It was three weeks before they met again, and then only for a couple of hours. Charlie took a room, and they just cuddled, fully dressed. They kissed and spoke of dreams of passion yet to be, and gazed at one another and whispered about "next time."
A few weeks more, and "next time" came. He slowly stripped her, kissing her mouth, her secret spot, her perfect breasts and belly, caressing her and stroking her pale, smooth body as he bared it; and by the time she lifted her hips so he could take her panties, she was pink-cheeked and breathing rapidly.
He was still fully dressed. She liked that, sometimes. It made her feel more vulnerable, more at his mercy, more given to his pleasure.
He kissed her deep, and she kissed back as he explored her pussy with his hands; and when he slid down to kiss her there, she spread herself for him with eagerness.
He kissed and teased her pussy for long minutes, touching her lightly with his tongue, opening her small, sweet lips with gentle fingers and blowing on her there. She was whimpering and begging for it by the time he licked her sweet and liquid opening and made her shiver.
He took his time. He sucked and kissed and licked her tiny lips, he drilled her tender hole deep with his tongue, he felt her deep with gently probing fingers, and he pulled her open wider and traced her every fold and crevice with his tongue and lips and hands, exploring and exposing her most intimate secrets--and still, he had barely touched her pinkly swollen clit, and she was gasping for it.
He made her wait while he undressed, and he took his time. She was aching for it when he finally resumed--but he only teased her for another moment before he licked her clit with one long, full-contact stroke. Her hips rose off the bed and she moaned, a deep, gutteral sound from deep in her belly.
"UNNnngh.... Oh, Chahlie... I need that, give me more...."
He licked her long and deep, his tongue delving deep into her hole and sliding upward, all the way, up the swollen shaft hidden beneath her tender pussy-flesh, up and across the bare and sensitive head, and up into the inner edges of her pussy hair. Over and over, in long, slow strokes that had her shuddering and humping at his mouth.
He took his time. He dug his tongue into her clit and rubbed it in small circles with the tip; he whipped her there with rapid flicks and flutters till she was gasping in amazement at the intensity of feeling. And he sucked it like a nipple, working his lips around it and squeezing it with his tongue, sucking out not milk but Carol's grunting, grinding orgasm, drawing it to the surface and out into his mouth.
She came, and told him, as he'd taught her; but he did not stop. He kept on sucking her, whipping and squeezing and rubbing her swollen clit with his tongue and lips--right after she came, when she was supersensitive and trembling from her climax of one second before.
"Noooo," she whined, "Nooo, stop," but he sucked another orgasm from her gushing, tender hole--and then another, and another, as she pounded weakly on his shoulders with her fists and sobbed in ecstasy.
And then he slid two fingers in and sucked and licked her more, driving her to near-madness. She pulled her knees back to her chest and gave herself up to it, and he pushed her to a cyclonic climax so intense she saw white dots behind her eyelids and shook in animal convulsion, broken down to nothing but her drooling, spasming hole and her bursting, white-hot clit. Her mind was gone, she was a cunt, a cunt in boiling climax, and nothing more--and then she was nothing at all.
He held her as she came to, shivering and shaking in his arms. She gasped for breath and finally found it, her pounding pulse slowed down, and slowly, very slowly, she came back to herself, and him.
She could not speak for long minutes, but clung to him and kissed his chest and shook with aftershocks. She trembled in his arms and tried to speak, but still could not.
"Chahlie," she finally gasped. "Oh, Chahlie..."
"Are you all right?" he asked softly. Perhaps he had pushed her too hard, too far.
She nodded, her cheek pressed to his chest. He felt no tears. He stroked her gently, soothing her, calming her, bringing her back from wherever she had been scattered. He pulled a blanket up to cover her, and in a minute, maybe less, she was asleep.
He held her for an hour before she stirred. She moved, and jerked, and stretched her arms and legs, then looked up at him blearily, sleepily--but smiling. "Oh, Chahlie," she breathed. "Oh, Chahlie--that was--" She could not find a word and dropped her head back on his chest. "I never came like that in all my life. I never knew I could."
"Did you like it?"
He felt her cheek against him as she smiled. "I couldn't take that every day," she breathed, too weak to giggle. "Or even every month. But it was wonderful." She rested against him without moving, every muscle slack and limp. He stroked her as she rested. "Thank you, lo--Chahlie. Don't do that to me again--please don't--till I can take it--but thank you."
