"Loving My Neighbor"

Chapter 1

I first noticed my neighbor about 3 months ago. That’s not to say that I
hadn’t noticed her, but instead that I hadn’t really noticed her. I had
just closed my front door behind me and was fumbling with the key when I
saw that she had dressed for an evening out somewhere. The dark colors of
her dress set off her face nicely, and what caught my attention was that
the dress she wore looked as if she were molded inside it, or perhaps, it
was just the way she moved inside it: the way that only women move. Her
full figure was round and shapely with flaring hips and a curve to her
tummy that hinted at other things. I thought about her all the way to the
ballpark, through and after the game, into the laundry nook to dump my
uniform, and into the shower to rinse off the sweat. I thought about her
while I was putting the analgesic on the bruise on my forearm from the line
shot that I should have handled easily, but that bounced off my wrist
instead because I wasn’t focused on the game. I think that the Southern
Europeans call emotional distractions like that “the Thunderbolt.”

Feelings are curious things. Most men, I believe, share a dominant reliance
on the conclusion resulting from the analysis of the nuts and bolts
representing a bucketful of facts. We mentally sort the bolts and screws
according to length, girth, head size, thread pitch, etc. Now, I confess
that at best I have a poor perspective on feelings, and don’t understand
them most of the time. Nevertheless, I realize that feelings are actually
the nuts that fit the machine screws and bolts in the bucket. I simply have
a hard time seeing how they thread together, but I know that no mechanism
can work unless both the nuts and the bolts are securely fastened together
with the appropriate tension. All that said, I suppose that I earned the
bruise on the wrist by not fully understanding the systems that were at
play in me—in effect, not having tightly connected the bolt with the nut.

After a night of somewhat fitful sleep and waking to find myself thinking
though all the factors that I understood, I decided that I would defer my
departure for work from the normal 5 a.m. to around 7:15 when she left for
work. Perhaps if I were to gallantly perform some service for her she would
notice my existence. I thought about slashing a tire so that I could change
it out for her, rejected that, then considered pulling the coil wire, but
the door was locked. Finally, I decided just to say, “Hello!” I might
follow that up with, “Nice morning, huh?” or, “It looks like another hot
one today.” What came out was, “Howdy!” followed by a long silence
punctuated by my red face and my inability to do anything but smile. It
seemed to me that my smile probably made me look like Howdy Doody or
perhaps more fittingly, the Village Idiot. I drove to work, and somehow
avoided wrinkling any of my fenders—a tribute to the defensive driving
skills of the other commuters that day.

I drove home that evening, despairing for my next step. Here I was,
behaving like an 8 th grader wondering if the girl two seats back and one
over might like me, and I was unable to develop any lucid series of actions
that might allow me to meet her.

It’s said that sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. When I arrived
home she was out front, trying to do something to hold back a flood of
water springing up from near her front hose-bib. I sprinted across the
street, and was able finally to do a chivalrous deed for her. Ahhh! A
knight in shining armor—saved her from the fierce dragon of a broken water
line by braving the spurting flood and deftly turning the main ball-cock 90
degrees. Although her cotton blouse and jeans were drenched through to
saturation, she was so relieved that she for a moment forgot herself and
hugged me close. My face must have communicated the wrong message. I
intended for it to say, “Wow! I love this. Never stop. Please!” what my
face must have said was “Is there a looser woman on the planet? We only
just said hello this morning and already you are rubbing your boobs on me
and trying to get me to bed you.” Fortunately (see the first sentence in
this paragraph) the disconnection between my emotions and my brain resolved
themselves to just the facts (Now we’re getting somewhere because I know
how to do this), and I said, “Hi, my name is Bob, and I’m really glad that
I came along when I did to help you, but it isn’t every day that I get my
suit and tie washed instead of dry cleaned.”

She looked down at me and laughed, and we chatted for a bit about who we
are, what we do and what we like. I could feel the connections growing
between us to a level that I had hoped for. Still, I needed to change my
clothing and get my tools to make a permanent repair to the PVC feeder line
for her sprinkler system. I finished a while before sundown, and she asked
me if I’d like to share dinner with her that evening, and I agreed without
hesitation.

