The Third

As she lowered herself down onto his cock she thought:

“This is the best birthday present ever.”

And she didn’t mean her lover’s beautiful appendage. Oh no. She’d had that far too many times to consider it a novel idea for a birthday gift. Not that she didn’t appreciate it. In fact, she moaned as its width split her open. You don’t look down on a package like that even if you unwrapped it every day. She liked her partner’s cock just fine. But it was the figure standing in the shadows that was her real present.

A Third. He’d found them a Third.

She heard her lover groan as she slid him all the way into her, relishing the way her wet pussy made its sticky touchdown against his groin. He was lying on his back with his knees bent over the end of the mattress, his feet planted against the floor. She loved this reclining position as it let her straddle him, facing forward, his only view of her  being her shoulders, her spine, the curve of her ass as she drove herself down onto his spike.  She let her head fall, her hair brushing against her back as her neck rolled  around in pleasure.  Completing her downward thrust, she took pause. Lifting her head and opening her eyes, she saw their Third — stroking….stroking…slowly  in the shadows. Locking eyes across the room she stretched out her arm and lifted her palm upward, gesturing with one curled finger. The Come-hither.

As the figure moved towards them through the dimly lit room, she reached her arms behind her and leaned back. Their conjoined figures made a sexy pyramid in the flickering candlelight. The Third stood in front of her and she felt fingertips and breath pass lightly over her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She surrendered further to the backward stretch, lowering herself until she lay resting against her lover. She could feel the dry tickle of his chest hairs on her shoulders, and the slightly sticky hair of his stomach and thighs clinging to the small of her back, damp against her buttocks. His cock pressed against the lower lip of her vagina as she lay back, forcing his cock to press forward and up while still inside her. When his slippery length threatened to escape, she wriggled her way down a little further to secure their connection.

With one finger, The Third traced a line from the hollow of her neck, down to the curved split of her body, stopping just before the touch reached her clit. She turned her head and let a hot sigh escape onto her lover’s shoulder. Hearing her pleasure at another’s touch, a deep growl escaped from his throat. He dragged the palms of his hands down her arms, grasping her wrist to pin her to against the mattress.

Her legs were pressed open wide, thrown spread-eagle over her lovers. He pressed his thighs back pulling her knees open a little wider. She took in a quick breath at the stretch in her thighs; at the way her already split-open pussy opened wider to the slightly cool air of the room. They were exposed the two of them – all cock and cunt, onjoined and made available.  She released herself to the sensation as their Third began to lick them. At first all she felt was the press of unfamiliar hands on her inner thighs. She knew a tongue was being applied to the base of her lover’s cock. The wet, flat breath of it was sliding along that tense median line between his balls. She knew The Third would tongue the tight skin at the bottom of his shaft. And then The Third would swoop the wetness forward, a curling streak of muscle moving upward, smooth and slick in a languid, fluid motion. She could tell by the moaning of her lover that The Third was working up his shaft, getting closer to the place where their bodies met. Then the transition! The Third’s hot breath and wetness was spreading over them both, tonguing them where her cunt stretched in a wide, tight circle around his pulsing width.

The Third had lingered at this space, pressing against the seal between their bodies.  She gasped we she felt the slip of a tongue sliding back and forth to take in each side of her cunt. The tip traced the fold of her pussy on one side of his cock. Then moved over and repeated the down-to-up stroke on the right side. She luxuriated in the feel of an unfamiliar cheek resting against her thigh while the tongue stroked them both repeatedly. A delicious pressure enveloped her as The Third’s tongue tried to slip between the edge of her cunt and the hard shaft of his cock. But he was engorged. She was swollen. There was no passage between them.

She tipped her body slightly around her lover, pressing his tip against the swollen spot inside her. He pressed his hipbones into her and pinned her wrists down harder. Just then Third stopped lapping the folds of her cunt, and reached her clit. She nearly levitated. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to stand on end. Her clit was swollen and protruding above the folds of her labia. The lapping came again and she arched her upper back and cried out. Her lover pinned her tight as the Third wrapped pursed lips  around her clit and sucked. The wet suction pulsed in rhythm, stretching her clit and drawing it in, the letting it fall back into place. She began to moan in conjunction with each press-and-release.

