Aiming To Arouse

This has been posted elsewhere before. But it belongs here. Some new stuff on the way soon.

The room is hot. Our heat is enhanced, both by our physical exertions, and the sumptuous fur coat spread out on the bed and which she, in turn, is spread out on. I am holding her legs up high and wide, pushing them back as I slide into her, before letting go, swooping down, and kissing her hard as we start to fuck, likewise. Skin burning, almost searing each other with lust.

Two minutes earlier, we stumbled into the room, fumbling first with the lights, and then with the hooks-and-eyes on the coat, revealing what I had half guessed at. As each one gave way, revealing breasts, tummy, cunt, thighs in turn, naked, small, well-formed, bursting with sensuality, not porn-star perfect by any means but real woman, all of it, and drenched with the scent of arousal, we both stopped being responsible for our actions. I pushed her back onto the bed, tossing up her stockinged, booted legs, tearing off the few clothes I had on as I watched her opening and unfolding, wet. For me.

Three minutes before that, emerging from the terminal in to the cold, the covered walkway not being covered enough to stop the light drizzle hitting us. Her first opportunity for nicotine, we paused, and I stroked her back through the sensuous fur, wondering if the mischievous glint in her eye meant what I could only guess at.

Two minutes before that, having missed her emergence from Baggage Reclaim, a text then a phone call resulted in the farcical searching for a common landmark, before the first glimpse, then kiss, and embrace, holding her through the thick coat and breathing in deep. Inhaling the one part of her that couldn’t be replaced, however hard technology works to make distance irrelevant. Standing there, alone together in a crowd of people, she, as I was to discover later, all but naked.

Seven minutes from arrival to consummation. Seven whole minutes.

Too long.

“Pull out”, she tells me. “I want to feel you splash.” I comply, copiously, hotly, over her smooth pudenda.

Afterwards, I go down. She tastes, not of her, or me, but of us, our lust. A wide, slick river has formed in the crease of her right thigh, flowing, stickily.