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The Doorbell, variation 2

Maggie rings Mike's bell
“Shit, this is my last chance,” I thought to myself as I tried to ignore my discomfort. None of the other houses on the short row next to the park’s parking lot had had anyone answer the door, and if this one was a bust, I didn’t relish the idea of having to try to pee out here. Even though the suddenly cold weather had driven all the foot traffic from the park, the street had enough car traffic on it that I’d feel too exposed, and the park’s cover didn’t start for almost half a mile. I was counting on this last house.

The day had started great. A fairly warm day in early March, perfect for running. The run itself had gone wonderfully, and I wound up doing the challenging loop faster than either of the other few times I had completed the hilly trail run. I had hydrated pretty diligently, and I had been looking forward to getting back to the parking lot, with my car and the bathroom building waiting for me at the end. Along the way, things had started to go a little south.

I had clearly had too much water, and the smart thing probably would have been to step off the trail, find a tree to squat behind while there was still cover. But as stupid as it sounds, I didn’t want the delay to affect my time. I felt like I was flying, and I didn’t want the impact to be shown on my stopwatch.

Also, the temperature had dropped dramatically. 57 degrees had dropped to low forties or maybe even high thirties. While I was running, it wasn’t too bad, but it was definitely cold, and a bit nipply, to use the joke that my fiancé liked to make any time I got a bit “perky.” So I reached the end of my run with great relief, and the brick structure of the old bathroom building at the entrance to the park (from back when parks had such things as actual bathroom buildings) was a beacon for me as I emerged from the woods and made a beeline for it.

Locked! I considered my options. The woods I had come from were maybe 400-500 meters behind me, and I didn’t really want to go back that far to pee in the woods. Even though I had been running, I’d stopped, and the idea of starting up again, as cold and uncomfortable as I was, seemed almost impossible. Simplest thing would be to drive to the nearest gas station or coffee shop.

And of course my car, now the only one left in the lot, wouldn’t start -- I’d left the headlights on. I called AAA from my cell, which I luckily made sure to carry in my armband, and they gave me a forty-five-minute estimate. I was desperate, so I crossed the street to the well-tended houses across from the park’s entrance and started knocking on doors. After four strike-outs --no one home-- I was at my last chance, the last house on the block, which at least had a car in the driveway.

“Please be a harmless little old lady… please be a harmless little old lady,” I muttered to myself, hopping back and forth from foot to foot as my discomfort grew. The door opened to reveal a tall, athletic man wearing only a light green towel.

“Can I help you?” he asked, as my eyes inadvertently dropped down from his face, past his toned chest and flat stomach, to his towel.

“Uh,” I replied, smoothly. He was gorgeous, a completely different species from Doug and his increasingly pasty and puffy body. Still, going into a strange, half naked, man’s house didn’t seem like a great idea.

“Never mind, I’ll just ..” I trailed off as I turned around and started to go. I got a few steps and realized how dire the situation was. It was cold, my tow was nowhere near, there was no magical bathroom suddenly appearing for me to use, and I still didn’t want to squat on the side of the road. I heard the door starting to close behind me and I made a choice.

I turned back and got his attention before the door closed. “Actually,” I said, a bit nervously, “Do you think I could use your bathroom? I was over in the park running, and when I got back to my car it wouldn’t start. So I called for a jump or a tow and it’s taking a while. And the bathroom building was closed, and you’re the first house on the street where anyone answered the door.”

I felt like a babbling idiot, but he helped put my mind at ease a little with a warm smile. “Sure, no problem. Come on in.”

As he turned to lead me in, I appreciated his physique from behind. He had a lean, muscular body. Defined without being blocky or bulky. Nice shoulders, and back muscles that formed a definite “V” as they tapered down to his narrow waist. A man’s body, and even better, not one of those bodies that speaks of an ego trip, of hours spent exercising in front of a mirror. He clearly kept himself in great shape, but there was a leanness that also suggested endurance training.

Maybe running? I dropped my gaze down his body --the towel was covering what looked like a great ass-- and saw that his muscular and defined calves looked like he spent some time running around. I looked back up just in time as he turned to point me towards the bathroom.

