Sarah and I had just experienced a very intimate moment, at least in my mind. I had never cum in her before, and it seemed very important to her to have me cum in her and not on her, and that I watch my cum dribble from her pussy.

She rolled off me to the side and we continued to kiss; little kisses, not passionate wet ones.

When she got out of bed to use the bathroom, I spread a blanket over the wet sheets, and then another blanket to cover us.

Sarah returned to tell me that it was snowing; nothing out of the ordinary for late December, but it was the first real snow storm of the year, at least where we were.

We covered ourselves with the blanket and talked for a while longer.

The next day was New Year’s Eve and Sarah had talked me into going to a party hosted by some of her friends in her photography group. It was not something to which I was looking forward. I typically spend New Year’s Eve at home, safe, off the roads.

Sarah insisted that it would be fun, that there would be a wide range of people at the party, of all ages, and not all of them photography buffs. Still, I dreaded such parties and the small talk, and Sarah knew it.

She talked about who might be at the party, what they did for a living, and, if they were into photography, whether they were any good at it. Some of her friends from her drawing classes might also be there. She promised not to leave me alone and that I would not have to carry on “cocktail small talk” all by myself with people I did not know.

The party was being hosted by three housemates. The one Sarah knew was Maggie O’Hara, a divorced, late 20’s, early 30’s lady from her photography group, who, while not a professional photographer, had sold and published some of her photographs.

Having sold art work to a real publication was important to Sarah, and she spoke of “Maggie” with a bit of awe and pride that the two had worked together on a few photography projects.

I was tired, it was mid-afternoon, and I told Sarah that I was going to take a nap for an hour or two. She wanted me to stay with her in her bed; she was warm, liked having our bodies together, and thanks to her holding my cock in her hand, I had a soft erection.

I lay on my back. Sarah lay partly over me, her head on my chest and one leg bent over my legs. I closed my eyes as Sarah slowly stroked my cock.

“There’s a game I’d like to play sometime,” she said. “It’s a sex game. I’ve been told about it but have never played it.”

“What’s it called?” I asked, my forearm lying across my forehead and my shaft now standing erect.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I never heard anyone mention a name.”

“How’s it played?”

“It’s a game to be played with two people, a man and a woman. But I guess it can be played by more than two.”

"And how is it played?” I asked again, as Sarah continued to stroke my shaft, the tension slowly building in my groin.

“I can’t believe I take your whole cock in my pussy and ass,” she said. “Look at how big it is.”

“You were telling me about a sex game you wanted to play?” I asked.

“We can talk about it later,” she whispered to me. “Do you want to cum?”

Sarah was doing her usual good job of playing with the shaft and head of my manhood.

“Yeah.” I grunted, as I experienced my first spasm of pleasure deep in my gut.

I cannot last very long if a lady plays with the head of my cock, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Sarah knew this. It was often how she teased me.

With her index finger and thumb forming a circle, she stroked just the swollen, sensitive head of my cock, which by now had pre-cum flowing out, over her fingers and down my shaft.

The head skin is so sensitive, that when she slowly stroked it there was intense pleasure mixed with some pain.

“Are you getting ready to cum?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

My body was shaking.

“Yes.”

“Hold on. Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Fight it,” Sarah directed, even as she increased the tempo, rubbing her wet fingers against the now purple skin on the head of my manhood.

“Too late. I’m going to cum,” I said with a grimace of pain and pleasure.

Sarah slowed down and stroked my entire shaft, until I shot a long ribbon of cum up along the middle of my chest to my chin, and then another ribbon, and another, until cum was flowing out in little spurts over my stomach.

“I love to make you cum,” she whispered to me as she tilted her head up to kiss me.

A long, deep passionate kiss while one is experiencing an orgasm, or the aftermath of an orgasm, is a wonderful and pleasurable experience. The pleasure of the orgasm sweeps through your body, while a warm, wet mouth and tongue engulfs your mouth. Mmm. I love that.

Our passionate, wet kisses lasted for several minutes, as Sarah continued to stroke my shaft until I was limp.

She didn’t have to, but Sarah licked up all of my creamy goodness, cleaning me off from the tip of my cock to my chin.

A good orgasm has a way of making you forget about the subject of your talk. And I had just experience a very good orgasm. There was no more talk about sex games.

We pulled the covers up around us and at least I was asleep in minutes.

