The End of the World

The feeling of being nude in his arms is sublime. Better, I can feel a hard bulge against my belly. Even in my innocence, I know that, whether he intended to or not, Greg has become massively aroused by touching me.

Then, in a move I would never have anticipated, I feel a finger slip down and massage my little rosebud. I'd thought that his teasing my navel had been erotic, but it was absolutely nothing compared to this. A lightning bolt of fiery, sexual pleasure shoots up my spine and explodes into my brain.

Almost unbidden, my leg lifts and my foot settles onto the edge of the bunk beside us, giving Greg better access -- and implicit permission. He doesn't disappoint. His fingers slide further underneath me, onto my sensitive taint. Instantly I feel it as he encounters my slickness. Even being more aroused than I've ever been in my life, I'm shocked at how wet I've become.

Ever resourceful, I feel Greg wet his finger in my fluids, then return to my rosebud, swirling his digit over it with my slick lubrication. The sensation is unexpectedly divine.

"Oh Jesus, Greg!" I moan, and for the second time in my life I tip my head up to kiss him. This time he's ready and willing, and now there's absolutely no chance of anyone walking in to stop us.

When he'd held me in the band room, I'd felt that perfect sensation of finally being where I was meant to be, and now I'm feeling it again. Then, when his lips meet mine, a belated comprehension washes over me. Now I'm finally sure of where I've always belonged, who I really am, and what I'm meant to do with my life.

I belong with Greg, he's my reason for being on this earth, and I'm supposed to be his lover, his partner, his helper, his confessor, his friend, and the mother of his children. Even better, I know with certainty that he's having the same revelation about me. Somehow, I manage to forget where we are and what the rest of our lives are probably going to be like. In this moment, it's perfect.

When Greg's tongue slips into my mouth, I'm more than willing to reciprocate, and soon we're kissing like old lovers.

I pull the back of Greg's shirt out of his pants and thrust my hands up underneath, feeling the warmth of his skin and his amazing musculature. He's built like a bull.

It's in this moment that Greg slides his finger way up underneath me and snugs the length of it into my slot, bathing it in my copious fluids. The tip of his finger brushes my ultra-sensitive nub for just the barest of moments, but it's enough to make me gasp and shudder. I realize that I'm close to climaxing.

I'm not one for losing control around other people. It's deeply engrained within my personality that I can't stand the idea of letting go and doing things in the moment that I might regret later, but here, now, with Greg, I know implicitly that whatever I do is okay. He wants me to lose control, to come for him. And it's what I want to do now, for both of us.

Greg's finger is sliding up and down in my slot, just touching my clit at the end of each stroke. He's got me perched near the edge, not teasing, but prolonging my visit to that magical place where I'm so close and every nerve is alive with the anticipation of my imminent release. Then I feel him shift, and just the tip of his finger enters me.

This time he pauses, and I know he's silently asking permission. "Oh God, yes," I mumble into his mouth, and I feel his digit slowly slide up inside me. The sensation is beyond exquisite and I feel myself edge closer to my release. I know this is going to be so good.

Greg begins to move in and out of me as I clamp down on his long, thick digit. This makes the sensation that much more intense, and I feel the cascade of my tumble into orgasm begin.

Greg can evidently feel it too, and he withdraws completely. I almost start to whine, but then I feel the pad of his finger land on my hard, needy clit, twirling it firmly and quickly.

I explode.

This orgasm makes the one I gave myself in the shower this morning seem like nothing. My body goes rigid and I cling to Greg as he takes me to places I've never been. Our mouths part as I climax, and I let out a long, plaintive moan.

My entire body clenches in what should feel like agony, but the actual experience is the closest I've ever come to heaven on earth. It just seems to go on and on. Waves of incredible pleasure that both tie me in knots and set me free. I wish this never had to end.

Nothing lasts forever, though, and way sooner than I'd like, I feel myself falling back into the physical world. Greg's finger comes away from me, and I weakly put my foot back down on the floor to support my body, which has suddenly gone weak.

Greg senses this immediately, and his hands again cup my ass, this time lifting me up into his arms. I find the strength to wrap my legs around his waist, then lay my head down on his broad shoulder. This feels really good, and at the moment I don't think I could care less that I'm staining the front of his shirt with my juices.