"You didn't cry," he said.
She nuzzled him. "Nothing left to cry with. You took all I had."
"It's almost time to go," he said.
"Is it?" She rolled over, weakly, and took her watch from the bedside table. "How long did I sleep?"
He watched her sitting naked on the edge of the bed, her back to him, her upper body twisted round to speak. "About an hour."
She smiled at him, apologetically. "There's no time left for you," she said.
He stroked her lovely back, brushed the side of her swelling breast with the back of his fingers. "Next time," he said.
She lay back down. "Hold me," she said.
They kissed and stroked each other as she regained her strength. She looked at him. "You have more to show me, don't you?" she whispered.
"Oh, yes," he said. "You know how I love to read."
She laughed, weakly. "Where did you read that?"
He grinned. "That one, I came up with on my own."
They showered together; they always would, after. They both knew why, but spoke of it only once or twice.
She did not dare go home with his scent on her. He never wore cologne or after-shave; he hadn't from the start. She had no need to tell him.
The next time, a month later, they played naked for hours. They snuggled and kissed and touched, planning or hoping for nothing more, till they found themselves craving what they could not have. He felt her up until she came in his arms, and she stroked him sweetly--then kissed him and brushed his face with her softly swinging breasts while he finished, stroking himself as she caressed him with her nipples and whispered sweet obscenities and promises, just to encourage him.
The time after that, they had dinner and went to a movie, and snuggled in his car after.
"I have a surprise," he said.
She was lying in his arms in their old, familiar way. "What?" she asked.
"Next week I'm moving here."
She sat up and looked at him, her face alight. "You are? Where?"
He named a nearby town. "I applied to teach there last time I came up here. I got the job, and I've picked out an apartment, and I'm packing."
She hugged him, then looked doubtful. "You know we can't meet more often," she said.
"I know. But I won't have to drive so far, and when we talk it'll be a local call."
She kissed him, eyes sparkling. "This is wonderful! We won't have to get a room, either. I can just come to your place."
"That too."
They kissed a while, and snuggled. "It's wonderful," she said again.
"It's the best that it could be, Carol," said Charlie. "All the thrill and passion of a new love, and all the trust and closeness of an old one. We have both."
She nodded against his shoulder. "I love you, Chahlie," she whispered.
He smiled, as always. "I love you, too." he closed his eyes. Thank you, God, he thought.
"I have another gift," he said after a while. "But this one is for me." He took an envelope from the dashboard. "Here."
"What's this?"
"A gift certificate for Glamour Pics. That place at the mall, where they make portraits? I want you to go there and have some made, and give them to me. I want some pictures of you for my apartment."
She smiled at him. "Okay. Next time I see you."
He touched her face. "You are so beautiful, love of my life. I want those sparkling eyes and that sweet smile where I can see them every day."
"You'll have them."
They kissed some more, then it was time to go.
----
They continued to talk on the phone several times each week. Carol had changed her "alone time," when she met Charlie, to weekends in preparation for his move and the upcoming school year.
At the appointed time, he moved, and in short order had set up his apartment. He bought new sheets and towels; his old ones were threadbare. He bought a VCR so they could watch movies; he bought wine and Pepsi and a box of her favorite cookies.
And one day she came to his door.
She greeted him with a hug and sparkling eyes, and then gave him a gold-toned gift bag.
"What's this?"
"My pictures, silly! See if you like them."
He unwrapped them eagerly, and gasped. "Oh, Carol! They're perfect!"
One was an 8x10 in a gold-colored frame; Carol smiled out at him from it, with her special smile and a twinkle in her sea-green eyes that he knew was just for him. One lovely hand was placed beside her face, a natural pose, and the dress she wore was low-cut enough to display a hint of cleavage.
Charlie was entranced. He placed it on a table near the sofa, so he could see it from anywhere in the room or his small kitchen. "Would you like me to sign it?" she asked.
"No, no! You'd have to sign across your skin. I want to keep it unmarked. Here, sign this one."
The other picture was smaller, perhaps a 6x8. It had Carol in a demure blouse, her head thrown back and smiling with sleepy eyes. She was dressed more modestly, but it was somehow a more sensual photo.
She took out a pen and thought. Then her eyes lit up. "I know," she said, and quickly wrote something, a secretive smirk on her pretty face. She gave it to him with a tiny smile.