What was served for dinner wasn’t as important to me as being with her. She
had changed to a housedress that allowed her freedom of movement, but gave
her the girl-next-door look. I think that somewhere near the middle of the
conversation she began to see that I felt attraction for her. I noticed
that she looked at me differently, and that her voice was deeper and had
more a breathy sound when she talked. Perhaps some stray voltage from my
thunderbolt had randomly trickled through an open conductor and across the
table to her. We closed the evening talking late, and she said OK when I
asked her to let me take her to dinner the next evening. When I got home I
thought about taking a cold shower, but instead decided to handle the
situation more directly. As least I was able to sleep, and work was easier
to concentrate on the next morning.

Chapter 2

The next evening I picked her up and took her to a small steakhouse. She
was in the same dress that first caught my attention. There was something
about it that made her femininity so clear and well defined. It wasn’t that
it was that revealing—not like the slash and drape that you see at the
Oscars. It just looked like something a girl should wear. After dinner, we
went to a bar that has a dance floor and a live band. They were OK, but I
remember thinking that I might change some of the chord progressions they
used. Still, they were fine for dancing, and as we cruised around the floor
feeling the grace of smooth muscular interaction we noticed the escalating
warmth of each other’s body. With her cheek against mine, it was impossible
to see her face directly, but the careful study I conducted earlier at
dinner was now paying off as I refreshed the visions of her face from
memory.

I really didn’t intend to release my libido from the normal imprisonment
imposed on it by my ego. Best intentions weren’t good enough, because
somewhere in all the dancing and closeness my hormones took control, and
before I realized it there were those familiar tingling and physical
reactions. It was lengthening downward and was thickening. “Get control of
yourself," I commanded me. But it was no use. It was relentless; it was out
of control, and my effort to will it back into submission only made matters
worse. It was also becoming painful as the downward direction was now
straining out and up, tenting my slacks rudely as it strained to stand
tall. It was only a matter of time that my struggle to avert a contact
would fail. There was only one stanza left in the tune, and I had high
hopes I would be able to maneuver her to the booth before she discovered
me. A slight misstep and the tip briefly contacted the inner front of her
left thigh. I was mortified.

For a few seconds there was no change in her behavior. Then, there was a
perceptible difference in the posture her body took, and she moved closer
to me and the formerly inadvertent touch was reestablished. The connection
was not so direct or overt, but rather it felt like a tentative exploration
that made brief but sure contact, abandoned the field momentarily, then
closed in again. It was if she was carefully examining it without looking
at it or taking it in her hand to gain full comprehension. When the song
ended, I led her back to the booth, and although we still sat across from
each other, we now maintained contact at the ankles and both spoke more
gently and studied each others faces more intently than before. I had a few
misgivings that the glasses framing my face probably denied my attraction
to the outdoors and sports, but felt good that sitting in the booth
probably made me look taller than I am. I do know that looking in her eyes
did little to help slow the pace of the thoughts that were suddenly urging
me to action that would meet with disapproval under my mother’s
socialization training. We sat there and talked a long while, but
eventually I decided to take her home so we could both get a good nights
sleep before work the next day.

We kissed at the door a bit longer than either of us had intended, but bid
each other good night and went into our respective abodes.

The second thing I attended to when I made it into my bathroom was taking a
leak. Those that advise taking a cold shower as a means of deferring lusty
thoughts have no sense of time or sequences. They erroneously assume that
one will be able to give appropriate attention to the duties associated
with disrobing. Then, naked as nature, the subject will have the composure
to ignore the knob that has the undivided attention of every neuron located
between the neck and the knees to instead grab the “Cold” handle and turn.
Hah! I don’t know about women, but there is no man alive that could
accomplish that under the distraction I felt that night.