Her lover recognized the sound of her approaching orgasm, and released her arms. She lay submissive against him as he drew his hands across her belly, sliding them across her breasts. Their third took an especially long deep draw on her clit, pulling it extra hard, extra long, extra deeply between wet lips. With the suction came the tight press of her lover’s fingers against her tits. A pulse of tongue against her clit. The pinch of his fingers around her tits. Pulse Pinch. Pulse. Pull. Pulse. Twist.  There was no escaping the sensation. No deadening of the pain. She was crying out at every motion – when her lover started trusting rhythmically inside her. Now the jab of his cock against her g-spot joined the sensation overload and she felt herself gushing around his cock.  Abandoning any sense of rhythm, The Third was licking her mercilessly, eating her out like an animal. One minute her pussy was being feverishly licked. The next all she could feel was the Third’s head as it lashed frantically from side to side, while a mouth thrashed her pussy. Her cries came out is short ragged bursts as the force between her legs pounded harder. Her lover dropped her tits, and pressed his hands hard against
her hip bones driving her down, pressing himself a more deeply into her swollenness, releasing his cum to flow into her. The Third licked her lover’s leavings as they seeped out her, passing beyond the seal of their bodies. She felt a tongue, lips, teeth, still churning against her clit as The Third drank their juices down. The thought of this sticky offering being consumed overwhelmed her already charged senses. She screamed as the explosion of her orgasm rushed into her cunt…her head…her chest. His cock  continued to flow inside her. Her cunt pulsed with each orgasmic contraction.  The Third sat back, and watched them cum.

Atop the Driftwood

setting the scene
for pale breasts released skyward
bitten red

and his body, thrusting forth
dangerously
between the metal teeth of his zipper
waiting

for her mouth,
his hands tangled in her hair,
like seaweed in the branches,
pressing her inward
as she drains his salt across her tongue.

where else
but atop the driftwood,
there in the gentle rain.

Steamy Stories: Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

The lake was always a ghost town the Monday after the Fourth of July holiday weekend.  All the weekend warriors trying to jam a season’s worth of R&R had faded away for a few days, until then next round of stressed-out people arrived at the cabins the following weekend. After the blare of ghetto blasters and the whine of jet skis, Nancy was happy to pull her long arms through the water, stroking her way from one end of the quiet cove to the other.

This was her solace – her’s and Joe’s—the little house on the lake with the blue canoe and the wooden dock floating on the water. They loved it here, the intimacy and the stillness. As she neared the edge of the cove the water began to get cloudy from the soft sediment around a fallen tree, so she flipped around and headed back to the dock. Joe was there now, his morning coffee steaming from the mug in his hand, his swim trunks already on. They rare wore anything else at the cabin, swim suits and cover-ups – or nothing at all. She stroked her way back to the dock, admiring her sweet husband every time her head emerged to take a breath. When she got to the dock, she folded her arms carefully on its splintery surface, her legs bobbing below her reflected in the otherworldly green of the water. Joe wasn’t in a talking mood yet, something she could tell by the pinch in his still-waking eyes and the high level of coffee in his mug.  But she could see that one part of his body was certainly awake. The red fabric of his trunks was distended like a pup tent around the hard morning wood of his cock.

 “Hey you,” she said squinting up at him through the late morning sun. “Why don’t you shimmy on down here and let me take care of that.” Joe shivered slightly as she put her hand, wet and chilled from the lake on his warm crotch. “What?” he said startled, fogged. Nancy pointed to the ladder descending from the dock into the water. If he sat on the top plastic step, she could hold on to the hand rails and give him quite a blow job. “Oh!” he said, a smile of recognition and delight spreading across his face.