He looked. "To the biggest, best dick in the world. Hope it won't be TOO long-- Love, Carol."
He laughed and hugged her as she giggled. That one, he placed beside his bed.
He had prepared lunch. Chicken pie with mushrooms with a nice German Gewurtztraminer wine, and hard meringues with vanilla ice cream and strawberries for dessert. They ate it sitting on the floor beside the coffee table; he had not yet bought a table and chairs for his dining nook.
"That was fantastic, Charlie," she said as he took their plates away. "Where did it come from?"
He smiled and nodded toward his kitchen. "You made it all yourself?" she asked, surprised.
"From scratch," he said. "Even the crust."
"The meringues, too?"
"Sure. Egg whites and powdered sugar, dry 'em overnight at 200 degrees on baking parchment. Those are easy."
She looked at him with a bemused expression. "I learn more about you all the time. Now I know you're also a very good cook."
"Thank you. ...What do you mean, 'also'?"
She smiled knowingly, eyes twinkling. "I think you know," she said.
He smiled. "How do you like my place?"
"It's lovely," she said. "Just right. May I use your bathroom?"
"Certainly not." They laughed. She disappeared into it, with her purse.
Charlie rinsed the dishes and out them in the dishwasher, then covered the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Carol was still in the bathroom when he was finished. "Are you okay in there?" he called.
"Just one more minute," she said from behind the door.
A moment later, the door opened. "You can look now, Chahlie,'" came a familiar whisper, a voice from long ago. Charlie looked up, and his jaw dropped.
Carol was standing in the doorway, posing prettily. She wore a pair of beige bikini panties and a matching half-cup bra.
Charlie frankly stared. The upper curves of her breasts were bare almost to her nipples, and quivered liquidly when she moved. Her soft, bare belly beckoned him, and her lovely legs and pretty feet were bare. Her creamy, perfect skin was two shades lighter than the pale panties and bra.
"Do you remember, Chahlie?"
He nodded only. He could not speak.
She smiled, invitingly. "Why don't you show me your bedroom now?"
It was two steps away.
----
"God, I love you, Carol. I love you so much..."
The panties and bra lay on the floor, and he lay in her arms, between her legs.
Her smooth legs were wide open for him, and his dick was pressed downward between them; it was nestled in her warm crotch, his leaking dickhead almost at her asshole, the top of his dick lying pressed against the length of her oozing, all-but-hairless slit.
She rolled her hips upward--
"Carol, are you sure?" he whispered.
"Yes," she whispered back. One word only.
She opened herself wider--
And his cock slowly levered upward, entering her by itself as if it knew the way.
This, too, was the same. Exactly the same.
"Oh, Chahlie..." she breathed. "Oh, Chahlie, it's just like before... You're going inside me..."
She was so smooth, so slick, so warm and wet as her tender membranes parted for his smoothly sliding dickhead...
She hissed and rolled her hips even higher as he slid deeper inside her. "Chahlie, isn't this what you wanted?" Her voice cracked then, at the edge of tears. "Please tell me this is what you wanted..."
"Oh, yes, Carol," he whispered quickly. "I've wanted this so much, I've wanted you... I have for so long, so long..."
She whimpered and embraced him, arms and legs, clinging to him as be began to fuck her, slowly, tenderly, hardly believing it was real. "Oh, Carol... It's really you..."
They fucked like the old lovers that they were, kissing deep and knowingly, holding each other close and moving in unison, as if no time had passed at all.
"Oh, God, Carol... You are my heart..."
"I'm the only one you want," she breathed, rising toward the fulfillment of her aching need. "I'm the only one you want..."
"Oh, yes... I love you, I've loved you all my life, my only love... I've loved you for a thousand years..."
They worked for it together, hips pumping, slowly, but so urgently, their souls as open to each other as their mouths, his cock plunging smoothly in and out of her heart, her pussy encasing and caressing and slickly slurping at his own.
They fucked with the passion of two lifetimes, with the hunger of a broken, healing heart, with the deep love that found them far apart and brought them back to come together, to come hard together, to come and cry together in the refuge of each other's arms and hearts.
They lay entwined for long minutes afterward, breathing hard, their eyes not locked so much as merged into one gaze, filled with each other. His cock, half-hard, was still deep in her pussy.
