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Message-ID: <27728asstr$976068604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Ex Cathedra" <e_cathedra@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sylvia and me Part 1 (MF,rom,slow)
Date: Tue,  5 Dec 2000 21:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is my first posting to ASSM, although I have published
other things elsewhere. I'd like feedback from people to
e_cathedra@SpAmStoPhotmail.com (you can see which
bit to cut!). If feedback is positive, I'll
put part 2 up sometime around Christmas.

Sylvia and Me (MF,rom,slow)
Part 1

The Christmas tree lights blinked in every shop and tinny music came
from every doorway. The town centre was decked out for the festive
season, its hwyl fighting a losing battle with the cold drizzle that
dampened everything. Wales is, of course, famed for its rain but this
was not the sort of rain that attracts tourism; or anything else
except possibly fungi.

Around me, people looked either flustered as they rushed last minute
shopping or indifferent as they hurried back to work from their lunch
breaks. I was doing neither. This was the end of a very bad year for
me; I'd separated from my long-term partner, lost considerable status
at the office in a reorganisation and only hung onto my job because
they couldn't find any fault in my work; even if the current
management hated me they needed a reason to can my arse. Anyway, I
was also 35 this year - based on the Biblical three-score-and-ten I
could no longer deny I was middle aged. I felt in limbo; needing a
new job, but being too stressed out by the problems of the current
one to get it together to market myself to others; wanting someone to
share my life with, but lacking the confidence to go and look for
someone.

I'd decided that a long solo Christmas break would help me sort my
head out. I was already regretting it. Two days into the fortnight
I'd allowed, three until Christmas day, and here I was wandering
round the shops because I was bored and lonely. Oh, I had things I
could be doing - I'd promised myself that I'd spend the some of the
break doing maths research; my work is with IT, but maths is a long-
term hobby. I also had a mountain of books I wanted to read but never
seemed to have the time for. Unfortunately, neither seemed attractive
today.

My reverie had carried me out of the main shopping area back towards
the outskirts where I had parked - parking in town was expensive, the
half-mile walk each way was good for me and saved a fortune. I'd walk
all the way to town in better weather, but I lived 2 miles away and
it was a bit damp for that.

Just before the side street where I'd parked was a second-hand
bookshop run by an acquaintance of mine. Aside from being an
excellent source of cheap SF&F paperbacks, he also had an under-the-
counter trade in hard-core porn (I should point our that this is in
the UK - hard-core here means anything that shows real sex without
flowerpots hiding the action). The thought struck me that if I was
going to be alone tonight, a good hot video might be a good
diversion. Probably because I was so depressed following the
separation, I'd felt no real sexual urges for several months; a bit
of artificial stimulation and a few off the wrist might make me feel
a bit happier with things. I snorted to myself at the
rationalisation, and went in anyway.

Dave was behind the counter, reading a car magazine as usual. He
grabbed a pile of slim books tied with string from the side of the
counter nearest the wall and said "Glad you came in, Ianto! Are you
in the market for these?"

I took them off him and looked at the cover of the first one. It was
the Herbert-Jenkins first edition of A. Bertram Chandler's "The Deep
Reaches of Space". I untied the string and looked at the rest - all
the Rim Runner books, all in good condition first editions. I tried
not to whistle - Dave's an acquaintance, not a mate, and I didn't
want to give him one-up in any price negotiation. A complete set like
this wasn't hugely valuable; Chandler not being very popular and the
books not being mint; but I doubted that Dave would have any idea of
its real worth. "What are you looking for, Dave?" I asked.

"10 notes."

"The set?"

"No, each."

I winced. He had a better idea of the value than I thought. Still,
that was probably quite a bit less than I could get if I resold them
- I'd never seen a complete set anywhere. I debated dickering with
him, and then decided that my cause would be better served by paying
the price but asking for a video or two as an extra. Dave sold copies
rather than originals, generally, and charged  10 each - half-back on
exchange. "Okay, but throw in two videos."

Now he grimaced. "I got raided yesterday. Pete's still got the bag."

The bag in question was a large black Adidas one that always sat in
the corner of the "adult books" area hidden by a curtain at the back
of the shop. If a person "in the know" was in the back when the
police came through the front, grabbing the bag and dashing out the
fire exit, returning the bag in a couple of days was a quick way to
earn  100 from Dave. Since, at that time, the fine for possession of
such material was around ten times that, everyone was happy.
Strangely, the police had never caught on to the back exit - probably
because most shops in that row had bricked them up in order to avoid
being robbed. Second-hand bookshops don't have that problem -
everyone knows there's no real money in them, and apart from rabid
Dick Francis fans I couldn't imagine anyone being desperate enough to
steal a load of books.