His glance lingered a bit more than it maybe should have, and I became self-consciously aware that my nipples were hard from the outside cold. I stifled the urge to find a way of covering myself, not as if I could have anyway, and I looked around the living room as I walked through it on my way to the kitchen where the bathroom was. Lots of pictures, mostly of two cute kids, but some of him and a pretty woman with a fairly frosty smile.

Despite the obviousness of what I was seeing, I couldn’t help but check out his left hand, where his wedding band confirmed that he was a married man. I think he caught me looking, but ever since Doug had popped the question and given me my ring, looking at people’s ring fingers had become a bad habit.

I got to the bathroom, and rarely had I been happier and more relieved to be in one. I peed for what seemed like two minutes, washed my hands, and came out. He wasn’t in the kitchen, which was large and cozy. Clearly at least someone in the family liked to cook. It was a comfortable, well-lived-in room.

I went out into the living room, where I found him standing near the stairs, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I felt so much better, and having him not wearing a towel made me feel more at ease. “Thank you sooo much. I feel so much better. I felt like I was going to burst,” I told him sincerely.

“No problem, I know what it’s like to feel that way after a run, though to be honest I’d have probably just found a tree.”

The image made me think of him standing a tree, taking out his penis. For some reason I started wondering what it looked like. Was it big? Small? Circumcised? The incongruity of standing in a stranger’s living room, wondering about his cock made me laugh, and I answered, “That’s easier for guys, and the park is just a little too public so close to the parking lot.”

There was a bit of a pause, and as I started to make a movement towards the door, he asked, “What trail did you do? I run there all the time.”

Bingo, those calves didn’t lie, he was a runner, just as I had thought. “Indian Neck Loop,” I replied. “I’m building up for the Purple trail, but I don’t think I’m ready for 8.5 miles yet.” I inanely waved my left hand at him, for him to see my ring and that I was engaged but not married. “I’m trying to get in better shape, you know, for the wedding.”

I was in pretty good shape, but I thought another three to five pounds might make a bit of a difference. Not that it made a huge difference -- for every pound I lost, Doug gained one. I at least would fit in my dress, but I was starting to wonder if he’d have to go suit shopping soon, because he’d be too big for the one he’d bought. Still, it was nice to look in the mirror and like what I saw, all toned and sleek and healthy.

He was talking again, and I almost missed the beginning of what he was saying. “ can do Indian Neck, you’re in pretty good shape. It’s not as long as Purple, but I think it’s harder. So many more hills. I can’t imagine that you need to get in better shape than you already are.”

Even though he made the comment matter-of-factly, athlete to athlete, which was flattering enough, it was hard not to think that he didn’t think that my body looked good. It was nice to be noticed, and not taken for granted. I felt my pulse quicken, and I felt an excitement tightening in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a while. Especially since the noticer was so good-looking himself.

I started toward the door, subtly, more out of a sense of “I should be going now” than an actual desire to leave. My benefactor was handsome and easier to talk to than I could have imagined especially given the circumstances.

He said, again looking at me up and down maybe a little more than what was strictly polite, “If you’re anything like most of us, you’ll be in the best shape of your life at your wedding. I definitely was. It gets so much harder to stay in shape afterwards.” I don’t think he even realized he was looking at me as closely as he was, and it felt flattering to be given that sort of appreciative attention.

Hard to stay in shape? What was he talking about? “But you’re in great shape! You barely have an ounce of fat anywh-- you’re ripped! I mean--” The words left my mouth before I realized that he’d know I’d been checking him out too. Not as if I could have avoided it, since he had answered the door in a towel, but still. He lifted an eyebrow in amusement, and in that moment he looked so cute that I wanted to kiss him.

This was dangerous. I felt my cheeks getting red with what I was thinking about. His lips on mine. And again what did he look like without the towel. I turned towards the door and said, “Well, anyway, thanks for the bathroom, and I should get back to my car and wait for my tow.”

“No problem, and good luck with the wedding. What do you have, like three and a half months to go?”

What the hell? How the--? I had been almost at the door when he finished talking. I stopped short and started to turn back to him. He bumped into me, and he was so solid. His shoulder made contact with my boob, and his arm was like a rock. Nothing like Doug’s doughy arms. No give to him at all. My hip bumped against the front of him, and I realized that the cock I had been wondering about had just bumped into me.