Chapter 3

I had to leave for work early the next morning, but when I came back I saw
her car was there, and so I knocked on her door before I changed out of my
suit. I planned to ask her out again, but she asked me in, and as I passed
by her as she opened the door, she gave me a fleeting kiss on the cheek,
and we went inside together. As soon as the door was closed behind me, she
took my hand to stop my forward progress, and as I turned, kissed me full
on the lips. Thankfully, she was beginning to share my attraction, and this
sudden expression fanned my own ardor and within 5 seconds my loose fitting
slacks were tented out and the familiar hardness was pressed firmly against
her upper leg. When we broke, we both were flush in the face and although I
felt embarrassed by the suddenness and intensity of my feelings, I felt a
warm, soft glow inside that contrasted the hardness and aggressive needs
that were driving the engorgement of my whole pelvic area.

She suggested that I get comfortable, and lose the tie and suit coat. This
was good advice, except that the coat was partly covering the full-blown
evidence of the lusty thoughts I held about her. She suggested that I could
put them in her bedroom/office, and as she sat on the sofa and turned on
the television with the remote, I walked through the door to her room.

The bedroom at first glance met my expectations. It was frilly, but it was
functional with a computer and shelving against one wall and a
bed/nightstand against the other. The computer hummed at idle, and the
blank screen stared into the room and at me.

As I passed the computer table, I happened to bump it with my leg, and the
screen flashed into operation. There, on the screen was an image of the
front room of the house, with my host sitting there with the remote
controller, apparently watching a program that I could neither see nor hear
from the vantage point provided by the camera. I gave it little thought as
I removed my tie, then my coat, then unzipped my pants to relieve the pain
that was caused by the restraint of my clothing. I unbuckled my belt, and
let my pants drop to my knees and dropped my underwear to the same level.
Ahhhhhh! As I stood there facing the bed, I happened to glance at the
computer. She was still watching television, but was now caressing her
breasts, and had opened her knees and had hiked her skirt so that I could
see the white panties at the confluence of her legs. She must've used this
computer camera to be sure that her kids weren't misbehaving as she worked
at the keyboard. How lucky for me, I thought. She has no idea that she left
this on, and I'm getting a private show from a woman that has captivated me
in every way. It was wrong to take advantage of this, I know, but I
couldn't stop. I reached down and put my hand around the middle of the
shaft, and stroked it upward, gently and slowly as I watched her caressing
continue. As I gripped it, I noticed that she took one of the hands that
had been attending to tweaking her nipples and dropped it down across her
belly and between her legs, hiking the dress higher, and then dropping to
the Y formed in the front of her panties. As she touched herself there, I
wanted to rush outside and tear them off and insert my hard tool as deeply
as possible. Nevertheless, I realized that such an abrupt change would
likely end my growing relationship with her immediately. Furthermore, it
would have been very embarrassing for her if I had opened the door to the
living room and surprised her in that position. Better not do that. So, in
those few moments I decided to go against the character that was drummed
into me from childhood that good people don't take advantage of other
people. Here I was, though, taking advantage of a woman that I cared about
in a way that if discovered would likely end the association.

Once the decision was made, I decided to look for some tissues to be sure I
left no mess in her room, and I pulled my pants up, and went to the
bathroom to find some. Since there were none on the cabinet top, I opened
the cabinet door below, and was surprised to find an electric massager that
was slightly longer than my shaft, but not quite as thick. "Well," I
thought, "this might come in handy after I get to know her better." I was
able to find the tissues, and as I returned to the computer I saw that she
had slowed the pace as if she were going to stop and make dinner instead.
As I watched her, though, my hand was moving slowly to massage the tent,
and fortunately, at about the same time, she quickened her pace, too.

I dropped my pants fully to the floor so that I could have both hands free,
and began to stroke it again. As I did, she lifted herself off the sofa
slightly and pulled off her panties and put them between the pillows to
hide them. I moved closer to the screen to get a better look, and sat down
in her computer chair, leaning back and thinking that I wished she would
get up, come into the bedroom and straddle me, then impale herself down on
me and stimulate herself to orgasm using me as a replacement for her
electric massager. My hand emulated the tantalizing confinement that only a
vagina provides, and I held it loosely along the shaft with my right hand,
but gripped it more firmly near the base with my left. I love this feeling.

