One Weekend Stand Ch. 02

He watched her fall asleep under his fingertips, a slight dew of sweat still visible on her back and flanks. Despite the fact that he'd spent himself thoroughly inside her, had fucked her with abandon, he was already beginning to feel his groin begin to stir. But it wouldn't do to race to another bout of lovemaking. They had all weekend, with literally nothing to do but get to know each other. To stimulate each other. And enthrall each other.

He let himself fall into that drowsy state between wakefulness and sleep, where his thoughts could float into the ether, none needing his attention, all open for introspection. She was sound asleep, just inches from him. Her mouth parted slightly, he could see her even white teeth inside. Her hair had fallen over her face, but he stayed the urge to sweep it away, lest he wake her. She slept on her side, slightly scrunched up, her hands pillowed beneath her chin. Her arms hid one breast but left the other uncovered. Her nipples, hard and prominent during much of the day, had finally softened, settling down. He'd noticed from the very first that her nipples would harden at a moment's notice, like the proverbial teenage boy whose cock would harden with the slightest breeze. The areolas surrounding them were wide and dark, and he instinctively licked his lips, seized suddenly by the urge to put his mouth to them. Later, he admonished himself.

Later still he would have to return to his survey of her, for her long, lithe legs were curled up against her, hiding her heaven's gate from his inquisitive gaze. He seized a thought tumbling through his mind, of his head thrust deep between her legs, his lips capturing her clit, and his tongue probing deep inside her. Later, he again admonished himself, even as his cock began to rise at the thought. But if all it took was the thought to get him to stir so easily, what would reality do to him? The idea was a pleasant one. A good point to leave off his imaginings.

Stealthily he rolled off the bed, careful not to wake her. The clock read 3:17. Was that the correct time? He hadn't reset the clocks. But if she had, it was correct, probably to the second. She was often that precise. It was bright in the room, shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows. When was the last time he had made love with the windows open? Not that they had a choice here. There were no curtains. And no one to look in on them. And if someone had crouched there, at the top of the hill, and spied on them? Well, he really didn't care. He could only hope that the spy would've cum as ferociously as he had.

Grabbing his clothes he dressed swiftly and silently. He'd spotted a fire pit out in the middle of the small basin, a small open space amongst the canopy of trees. Although there was no wood left in the stack, his friend had said there'd be plenty of dead wood on the ground, once you left the immediate area. His plan was to head out and gather some wood, and maybe they could have a fire that night, watch the stars, and see where that led them. He stared at her again, and again had to steel himself from waking her with a kiss and a touch. Later. Instead he pulled the cabin instructions from his pocket, wrote a note on the back, and then left the cabin, closing the door softly behind him.

She stirred, confused a little, then slowly grinned as she recognized her surroundings. The pine panel walls. The high ceiling beams. The very, very comfortable queen bed. She stretched, then checked. She was naked. He hadn't covered her. That would've been tender. But, and her smile grew, he hadn't been tender. She flipped over, face up, and splayed her arms and legs wide, the sunshine slanting in and painting her bare skin. She could stay here like this. Wait for him like this. And see if he would take her like this.

He would. Without a word or a question. She was sure of it now. In letting him in, he'd let her in. His needs weren't so obscured anymore. His wants were plain to her. And it was up to her to decide if he would get whatever he wants. She still had some control. While he was enthralled by her, she wasn't by him, at least not as much. Thrilled by him, surely. But not enthralled. Not so far. That thought sobered her. Was she holding back still? Being too careful? This weekend was supposed to be about letting go, about not worrying about the other person, about – how did he put it? – 'breaking free of expectations and marital concerns.' A fancy way of saying they should forget about their spouses and just have fun. And here she was, already planning a path to keep her from getting in too deep.

Could she really let it all go, reveal herself fully? She was afraid. If she did, she might get in too deep, and a return to their separate worlds might be too painful. She wasn't as able as he to delineate this, to think of this as a tryst, not an affair. She'd never confess it, of course, never to no one. But even using the word "confess" gave insight into her feelings.