Considerably more awake now, Joe put down his coffee and dropped his shorts in record time. “Geez! That’s cold!” he said, stepping on to the ladder and lowering his feet and legs into the water. “There will be shrinkage!” he quipped. Nancy gave a short bark of a laugh. Even with shrinkage she’d have to breathe carefully to control her gag reflex. The man’s length was something of a legend. Joe shivered again as his ass touched the chilly water and the cold plastic of the step. The he spread his legs wide, showing her his balls, shaved and swollen the in water, and his cock arched long and red above the wetness. She loved the way his skin glowed shiny and supple, like butter-soft leather, the foreskin pulled back tight in his fullness, the slit of his head open like a mouth making a small ‘o’. She loved stroking it with her hand or her tongue when it was fully distended like this. She did so now, just a light pressure of her thumb on the underside of his cock from the base to the tip, while her fingers curled lightly around him. This procured the desired effect as the first drop of cum emerged, glistening on his tip. “Mmmm. First Cum.” she murmured. Joe knew this was her favorite dish. She picked its sticky goodness off his tip with a flick of her tongue. He put hands on her dark wet hair and moaned.

Sliding her mouth onto his cock, Nancy flicked a few drops of water on Joe’s chest with her long fingers. He shivered at the contrast of her warm tongue and the cold water. Now droplets of water sparkled in his golden chest hair like diamonds. She tipped her head sideways as she took him and in and out in long strokes, enjoying the view when her face was far enough away from his crotch to catch it. After just a few strokes, Joe was pulling her head hard against him, thrusting forward slightly and striking the back of her throat with the head of his cock. Nancy pushed away, pulled her head back. “No,” she said, “wait.” So Joe put his hands behind him, leaning back into them again the dock, throwing his head back instead so the sun struck him full on the face. He looked so gorgeous, arched back in the sunlight like that, his chest sparkling, his waist lean and bare, his entire lower body glistening with water, the legs on his thighs framing her head, the hair on his legs slicked back by the water and the stroke of her hands. Nancy was eager to eat him, eager to please him, eager to drink him down.

Joe’s semi-reclining posture had opened up another opportunity as well. When he leaned back, he tipped his tailbone back slightly on the stair step, and his ass was no longer pressed firmly against the blue plastic. Nancy decided to use this to her advantage, and holding on to the railing with one hand, she maneuvered her other hand under water, pressing her finger against his asshole the next time she descended upon his cock. “Oh God!” Joe exclaimed, his voice echoing across the still water. “Oh God! Oh God!” Nancy slid her finger in, tipping her hand to protect him from her nails. “God.” Joe moaned again. “Deeper.” Nancy loved the sense of power she got from fucking him this way. She felt her own cunt swell tighter as she increased the speed of her long sucking and the depth of her penetration. Joe continued to moan. Nancy came down long and hard on his cock, taking in as much of the length as she could into her wet mouth, sliding a second finger into his ass as she went. She twisted her hand slighting, turning on the pulse. Joe was barely breathing with sensation was so strong. “Fuck!” The word exploded from his mouth and his cock exploded in her mouth. Hot salty cum was rolling over her tongue, spilling out the sides of her mouth. He arched his cock hard against her, his ass lifting fully off the step, his legs flexing on either side of her lifting her out of the water slighting with the strength of his thighs. “Fuck! Fuck!” he exploded again, as the waves of orgasm ran through him. She could feel his muscles ripple in her mouth, feel the rhythmic contractions around her hand. Nancy bobbed her head a few more times until Joe begged her to stop, collapsing back down on the ladder. She slid her fingers out and held on to the step railing, looking up at him with a please smirked as he collapsed back in exhaustion.

“Yummy?” she asked. “Definitely,” came his reply ,weak from the release. Nancy laughed and pushed off from the dock, resuming her swim. “Hey, where are you going?” Joe said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Isn’t it your turn?” Nancy just kept up her stroking, leaving him in his afterglow. There was time later, with him on his knees and her spread wide and naked in the hammock….

Steamy Stories: A Boy of Her Own

A Boy of Her Own

She could hardly believe what the last 72 hours had brought. The suddenness of it, the near cataclysmic change in her world, in her perception of her place in it. The sway and the shock of it rocked her so; it was almost akin to violence. How in the world had she become lover to this much younger man?

They had known each other for awhile now – a year, maybe a little more—had engaged in small talk and the vague kind of flirting two people do when they know there is no. possible. way. …. but find each other attractive nevertheless. She supposed something had been percolating there in the back of her skull. But she had been unaware of its unattended to presence.

