The Room Ch. 02

Note: I recommend that you read my story The Room at p127 (or click on my name above) before proceeding to this story. There is no continuity involved but the two do go nicely together and enrich the context. The Room actually exists, incidentally.

We have added a double bed mattress to The Room. It leans against the wall until required, which is frequently.

Outside the day is hot but The Room is fresh and cool. We have had a delicious lunch. My lover has amazing talent in the kitchen. She can produce gourmet food in a trice. We are drinking the last of a superb unwooded chardonnay, courtesy of her cellar. This is just about our favourite white wine. I jest sometimes that a bottle of this wine is a guarantee of getting into her knickers.

She is wearing, at my request, a filmy dress of autumn tones that complement the colours of The Room. I like the way this dress flows around her slender body and allows me to see its outline. She wears bra and panties underneath. I know. I felt her up while she made lunch.

I sit on the mattress and lean against the wall.

'Stand over by the fireplace and lift up your dress'.

She looks at me with her proud woman-gaze, sips her wine then puts her glass on the mantelpiece.

'Want to look, do you?'

'Of course'.

'Front or back?'

'Let's start with your back'.

Her shoes sound softly on the polished wooden floor, setting up a little echo.

She stands, legs slightly apart, and reaches for the hem of her dress. I stare in wonderment, mesmerised by lust.

'Take your cock out. I want to be able to see it when I turn around'.

I unzip gingerly. No need to stroke it to attention. It is fully erect in anticipation of the show.

She lifts her dress, initially with only her right hand. Tantalisingly slowly... baring calf... thigh... buttock... hip...

'You are beautiful!' I hear myself exclaim fervently.

Both hands now, in a teasingly slow manner... She holds it just below her bottom... for an age, it seems... Then goes further, revealing the undercurve of her buttocks... I visualise the tiny white hairs that line these curves and lick them flat in my mind.

Higher now, holding the dress around her waist. A black string emerges from her ass crack and leads upward to a minuscule black triangle.

Mouth dry with excitement, hand maintaining a steady rhythm on my cock. The head of it is slick with fluid. My 'over-active gland' she calls it.

'Shall I turn around now?'

'Jesus Christ, please do...'

Lush curves, fine pale skin contrasting with black panties, firm thighs... Breathtakingly beautiful to look at...

She holds the dress up with one hand and takes her glass in the other, drinking the last of the wine before replacing the glass on the mantelpiece.

She walks towards me, letting me see the movement of her legs. She flows rather than walks. I have never seen a sexier walk.

Her eyes take in my cock and rhythmic hand. She will be very wet by now. I know her too well.

'Lean forward'.

I do as bidden. She slips off her shoes and steps onto the mattress. There is sexual mischief afoot.

She lifts her dress and drops it over my head. I enter the wondrous world of 'Chateau D', the wonderfully earthy scent of bordeaux red that her cunt makes for me when she is aroused. My nose goes to her panties, rubbing against the wet fabric. I take long, satisfying, stimulating breaths of her arousal. This is connoisseur sex and I revel in it.

She turns to give me the back view. In a frenzy I rub my face on her cheeks, around and about, luxuriating in the sensation of the smooth flesh. I ease the string to the side and lick mindlessly along her crack.

In a sudden gesture she lifts her dress and moves away, leaving me to savour the scent she has left on my face. I plead with her, in desperation.

'Come back... For god's sake come back... I need more of that...'

'I'm not sure I will'.

She takes my glass and sips sensually on the last of the wine.

I lean back against the wall, tugging on my cock, near to tears with frustration. She plays the tease game to perfection.

'You can have these'.

She slips off her panties and tosses them to me.

'Put a scent on your cock'.

Rubbing the panties wildly all over my face, almost distraught with gratitude. Stroking my cock distractedly with them, putting her scent along the length of it. She calls this 'claiming' me, asserting her sexuality and her sexual power over me. She knows a hundred ways to render me helpless.

'Take your clothes off. Over by the piano'.

She takes my place on the mattress, leaning against the wall and watching me intently, stroking Lady Jane with her middle finger.

I do what I have been told, heaping my clothes on the piano stool.

'Walk towards me. I want to see what you've got'.

My cock sways as I walk. My balls are taut and tight, their need for relief growing by the second. The atmosphere is rich with erotic intent.

She kneels in front of me and takes my cock into her mouth. This is one woman who knows her way around a cock. She is sexually supercharged. She pleasures bits of my cock that I never knew existed. She has forgotten more about cock sucking than most women ever learn.

The challenge for me is to hang on, given the skill of her touch. Fancy having that problem at sixty! My cock is gloriously hard and I am revelling in the male pride of presenting it to her.

Her hand and mouth are working together now with exquisite timing and pressure, bringing me further and further towards the brink.

I surrender to the inevitable.

'Oh sweetie, it's coming!'

Familiar feelings stir within me: balls drawing up; long, searching impulses somewhere back near my arse; a gathering of energy at the root of my cock. My mind flies off in another dimension, overwhelmed by an emotional tsunami. My pulsings start. I hold her head and cry joy and triumph as I come into her mouth, spurting copiously at

first, then mere drops. She takes the lot. The pulsings seem to go on forever, such is the force of her arousal of me. My heart must be good to tolerate such an assault!

Weak-kneed and jelly-legged I sink to the mattress. She puts her mouth to mine and we share the residual come. She rejoices in its taste and has taught me to share it with her.

She cuddles me to her breast and manoeuvres a nipple into my mouth. God knows I need a place of safe haven after intensity like that!

She will lie with me until I recover my senses. Then it will be her turn. In the meantime I know the peaceful sanctuary of her soft breast, her lovely nipple and her enveloping arms.

'Nothing else is...' as a poet once wrote.