On the other hand, would she lie awake, years from now, and wish she'd been more adventurous? Would she wonder what might've happened if only she'd sought less control, was more willing to go with the flow?

Or she could tread a middle path. Focus more on the sensuality. Give of herself bodily, while reserving a part of her emotional self. Give in to her passions. Walk on the wild side. She grinned wickedly. And see just how many times she could make him cry out in ecstasy.

Where was he? Apparently not returning very soon. She shrugged against the sheets. Too late to take advantage of the free gift of her body, naked and spread open and waiting for him. His loss! She stood up, started to get dressed but stopped with only her panties on. No need for other clothes, not out here. She'd feel uncomfortable walking around completely naked. She wasn't a nudist, per se. But topless? She liked to walk around topless at home, with the feeling of freedom it always gave her. And where better to feel free than here?

What better time than now to explore the cabin? She found his note on the kitchen counter. 'Gone to get some firewood. Back in an hour.' There was no time on it. Typical. She glanced at the clock. Three thirty-four. What time had they started to make love? She couldn't remember that, but the other images that flashed through her mind made her nipples begin to harden. Man, she had it bad!

She started with the bed, first straightening the sheets and comforter, then changing her mind and folding them partially back, as if to welcome him on his return. Next, the trunk. She knelt before it, pulling the heavy clasp up and propping the top open. The key to the kingdom was back in its place in a small pocket sewn into the lining. Alongside, she found three other keys, each tucked into their respective pockets. More keys to more kingdoms? She'd find out soon enough.

Inside the chest were three sets of sheets for the bed, an extra blanket, and buried beneath all that was a small, rectangular wooden box, about the size of a shoebox. Locked. Private stuff. And, she determined after a minute's try, not unlockable by any of the keys to the kingdom. She felt slightly guilty that she'd tried, but knew that this kind of little mystery would gnaw at her the whole time. Better to know than to wonder.

After packing the stuff back in the trunk, and wondering why anyone would need four sets of sheets, she turned her attention to the rest of the room. She found nothing under the bed. In fact, it was completely clean of any dust or dirt, just like the rest of the cabin. Owned by a person after her own heart, evidently.

The kitchen, she already knew, was well-stocked with plates, cups and silverware, plus some unexpected items like champagne flutes, wine glasses and margarita stems. The wine! She'd forgotten all about it. She'd planned to open it and help them both relax a little after unpacking the car. And then, well, then he'd found another, better way to relax her. Still, she could have a glass ready for his return. And she was a little parched herself. It was while looking for the corkscrew that she found the dog's leash and collar in the drawer. "Mutt" was the name printed on the collar tag. That reminded her of the bowl she'd seen earlier, in one of the cabinets. She dug through the pots and pans. Yes! There were two bowls in there. One metal one, battered from hard use. And one glazed ceramic one, with the name "Mutt" printed on the side.

An odd name for a dog. A dog was a mutt, but wasn't usually named that. A big dog, though, from the size of the leather, studded collar. She frowned. Strange that there weren't any other signs around that a dog had been there. No scratches on the floors. No dog food anywhere. Strange.

She continued her search. The TV, now that really puzzled her. Where were the DVDs? Did they bring new ones up every time they came up? She checked the walls around it carefully, looking for a hidden door. Everything in the cabin was built so perfectly, it wouldn't surprise her to find a storage space hidden in the wall. Nothing. She turned on the TV. Nothing but a blue screen. So, no hidden antenna picking up far-off signals. She turned on the DVD player. Nothing left in the drawer to indicate what they watched on this thing. Unless they just watched that blue screen. Another mystery unsolved.

Idly she picked up the note from him. On the other side were all the instructions for the cabin, written by his friend. She scanned them without much interest until she hit item seven. "The keys to all the fun stuff are in the top of the trunk. Each key is coded to a locker in the shed. One is mild. Three is intense. Don't worry about cleaning them or replacing them when you're done. The cleaning crew will take care of it." The fun stuff? That sounded interesting. Mild? Intense? And even more interesting, he hadn't mentioned anything about it.