When I woke, it was already dark out. I was alone in her bed. Sarah was sitting in the living room drawing on her sketch pad.

I wrapped the blanket around me and walked into the living room.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“You only slept a couple of hours. I just got up myself about a half hour ago.”

It was 5:30 p.m., and still snowing out. In late December, this neighborhood was a ghost town anyway. Now, with the snow, nothing was moving outside; no cars were on the road; no people out for a walk; no lights in any of the other houses.

We decided to drive the short distance to the restaurant at the beach, have dinner, and then see what the conditions were like. Maybe we could take in a movie; maybe we would just head back to the house and see what was on TV.

I took a shower, dressed and drove Sarah and me to the restaurant. The owners were delighted to see us; few folks were venturing out to eat.

By the time we had finished dinner, the snow had diminished somewhat, so went to the movies, arriving back home around 11:30 p.m.

Sarah changed into her pajamas. I urged her to sit on my lap while I sat on the big leather chair in the living room. I didn’t say it, but I certainly would have liked to return the wonderful delight she had provided me earlier that afternoon.

Sarah kissed me on the cheek, said she was going to bed and then added that I should sleep in my own bed that night.

She went into her room and shut the door. I went to my room, disappointed.

I slept in and didn’t come downstairs until around 11:30 a.m. It was still snowing, the wind was blowing, and the snow drifts were piling up.

Sarah was in her room, and came out when she heard me looking for a mug in which to put some much needed coffee.

“It looks bad out,” she said.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go tonight,” I suggested hopefully.

“I’ll call a little later and see whether the party is still on,” Sarah indicated as I made my coffee.

We both walked into the living room and I turned on the TV to see what the news had to say about the storm. I sat on the chair; Sarah on the couch. Not a good sign.

We were apparently in the middle of a significant Nor’easter, with potentially a foot plus of snow or more along the coast. I had my coffee and watched as TV reporters from all across the area reported on the snow and road conditions.

Sarah got up and went to her room. On her way I asked when she was going to explain this game she had mentioned the night before.

“Maybe we can talk about it later,” she said as her door closed.

Something wasn’t right.

I finished my coffee, went upstairs, showered and shaved, put on some winter clothes, and went out to clear the snow off the cars.

When I came in, Sarah told me that she had called Maggie and that the party was still on, but everyone was to use their own discretion about whether to drive in the storm.

The two things Sarah and I had to consider were the distance we had to drive to get to the party, which for us was only about five miles, and the time we were going to leave to get to the party. Part of our deal was not to arrive at Maggie’s house until around 10:00 p.m., and spending only a couple of hours at the party.

Sarah thought we should hold off on any decision until that evening. I made another cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked, as Sarah washed some dishes.

“No. Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I just get a sense that something’s bothering you.”

There was silence.

“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

More silence.

“I got scared,” Sarah finally said, her voice quivering a little.

“Scared? Scared of what?”

More silence.

Sarah put down the dishes she was washing and sat down across from me at the table.

“Do you know how much sex we’ve had this week?” Sarah asked.

“Yes I do,” I answered, “I was there when we did it. And I learned a lot. You have taught me things that I might never have learned.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I’ve had more sex with you this week than I’ve ever had with anyone before.”

There was some silence and then tears started to run down her cheeks.

“Was it that bad?” I asked, trying again to inject a little humor.

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s me. But it’s you too.” She sobbed.

Confused, but concerned, I moved from my side of the table and sat next to her, putting my arm around her.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I like sex,” she said, gaining back some control. “I tried to make that clear to you from the start. When I realized that we were going to be housemates, I thought what a great situation; an older guy who wants me. We can have great sex any time we want. No strings attached.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Then I was concerned that I was more experienced than you, and that you may not like being with a younger woman who had more experience.”

“I remember you telling me that too,” I acknowledged. “But we talked about all that. It wasn’t a problem. Remember?”

The tears continued to run down Sarah’s cheeks.

“Then we started to have sex, and it was great. It was the perfect situation. During the week we could hang out together; on weekends, when we were alone, we could fuck our brains out or do our own thing.

I was happy with our arrangement and the sex was great.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming here somewhere,” I interjected.

“Then came this past week; we had the house and whole week to ourselves. I thought there would be some good sex and we would hang out, just like before. But I couldn’t get enough of you. All I wanted to do was to fuck you and be fucked. I didn’t care how or where; I didn’t care what you wanted to do. I wanted your cock. I wanted your cum. I couldn’t get enough of anything. It scared me.”