Nothing had changed really, other than a slight shift in her work schedule, leaving him and her off at the same time, and her children still safely ensconced in school. She couldn’t really see what had prompted, three days ago, the slight brush of his lips on her cheek as they hugged hello, the trailing of his fingertips once along her neck as he pulled her hair out from the collar of her coat; and again his lips on her neck as they said their goodbyes, so light she was half doubted their tender reality.

A day passed where their paths did not cross and now on this third day they saw each other under completely normal circumstances—he making her coffee as her favorite barista, she browsing the magazines while she waited for him to steam her foam. She watched him from the corner of her eye, the deft way he measured and tapped, the length of his fingers as he snapped on to-go lids. She realized with a start that she was feeling proud of him. Proud of his measured efficiency, the obvious master of his skill.

Pride was a mother’s prerogative. She knew his mother, for crying out loud—had been friends with her in that way that you are friendly with whoever you sit next to regularly in yoga class. Side by side they had lined up their mats, chatting for weeks before she had made the connection that the son her friend spoke of was the handsome young man at her favorite coffee house/bookstore. Small world, indeed. The closeness of the connection made her squirm in discomfort.

As he passed through the line of customers, she sat alongside him at the counter. He pulled orders with confidence, making light conversation with ease. Not long ago he had passed her a mug made warm by his touch. Now it radiated heat into her cupped hands—a prophetic echo of the way her own hands would be cupped around his the heat of his body later that day. How could she have known? How could she have predicted the wrapping of her fingers around the curve of his neck, his protruding hip bone, the hot swell of his cock grown large under her touch.

She stayed at the counter until his shift was over. He had asked her to hang out, to wait for him. Her chest was tight with unspoken possibilities. He was young. So very young. Young enough to take a barista job seriously. Just barely of age, and well below the cougar equation of “half your age plus seven”. This was the common knowledge the magazines seemed to promote about women her age – too young to be old, too old to date college. She rolled her eyes at herself. Ridiculous. She cracked open her book trying to convince herself that nothing would come of this unseemly flirtation. She read while eating her scone in small nibbles.

After his shift they sat and talked books, he consuming an enormous sandwich appropriate only to the metabolism of the young. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest, the hunger at the back of her throat. He asked casually, could he come to her house? Drop off some books he’d found for the kids? They had just arrived at the shop. The next novel in an adventure series. Yet another picture book about dogs for the little one, obsessed with all things canine. She spun the mug in her hands, peering at the dregs in the bottom as if to find guidance amongst their leavings. Yes, she answered. Yes, everyone is gone now, but the kids would be home in a few hours and would be happy to find his gifts on the dining room table. A look passed between them then—not short, not long, but she thought, knowing. Breaking her gaze she gathered her things to go.

At the house she had let him in, dropped her bag on the sofa. Almost as soon as he shut the door, she was on him, and he upon her, his lips like the opening of petals. Their tongues were quick to find one another and the built up heat of the past weeks escaped on their breath. The teased each other with their kisses, their smiles emerging at the fluidity of it all. There were words between them, a brief few about discretion, the probable short lividness of this their small adventure. They did not rush, sinking eventually onto the bed, one that had not seen so much of someone else’s skin for quite some time. They moved through all the lovely, languid overtures, pausing from time to time for her to look at him, for her to stroke his neck. He had moves this young one. Skill beyond her imagining in one so fresh-pressed and new. There was a confidence there he had not previously portrayed, accept amongst the coffee mugs. She knew he would have some experiencing of course, remembering her own years of high school blow jobs followed by door room couplings. But he moved like a man–not like the yoga friend’s son that she had expected. He turned her so her hips aligned with his, quickly pinned her arms above her head, laughed at her surprised smile. Soon his fingers were slipping under the scoop of her shirt, exposing her breasts held aloft these days only by bras with infrastructure. Deftly he sipped them out of her satin cups; his lips too light for skin that had fed children – this the only indicator of inexperience, of a young man’s limited knowledge of women’s ways.