I felt more flustered and excited than I had in a long time. “How on earth could you possibly know that!?”

Smiling, he replied, “Just lucky. It’s not exactly rocket science. It’s early March, and I took a guess that you’d be getting married sometime in June. And if it were any later, you probably wouldn’t be making such an effort to run in this kind of weather.”

Good-looking and not a dummy! “Not bad! Yes, June 21st, Saturday. T minus fourteen weeks! Well, thanks again.” I reached for the door. I needed to leave before I did something I might regret. It would be too easy to try to seduce him. And whether or not I succeeded, it wasn’t what I should be doing three months or so before my wedding. Easier to leave and not face temptation.

As my hand reached the doorknob, he said, “Listen, do you want to wait for your tow here? You’ll see him coming, because that’s the only road he can take to get into the lot,” he said, pointing out the living room window. “Even if you can get into your car, it’s going to be cold if you can’t turn on the heater. Oh, and I’m Mike, by the way.”

I hesitated. Not only did I want to stay, but now I knew that he wanted me to also. And I knew that if I made a move I’d probably get as far as I wanted. I’d get the answer to what I had been wondering about earlier. And he was looking at me that way that guys do when they’re undressing you in their heads, but they don’t think you can tell. Creepy unless you want the guy to be looking at you that way. And I had to admit that I did.

He went on, “You could call someone and tell them where you are if you’re nervous about that, or call the tow company back and see what’s taking so long. In the meantime, do you want something to drink? Water? Gatorade? Hot tea?”

I decided to stay. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I told him that tea would be fine. “And I’m Maggie,” I told him. What exactly had I decided to do? I tried to tell myself that I just liked the attention and the company. The thrill of “what if?”

“Coming right up!” he told me, heading to the kitchen. He called back, “Why don’t you have a seat while I put the water on, and I’ll be right back.”

I looked down at his couch and started to lower myself, before I realized that I was probably sweaty enough to leave a mark. I stayed standing, and told him, “I don’t want to mess up your couch -- I’m a little sweaty,” when he came back and arched that adorable eyebrow at me again as if to ask why I hadn’t sat down.

He tossed me a towel from the coat closet, and I caught it and spread it out on the couch before getting comfortable. I paused for a bit, feeling the fatigue soak out of me. I realized he was looking at me, and I got panicky again. What was I doing? Was I going to try to sleep with him? I asked him a stupid question, to sort of remind us both of our statuses.

“So, Mike, how long have you been married?”

This was clearly the wrong question, as a tightness replaced the friendliness that had been on his face before. “Nine years, ten coming up in June.”

I did some math trying to figure his age. Thirty-six? I wondered to myself. If he got married at my age he would be. A nice age, and he looked great. The silence got a bit awkward, and I regretted my question. Clearly things weren’t great at home. I tried to find something to say, but I didn’t know what. I wanted to make him smile again.

The kettle whistled, and he flew up to deal with it. Was he feeling as awkward as me? For the same reason? I followed him into the kitchen quietly and stood next to him. “I figured I’d save you the trouble of having to wait on me,” I told him, standing close. Maybe too close, but there was something so magnetic about him. He smelled great, just out of the shower, and I could smell his soap, clean and fresh. I wanted to lean my head against his shoulder. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to pull down those shorts. I wanted.

There was a sense of standing outside of myself. Part of me remembered I was engaged and in a strange man’s, a married man’s, kitchen, wanting to sleep with him (I had finally truly admitted it to myself). Another part of me didn’t even think that this moment had anything to do with the rest of my life. It could happen, then be put in a beautiful little box with a bow, to be looked at and smiled over later, and not affect anything else.

“Here’s some different teas,” he said, handing me a box full of assorted tea-bags. “Do you want sugar or milk or something?” His voice sounded a bit shaky, and it made him sound even more attractive.

I took a bag of black tea and dunked it in the mug of steaming water he handed me. I wrapped my hands around it and lost the last little vestiges of cold from my time outside. I looked up at him, trying to figure out what was next. I knew that if he leaned over to kiss me I would kiss him back hungrily.

His next question seemed to mirror my earlier tactic of reminding each other of our “taken” status. “Your fiancé doesn’t run with you, then?”

