Weekend at Samantha's

Paul hugged her, until her breathing returned to normal. The dogs were snoring at his feet, the fire burning, and the woman of his dreams, the woman he loved, was in his arms.

"I am so, so sorry," he said, when he trusted himself to say anything at all. "I would never..."

"I know." She kissed him, brushed her full lips against his. Slowly the kiss deepened. Paul started to ease the shirt up her back, to stroke her bottom... then realised what he was doing, how inappropriate that was after the story she'd just told, and froze. But she took his wrist, guided his hand back down onto her butt, and patted it.

Sometime later... "You hungry?" she asked.

He realised he'd not eaten all day. It hadn't seemed important. But now she'd drawn attention to it...

"I'll call out for some pizza." She reached over to the telephone - it was cordless, and they had one in several rooms of the house! - and rang through to the pizza place. He got a great view down the shirt as she leant over for the phone. He didn't think he would ever tire of that view.

She flopped back onto the sofa next to him while she started to dial. A crazy, naughty thought struck him. As she tapped on the numbers, he started to walk his fingers up her bare thigh.

"No!", she whispered, "I'm on the phone!" But Paul didn't stop, and she parted her legs, looking at him, eyes wide but as if to dare him to do it.

He slid his fingers inside her just as the pizzeria answered the phone, so the first thing they heard was her gasp.

Paul's touch was firm and insistent. This was a race, and he was determined to win it. His long fingers curled and stroked at her g-spot, while he used his other hand on her clit. He knew he was doing it right when she kept losing concentration and forgetting her words. The person at the other end was very slow, and Samantha had to keep repeating herself, while all the time getting more worked up by Paul's hands between her legs.

She put her hand over the microphone. "Fuck, yeah," then tried to put a normal voice back on while she finished placing her order. "What do you want?" She asked him, breathlessly.

"Meat," he said, staring up at her through her thighs.

She grinned, and finished up with the server in the phone, turning down offers of garlic bread and coleslaw and just desperately needing the conversation to be over. He could feel her starting to flood as she gave out her address, then slammed down the phone just in time as the orgasm ripped through her.

"You bad bad boy!"

"Guilty," he laughed. And they fell together on the sofa, tickling each other.

She lay across his chest, and his hand fell back in her lap. He started to stroke her, ever so slowly and gently, between her moist lips. Up and down, brushing her clit before slicking back through her folds, tucking the finger into her lightly as he pulled through her delicate lips. Teasing her relentlessly. She found it almost unbearably exciting; it was just not quite intense enough to bring her off.

"Mmmm, that feels so good," she murmured. Paul smiled, kissed her, and kept on stroking. Over and over, slipping through her wetness, he teased her.

"I dare you to answer the door like this," he said.

"What, with your fingers in me?"

"In the shirt. Just the shirt."

"No way!" But he could feel the effect the idea had on her; she became all the more slippery.

"I can tell you want to."

"Do not!" she lied. A pause. "Well, what if I do it?"

"Then I'll have to do anything to you that you ask. But if you don't..." She laughed. Like she wouldn't suck him off anyway. His fingers had kept up the same rhythm, coaxing her painfully slowly towards another orgasm. She could feel it approaching, meandering across the fields like a mighty river rather than crashing through her like an express train. But boy, when it struck, they'd both get so wet...

Then the doorbell rang, and the dogs went nuts.

"Time's up, best get the door quickly!"

"Where the fuck are my shorts?"

The bell rang again.

"Don't let them leave with our dinner," Paul laughed.

"Fuck!" She dragged at the shirt, trying to cover what little left of her modesty, grabbed some cash from the table and went to the door. Her chest and face were flushed, her hair messed. As she opened the door she felt the cool air on her damp thighs. She looked the delivery guy straight in the eye, defying him to say anything. She took the boxes he held out, stuffed notes into his hand without checking, and slammed the door, almost running back into the lounge.

"I think I may have overtipped him," she said, dropping the boxes onto the table.

"You don't say," Paul replied, considering how the shirt lifted as she moved. "Which one's mine?"

"Fuck the pizza, I need your cock, now." She pushed him down onto the sofa and sat on his lap, yanking his dick through the fly of his boxers and sliding all the way over him in one movement. She grabbed the back of the sofa and rode him furiously, grinding her aching clit against his pelvic bone; within moments her release came, saturating his underwear, and she cried out in triumph. She continued to bounce on his lap until he, too, was brought panting and cursing and taken over with pleasure.