Without even thinking her fingers found the waist band of his jeans, unbuttoned the fly, sank below the edge of his boxers. He moaned ever slightly as her hands slid down and cupped his ass. Kissing her more intensely now as they rolled on their sides, he pulled her leg over his hip, pressing his hardening cock against her. They smiled at each other often now as they continued their journey; he asking her not to feel guilty about the age difference, she surprisingly angst free. This was not love after all, connection yes, but almost entirely physical. Pure sex. For the first time she realized what men meant when men said that it was “just sex.” She felt empowered by the scandalous truth of this reality that was right now before her…under her…perhaps soon to be in her.

He palmed her chin on his fingers, tipped her head up and moaned before burying his face in her neck, sliding his tongue down her throat to the hallow of her collarbone, then descending once more to her breasts. She mentioned almost like an aside, that perhaps he deserved a younger fitter body than her own. For the first time since they’d touched he called her by name, his voice somehow stern, as if shocked by this treasonous thought. Then without another word he returned to his lapping exploration. Looking directly at each other without pretense they ground against each other half-dressed, pants sliding down and skirts hiked high. She moved on top of him to ride him while they kissed and kissed, devouring each other: lips, tongues, earlobes. When her thighs grew tired of the rhythm she slid to her side, licking every inch of available skin until her hands found his velvety hardness. He groaned as she worked him, sank back and surrendered to her touch. She drove the blood into him, drifting over his shaft, cupping his balls, fingering along the edge of his stretched foreskin. Once he touched her hand to slow her, guide her. They entwined their fingers together stroking as one, she growing ever wetter at the unexpected union.

She wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take it, this first coupling with her ridiculously young lover. In fact, she had already called his hand away from the wet lace of her bikinis, his teasing fingers suddenly seeming too close, too intense for the flighty uncertainty that lay within her. These first glimpses at sexual adventure with the barely-twenty set were still new to her, and she was unwilling to surrender herself to the vulnerability that would accompany her cumming under his touch. She was too hesitant to stray too far to fast from the morays of hearth and home. There would be time—hopefully many other times, to build on this delicious adventure. So instead of letting him slide into her, she moved him more forcefully towards his end. She was giddy with the first shinning drops of cum on his cock, swirling the moisture around his tip, using the sweet flow to slicken his shaft as she stroked him. She realized with a bit of a start that she was longing to watch him cum, to see his juices flow. She would have to mop him up with whatever sheeting was at hand. But even the thought of the smear of him in her bed heightened her arousal. She whispered what she wanted in his ear, how he wanted to watch him come, to taste his salty sweetness only after it had seeped between her fingers. His body arched up into her almost before her sentence was done. He gasped at the thought of it, and with just one stroke, and then another her palm was absorbing his hot offering. She slid into the mess eagerly, thrilled by its sticky heat, using the lubrication to swirl her hand a few more times around his tight balls, his pulsing cock, overstimulating him with pure unadulterated desire. Eventually he pulled her away, unable to take another second more of a good thing. He kissed her then, laughing. She slid one wet finger indulgently into her mouth, then slipped one long digit between his own lips bidding him to taste himself on her. She pointed out that perhaps they were being ridiculously inappropriate. He commented that after that experience, he really didn’t care.

He offered to reciprocate, and she declined, saving that sensation for another day, savoring things. They mopped things up then, fixed buttons, adjusted clothes. The agreed to infrequent meetings—surely not dating–but meeting each other as they could. The unspoken anticipation of the next stage, and the next, and the next rested like a gift between them. She was dizzy with the change within her, the sound of her pulse in her ears, the rush of adrenaline in her body. She had forgotten, over this long dry spell the power she had wielded, the pleasure she could offer.

At the door, she slid her tongue around his mouth one more time as they said her goodbyes, and he slipped away before the children came home from school. This gave her time to catch her breath. She moved on with her day–switching the laundry, putting away toys, remaking the bed – all with the memory of his skin against her palm and her body wet beneath her clothes.

Steamy Stories: Consumption

Consumption

He leaned over my desk this morning, his face serious and still, whispering ideas for another rendezvous.