Even though it did bring me back a bit to reality, he raised a sore subject which didn’t do much to dissuade me from what I wanted. And I realized a bit more how annoyed I was at Doug’s refusal to exercise, and his apparent belief that his metabolism was what it had been when he was seventeen (and when he had been devastatingly handsome from pictures I had seen).

“Doug?” I scoffed, “He’s not exactly big into fitness. And if I ask him to do something like a run or a hike, he takes it personally, and behaves like I’m nagging him. He likes to joke that I do enough exercise for both of us.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. I decided to drop a hint. Gathering my nerve, I looked down at Mike’s body and said softly, “Let’s just say he doesn’t look like you when he’s wearing a towel.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I felt terrified. I had taken a step towards making my fantasy real. I looked away and took a sip of tea.

I felt him looking at me as I looked around the room. What was he going to do? How would he answer what I had said? Would he tell me I had a nice body? It would be nice to hear, but probably not something a man married for almost ten years could easily say.

The silence was excruciating. I wanted to know how my words were received. I needed an answer. I needed something to happen. And as we stood there, practically touching but not quite, in silence, not looking at each other directly (my eyes were in line with the top of his shoulder), I realized something.

Mike wanted me, but he hadn’t given himself permission to do anything about it yet. Don’t ask me how I knew, but even though things were almost certainly lousy at home, I don’t think he had ever cheated, even though he had to have had other chances. Probably his sense of self as a faithful guy was holding him back. If I felt weird about this, it had to be worse for him. So making the first move was probably hard for him. But if I made it, on the other hand.

I put my mug down, awkwardly, too loudly, on the counter, and inched even closer to him, and the space between us decreased to practically nothing. I took a deep breath to gather myself, and I saw his eyes flick down to my breasts as they rose with my inhalation. I smiled, and something in his expression made it clear that he had finally figured out that I wanted him, really wanted him.

I decided to make it even easier for him. I decided to kiss him, which meant I had to stand on my toes. And as I did, he found his nerve, and he leaned down and met my mouth with his, and I wondered if he could feel my heartbeat in my lips or my chest as it pressed against him.

His arms went around me, and electricity sparked. I’d never kissed someone I had known for so short a time. I felt his hand slide down my back and down to my ass. My breath caught in my throat when the situation became even more real for a moment.

But I had no time to think as his tongue drove me crazy. I pressed up against him, and I could feel the beginning of his erection press against my stomach. A silly part of my brain realized that my earlier curiosity about his dick was about to be satisfied. I needed to feel his skin, and I slid my hands under his shirt and rubbed his back. I murmured almost without thinking as I felt his toned back, “Oh God, Mike, your skin feels so good.”

He was thrusting his hips at me gently, and his cock got even bigger, harder. I returned the thrusts with my hips, and dared to slide my hand under the waistband of his shorts to squeeze his ass. It was smooth and firm, and it felt like the rest of him looked. Sleek, muscular, toned. “Mmm,” I sighed, “such a nice hard ass.” Definitely the best body of any man I’d been with, though admittedly that number was on the low side, at least in my mind.

I felt his strong hands pull down the waistband of my pants, along with my panties, to just below my ass. The cool air felt good on my exposed skin. I had time to think that minutes ago I had been cold, but now I was heating up. His hands cupped my buttocks, and I ground against his erection. Feeling myself start to get undressed made me want to be even more naked, to feel him skin to skin, his mouth on my nipples, which were so hard they were almost painful. “"Ohhh... Mike, suck my tits... please!"

Where had that come from? I almost never used that word -- it usually sounded so crass out loud, though in my mind I liked it. But Mike didn’t seem to mind. He removed his hands from my ass and started to pull my shirt up. The loose bottom came up over my head, but the shelf bra got caught under my breasts (my tits? I smiled with the thought). With a little effort he pulled it up farther, bringing my arms up as he pulled the rest of the shirt over my head.

But instead of pulling it completely off, he left it pinning my arms up and covering my eyes. The feel of the cool air hitting my skin tightened my nipples farther, and soon I felt his mouth find my left nipple. He sucked it and then turned to the right one, which he flicked with his mouth, making me start and gasp.