"Well now I'm starving," he said, reaching over for the boxes, which the dogs had kindly left for the humans to enjoy, despite overwhelming temptation. Paul snuck them some pepperoni from his slices anyway, while Samantha wasn't looking.

///

Eventually neither of them felt like pretending to watch any more TV; it was just night-time trash. The dogs had popped outside to pee and were now asleep, and so bed seemed the natural place to go. After letting him use the phone so he could tell his mother he wouldn't be home tonight - no don't worry, I'm at a friend's place - Samantha took Paul's hand, and led him upstairs.

"Which room is mine?" he asked with a sly grin. There were several doors; since Samantha was an only child, they had rooms to spare. She gave him a mini tour - other than her parents' master suite and a common bathroom, there was a guest double bedroom, communal bathroom that was only used by guests, other bedrooms that had been converted into a mini-gym, one into a study... and Samantha's room.

Hers had started life as two rooms; one of them had been sacrificed, half of which was now an en-suite and the other a walk-in closet. Paul was agog; her room alone was bigger than the flat he shared with his mother. It was tastefully decorated, fine art on the walls and scatter-cushions abounded. A lazy chair in the corner was home to several well-loved teddy bears and other soft toys.

Facing the new rooms was a king-sized bed on a metal frame, with an ornate headboard decorated with silk scarves. Or rather, the naïve Paul of a fortnight ago would have assumed they were decorative; the newer, more worldly-wise Paul had to wonder if they might be more practical in nature.

"Do you want to take a shower before we turn in?" she asked.

He really didn't; he was more of a bath kind of guy, but somehow he didn't think taking an hour out of the night right now while he had a good hot soak would be the thing to do. And he probably should have a wash, it was true - the day had taken its toll. So, he nodded, and Samantha led him to the airing cupboard for some towels the size of blankets, and from there to the guest bathroom.

"Do you have any pyjamas I can borrow?" Paul said, trying to maintain a serious and sincere expression on his face. "I didn't expect to stay, and you kinda ruined my boxers earlier..."

She gave him a withering stare. "Really?" she retorted, before heading back to her own room. She had thought of dragging him into her shower; it was easily big enough for whatever she wanted them to do together in there. But on balance, for tonight at least, settled for preserving the mystery. With Paul safely in the guest bathroom she went into her own and tended to herself. She knew she wouldn't have long, and Paul was highly unlikely to be fussy... but a girl's got to have standards.

Paul scrubbed himself over with the available product, scraping off the accumulated grime, sweat and general crustiness of the day. He missed having her scent on his fingers, but somehow he thought that would be remedied soon enough. He even tried out the conditioner. He wrapped himself in a towel, pleased that although fluffy, they weren't so saturated in softener that they repelled water rather than absorbing it. Soon he was dryish, so he opened a new toothbrush and gave his mouth a thorough scrubbing out before heading back to Samantha's room, wrapped in a towel.

The door was open, so he headed inside and perched on the end of the bed, somehow nervous despite all they'd done that day already. The main light was out, but she'd lit candles on the dresser, casting a warm light through the room. He couldn't hear water running.

"Hello?" he called out, feeling somewhat foolish.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she replied from the walk-in wardrobe. He settled in to wait.

Eventually, a vision appeared.

A vision wearing cream lace lingerie, a plunge bra and matching thong knickers, and a spaghetti-strap sheer nightie - a teddy, Paul wondered, was that the phrase - over the top. She'd pinned her damp hair up into some kind of plaited bun, which would give it some curl and bounce tomorrow. She'd re-painted her nails, fingers and toes, in a matching cream.

Paul couldn't think of words that could do the sight justice. Lamely, all he had was "Wow", although to be fair his brain was struggling now that his blood was rushing to parts of his anatomy with greater need.

Samantha smiled, knowingly. She was determined that he'd remember this night forever. She slinked across the carpet, prowling slowly towards him, putting plenty of sway in her hips and swing into her tits. She bit her lower lip. "You like?"

Paul just gawped like a fish. Some part of his hindbrain decided to rescue him. "My angel," he breathed.