We stay like that for a long minute or two. Greg is so patient, not saying anything to me, just letting me recover. But he can evidently sense when I'm ready to converse again.

"Okay, Lana, have I shown you how beautiful you are?"

"I've never felt more beautiful, Greg," I say, and I'm amazed to find that it's true. I don't envy Courtney's body anymore. I'm perfectly satisfied with the one I've got. "You did that for me, but now I want to do something for you."

"And just what, pray tell, might that be?"

I make just the slightest of wiggles, but Greg picks up on my hint immediately, setting me back on my feet. I take one step back, so I can look him up and down. Oh my God, he is such an incredible hunk.

"The first thing is to get you naked," I say. "Fair is fair."

He grins and reaches for the top button of his shirt, but my hand intercepts his. "Sorry, Greg, but the pleasure will be mine."

"Oh, I'm imagining that I'll find it somewhat pleasurable too."

"Well, yeah, I hope so."

I'm trying to be brave, but it's probably only the fact that I'm horny that allows me to do the thing that I've dreamed of doing for half a decade. I reach up and begin to undo the buttons of his western-style work shirt. He watches with hungry eyes.

I quickly work my way from top to bottom and ease it over his shoulders, so it falls next to mine. The floor is starting to look like a yard sale.

I stand back just a little to examine my handiwork. "Jesus, Greg, I thought football guys were supposed to let everything go once they quit playing, but you're looking ridiculously buff."

He shrugs and gives me an embarrassed smile. "Going to the gym early in the morning was a habit by then. It didn't take long before I decided I missed it."

I step up and work on unbuckling his belt. I'm a little awkward, but it yields to my efforts soon enough. I undo the buttons on his Levi's, intensely aware of the huge bulge underneath. The job is complicated slightly by the fact that he's moving a little as he kicks off his shoes and socks, using the same method I had.

Eventually, the last button is undone. I look up at Greg. He's got that familiar look of cool collectedness on his face, but I can see through it to the tension underneath. He's dying for me to get on with it. So am I.

I grasp the small amount of slack in the denim on the outsides of his thighs and begin to pull his pants down. My gaze, however, is laser-focused on his crotch. I see that he's wearing gray cotton boxer briefs, and that his massive erection is right up to the elastic band, tenting them well away from his waist. The fabric is dark in a large half-circle below, and I realize that he's been leaking precum. It's a sight that fills me with awe.

I drop to my knees on the cheap, industrial-grade carpet so I can pull his stiff pants off, but I never look away from his bulge as he steps out and I toss them aside. I reach back up and hook my fingers into his waistband. "Are you ready," I ask.

"For five years I've dreamed about this," he says softly. "I'm ready."

Without further ado, I peel the lightweight cotton down and off him, again focusing on what's important. I expect his cock to fall as its support is pulled away, but it barely moves. As he steps out of the last of his clothing, his prodigious manhood stands before me, tall and proud.

He is a god. I couldn't have imagined that a man, even Greg, could be this beautiful. He is Michelangelo's David in the flesh -- except for that amazing cock, which the statue would probably crumble at the mere sight of. He's big. Like really big. Bigger than most of the guys I've guiltily watched in online porn videos.

I look up at him. "Greg, I've never done anything like this before. I'm not sure how this goes."

"Lana, there's nothing you could do that would be wrong, other than continuing to not touch me."

That's all I need to hear. I reach out and take him into gentle, worshipping hands. Greg flinches. "Are you okay?" I ask, worried that I've somehow managed to do something wrong, despite his assurances.

"Oh, woman, you have no idea how okay I am. I've wanted your touch for so long."

With that assurance, I slide a hand up and run a thumb over the tip, feeling the incredible slickness of precum for the first time. I begin to experimentally massage his head with my thumb.

"Sweet fucking Jesus on a popsicle stick," he murmurs, gripping the edges of both upper bunks for support. The tone of his sacrilege tells me I must be doing something right.

"I've gotta warn you," he gasps, "I'm not gonna last long if you keep that up." He almost sounds ashamed.