I wriggled free from my shirt, and for a moment enjoyed the sight of his tongue toying with my nipple. But I had to have more and I pulled his shorts down -- no underwear!-- and grasped his cock with my right hand. It felt hot and hard in my hand, and it was bigger and thicker than Doug’s. And it was so hard! Doug’s erections were rarely this complete and this urgent. Somehow I felt flattered at how hard I had made him.

He was uncut and I pumped his beautiful erection back and forth. He was easier to play with than I was used to because the foreskin moved easily over the head when I moved my hand. The skin on the head was tight and almost purple with excitement, and again words came automatically to me, "Jesus, Mike, your cock is so big and hard!"

For an instant I felt doubly embarrassed. I didn’t really use words like “cock,” at least not out loud. And I also thought what I said sounded like some cheap line in a low-budget porno. But as before, when I had said “tits,” it didn’t seem to bother Mike at all. If anything he seemed to get harder and moan deeper at my words. I guess my hand jerking him off didn’t hurt either!

While I stroked, I had to see him naked. I pulled at his shirt, trying to pull it off with just one hand, as I wasn’t willing to let go of his perfect erection. As I enjoyed his hardness, I realized how wet I was. It almost felt as if it could be coating my thighs. He helped me with his shirt, and in an instant he was naked in front of me.

His body was perfect to me. Muscles rippled under his skin. Not ostentatiously, but like that of an athlete at rest. His abdominals tapered down to his pubic area in a way that best be appreciated when the subject is naked. Even in underwear a man with a body like that doesn’t look his best. I drank in the sight of him, and I noticed a bead of precum at the slit of his penis.

I murmured to him that I loved his body as I crouched down and pulled his shorts down his ankles and completely off. Doing that put my face inches from his erection. I wanted it, but this was the point of no return. If I stopped now I could fool myself into telling myself that “nothing had happened.” But if I took him into my mouth, well, no one had believed that our old president had not had “sexual relations with that woman,” even if it had stopped at blowjobs.

But instead of stopping I leaned forward and kissed the drop of precum from his head. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time. I placed a few kisses on his head and his shaft, but before long I had to take him in my mouth. I slid my lips over his head, and he filled my mouth more than any previous lover, certainly more than Doug. Any bigger would have been uncomfortable, but it was still a bit of an adjustment. I sucked the head gently, getting him wet with my spit before I started taking him deeper and faster, sliding my lips halfway down his cock.

If you had told me even an hour earlier that I’d be crouched in front of a naked stranger with my pants around my thighs, naked to the waist, with his cock in my mouth, I would have told you you were crazy, but here I was doing just that. Mike’s body tensed with pleasure, and I ran my hands up his flat stomach, my fingers feeling his abs even as my eyes enjoyed them. Then my hands reached his chest and his nipples, which I pinched as I sucked him. He gasped and moaned from the sensation.

One hand slipped discreetly down to my pussy, and I found that I was indeed wetter than I ever remembered being. I didn’t want to touch myself, though. I wanted him to, and in the meantime I wanted to touch him. I explored every inch of his body that I could reach with my hands as I sucked him, taking him a little deeper as time went on, until I felt his tight head press against the back of my throat. I cupped his ass and ran my hands down his strong thighs. Back up his stomach to his chest and nipples. And before too long, even though the feeling of his manhood filling my mouth was as delicious as anything, I needed to feel him in a different way.

I stood up, leaving his cock shiny with my spit, and I kissed him, pleased to see that he didn’t shy away from my post-fellatio kiss as Doug often did. My breasts flattened against his hard chest and our tongues danced as we kissed. We started working on taking my pants down, since they were still bunched just under my buttocks, and I nearly lost my balance as we worked against each other a bit trying to get them down off my sneakers. You don’t see that in the movies, I thought to myself laughing as I kicked off one sneaker as he pulled off the other and freed my feet from my pants. Soon I was as naked as he was.

For a moment I felt on display as he looked at me, really looked at me. I was self-conscious briefly, but I felt at ease after only a moment. I was in the best shape of my life, so I actually didn’t worry about my “bad spots.” I had also been to the salon a few days ago, and had had my legs waxed, along with my pussy. I always left a landing strip up above, so I wouldn’t look like a little girl. So my mind managed to reassure myself that I was in no need of “grooming” for being with a guy for the first time.