Silence and more crying.

“Why did I get so turned on watching another woman suck your cock? Did you think it was weird that I liked to watch another woman suck your cock?”

More silence and crying.

“Then I began to think that you wouldn’t like me because I was some sort of slut. Or you were upset with me because we didn’t have the threesome with Trish. Or that you were upset that I wanted to be with a woman. I was confused. I wanted you to like me, but I was afraid that you didn’t.”

The tears continued to flow.

“I wanted you to know that I liked you and loved the sex we were having. I wanted to be more intimate with you.”

More sobbing.

“It wasn’t just sex I wanted. I wanted you. I wanted sex that was not only ‘feel good’ sex but intimate sex. I wanted you to cum in me.”

“After you did cum inside me,” Sarah continued, “I began to think that we shouldn’t have done it and that it had freaked you out; that I was becoming more intimate and you would get scared and want out of the relationship.”

The crying went on for a few more minutes and then finally, with a few sips of my coffee, it stopped.

“Am I making any sense? I’ve never had sex with a guy that I’ve lived with; I’ve never had so much sex with one person.”

I started to something, when Sarah looked at me.

“I’ve realized that I’ve developed feelings for you and it scared me,” she blurted out and began to cry again.

How do I respond? After all the lady is crying because she has feelings for me. That’s ironic.

“Look,” I said. “I’ve had the best sex of my life with you. You’ve taught me a lot and brought me a lot of pleasure. I don’t know if I’ve taught you anything, but I do hope you enjoyed the sex.”

Sarah nodded her approval.

“You’re not a slut and you’re not addicted to sex. You like sex and I like and admire that in a woman. In fact, you’re everything a guy would want in a woman.”

The tears continued to flow, but she was beginning to get control of herself.

“I respect you. What you and I do in the bedroom is all okay as long as we both want it; I don’t think you are weird; I don’t mind that you like to have sex with other women. I do mind that you did not feel you could talk to me about all of this. And I’m upset at myself for not be honest with you.”

She looked at me like she didn’t understand.

I wondered if I were making any sense.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” I continued. “I love to make you cum; I love to fuck you. I could have sex with you all day. But I’ve also grown to like you in a more intimate way. I like sleeping with you, learning about your work, seeing your artistic abilities; hearing what you have to say; making you feel good.”

Then I said it.

“Somewhere along the line, maybe it was this past week, I think we went from being fuck-buddies to two people who care about each other in a more intimate way; two people who have feelings for each other. At least that’s what I think happened to me.”

I don’t think either of us was prepared to use the “L” word; but at least the fact that we had real and intimate feelings for each other was now out on the table. Our “no strings attached” agreement had turned into a relationship that neither of us could ignore any longer.

It was to be expected, I think; and maybe naïve on both are parts. It was a lot to ask that such a close relationship remain on just a sexual level.

Sarah apologized for the tears. I apologized for not having been honest with her about my feelings.

I suggested that we could tone down the sex and maybe spend more time getting to know each other.

Sarah got off the couch and straddled me on the chair. We kissed, deep, passionate, wet kisses.

How to handle this new relationship was the question.

“I didn’t intend to feel this way about you; it just happened,” Sarah said between kisses. “And it scared me a little. We like each other. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” I said. “Don’t be scared. Let’s enjoy it and see where it goes.”

“Nothing has to change; I want you. I love sex with you,” Sarah whispered as she kissed me again.

The phone rang. It was Dave wanting to know what the weather was like where we were.

“A blizzard,” I told him.

It was the same where he was, so he and Julie would not be coming back to the house for at least another couple of days.

As soon as I hung up the phone, it rang again.

It was Maggie O’Hara. So many people had called to say that they could not make the party that she and her housemates had decided to cancel the party.

“That’s too bad,” I told her, all the while thinking, “good; great.”

“Is this Mike?” Maggie asked.

“Yes.”

“I was looking forward to meeting you. Sarah has told us all about you.”

It was the way she said it; suggestively; erotically. It made me think that she knew something that I didn’t know.

“Can I speak with Sarah?” she asked.

“Sure, one second.”

“I look forward to meeting you, Michael,” Maggie added, again, with a slight seductive tone. Or maybe it was just me; maybe I was hearing something that wasn’t there.

Sarah and Maggie talked for about a half hour.

