The Finite Beating HeartbyDesmondAndromeda©
* * *
We walk back to the truck, throw the tarp in the back bed, get inside. But we don't put our clothes back on. I'm more confident now. I tell her to lie down, the length of the seat, her head at the passenger door side. Her knees are lifted up since there's not enough room to stretch out. I get on my knees on the floorboard on her side. She is face up, hands behind her head. Relaxed. Beads of water all over her from the weather. I lick them off. From her face to her toes.
I close my eyes, run my fingers over her forehead, onto her high cheekbones, lightly skimming the curvature of her ears, feeling behind them, then on to her lips, following my fingers slowly up and around them, feeling her breath as I do, smelling her skin.
I open my eyes, move down until I reach her breasts, lay the side of my face on her chest. Feel her heart beating. Use my fingers to feel the smoothness of her areolas, the stiffness of her nipples. I pull on them a little, open my hand and run my palm over the top of them, barely touching. Her eyes are open and on me. Her breasts have flattened out since she is on her back. But still they are soft and cushy. As gently as possible, I hold them, squeeze them just to feel their thickness. Kiss her nipples. Suck them. She says nothing. Lets me play as long as I want. But her breathing tells me this is what she is starved for.
At her stomach, instead of using my fingers, I lean down to her, again turn my face sideways and graze my cheek across her skin. As I get closer to her sex, I begin to smell her. I do as she had asked: caress her pubic hair, sifting my fingers through the dark black soft curls on her mound, still glistening from the moisture we have both just created. I play with this little gathering of hair around her opening. I cup her mound with my hand. Press in lightly. She presses back.
My fingers glide down her slit. She opens her legs wider for me to look and touch. I slide the tips of my fingers around the opening. Feels velvety. I put two fingers in her, then three. Push as far in as I can, pull back, do it again slowly. She is so wet, my fingers are really slipping in and out. My thumb finds her clit again.
Her breathing picks up. I pull my hand out and move down to her legs. I don't want her to cum -- not yet. I may be new to all of this. But I'm a quick study. There's a slight wickedness in the smile she gives me. We both know. We want our hunger to build. It's a good thing the fog is surrounding us, protecting us. Because we are animals in heat.
I slide both hands down her thighs. I touch all around. I work down to her feet. Even her toes fascinate me.
I turn her over, face down now, her legs bent back at the knee since space is so tight. Move my fingers down her back, then back up, feel the ribs. I kiss the freckles on her shoulders. It's all in ever-so-slow motion.
Then to her butt. I knead her wet skin, kiss it, stroke it. Spread her hips apart, touching the wrinkled opening of her small anus, using my index finger to encircle it dozens of times. She's warm and moist. After a few minutes it seems effortless to slide my little finger inside her ass. Just barely at first. I move it back and forth, slowly, going deeper each time. Replace my little finger with my index finger.
"You like that, don't you, Benjamin." she says, breaking her silence. You like putting your finger in the most personal part of my body, don't you. You are just like me."
"If you want me to, I'll quit," I say.
"No Benjamin. I like it as much as you do. You may not have any idea how much I like your finger in my ass. You just don't have any idea. Deeper. Push deeper."
So, I do. Until long moments later when she pulls my finger out, turns over, gets on her knees, raises her ass up as an invitation, then looks back at me.
"Benjamin, it's time to fuck me hard. Don't hold back. I'm your ten-dollar whore and you want your money's worth." She lays her head down on the seat.
I get on my knees on the seat. As the tip of my cock touches her opening, it feels like home. As I push in, her muscles grab my dick, tighten around it. This is where I belong.
I manage to stay in her 20 minutes at least. Never imagined I could last that long, especially doing it from behind where I could grab her butt to my heart's content. My fondest fantasy for all those years of masturbation. But I do last, somehow, pounding her maybe 50 times, going in as deep as I can. Pressing hard to find the back walls of her vagina.
We rest, me still inside her, then pick up again. I stop, turn her over on her back, get on my knees on the floorboard and lick her slit and her clit until she comes. It takes no more than a few minutes. She is so desperately wanting it. Coming all over my face, grabbing my head, pressing hard against me. I push her legs back against her chest. Then quickly enter her. In one long and hard stroke, going as deep as I can. I cum myself. We collapse, unable to even speak.
I lie on top of her. We kiss and kiss. She wraps her legs around my butt. No talking. Just rest.
* * *
After a while, we sit up, survey the damage.
We're a sweaty mess. Her beautiful silvery hair looks like the aftermath of sticking her finger in an electric socket. Wet sand covers us. We ache. Have scratches that we don't remember getting. We probably smell.
"I don't know about you, but I feel better," she says. We both laugh uncontrollably at that.
The rain has stopped altogether. The fog begins to lift. We climb out of the truck. Both need to take a leak. We pee simultaneously on the sand beside the parking lot, her squatting down, each watching the other. Being this intimate with her is freeing. I begin to understand her desire for it.
I open the door, reach for my shorts. She tells me no.
"Benjamin. Let's drive back naked. Do you think anyone will see us?"
"We'll get arrested," I say.
"Wouldn't that be fun," she says. She kisses me. Says, "Let's do it."
As we pull out of the parking lot -- and we are au naturel -- she says, "When we get back to our apartments, we'll need a bath, Benjamin."
"Isn't that one of your fantasies, Mrs. Ainsworth?" I ask. "You are so perceptive," she says.
"By the way, Benjamin, it feels good not to waste heartbeats. Don't you think?"