"Greg," I say, now being the reassuring one, "you can come anytime you like. Knowing that I've helped you get there is all I could possibly want."

"Thank you, Lana." He looks somewhat reassured.

I'm glad of the warning though, because there's something I've dreamed of doing for him, and it would be a shame if he came before I even tried it. I gently pull him closer to horizontal as I move in.

"Lana, are you sure? No woman has ever done that for me."

I look up at him to see if he's messing with me. He doesn't appear to be kidding. "Are you serious?"

He nods solemnly.

"You're telling me that none of your girlfriends ever gave you a blowjob?" Like I should talk. I've never given one.

Again, he looks almost ashamed. "I never found anyone who made me feel the way I felt about you, so Courtney was the only woman I went out with that I would have actually called my 'girlfriend' -- and blowjobs were something she had zero interest in."

"Wow. So you didn't get blowjobs from any of the other girls you dated?"

"Lana, you know my parents, so you know the brand of morality they would have instilled in me."

"Yeah, they're pretty much on the same page that my folks were. My mom claimed that she and Dad were virgins on their wedding night. I'm not that extreme, but it worked for them, and I respected them for following through on what they believed."

Greg nods. "I've gone out with quite a few women in the years since Courtney, but even though most of them were quite willing, I didn't have sex with any of them. I suppose if I'd managed to pry myself loose from Courtney while I was still riding the wave of my football success, it might have been different, but the injury sobered me up in a big way. I won't have sex with a woman I'm not in a real relationship with."

There's that embarrassed look again.

"Greg, you don't need to apologize to me for not running up your score. I'm frankly glad you didn't." This is the twenty-first century and his number of sexual partners shouldn't matter, but my heart is jumping for joy. Greg has only been with one woman before me? I resist the urge to spring to my feet and jump for joy. Besides, I would have to let go of Greg's amazing cock to do that.

"Oh really?" I say instead. "We're kind of having sex here. Does that mean you think we're in a real relationship?"

I've never seen that look of vulnerability on his face before, and I wish I'd worded the question better. "I've loved you for five years, Lana," he says quietly, "and I have no desire to be with anyone else."

"I feel the same way, Greg."

He can't hide his look of relief. "So yeah," he says, "I think we're in a relationship."

"Good," I say with my best impish grin, "because otherwise you might not let me do this." Without further ado, I open wide and take Greg into my mouth.

He may be trying to make words with his long groan, but if so, they're unintelligible. I close my lips around him and try running my tongue over his hard, bulbous head. To my delight, this actually works, and the way Greg moans and writhes tells me I'm on the right track.

I've got both of my hands wrapped around his shaft, one above the other, and I find that even with my long digits, I can't come close to touching my fingertips together around him.

I begin to experimentally bob my head up and down on him just a little. The tenor of his moan deepens, so I do it a little bit more. Eventually he's brushing the back of my throat, which seems to increase the sensations for him even that little bit more.

"Oh Jesus, Lana," he moans, "I'm gonna come. I don't think you wanna..."

Oh, but I do. If I can handle the things on a ranch that would make a city girl faint, I can certainly survive this. I would do anything for him in this moment.

I feel Greg's big, gorgeous body go rigid as he starts to come. I think I'm ready for it, but when that first burst hits the back of my throat, it's all I can do not to jerk away. I'm determined though, and by the time the third and fourth spurts join the first two, I'm already acclimated. Damn, I feel sexy, doing this for him!

Eventually, Greg is done. He reaches down to run his fingers through my thick hair.

"Thank you, Lana," he murmurs. "That was by far the most intense thing that's ever happened to me."

I know what he means, having had my own such experience just minutes before. I keep my lips tightly pursed around him to avoid leakage, then slide off and swallow the load down. It's a lot easier than I've been led to believe.

My slide off his manhood must have been a lot more intense for him, because he flails for a moment before sitting down hard on the middle bunk. I jump to my feet and put my hands on his broad shoulders, making sure he doesn't fall.

"Sorry," he says with an embarrassed grin. "That kind of caught me by surprise."

"Please don't apologize," I say. "You're doing wonders for my ego. Now climb in there for a minute. I think there's just enough room for me to join you."