On the screen in front of me, her hand was slipping up and down inside the
folds between her legs and she seemed to be intently watching the show on
the television. It must've been a cable porno show, because her eyes never
left the screen as she fondled her breasts and rubbed her slit. I was
enraptured in my show, too, and as I watched her, my humping hips drove my
shaft upward while my hand moved downward. I felt that delicious sensation
building, and decided to build it up to just short of cumming. My humping
pace continued stable, but the stroking of my hand increased to nearly a
blur as I stimulated the nerves to build the pressure and increase the
pleasure. As I watched the screen, she was now focusing more attention to
her clitoris, and as she pulled the folds up toward her navel with her left
hand, the tip of the middle finger of her right hand wriggled and danced at
the same pace that my hand was stroking my shaft. I was almost unable to
overcome the urge, but did. Ohhhh! I could feel my heart racing and the
blood was pounding in my head. I got control, slowed, and again enjoyed the
pulses of pleasure that gently throbbed in my pelvis.

I noticed that her pace had slowed, too. What a wonderful coincidence. She
was relishing the feelings that I felt, and it almost seemed telepathic
that she would match my lustful activities. As I watched, she reached
between the pillows and withdrew a vibrator like the one in the bathroom.
She switched it on, and began moving it up and down the slit as her fingers
had been formerly. It was so sensual to watch. Her hips were responding,
and I could see the tensions in the muscles in her inner legs as they
reacted to the feral stimulation being imposed on her by the vibrator. My
stroking matched her pace now. I began to gasp and sigh as the wet
swellings increased and the slurpy sounds of the fluids now gathering at my
own slit beat out the tempo. She began to focus the vibrator more on her
clit, and her back arched backward as her head strained forward to watch
the porno show on her television. I could sense her orgasm, and could
actually hear her moans of pleasure and cries of delight as they sneaked
through the door between us. There was no restraining me now. I felt my
entire pelvis contract as all the muscles worked in concert to jet the
fluid high into the air above me, and to repeat the process several times.

I was short of tissues. Watching her had emptied me, and so I returned to
the bathroom and used toilet paper to clean up the rest. It took a few
minutes to rearrange my clothing and my composure and then I walked out
into the living room. She had adjourned to the kitchen, and called to me to
join her. As I passed the couch, I glanced at the television, and saw her
bedroom on the screen, apparently from the camera on the top of the
computer screen that I had hardly noticed when I was in there.

Chapter 4

I passed through the archway into her kitchen and as I entered she was just
straightening from having been bent at the waist to reach something at the
bottom of the refrigerator. In the half-second that she was fully flexed I
could make out the outlines of her full hips. She was so female in her
form, and as she straightened, and I noticed again the narrowing of her
waist and the flaring of her breast away from her chest as she half turned
toward me. I felt those tingles below my belt again, surprised that my
recent orgasm had not completely emptied all my reservoirs.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked.

“You obviously already know that this critic rated the show five stars.”

She laughed, and closed the space between us with a few steps, then pulled
me close to her, and kissed me full on the lips. I could feel the warmth of
her body and the outlines of her breasts and my erecting member was pressed
against her. Her legs were slightly apart and the mound of her pelvis was
fully against my leg. It felt as though she was somehow using my leg to
open and spread the lips and to press all the inner parts against me
through our clothing.

Our mouths merged, withdrew, teased and tickled and we sucked and licked
each other’s lips and tongues feeling the wetness and slippery vacuum of
love. We held each other close for several minutes, abandoning the need for
food that evening for another human need.

“Look,” she said, “the kids are staying with my sister, and won’t be back
until tomorrow afternoon after school. I’d like you to stay with me
tonight.”

“She’d like me to stay with her?” I thought, “She couldn’t possibly have
any idea how much I want to stay with her.”

“Yes, I’d like to stay.”

“I can tell you enjoyed watching me masturbate. Would you like to do it
again?”

I said nothing, but nodded and smiled as I began to rub myself
absent-mindedly.