They kissed, gently, sweetly. Their hands touched each other's faces, stroked each other's skin. They did not speak for more than an hour--only kiss, and touch, and begin to move together languidly, again, as Charlie's dick grew hard once more inside her.
They fucked again, so tenderly, so filled with love, so warmed by each other's fire that they had no need to speak, but only move.
----
They talked or left each other messages several times each week. They met, and sometimes went to movies; they had dinner out or in Charlie's apartment, talking like the old friends and lovers that they were.
It went on for years, and it was perfect.
Charlie liked her naked, and would often slowly strip her bare as soon as she arrived. He would kneel at her feet and remove her shoes and knee-high hose, caress her pretty feet, and then remove her earrings and her necklace. The rest would follow, with more touches and caresses as he slowly bared her beauty.
Still fully dressed himself, he'd hang up all her clothes in his front closet, place her shoes and underthings on its shelf, and close the door. She'd have no clothes, no covering at all, where they could even see them. He liked to keep her naked, with nothing on at all or even near her. If she wore a barrette or hairpin in her hair, he took that too.
She'd sit there on his couch completely bare, feeling very vulnerable and a little self-conscious at having not a thread or stitch to cover her. She was at his mercy, and she liked that. So did he.
The only thing he left her was her wedding ring. It would not come off anyway--her hands, too, were just a little plumper than when she'd out it on--and he never asked her to remove it. They never spoke of it at all.
Sometimes they would begin there, on the couch, and she would come into his arms to be held and kissed and touched for long before he undressed himself and they went into the bedroom.
Or she'd unzip his pants and find his hard and leaking dick, and kiss and suck it lovingly--till he was moaning and his hips moved slowly in the rhythm that they loved.
Or he would kneel and part her thighs as she whimpered in anticipation, and kiss her secret second mouth and lick her. He loved to hear her tell him how she loved him in that tiny, breathless voice.
Then, often, he would tell her to go alone into his bedroom and prepare for him. He loved to watch her walk naked across his living room, submissively doing as he said, leaving all her clothes and prim and proper modesty behind. For those times, on those days, she was completely his.
He'd go in a moment later--sometimes to find her lying on her back, holding her knees high and wide apart, with her face turned shyly to her shoulder as she offered him everything she had to give.
Or she would be kneeling at the edge of the bed, her cheek against the bedspread and her knees placed wide apart--her plump bare ass, so pale and big and perfect, split open wide and cocked back to expose her pink and open pussy, gleaming with her eagerness.
One afternoon when he found her that way--naked and wordlessly ready, trembling with her hot anticipation--he tried out something he had read about.
He placed the head of his hard cock just at her opening, between her swollen, liquid lips, and slid it up inside her--
But only just. He gave her just an inch, and then withdrew.
She moaned, a tiny sound of protest. He had just eaten her for half and hour, bringing her almost--not quite--to orgasm, and she was hungry.
He did it again, and then again, slowly, very slowly, a full second between his shortened strokes. Eight times, exactly. She was whimpering with need, humping her drooling pussy back at him and moaning for it, but he would not give her more.
Seven more tiny strokes--and then he slid it in, all the way, balls-deep, his belly against her sweet bare cheeks. She spasmed and cried out, "Oh, yes! Give it all to me!"
--and then he pulled it out again, went back to tiny one-inch pumps that had her whining piteously. Six more of those, then all the way in again, twice this time, all the way in and all the way out. She moaned in ecstasy--
And then five more little ones, barely penetrating her twitching, dripping pussy lips. He fucked her very, very slowly, taking his time.
Slow cycles of eight strokes, and one more deep one every time. By the time he got to three shallow and five deep, she was gripping the bedspread in her fists, shivering and groaning, not in her child's voice, but in deep and guttural grunts of animal need.
"Unhh.... Oh, Chahlie, please.... Unnngh..... Oh, fuck me hard.... Oh, please..."
When he got to six, he gave her one more tiny one, and then began to fuck her long and deep and slow with every stroke.
He was not done. Seven deep and slow--then one fast and hard, slamming his belly into her ass, his balls against her clit, then quickly out again--
And back to long, slow strokes, in and out, all the way to the end of her grasping pussy tube and back out again, with agonizing slowness.