Sometimes we are like glassy waters, lying placid and every day. Then, suddenly, the boiling starts, the rolling waves of hidden heat. This then, is when hunger overtakes us and we hold an ache behind our breastbones, moaning inwardly at every brush-by of touch or breath.

We touch each other just daringly outside of the sight of others. I lick his neck, drag my hand across his chest. He palm my ass, kisses me quick and silent, just the soft pull of his lips on mine in an abandoned hall. Under conference tables, we slide our hands too high on each other’s thighs, heightening each other’s arousal until finally in some hidden place he twines his fingers in my hair, pulls my head near his skin, kisses me in dangerous places.

Late last night in a haze of heat and pheromones I came to stand behind him at his desk, where he works his vampire hours. He turns his eyes from the glowing screen, spins his chair to face me, his hands up my skirt, past my stockings, and sliding straight inside me in seconds. I am in a haze, just a blur of desire and wetness and the ever deepening ache, ache, ache in my chest, my gut, my thighs. We are playing a dangerous game. I break away from him, pleased as a cat on a hunt, drunk on his desire for me.

But that was just a moment late on a midweek work night. Today we circle each other in the presence of others, steaming like bodies emerging from a hot shower into a cold room. He whispers to me his hours, tells me of the place where he will be alone, most likely with an erection in wait. I thrill at this invitation, at his aggression, his assertiveness.

Instantly I swell, and then I wait. All the long day I wait – meetings unfolding before me, emails, phone calls, small chat around the coffee maker. All my tasks feel like mosquitoes, distracting me from the time and place where I will be his presumed conquest, but truly he will be mine. I wait for the time when his hands will be under my clothes, his lips on my neck, his tongue between my teeth. I will thrill at how he takes my fingers into his mouth, obediently, hungrily. He will want me on his lap then, both of us sitting in his office chair, grinding against the heat of his cock. He will bite my tits, rub his fingers insistent and sticky on my clit until I pulse and cry out, die a little death. I cannot wait to feel his eagerness cut through me, to gasp at his arrival in my void, to rock him to climax deep in my cunt, held tight between my thighs.

“Playmates, not soulmates” is our motto. Still, the urgency of this scares me; the intensity of my need for his body is like one I’ve never known. Unexplainable. Visceral. When I see him through the glass walls of our offices, serving all the long hours to our master, the firm, I yearn. I hunger. I WANT. So what is that then? This thing too intense for play, too insanely carnal for love? Like a beast, it wants to consume, and I am surprised to find myself wiling prey. I realize with a thrill of terror that we are both in the grip of a predator, more than willing to be consumed.

Steamy Stories: The Need of Memory

The Need of Memory

a friday fantasty from the imagination of Miss Virginia Prude

 

I can hardly breathe to think of it, that it was—it is—real. That you wanted me with such unchecked determination. That you spoke my name, one word laden with meaning, hushed like a lover. Like one who loves

 

That you came to me in the night smelling of club and cigarette, all hands and hunger, fingers all places at once, the ache of it with me still. That you drew my leg across your hips, your hand drawing across my thigh, your eyes half asleep. You pressed your lips on my neck, ate my mouth with your lips—so full, so clever. Wrapped your lean arms around me, drew me into your body. The intensity of it leaving me as hazy as a dream.

 

I want to remember: your confessions, your fantasies. That you wanted me in you and on you and you on me and in me. I want to remember your fingers in my hair, lifting it away to reveal my face, turning us in front of the mirror to watch me take you in.

 

I need to remember your smile, breaking like a door that opened to shine a blade of light across your face. So rare to see a man smile in the midst of hunger—pure, impulsive, like a secret joke, a riddle just for two. And your glee…at being under my hand, under my control, submitting to the press of my hands on your wrists, the ever-lengthening stretch of your body, the pressure and stroke of me everywhere while your skin tightened along all the delicate edges. The tension in your voice groaning out your readiness.

 

I need to remember the way you longed for me, with hunger and the need to be touched, to touch, to be lost in the sensation of one another. I need to hold on to the soft touch of your kiss on my inner thigh, of your chin glistening in the bed sheets. The husk of your parched voice asking “Do you like this? This? This?”