She took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom.    As I removed my shirt
and tee-shirt, she stood about 6 feet away from me, moving her hands over
her body and pulling the summer dress she was wearing up to reveal a bit of
her upper thigh, then swirling and revolving her hips and cupping her
breasts. I sat back on the bed, removed my pants and shoes, and stacked up
her pillows so that I was leaning against the headboard with my knees
slightly apart. I smiled and took a gentle grip on myself and slowly
stroked as I watched and waited to see what she would do next.

She stayed about 6 feet away, but now pulled the hem of her dress high
enough so that I could see the naked place where both legs came together.
She only gave me a quick glimpse before she covered her sex and moved her
hands to release the buttons in the front of the dress and she turned away
from me as she slipped her bra around somehow inside the dress and pulled
it free to drop it on the floor within 15 seconds. She turned to face me
again, and crossing her forearms began to heft and caress her breasts
tweaking the nipples inside her clothing so that I got a sense of what she
was doing, but could not fully see it. All the time she was doing this, she
would alternately look at my face and then down to watch my hand moving.
This went on for several minutes, when she again changed her focus, and as
she swayed side-to-side and gently bumped her pelvis forward, her right
hand dropped out of the top of her dress and moved down her belly,
caressing its roundness as she inexorably reached the bottom where it
curved away between her legs. The dress was hiding some of the activity,
but as she stroked her hand up, the dress would ride up with it, and the
material would fold back in on itself between her legs.

She seemed to need a change of pace, but was in no hurry to bring her hands
back to her breasts. As she did, she pulled her arms from the sleeves, and
let the dress hang against her hips covering the lower half of her body,
but revealing the entire top half. I felt an increase in the warmth and
fullness of the engorgement in my pelvic area, and slowed my stroking to
ensure that I didn’t finish before the show was over. It seemed she was
getting more pleasure from showing me her self-stimulation than from the
stimulation itself. Not surprising, since her steady gaze on my hand riding
up and down and the grimaces that would flash across my face were reflected
in her actions moments later. I loved showing her myself as much as she was
in showing herself to me.

She moved closer to me, and supported herself by putting one hand on the
wall behind me as she served her breast to me as if I were a baby needing
nursing time. I nursed, abandoning the self-stimulation and taking both
hands to lift and press the roundness of the breast cones into more
cylindrical shapes for a moment as I alternately sucked the nipples into
full erection. My cock could wait. I wanted to handle and feel these solely
female appendages and devoted myself to making them as hard and sensitive
as I could.

As I sucked and tweaked her nipples, her free hand moved down to her
midriff and undid the last couple buttons allowing her dress to drop to the
floor. I couldn’t fully see what was happening, but I knew that she had
found her clitoris and was working it to build pleasure. After another few
minutes, she stood up, and let me see her full naked body for the first
time. The urge to drive myself deeply into her was nearly overwhelming, but
this was a show worth watching and I knew the wait would be rewarded.  Her
hands were moving across her body, feeling her curves as if for the first
time herself and her reactions were similar to mine when provoked by a
strong neural stimulation (either pleasurable or painful). For example, her
eyes would narrow, and her jaw would drop slightly to draw open her lips
that remained somehow slack. When her hands reached the slit between her
legs, in addition to the reactions on her face, her pelvis would roll
slowly forward, as if the nerves in the slit were tasting something
delicious. She continued this sensual dance for several minutes, sometimes
closing her eyes from the delight, and sometimes looking at my hand
stroking myself as if to get a confirmation of how her demonstration was
stimulating me.

I thought for a moment that she was going to straddle me there on the bed,
and take me in to finish, but she had other ideas, reaching behind me in
the headboard to pull out another large vibrator. This one was flesh
colored and had the shape of a very well hung man. The batteries sounded
very fresh, and it hummed steadily and merrily as she moved it over her
nipples. The tone deepened slightly as she pressed it there, and deepened
even more as she dipped it tentatively into her vaginal opening to
lubricate it. She held it against her clit for a few seconds, and although
the tone remained steady, her legs seemed to get rubbery and her face again
revealed that concentration on the joys being generated in her body.