But most important was the way he was looking at me. Lustful yes, but something about his gaze made me feel particularly beautiful. He clearly loved what he was seeing, just as I was shaky in the knees from his beautiful body. He dropped to his knees, telling me that he wanted to taste me.

“No, Mike,” I protested (weakly), “I must be all sweaty.” But the truth was I really didn’t care. I couldn’t imagine him not being thrilled at doing what he was about to do. I got no sense that he was doing it because he felt he had to, or because it fed his male ego to make me cum, but rather because he found me and my pussy irresistible.

He kissed his way down my tummy and tried to get in between my legs, but the angle was awkward, even with me spreading my legs to give him access. With an easy motion he picked me up and deposited me on one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, which afforded better access to my pussy.

Firmly, he spread my legs and exposed me fully to his gaze, and I leaned back against the stool’s back, relaxing, wanting what was coming next, needing it. His tongue made light contact with my outer lips, and I trembled with pleasure. It felt so good. I knew I was already wet, but the touch of his mouth seemed to make me even wetter. Before long, Mike started licking with passion. His technique was fast, urgent, and sort of messy. He was sort of all over the place. But I didn’t really get the impression he was trying to find the magic spot (though he knew where it was, clearly) and make me cum quickly and mechanically. He was getting lost in my pussy, reveling in its taste and smell and feel. I could hear him moaning with pleasure as he licked me, and it was the most eagerly anyone had ever eaten me before.

Soon he settled down a bit brought his tongue under a bit more control, licking little circles around my clit and giving it more attention, although never too roughly. I was on the verge of cumming when he backed off. I thought maybe it was an accident, but the second time it was clear he was not letting me cum on purpose. By the third time I was wild with lust -- my hands were gripping his head and hair firmly, almost pushing him into my cunt, and I said with as much force and conviction as I could muster, “God, Mike, I can't believe I'm-- Put your cock in me! Please!"

My voice came out in a whispered croak, which didn’t surprise me, as he had reduced me to a puddle. Even the fact that in my mind I had thought of it as my cunt was an indication of how much he was turning me on. I only thought of it that way --and never said it!-- when I was supremely aroused.

He stood up, the muscles in his magnificent body rippling as he straightened up, and his cock jutted out proudly. With another easy motion he lifted me off the stool and turned me around, pressing his erection against my ass. “Lean over, Maggie,” he instructed, even as his hands gently but firmly pushed the upper half of my body over the counter.

As I lifted a leg up onto a stool’s crossbar for ease of access, I felt his hands cup and part my buttocks, giving him a perfect view of my pussy and asshole. As he did this, my eyes happened upon a bottle of olive oil on the counter in front of me, and I wondered if Mike would want to or try to have anal sex with me. He could use the oil as lube, I thought. I had tried that once in college, and while the circumstances hadn’t made it perfect, it had been enjoyable. Doug’s reaction, however, the one time I had offered it to him had made me not ask again. If Mike wanted me like that, then I would be happy to let him.

Even as I contemplated impromptu kitchen sodomy with a complete stranger, he asked me if I was safe. “I’m clean,” he explained, “and we don’t have any--”

I figured he was about to say condoms, and impulsively, crazily, I interrupted him with, "I've got the shot -- just put it in, now, please!" Even though his earlier demeanor had convinced me that this was the first time he had strayed, I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I couldn’t imagine interrupting now. His engorged head pressed against my pussy’s opening, and he hesitated. I imagined he was wondering if he was doing the right thing too, and oddly his concern made me even more sure that he was clean as well.

“Please!” I begged, pressing back against him. All I could think of was to be filled by his iron hard erection. I felt his hands on my hips and he pushed into me, filling me completely. We both cried out together as he slid in all the way with that first molten thrust. He stayed there for a beat or two, before he pulled out. He was gloriously thick, and I felt my cunt grip him tightly as he got a rhythm going. I found myself thrusting back at him urgently, wantonly.

After a few glorious minutes of hard thrusting, pounding really, he slowed down, and I realized he was trying not to cum too soon. His strokes became long and slow and methodical, and in some ways it was even better. The regularity of the pace let my body find its own rhythm, and soon I found myself nearing the edge of orgasm. Just then one of his hands left my hip and reached around to find my clit, and the attention there brought me to the edge and flung me over it.