 

Will it continue, the richness of these things? Your skin in my mouth, my tongue on your neck, your hands on waist, your lips on my breasts? I hedge against uncertainties, against the vagrancies of personality and time. In case this fails, in case one night is unexpectedly, unforeknowingly, our last. I stokepile memories, rebuilding these things in my mind, in my body until I am sure they are real.

Steamy Stories: The Lake House

The Lake House

a steamy story from the imagination of miss virginia prude

 

Though it would be thronging with friends in just a few short weeks, the lake house was quiet this early May weekend. Just a few of the co-owner-friends came out so soon in the Spring. Only four of the eight fair-weather residents were here now, and two were out hiking when she heard him call her name from the sleeping porch.

 

The chaises lay there, all in a row facing the thinning forest and the lake front beyond. They’d yet to unroll the striped awning, and though the sun was shining down in full force on the house, it was still cool in the midday at this time of year. Alec was reading on one of the chaises, a blanket near by in case it got too cold. “Kara,” he called, “come over here.” And he extended his arm towards her from across the veranda. She crossed the threshold and walked towards him, taking his hand. He drew her wordlessly down to lay at his side.

 

They had often lain like this, mostly platonic, friends enjoying each other’s closeness and warming themselves with each other’s gentle heat. But that was before. Before they hit the second half of their 30’s. Before real life rushed in. And most importantly, before their break ups.

 

Kara had recently ended the most significant relationship of her life—an eight year saga that sank with a vengeance just three months ago. Its emotional undertow still sometime pulled her under into the damp world of loss. She was only just now staying above the surface for extended periods, gulping great breaths of air in her renewed singleness. Sometimes, Kara thought she could see a distant but possible shore where she might be happy again.

 

Alec had divorced a year ago, after finding his wife in bed with his closest friend – two life supports collapsing at once (and two less visitors to the house on the lake.) He had recovered more quickly than Kara, telling everyone that he had known it was over before it was over. In truth, it was the loss of his friend that hurt more than the end of a marriage that had always been thin-ish – like a drink when the ice has melted into it.

 

Now they were both “getting back to normal,” as their friends described it, and the lake house had been a healing shelter for them both.

 

Kara lay with her head on Alec’s shoulder, while he curled his arms around her. Soon, he was stroking her hair, pulling his fingers through the long silkiness of it. Except for this stroking motion, they lay very still. Each felt the heat of the other’s skin where it touched in the areas that were newly exposed after a long winter of turtlenecks. Kara’s bra strap slipped below the capped sleeves of her stretchy knit top. Alex’s bicep brushed against it where his arm emerged from his plain white tee.

 

Kara reached out tentatively and stroked the skin of his neck, drifting from the stubble on his jaw line to the edge of his shirt collar. Once….twice…again, before slipping the pads of her fingers under the neck of his shirt, and sliding along the edge of his collar, pulling down just slightly to expose the light hair on his chest. At this gesture, Alec turned on his side and rotated her towards him. He grasped the back of her thigh, throwing her leg over his hip, making her jeans stretch tight over her ass. He wrapped her body around him like one who had rehearsed his movements in his mind. Kara breathed sharply inward, then smiled at her friend. Their faces were just inches apart as he pulled their bodies even closer together with a hard tug. Kara immediately felt his hardness against her pelvic bone and tipped into press it. Alec’s breath came out with a hot sigh.

 

Without speaking they did what they always should have done, their mouths finding each other, consuming lips and tongue and skin in hungry mouthfuls. At first he held her head in his hands, pressing her to him in his eagerness. Then his fingers trailed down her hair, her neck, along her breast bone and the v neck of her shirt. When he reached the edge of her simple bra, Alex plunged his fingers under the soft fabric to pinch her nipples. The pleasure rushed into her chest like a hot drink. Kara moved against him then, pressing her hips rhythmically against his cock, rubbing him through their jeans like teenagers at a drive in movie. (They had known each other since then, after all.) They looked at each other with eyes wide and laughing. “Finally,” was the unspoken message, and their hands flew to take off the other’s clothes—Kara pulling off his t-shirt, Alec dragging away her blouse, swiftly unfastening her bra, slipping it off her shoulders with an appreciative gaze at her breasts, pink and firm with arousal. He bent and kissed each one lingeringly, taking her into his mouth like ripe fruit, like soft chocolate.