She read further. "The key to the box in the trunk is in locker #2. The cleaning crew sterilizes everything, so no worries. The freezer works, in case you want to go that way." Well, that didn't clear up anything. The rest of the instructions were just as opaque. It was like reading some kind of code. And she didn't have the key. More exploring would clearly be needed.

Replacing the note, she decided to clean herself up before he returned. The pump would've filled the holding tank by now. There would be no hot water yet, but lukewarm water would do. She felt a little grimy after their sweaty sex. And she still needed to wipe herself clean. It was important to be fresh for the next time.

Towels! She rooted through her suitcase but knew in a moment that she'd forgotten them. Damn. And since she'd searched through the whole cabin already, she knew there weren't any stocked away. Would he have remembered to bring some? His overnight bag sat on the floor, next to the bed. It wouldn't do to be found rifling through his stuff. But still, she needed a towel. And she was pretty sure that if he got upset, she could do something to take his mind off his anger. Besides, it was a day to break the rules, wasn't it?

As he approached the cabin, he couldn't see any movement within, thanks to the glare from the sun through the trees. He'd had to venture out much farther than he'd expected to gather some firewood. The ground within a hundred yards of the cabin had been picked clean. At first, he'd tried to keep the cabin's chimney in sight as he explored. But after leaving their valley and entering the next, he quickly realized that his plan would be impossible to follow. He'd brought the compass along, but it was a lot harder to use when he needed to go in any direction other than due East or due west. Maybe he'd take an Adult Ed class on compass reading when they got back.

Finally he hit upon a plan that would work. As he gathered the wood, he piled it on the hilltop nearest the cabin. As the stack got larger and easier to see, he was able to venture farther and farther away. He was just patting himself on the back when he noticed a small yellow arrow painted on the base of one of the pine trees. It pointed back in the direction of his wood stack. After a quick investigation he found several more arrows pointing back towards the cabin. Clever.

Assured now that he could easily find the way back, he headed deeper into the woods. It was very peaceful, the air heavy with humidity. The pine trees provided spotted shade, their branches allowing shafts of light to penetrate all the way to the forest floor. Few plants grew here; discarded pine needles covered the ground in a thick layer. It would have to be a very strong plant to thrive in such acidic soil.

He had to take care as he walked through. The needles and stray leaves literally blanketed the ground, covering any holes and stumps. Several times he'd almost tripped, his foot dropping into a hole he hadn't seen. There were no paths out here. The way between the trees was open, though the trunks were thick enough that he could see no farther than crest to crest. Soon he noticed that the arrows were now painted white instead of yellow. They still pointed in the same direction. Maybe there was an explanation at the cabin.

He'd gone about a half mile when he stumbled upon one of the items that had been listed in the cabin's owners manual. Sitting, somewhat incongruously, in the middle of the forest, was a wooden table. It was built of heavy-duty oak boards and studs, firmly nailed together. It sat in the middle of a small clearing in the trees, a circle of trees surrounding it like sentinels or guards. It was a pretty large thing, about seven foot long and four foot wide. Around all the edges, thick metal rings had been screwed deep into the wood. As he approached it, he noticed that it was a bit lower than a typical dining room table. The top was very smoothly sanded, though a bit dusty at the moment.

He knew what it was for. The cabin's owner had sent him pictures of the table in use. Just in case, the man had written, there turned out to be a need for it. Knowing he was in the right area, he explored a bit more. Over the next rise he found the X. Nearby, the swing. Farther on, a massive cross. The Y. The cradle. The bench. The horse. Each items had its own valley or crest, so you would either feel completely isolated or totally exposed. He paused at the foot of the Post, considering his options. There was no planning for this kind of thing. It either happened or it didn't. And if it didn't he wouldn't go home feeling disappointed. They could do nothing but play Scrabble for the rest of the weekend and he'd still return happy.

Smiling, he trekked back to the cabin, and spent some minutes moving the pile of firewood from the hill top to the fire pit. The air felt heavier than before and he could taste a storm on the horizon. Tonight might not be a good evening for a fire.