As I watched her take the buzzer in her hand, and began slipping it up and
down the length of her slit, pausing at the clit and then inserting just
the knob inside her. She leaned back against the wall, to support her upper
body and allow greater access to herself. One hand was free to tweak her
nipples and massage her clit as she wished, and she began to feed more and
more of the tool inside her, sliding it in and out and lifting the base of
it up against her clit as it reached full penetration an pulling it down as
she withdrew it. Her body was now responding with an orgasm, and the
muscular tensions it aroused made look as though her opening muscles were
clinging to the dildo.

As her orgasm began to fade slightly, she changed the pace and the motion,
inserting and twisting it and she began to respond again, peaking like the
tide and with the rhythm of the surf, a demanding relentless opiate of
reproductive urges that are older than man.

After several minutes more she began to show signs of fatigue, and although
I only touched myself evenly since her ministration to her began, I had
been reacting to her as if her pleasure were mine. I could feel the
throbbing in my own pelvis, the tightening of my entire abdomen and the
inability to control the pulsing contractions of my diaphragm that made my
breath come in sporadic gasps. It would take only a couple of strokes to
finish.

I stood, and as I moved toward her muscular and thick thighs, without
warning, my flood erupted, spurting semen that spattered and drained from
her breasts to the top of her pelvis. I gripped it, and pumped it again and
again, as the spurts irrigated her whole belly and chest with slippery but
sticky lubricant. The feelings were so intense that I know my face looked
as if someone had jabbed a knife through one of my kidneys. But this was
pleasure, not pain.

I apologized for leaving the mess in the wrong place, but she laughed and
said there was still plenty of evening left, and that we should shower to
prepare for the rest of the night. Although I was finally beginning to
soften, I knew it would only be a short time before we would be stimulating
each other to the pleasures that only those who are intimate and confident
in each other can achieve. I rested a couple minutes before I followed her
to the bathroom where she had preheated the water.

Chapter 5

When I arrived in the bathroom, she was already in the shower, and she
appeared to be more apparition than flesh through the steamy mist that
fogged the door. As I entered, she heard me come in, and as I relieved my
bladder through my flaccid member I could see her half turn toward me so
that I could watch the ghostly image of her hands wetly sliding over her
breasts and then after re-soaping them, putting her hands between her
thighs and moving her fingers within the now-slick inner folds. To
accommodate more entry, she raised one leg, and continued to massage the
area as she cleansed herself.

I allowed myself the pleasure of feeling my member move to half-erect and
then fully erect without touching it. This was her time, and I wanted her
to enjoy as much of it as she wanted. Before long, she again moaned in
pleasure, and when the sighs subsided I asked if I could help lower her
water-heating bills by joining her. She laughed and agreed, swinging the
door open slightly. She moved aside so I could wet myself under the stream
of water, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take the soap and
create a foamy froth between her hands.

As soon as I moved from directly under the spray nozzle, she began to wash
me with her soapy hands starting at my neck, taking good care of my arms,
progressing down my chest and back over my belly and to my legs. Her hands
were slick as warm engine oil, and although she didn’t directly touch my
love stick she was holding my interest as her hands wetly slid over my
scrotum and down between my legs.

She stopped for a moment to re-lubricate her hands then explored the lumps
and bumps beneath the skin of the shaft. She circled the head with a thumb
and forefinger, teasing and gently squeezing and acquainting herself with
the shapes and sizes of its components. After a few minutes of this, I
suggested that we stop, and save the erection time for later. This seemed
to surprise her, but I explained that I wanted to take my time with this
third orgasm of the evening and that if we stopped now I would be able to
maintain it for a much longer time during intercourse. This seemed to
appeal to her, and she grinned as she pushed me back under the shower,
washing most of the lubricating soap from my body.

We rinsed together, and kissed again for a long time, holding each other
and listening to each other breathe and feeling our hearts beat in our
necks and ears before we decided to get out and dry off.

It was getting late, and we returned to the bed, this time getting in and
touching each other and talking about how lucky we were to have found each
other. Although the talk was non-sexual, the underlying arousal that we had
built in each other was making her squirm and wiggle while I could feel the
pre-lubricating fluid starting to cover the tip.