I made us some lunch.

Sitting at the kitchen table, the tears dried and her face washed, Sarah rightly observed that I seemed more than happy that we did not have to go to the party.

“Did I sense something from Maggie? There was something in her voice, like she knew something that I didn’t know.”

Having taken a bite out of her sandwich, Sarah waited a few seconds before she responded.

“She’s seen pictures of your cock.”

“What?” I asked.

“Maggie has seen pictures of your cock.”

“Your pictures? The ones you took of me? How many people have seen those pictures?”

“I’ve shown Maggie and some of the other girls all the pictures. Some were interested in the artistic portrayal; most were just interested in seeing your cock.”

“And Maggie?” I asked.

There was silence, and Sarah smiled as she took another bite of her sandwich.

“I would say Maggie liked your cock. In fact, she asked me all about it.”

“Like what?” I asked.

Sarah knew that she had me hooked, and teased me a little.

“The usual things women want to know. How big is it? How did it feel? How is he in bed?”

“And?” I asked.

“I told her it was average in size and that you were okay; nothing to write home about.”

There was a moment of silence and then Sarah could not help but laugh.

It was good to see her back in good spirits.

“Maggie could see for herself that you were big. I had already told her that you had a big cock. She even kept one of the photographs for herself.”

“Wait a minute,” Sarah said as she got up from the kitchen table.”I think I have a picture of Maggie.”

Sarah returned with a black and white photograph of a woman on her hands and knees with her back arched, taken from the side, so you could see the woman’s body from head to ass. The woman’s dark, long hair was combed in such a way that it hid her entire face.

The woman had good sized tits that hung down, but what was even more noticeable were her erect, long, pointed nipples. The woman had a nice body and great ass.

“Maggie?” I asked.

“Now you are even,” Sarah said. “She’s seen you and you’ve seen her.”

“Is this your only picture of her?” I inquired.

“No,” Sarah said, “I have more, but we don’t want to get you too excited. I’ll show them to you sometime, but not know.”

My male ego having been satisfied, there was no more talk about Maggie or anyone else.

It was still snowing heavily, there would be no party, we had enough food for a few days, and we had most of the afternoon and all of the evening. Sarah and I would celebrate the New Year together, alone, hunkered down in the storm, and in a new, more intimate relationship.

“Tell me about the game,” I said.

“I heard about it, but never tried it,” Sarah began. “One woman plays it all the time with her husband.”

We each fill out five or six cards or pieces of paper,” she continued. “Or it could be more if we wanted. Each of us would indicate on one set of cards what we wanted to do to the other. What I wanted to do to you, for example. Sexually speaking, of course. And then we’d fill out cards indicating what we would like done to ourselves by the other. What I’d like you to do to me. I think the cards were different colors so we could tell who filled out which cards. We put all the cards in a box or bowl and pick out a number of cards, however many we want, and we do what’s written on the cards.”

“Sounds like fun,” I interjected. “Anything else?”

“In filling out the cards, you have to be specific and you can’t repeat anything. In other words, you can’t just write ‘fuck’ on a card and then repeat the word ‘fuck’ on all the cards.”

“Okay,” I said. “If I understand it correctly, I write on a card that I want to lick your pussy and on another card that I want a blow job?”

“I guess so,” Sarah indicated, “But I would hope that you would be more imaginative than that!”

“Why do we need to fill out cards?” I asked. “I have a pretty good idea of what I’d like to do. And I’ll bet that you do too.”

“It’s more fun this way,” Sarah said. “It’s a game. Maybe I’ll write down something I’ve never suggested before. Maybe I’ll make you do something you’ve never done before.”

“And this game has no name?” I asked again.

“Not any name that I know of,” Sarah answered.

“Then we’ll call it Sarah’s game,” I said. “That seems like a good name for a sex game.”

We planned out what we would have for dinner. Then Sarah spread out two blankets on the living room floor, along with a couple of pillows. She placed several candles around the living room and on the kitchen table.

We ate dinner by candlelight, after which we cut out several strips of paper. Sarah only had paper in two colors, so she took one color and I took the other.

As we discussed it further, our thinking was that fourteen pieces of paper for each of us should be sufficient, and more could be added if necessary.

I retreated to the living room and Sarah stayed at the kitchen table. Both of us began to eagerly fill in our pieces of paper with our wants, desires and interests.

A night of extremely good sex hopefully lay ahead of us.