He does, stretching out on his back in the low, narrow space. I grab the comforter from the top bunk and follow him in, pulling it over us. I slide on top of him, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against mine. This is so good, so amazing, it makes me want to scream with pleasure.

I end up straddling him with his mostly hard cock nestled in my delicate folds. I've read that guys can't handle much stimulation right after coming, so as much as I'd like to, I don't move myself on him. I lay my head down on his chest.

"I could get used to this," he says.

"You'll probably have time to. We're going to be spending a lot of time together." The thought is bittersweet. "I just wish we could have reconnected under different circumstances."

"Amen to that, Lana. What do you suppose it would have been like?"

"Well, we might not have gotten naked so quickly," I venture. "I could imagine us going on a date first. Maybe even two before doing this."

"Not three, though," Greg adds.

"Certainly not. I couldn't have kept my hands off you that long."

It really should feel weird that with the conservative social values we both espouse, we find ourselves naked and sexually satiated less than an hour after seeing each other for the first time in years. Somehow, though, it doesn't feel at all weird to me. And from the way Greg is relaxing, I can tell that he's totally good with it too. Perhaps it's hypocritical, but I can feel that this is just the way we were meant to be.

I look up at him, bumping my head lightly on the smooth steel of the bunk above. It's tight in here. "How long would it have been before you asked me to marry you?" I ask, smiling at him in a way that says I'm kidding -- maybe.

His smile in return practically twinkles. I see that I didn't need the cover of humor for that question. "A marriage proposal might have taken a little longer. Say, five dates."

"Pretty cautious, I see."

"Hey, it's a big commitment, picking a ranching wife."

"Ranching? I thought you'd left that for good."

"I thought so too. I always figured that life out there in the larger world was what I wanted, but after four years of college and a year of traveling the world, it's totally lost its attraction to me. It's noisy, rude, and impersonal. Sure, I was around a lot more people, but loneliness is an epidemic there. The money was nice, but at what cost?

"And the world travel? Well, over the last ten months I spent as much time out of the country as in. I traveled with a senior engineer to places like Hamburg, London, Singapore, and Rio, using off days to explore. I experienced sights I'd only dreamed of before, but as much as I enjoyed seeing new places and cultures, it was always a major relief to return.

"I finally had to admit to myself that I'm more of a homebody than I'd wanted to admit. So, while I was back for Christmas, I talked with my folks about coming home and working the ranch full-time."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah, and they were excited at the possibilities. The Wilson lease is up for renewal this summer, so we could have gotten back full use of our land. We discussed a deal where I would run the ranch with their help, but then ownership would shift to me over the period of maybe a decade or two.

"The only holdup was that by modern standards, the ranch is about half the size I'd have needed to provide a good living for a family. We'd have had to run lean, or I'd have had to do some contracting on the side, which would have been a huge distraction. We kind of shelved the idea for further discussion at that point."

"The lease on my grazing land would have been up in October," I say, "and your ranch is about the same size as mine. Put together, we could have given Old Man Wilson a run for his money."

"Yeah, we'd have been sitting pretty," Greg says, "but get this. The scuttlebutt was that Wilson himself was going to sell when he retired in about five or ten years. None of his kids wanted the responsibility of running the place."

"Whoa," I say, almost awed at the thought. "If we could have scraped up a down payment, we could have added his land to ours. It would have tripled the size of our combined property, and we'd have had one of the biggest ranches in the county."

"Yeah, we could have hired some hands and combined facilities to leverage some real efficiencies."

"Mmm, I think it's sexy when you talk business," I say. "You'd have been the best rancher in Montana."

"And you'd have been the best rancher's wife. A woman who could manage a spread like yours solo must be hella capable."

His big, strong hands have been massaging up and down my back and are now kneading my butt cheeks. I wish we could do this forever.

"Lana, you haven't been out in the world since you moved here. Are you sure that being a rancher's wife would have been enough for you?"

"I've been to the top of the Eifel tower," I say. "I've toured the Sydney Opera House, seen giraffes on the plains of the Serengeti, and climbed Mount Fuji. I speak passable German, can make myself understood in Japanese, and know from experience the proper way to wear a hijab.