling in front of me, my aching cock in front of her face. She looked up and said "It's OK" and then gently took the tip in her mouth. For years all we had were words, and now, after one laconic utterance each, she was wrapping her lips around my glans and with gentle flicks tasting impatient drops as they emerged.

Her palms pressed the sides of my thighs, fingers wrapping around my buttocks. Slowly, she pulled me into her mouth, her tongue swirling round my shaft until I could feel the back of her throat, and the slight spasm as she gagged on the length. With a little pressure on my hips she pushed me out again.

Then she began to sway back and forth, pulling me to her as she drew in, pushing me away as she withdrew, wholly in control of the rhythm. The supposedly submissive act of a blow job, wholly on her terms. Her tongue was scribing patterns of wet fire, and her fingertips were digging into my flesh as I clenched, and sucked in deep breaths trying to control the inevitable, my effort escaping in ragged gasps.

As the agony of holding began to overwhelm the ecstasy of her mouth she pulled back, and around the inferno of my cock said "yes" She locked her lips in place, speared her nails into my ass and peppered me with flicks of her tongue. I let go. The pent up desire of half a lifetime flooded her mouth, escaping at the edges. She held me perfectly still, and behind my spasms I could feel the motion of her throat as she swallowed, and I let out a last exhausted yawp of release.

She took her time, careful not to touch the eye of my penis, I wondered briefly which of her lovers had taught her that, and then pushed the thought away. Today was about sharing everything we had learned, not questioning where the knowledge came from.

As I regained my breath she worked me, easing out all the cream, and then sensing my tip was past the point of painful sensitivity she cleaned me thoroughly. When she had finished she stayed on her knees for a few moments more, examining my manhood, lifting it out of the way to cradle and play with my scrotum, tugging and stretching the wrinkled skin.