 

Again they paused, looking at each other with glee, Kara stroking the contours of his chest, his abs. She was straddling him now on her knees, and the crotch of her jeans pulled up a little, rubbing her with enticing friction. Alec pulled her down even tight against him and she felt her jeans pull up into her wetness. Kara closed her eyes, her tongue slipping out to lick her lips. Alec’s fingers moved to her buttons, undoing the fly, releasing the zipper. She rose up on her knees, moving her legs together and between his spread thighs so he could slip her clothes down over her hips, jeans and panties peeling away as one. Almost immediately Alec had lifted her a little higher on her knees, his hands under her buttocks, his face already buried in her hair. Kara groaned as his tongue flicked forward to her clit, lapping her with more hunger than she had ever seen in any man before. She bore her hands down on his shoulders and his drifted up to her breasts, finding their way by touch, pulling hard on her tits as he ate her.

 

Kara ground almost involuntarily against his face, unaware if she was being a fair lover, totally unselfconscious in her hunger to peak. He was already drenched in her juices and within minutes her body crashed into a pulsing orgasm. At her sharp cry of release, Alec maneuvered his hands between her legs and thrust his fingers into her to feel her pulse. He sucked her a few more times, moaning with a sort of satisfaction, then leaned back against the chaise, more than faintly triumphant.

 

“Proud of yourself, are you?” teased Kara from her stance above him, her fingers drifting lazily through her pubic hair and down the insides of her thighs.

“Definitely.” was his cheeky reply.

“Well then,” she said rolling off the chaise a little awkwardly and stripping her pants off all the way, “I suppose turnabout is fair play.” Alec reached out one hand to stroke her hip, drifting down her leg to her knee cap, the curve of her calf. Again with the ridiculous smiling for both of them.

 

Kara stepped her legs wide to straddle the chaise, and lowered herself down onto his upper thighs, her wet fuzz just a fraction away from all his swollenness. She brushed the hair of her cunt against his balls, licking her lip with the tip of her tongue as she stroked the downward arch of each of his hip bones. Reaching for his cock and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him lightly, slipping around in the wetness at its tip with the pads of her fingers. She knew she should probably extend this time teasing him; take him into her mouth, get him almost off before really fucking him. But frankly she didn’t want to wait. She’d spent most of the past decade being the proper lover. Now, with Alec, she just wanted to be herself in the moment. Still holding him in her fist, Kara pressed her other hand against his chest, lifted her hips, and slid herself onto him slipping her hand down his shaft and across his hip and she went down. Alec held her hips and laid his head back, eyes closed and she moved herself on him. She pivoted her hips in slow circles, rubbing his chest, watching his face express deep pleasure. After a time she tipped her hips forward and he put his hands on her thighs to feel her muscles flex as she lifted herself up and down the length of him, driving his shaft deeply into her, his head striking the tender spot behind her pelvic bone. Kara began to make short pulses of sound with every thrust, the sound of pleasure bordering on pain as the length of him created a delicious pressure inside her. Alec began that familiar male litany of ‘Oh Gods,’ and her own sound grew louder as his voiced pleasure turned her on and on. He was thrusting now too, in time with her, gripping her ass and driving her down harder and harder. Finally, Alec tipped his hips up higher and harder than the other thrusts, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Kara rode him a few more times, getting a few last strokes of pleasure before he twitched with over stimulus, then slowing to a gentle rocking before drifting to a stop.

 

“Mmmm.” She hummed as she lowered her self down against him, her breasts pressed against his now sweaty chest. “Yum.”

“Yum, indeed!” he replied, pulling the chaise blanket over them and burrowing his face against her now messy hair.

“We should do that again sometime?” Kara asked, tracing around one of his nipples with one fingernail. Though she was trying to be casual, she knew she hadn’t quite kept the worried sound from her voice.

Alec drew back against the chaise cushions, moving away from her slightly and tipping her head up so he could look into her familiar brown eyes. “Yes.” he said steadily, “This—and more—again, and again, and again….”



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