The Storm

It's late afternoon, and I'm sitting on a couch that's backed up to a picture window. There's a storm outside. Lightning and thunder crash here and there, and the rain is lashing against the glass. There's only one soft light on, across the room, and I can see outside clearly, so I turn around partway to watch the storm. I'm comfortable, sitting with my legs tucked under me, leaning against the back of the couch, looking out.

It's cozy and warm in the house, so I'm not bundled up. I'm wearing black yoga pants and a black long sleeved pullover shirt, and nothing else. My dark hair is down, reaching halfway down my back. I'm wearing my glasses and sipping a hot mug of orange tea when you enter the room.

You stop and watch me a moment. My face is in profile, enthralled at the chaos outside. My simple clothes are clinging to my curves. My full lips brush the rim of the teacup. I don't even have music playing. I'm listening to the symphony of the storm, watching the flashes as they light up the world, inside and out.

You're dressed comfortably as well, in worn jeans, a soft untucked polo, and bare feet. You cross the room quietly, and get on the couch behind me, close enough to touch. Instinctively I shift toward you, increasing our contact. You're warm and solid against my back as you slip your arms around me, hands wandering gently. You pull my hair aside and kiss the side of my neck, murmuring, "hey there," against my skin. "Hey handsome," I reply softly. Your hands continue to roam, sliding over my back, my arms, my belly, up my ribs, and over my breasts. My nipples contract immediately at your touch, like they always do, and you pause to roll them between your fingers before moving on. I moan quietly and set down my cup and my glasses.

I start to turn toward you, but you stop me. "No," you say firmly, "not yet." Your hands are now exploring the curve of my ass and my hips, down my thighs, and around to slip between them. You brush your fingertips lightly over my pussy through the fabric, and I let out a little whimper, the sensation gone almost before I registered it.

Outside there's a huge flash, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the house. You choose that moment to slip your hands under the hem of my shirt. Your hands are cool, and my skin is so very hot, I gasp a little from the shock. You just keep going; my back. My belly. My ribs. When you reach my breasts again you find them swollen and sensitive, my nipples hard enough to cut glass. This time you linger, lavishing attention with your talented hands.

This time when I turn toward you, you allow it. I swing my leg over you and straddle your hips, sliding my hands under your shirt, up your torso, my fingers exploring the chest hair that I love, until I pull your shirt off over your head. I bend and take a nipple lightly between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue, before I move up and give some attention to those collarbones I'm so drawn to.

When I get to your lips you stop me long enough to remove my shirt before letting me kiss you. Always making me wait, but always so worth it. You taste fantastic, and we kiss awhile, lingering, lips and tongues in a delicious dance. Our hands exploring each other's bodies. Rubbing my sensitive breasts back and forth across your chest. You feel so very good against me.

Abruptly you wrap an arm around my ass, pull my hips close, then lift and turn so that I'm on my back on the couch with my legs wrapped around you. Putting your glasses aside, you guide my legs, removing my yoga pants and tossing them aside. Then you stand up, looking down at me, all naked and warm, and begin to unbutton your jeans.

I sit up and swat your hands aside, saying "mine," and finish that job. I tug your jeans carefully past your hardness. You aren't wearing boxers, and that makes me smile. You step out of your jeans and I stroke your balls and your luscious cock with my fingertips before I can't help myself and wrap my mouth around you. I love the taste of you, baby. I lick and suck on your flesh, savoring you. Your hands are in my hair, not guiding me so much as just hanging on. I look up at your face. Your eyes are hooded as you watch me. You slip out of my mouth gently, and I kiss and lick your balls and your cock as if they were the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. And they are. At last I look up at you again, giving you one long, slow lick from balls to tip as you meet my eyes.

In a flash you're on your knees on the couch, pushing me onto my back, between my thighs, teasing my pussy with the head of your cock. You rub it all over, getting it slick with my juices, paying special attention to my hard aching little clit. I try to stroke you with my hands, but you won't let me. You guide one of my hands to my breasts and the other to my pussy, and say quietly, "play for me." I smile a little half smile, and do as you ask. You continue to rub your hardness all over my pussy as you watch me torture my nipples and rub my clit.

Suddenly you shift and slide deep inside me, up to the hilt, my body adjusting to accommodate you as I cry out. God, you feel so good... Slowly we start to move, my hips rising up to meet you, still rubbing my clit, my legs wrapped around you, way up high so you can drive even deeper. You bend down to kiss me, your chest hair tickling my nipples, my hand trapped between our bodies as I rub slow circles around my clit in rhythm to our hips.

The storm is still crashing outside, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating us, driving us onward. We fuck faster, and harder, your body grinding against my clit with every thrust, your luscious cock filling and stretching me. Even harder now, our climaxes building. My body starts to shake as I cum around you, calling out your name, and it sends you over the edge. You give me one more hard thrust and you join me, skin to skin, cumming deep inside me, filling me up, my legs locked around you as you whisper my name in my ear.

We lie together, sweaty and sated, our breathing and hearts slowing, kissing deeply and tenderly as we come down.

Outside, the store has calmed, too, as if nature senses our need for quiet.