Oh, I don't think angels would approve of what we're gonna do tonight, she thought. Maybe creatures from somewhere decidedly warmer. She reached for the towel, untucked it and drew it from his body. "I don't think we'll be needing that," she said. Not yet, anyway.

His dick was rock hard, standing proud from a nest of wild dark fur, untrimmed, doing his below-average length and girth no favours. She'd get him to do something about that. It was pushing up through its foreskin, head purple and engorged with blood. She was going to enjoy eating it.

Standing in front of him as he sat on the bed put her boobs directly at his eye level. His hand raised and cupped the left tit, silk sliding over lace, and she gasped as he brushed over her nipple. She saw his eyes, enraptured. Usually she found this kind of objectification creepy, but he had such an innocent 'kid's first time in the sweet shop' vibe that from him it was strangely endearing.

With what little conscious thought he was still capable of, Paul struggled to believe this was truly happening. His eyes traced every curve of lace, counted every freckle over the cleavage, hunted for where the pale skin of the breast turned to the darker pink of the areolae. He could trace a faint blue of veins under the skin. He was drawn to the crease of the cleavage, imagining diving into that darkness head first, never to return. He felt like he was home.

"You're got it real bad for my tits, haven't you!"

Paul looked up, and his eyes slowly swam back into focus. "Sorry, I'm just... they're just so..."

"Yeah they are pretty fabulous, aren't they," she said, giving them a little shake that she swore brought a little precum to the tip of Paul's dick. She pushed the spaghetti straps from her shoulders and let the teddy slip down to catch round her hips. "Hold them," she said, relishing the joy and desire flashing across his face. He cupped both breasts on his hands, thumbs barely touching. She reached behind her back. "Big tits are all very well," she said, "but it costs a fortune in bras when the high street only sells the nice stuff up to double-D." The straps fell from her shoulders, and Paul took the full weight of them in his hands. He loved how they moulded to his grasp, pressing against his fingers and resting perfectly in his palm, albeit spilling round quite a lot. "I have to special order these from Rigby and Peller. They make bras for the Queen, you know."

"Yes. Yes, they do," he replied, transfixed. "My angel, my queen."

She peeled the lace cups away and took the bra from his grasp, standing topless inches before him. "Do you think I should do Page 3?"

"No," he said, too quickly. "I mean, you're stunning, more gorgeous than Ms Fox for sure. But I don't think you want to be showing them to the world. Keep them for the man you love." And he resumed holding them.

She could tell he wanted more, but was waiting for permission. "Go on, kiss them then," she said. He pressed his lips gently against the curve of flesh. Delicate butterfly kisses over to the nipple, which he took in his mouth and flicked with his tongue.

She could hear his breathing was short and shallow. He was going to come far too soon if she tried to take him right away, just like he had in the woods. Which was nice, but she wanted him to bring her too. She'd have to make him come hard first, then work back up to the next orgasm with him.

"Mmmm," she said, hands caressing his shoulders and back, as he licked, sucked and nibbled his way around her full breasts. He was worshipping her, and that gave her an idea. Not something she'd usually let her boyfriends do to her, but this was a special occasion.

"Lick me," she ordered. "Between my tits, get your face right in there and make me all slippery."

Paul was happy to oblige. He felt the firm round flesh press against his face as he reached deep inside to taste the sweat on the skin of her breastbone. He licked there, over the inside of her boobs, until his face and her cleavage were slick with his saliva.

"Lie back," she said, kneeling between his legs at the edge of the bed.

"It's not gonna be long."

"I know. Just don't come over my face. In my mouth is okay," she said, licking some precum from his tip, "or inside me, but it stings my eyes. Now, relax," and she looked down, wrapping her slippery tits round his cock, and started to beat them up and down over him.

"Oh god..."

"Uh huh. Fuck my tits. Show me how much you love them."

The massaging was relentless. So warm, so soft, different from inside her pussy but just as perfect, just as right. He couldn't take his eyes away as the tip of his dick disappeared into her huge cleavage and then re-emerged, strands of precum laced between his tip and her tits. The orgasm was coming and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

"Shit, shit, fuck," he said, as he shot thick loads up which splashed under her chin and dribbled back down her neck to pool in the cleavage where his dick was tightly wrapped. "Oh god, please stop moving, I can't take it..."