Six slow, two fast and hard, banging against her quivering ass as if be wanted to hurt her--five long and slow and torturous, three pounding into her like he was driving a spike. Four long and slow--
She was pulling at the bedspread, beyond words now. She was biting her pillow, eyes clenched shut, saliva drooling from between her teeth as she chewed it in her desperation. She had given up trying to push back, and simply knelt there shivering and tried to keep her cunt cocked up at him, as far back as she could, wide open and exposed completely for his thrusts.
Three long and slow and deep, and her pretty hands came back to pull her asscheeks apart as hard as she could do it for his five deep-punching hammer blows into her pussy. Her tiny, pink, and shamelessly exposed bare asshole winked at him as her cuntmuscles clenched and squeezed around his sliding, slamming dick.
And finally, he was fucking her deep and hard, as fast as he could fuck, pounding her upturned, quaking ass with his pelvis like he was trying to break her in half.
He did. She was shuddering in waves, in rushing tides, of overwhelming orgasm, one after another--not electrically intense like when he sucked her clit for half an hour, but ocean-deep and wide.
Her mouth was open now on the wet and well-chewed pillow, and she made no sound but gasps and puffs and panting. Her face was relaxed and slack as her body shook and shuddered; she was broken open and shattered, riding the tidal surges and cyclonic winds of a class-5 hurricane. Her face, her soul, were its calm eye; the rest of her, her body and her world, was buffeted and battered by the storm.
He fucked her in that state for twenty minutes, and he felt like a god, the God of Fuck. She would not have disagreed.
He saw her pretty toes clenched as in tiny fists, and for some reason, that sent him over the edge. He grabbed her hips and drove in deep and shot her full, his jets and bursts of sperm seeming to start at his heart and pick up speed and pressure till they blasted from his dickhead like creamy, white-hot bullets.
Carol moved then at last and cried out, "Oh, yes, shoot it in me, shoot my pussy full, give me your cum," and worked her ass back at him, her still-orgasming pussy fluttering and vibrating around his erupting geyser. Each spurt felt like a gallon, long and hard, and there were many of them, more than he could remember afterward. It took him long to stop, and Carol was begging for more of his sperm until the end.
He finally pulled out of her and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Carol kissed him, deeply, trembling, then bent to lick and suck the thick coating of his sperm and her own many climaxes from his softening cock, slurping it up from his pubic hair and licking it from his drained and aching balls.
They did this more than once. The technique, from Tantric Yoga, gave them the best sex either had ever had.
Her ass was turned toward him, and he looked in wonder at her bare and swollen, just-fucked pussy. It was hanging open readily, sloppy with their juices, with sticky strings of semen dangling from her distended lips and clit.
An hour earlier, her darling hole was tiny, pink and trembling in fear and eagerness; now it was slack and open and drooling with his cum. He gazed at it and marveled as her rosebud mouth slurped up the funky mess between his legs.
His prim and proper, then cold and distant, Carol--the one love of his life--was his shameless, naked fucking slut. And she loved it, and him. And he loved her.
Again; if he had dared to dream at all, he could never have dreamed of this.
----
The next two times, they went to movies. It was as if they knew the hurricane was there, waiting, and they waited long to savor its anticipation and plunge into its storms and tides again. They cuddled and were close and kissed and held each other, and loved and felt loved, and that was enough.
Another time, after he stripped her bare and put her clothes away and out of reach, he wrapped her in a cotton quilt fresh from the dryer, warm and snug. She lay naked and cocooned in comfort with her head in his lap while they watched a movie on his VCR.
It was "The Bridges of Madison County." it resonated with them both. He often wondered, later, what she thought and felt when it came on TV, and if she ever watched it again.
He stroked and fondled her throughout the movie, his hand beneath the quilt. He felt her heavy breasts and stroked her pussy, and fingered her gently to a sweet climax, or two, or three or four. She giggled once and whispered, "I can't think when I've enjoyed a movie more...."
It was Heaven, and remained so for some years; the most wondrous and enchanting of his life. They did not meet often, but even when alone he felt surrounded by her love and warmed by it.
----
A shadow fell from time to time. She changed jobs, and they could not talk as often or as openly; she was in a cubicle now, and could be overheard. Larry's condition had improved, and he was more alert; their meetings grew less frequent so as not to raise suspicion.
Once she came to his door and told him, apologetically, that she was not "available"; he understood what that meant. She was on her period. They cuddled and kissed only, as they had so many times before, but he wondered at her timing.