An impossibly powerful orgasm ripped through me, and as soon as he realized I was cumming, Mike allowed himself to thrust harder. “JESUS GOD Mike!" I yelled as the orgasm continued to tear through me, his cock relentless in my pussy, which was spasming uncontrollably. At that point I don’t ever remember what I was saying, and my arms gave out, and my upper half collapsed onto the cold counter.

Mike kept thrusting, and soon I realized he was cumming too. I felt my pussy fill with heat as his orgasm poured out of him. With every spasm he held my hips and thrust into me, and soon only the aftershocks were making him tremble. I experimentally clamped down with my inner muscles and made him shake even as he was pulling out of me.

“Ohhhh…” I moaned as I felt him slide out of me. I was almost perfectly satisfied, but at the same time empty as his cock slid free from my pussy. I turned to face him, and his cock shone with our mixed juices. It looked beautiful and raw, and I couldn’t help take it in my hand and caress it softly.

"God you feel good Mike," I told him as I continued to jerk him oh so very gently so as not to make him start if the aftershock was too intense. As I did, a drop of semen formed at the tip, and without thinking I rubbed it onto my finger and brought it to my mouth. It was musky and sexy and delicious.

"Mmm," I said, as I licked my finger completely clean. "I knew you'd taste good. Clean and sweet and salty all at the same time." I couldn’t believe how open I was being with him. Ever since I first got sexually active I had found cum extraordinarily sexy. I liked seeing it spurt. I liked feeling it in me and leaking out after. I liked feeling it in my mouth. I loved the feeling of it hitting my skin. But I also had sometimes felt self-conscious that guys, especially the first time I slept with them, would think I was too freaky if I brought that side of me out too soon.

Realistically, though, this whole afternoon had been about lowered inhibitions. I dropped to my knees in front of him, enjoying his surprised expression as I took his cock back into my mouth. As I knelt, I felt some of his cum leak out of me and down my thighs. It felt warm and intimate as I tried to suck the last few drops of cum out of his softening cock. He really did taste good (and so did I, as I tasted myself as well on him), and I wanted to consume him. I used my right hand to jerk him slowly into my mouth, almost milking him into me. As my tongue probed his opening, he started and trembled, and I realized how sensitive he still was. I had been considerate before, but now it felt delicious to torture him. Mischievously I swiped my tongue across the head over and over again until he couldn’t take it and pushed my head off of him.

He was looking at me with a surprised, happy expression still frozen on his face. I tried shocking him further, “There were a few drops left!” His dumbfounded look made me feel momentarily embarrassed, but only for a moment, and then I laughed with the joy of what we had just shared. Joy and also improbable craziness. For a moment I worried, and I started babbling again.

"I can't believe I just-- You won't tell anyone about what we-- No, of course you won't; you can't." I gathered up my clothes and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. I was pleased to see that he didn’t flinch at all even though my mouth must have tasted of both of our orgasms. "Thank you, Mike. I really needed that. I can't really explain why, but I did, and it was perfect."

I meant it. It had been a perfect encounter. I’d never felt as urgent a lust or as wonderfully consummated an encounter. Somehow I felt that getting dressed in front of him would ruin the spell, so I felt myself dance into his bathroom again. I don’t remember getting dressed -- I was still in a post-orgasmic fog. When I came out I found him collapsed un-selfconsciously naked on the stool we had fucked on.

I heard the rumbling outside of the wrecker making its way in low gear up the hill to the park, and I realized that all the timing of this afternoon had worked out flawlessly. I kissed him on the cheek and told him, sincerely, “Thanks again, Mike. Think about me every once and again. I know I will. Perfect timing -- I think I hear my ride."

I made my way to the living room and from there to the front door. The tow truck was in fact entering the parking lot, and I ran to meet it, my feet flying with new energy.

Before I got too far, I turned around to see Mike on his front step, wearing just his shorts. He looked mostly happy but maybe a little sad too, so I blew him a kiss and waved happily at him. He waved back, and a smile came over his face as he did.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright "Oceanrunner" 2013-2017. All rights reserved. No reproduction without author's permission. If seen anywhere besides, the story has been ripped off.

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