I moved my hand between her legs, and she responded by opening her knees
wider than her shoulders and letting me move my hand over the area between
her thighs. As I kissed her, her mouth opened and let my tongue drift
around against hers, and she began pushing my shoulders gently down. I
followed her hints, and was momentarily pausing to suck and bite her
nipples before I moved further down and was kissing the top of her mound.
Her hands pushed with more urgency, and I moved my body between her knees
and kissed her full on the folds of her vulva. She gently caressed the back
of my head with her hand, and I could sense that she was using her other
hand to take up on her nipples where my mouth left off a few moments ago. I
flattened my tongue to cover as much area as possible, and moved my entire
face up and down her slit, pressing the lips flat, and bucking my head to
stimulate her clitoral area when I reached the top. When I arrived at the
bottom, I narrowed my tongue to allow it to enter her, and when it was in
as deep as I could drive it, I bucked my face against her to ram it in and
out. When I arrived at the top about 10 or 12 times, her vocal cords began
to take more of a part in her sighs, and I felt the dildo at the side of my
head.

I moved aside and let her insert the tool deep inside, and as she began to
move it in exactly the way she liked with her right hand, I moved to her
left side, allowing her to continue her thrusting, but giving me access to
suck and lick her clit while tweaking and pulling her nipples with my right
hand. As she thrust the tool deep, her hips would roll forward, bringing
her clit into full contact with my sucking and licking. This time, it was
too much for her as she nearly shouted her pleasure.

As her excitement ebbed slightly she put the dildo back in the headboard
and lay back, relaxing. It was time for me, now, and I rolled on top of
her, and slipped myself inside her with one easy stroke. Once inside, I
held it there virtually motionless while I felt her breathing become more
normal and the flush left her cheeks. I wanted this to last for a while,
and slowly and gently thrust inward, feeling every fold inside her, and
when fully in, feeling the folds of her vulva pressed into my pubis, open
and wet and hot and slippery. As I fucked in and out like this, I told her
how beautiful I thought she was, how wonderful it was to be looking into
her eyes, eyes that seemed to draw me in more deeply than was possible by
what I was doing below. We were linked at that moment, soul to soul, not
overtly erotic, but two separate bodies linked together not only as one in
the sexual sense, but as one in the emotional and intellectual sense. As we
passed through those moments together acquiring the knowledge of our
growing bonding and growing in trust for each other the movements below
began to take on new meaning.

I had a real need to explore the edge of passion with her, and she agreed
to try to stay linked like this for several hours without actually passing
through to orgasm. That settled, I began a slightly increased pace of
thrusting, being sure to keep good contact with her clitoris to build her
along with me. After about 5 minutes of thrusting like this, I began to
sense the building of my orgasm to the point of danger of finishing, and
slowed the pace again. We talked about our sensations together, the
delights we were feeling and the level we were both at. She had her first
orgasm in about 20 minutes, and I passed the first test by not being swept
along with her and ending our lovemaking. As she descended, we talked about
the pleasure she had experienced, and the joy I was having with my fully
engorged member so deeply inserted into someone I cared about.

Over the next two hours she had several more orgasms and around midnight it
became clear that our natural lubrication would last only a short while
more. I kissed her again deeply, looked into her eyes, and began my climb
to finish. How exquisite the sensations. What a wonderful reward for being
patient. My body took over after a few more thrusts, and I began driving it
in as hard and deeply as I could. My pelvis was crashing into her soft
mound, and my scrotum was drawn up fully against me as the release finally
came. My thrusting was instinctive, and was not controlled by my
consciousness. The head seemed double its normal size, and each time it was
withdrawn it stimulated every nerve. The semen flooded out and filled her,
but I have no recollection of that. Only the joy of looking at this woman I
loved and the semiconscious notion that I was pumping my seed into her,
giving her my children, filling her with my life.

The moment was over too soon, and although I stayed hard and firmly
connected to her for a long time, I knew that we needed to get some sleep
and be prepared for another day at work. We cleaned up, then lay next to
each other listening breathing steadily, feeling each others body lifting
and falling with each breath, tugging almost imperceptibly at the sheets.