He slipped quietly back into the cabin, hoping not to wake her, then froze in amazement. She was lounging on the bed, leaning back against the brass headboard, her body supported by nearly all the pillows. She wore nothing but a new pair of black panties and the white dress shirt she'd evidently stolen from his suitcase. He'd brought it in case they needed a break from the cabin and wanted to visit the high-end restaurant located not too far away. But it looked much, much better in its current state, completely unbuttoned and casually open, revealing her succulent tits and limber body.

"I see you found something to wear," he said, moving to the bed and standing over her.

"I forgot to bring any towels," she replied, as if that explained everything.

"So you found them?"

"Yep. They're hanging up to dry."

"You know, there's a charge for those towels."

"I figured as much."

It was a foolish sounding exchange, as if stolen from a soap opera. But any chagrin he felt was immediately swept aside as she reached for him, the shirt falling completely open. He almost fell onto the bed, so much did her nearly nude flesh mesmerize him. They kissed, long, languorously, luxuriantly. Then more passionately. Then more lovingly. She apparently liked to change gears as much as he did. Most of the lovers he'd had were all about instant gratification. They didn't enjoy making things last, or building up the tension, or delaying their rewards. Here, finally, was a woman who enjoyed playing that game. And was good at it.

Lips locked together, he rolled her over until she lay atop him. Pausing only a second, he pulled his t-shirt off and kicked off his sandals. Now the only thing between her and him was her panties and his shorts. He reached down to her rear and pulled her hard against him, pressing her pussy lips against the rough edges of his pants. They kissed and fake fucked for a while, scraping his hardness against her softness, each trying to get the other as worked up as possible. He considered taking her right then, knowing that he'd need only to sweep aside the crotch of her panties and release his hardened cock, and then penetrate far into her molten core. But staying on the edge like this, and keeping her on that same precipice, that was so much more tantalizing and pleasurable. If he just thrust his hips like this, he could make her moan like that. And if he caressed her ass like that, he could make her move like this. It was a game they'd been playing, without even touching, for a long, long time.

She broke off the kiss and stilled her hips, which had been humping his body of their own accord in that ancient rhythm ingrained in every woman. She lay atop him, letting her breathing slow, even as he did the same. She could let him take her, signal her desire just by shifting her legs open a bit, but if she did would they have the energy to do it all again that night? No, she wanted them to pace themselves. Besides, she liked going to the edge and then backing away. Nobody else understood that. Nobody else enjoyed the sheer, exquisite keenness of it, the anticipation so razor sharp you could almost get cut by it. Hearing the demand from your body to finish the act, and having the will to deny it, so the next attempt would be even sharper. Men called it 'blue balls,' getting nearly to orgasm but not cumming. Women called it 'frustration,' because it wasn't normally done on purpose; it was just the poor lovemaking of a selfish man.

She'd never really been with any man who shared her enjoyment of such brinksmanship. They always wanted to finish her off, or begged her to finish them off. One lover would even retreat to the bathroom and jack himself off, probably grumbling about her perverse ways the whole time. But, now it seemed that she'd found someone who seemed to enjoy such treatment, and had carefully brought her along, step by step, until she literally ached to have his cock pierce her pussy, sheathed within her warm, wet walls. He'd held back. And that made her want him even more. But later. Because later it would be so much more intense.

He flopped back onto the mattress and she drew herself up on her elbow. The cabin had gotten considerably darker, even though it was only 5:15. No sunlight, she realized. From all the trees? Or clouds? Her gaze caught the note she'd been reading earlier.

"So where's all this fun stuff I've been reading about?"

"This hasn't been fun enough?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"There's room for improvement." She could give as well as she got. "But I was talking about the stuff on that note." She nodded her head to the table.

Slowly, as if he was unwilling to leave her, he got up and retrieved the note, returning to the bed with a smile.

She took it from him, then pointed out the many times the note referenced "fun stuff." He considered her for a moment, then abruptly turned his head into her lap and began lavishing wet, sloppy kisses across her legs and inner thighs. Men! As if she was so easy to distract. Still, she let him continue for a minute, before physically pulling his head off her.