Samantha smiled. His joy was worth getting filthy again so soon after the shower. She stood, and he watched his cum run down between her tits and across her stomach. She lay down on the bed next to him, scooping a little into her mouth with her fingers.

"Aren't you going to clean me?"

Paul reached down for the towel.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head.

"Oh." Paul paused. He didn't want to... and yet he did, somehow, too. Fair's fair, he thought, she's swallowed this stuff already. And he did have a taste, in the woods. What was he afraid of? Plus, he'd be licking her, all over...

He wouldn't, she thought. Mick had been disgusted by the idea; I'm no queer, he'd say. Like his jizz was his gift to her and it was an insult to want him to clean her up. Or perhaps just that once he'd come, the sex was over, and it was her problem. But Paul was leaning over her, with a look in his eye...

"Hey, I was kidding. Pass me the towel!"

"No," he said, and licked a drop from the side of her breast. Salty, he thought, and a little slimy. But not offensive, not if he didn't think too much about where it had come from.

"Oh my god, you actually did it!"

"I've barely started," he said, licking her boobs clean and the working into the cleavage and up her neck, where most of it had landed. He drew his tongue over he, cleaning every inch of that perfect freckled skin, capturing his seed in his mouth. Then he kissed up her jaw, towards her mouth. Eagerly she met his tongue with open lips, and they shared the taste of him.

The cum all gone, he started back down her body, idling in the valley between her tits before continuing down.

"What are you doing?" Her voice caught in anticipation.

He licked a pool of cum from her bellybutton and swallowed it, gratefully. "Cleaning you up, as promised." The trail led further down, and he kissed and licked his way down to where the cream silk and lace covered her.

He'd lost count of how many times she'd taken him into her mouth today. Time to return the favour. He hooked his fingers through the waistband, and she lifted her arse so he could slip the flimsy material from her legs.

"Just tell me what you want me to do, what you like," he said, laying between her legs and kissing his way up her thighs. He kissed her lips, freshly shaven, sensitive and smooth. He licked the creases where her legs met her pelvis. Then he placed a kiss over her bud, putting a hint of tongue into it.

"More," she said. The swift lick from this morning held so much promise, and she knew from their French kissing how long and dextrous his tongue could be. Her exes hadn't been that interested in giving oral - receiving it, yes, of course. It had always been about them. Paul didn't seem to be like that.

He stroked his tongue over her lips, over the slit but not inside, not yet. She parted her legs further, pulling herself open to reveal the moist hot flesh inside. The next lick caught in her opening before flicking over her clit, and she twitched. Then he leant in, pressing his lips to hers, and got to work.

"God yeah, just like that..."

He kept the pressure on, exploring her depths, stroking and teasing with his tongue, taking the cream and returning for more. Then he'd suck her clit between his lips, flick it with his tongue; then for a while lick flat and long across the lips. Round and round, over and over, listening to her moans and her breath catching, repeating things that worked and abandoning those that didn't.

"Don't stop now, don't stop, my god, I'm gonna come..."

He had no intention of stopping, ever. Hearing her moan, beg, plead was all he'd ever wanted. He was making her feel this way - him! He never wanted it to end.

"FUUUUUCK!!" she screamed, arching off the bed as the pleasure crashed through her. Her pussy flooded and he lapped it up gratefully, driving her through the orgasm, feeling her convulse under his tongue. Knowing it worked, he just kept on doing what he was doing.

Panting, Samantha looked down her body to Paul's face, buried between her thighs. His eyes were shining, hands firm on her hips to anchor himself and pull the two of them together. He seemed to be enjoying this almost as much as she was. She watched his jaw working as his tongue flashed in and out of her, over and under and round her clit, flicking and teasing and oh my god I'm cumming again... "Oh shit, fuck, Jesus!"

This climax took her totally by surprise, so soon after the last. She felt Paul moan in delight, watched him lap at her soaking pussy.

"What the fuck are you doing to me...", she let out a small laugh, and they looked into each other's eyes.

Paul brought a hand across her tummy, down across the light fuzz of hair and started to stroke her clit with his thumb while he licked deep inside her. Samantha started to rock, pressing herself against him, unable to keep still, squirming on his face as he drove her to more and more pleasure. Then with his other hand he slipped two fingers inside her, moving his mouth to her clit, and stroked and beckoned over her g-spot while nibbling on her sensitive bud.