[As an aside, a few years later the Video Recordings Act came in,
making what Dave did an imprisonable offence. Never being one to keep
up with the law, he went down for 5 years for selling tapes that are
legal in practically every other country in the Western world. This
situation hasn't changed.]

Dave continued, "I've got one tape - two films and a couple of shorts
on it. Deal?"

I agreed, and passed over the money. Dave put the books in the bag
and pulled a tape out from his coat hanging on the back of the chair,
which he added on top of the books. Business concluded, we gassed for
a few minutes about mutual interests, books and cinema, when the shop
door opened again. I was surprised to see it was my stepmother,
Megan.

My father had remarried about 5 years ago and Megan was considerably
younger than him - not quite my generation, but certainly not his.
She was a pleasant person, if a bit self-centred, and the family that
had joined ours with their marriage was a bonus - lots of good people
who I liked a lot. I speculated for a moment on her purpose here, and
then remembered Dave's huge stock of second-hand Mills and Boon -
Megan's favourite reading material. Sure enough, whilst greeting me,
she withdrew a huge pile of things with florid covers and the
familiar logo and passed them to Dave for valuation. While Dave was
counting them and inspecting them for obvious damage, she drew the
subject around to her niece.

"Did you know Sylvia had the appeal yesterday? She lost."

I sighed. Sylvia had worked in the same firm as me, although in a
different building and I regarded her as one of the most pleasant
additions to the extended family - particularly for her dry humour.
In her early 20s, with a stunning figure and long black hair, I
hadn't been surprised when I heard that she was suffering sexual
harassment from one of the bosses in her area who fancied himself as
a lady-killer - although in my opinion the only way he'd ever get his
end away was by taking them from behind whilst they were throwing up
in the toilet at the thought of him. I'd helped her bring her case
and this was part of the reason why the current management wanted me
out - policies on such matters are supposed to stay on paper. She'd
eventually been dismissed for cause - fed up of the bastard, she'd
got drunk one lunchtime trying to drown her sorrows and given them
the chance to dismiss her. The appeal had been handled by a solicitor
hired by Megan; I'd given evidence early to it, but I'd never held up
much hope because there was so little evidence against him and fairly
obvious evidence against her.

"No surprise," I said. "How's she taken it?"

"Pretty well," Megan replied. "She's got a new job starting in the
New Year and I think she just wants to put it behind her."

She obviously wanted to change the subject, and asked me about what I
was doing over Christmas. Having outlined a whole programme of
nothing, she repeated an earlier invitation to come over for lunch on
Boxing Day - which I had been avoiding because there would be quite a
lot of family I didn't get on with there.

Dave chipped in at this point with a price for the books, and I said
my goodbyes leaving Megan to trawl through and find some Mills and
Boons she hadn't read. I went home feeling even more depressed - if
you can't help others and can't sort yourself out what use are you?

-------------------------------------------------------------------

At home, I did my workout (gotta keep the heart in good nick if
you're a 35-year old smoker), showered and settled down in my heavy
toweling bathrobe to watch the video. The first film was "Little
Girls Blue" - a lot of 30-something actresses pretending to be
schoolgirls, but quite fun nonetheless. In the middle of a rather
good three-way scene in a hay barn, I saw a car headlight shine
across the curtains. Odd, I thought. I live on a narrow cul-de-sac
and the only way I could think of that a light would shine in like
that would be someone driving forwards onto my elderly neighbour's
drive - and she doesn't have a car or many visitors. Most people
reverse in, anyway - those drives are difficult to get out of unless
you do.

I thought no more of it, but a few minutes later the doorbell rang.
Stopping the tape, I went to answer it; wondering who on earth would
be calling at 10 P.M. and, apparently, parking on my drive. I opened
the door to Sylvia.

"Hi Ianto," she greeted me with a smile,  "can I come in?"

I waved her in, too surprised to speak. She smiled and walked past me
into the lounge. I followed her, debating running upstairs to get
dressed, but decided against it - she's sort-of-family, after all,
and if she comes calling unannounced at this sort of hour she wasn't
expecting to find me dressed for dinner. "Would you like a drink?" I
offered as she removed her coat, handed it to me and sat down on the
soft next to the box of tissues I had been about to put to a less
than salubrious use, large handbag at her side. "Sure, whiskey and
dry if you have it."

I grinned at this. She knew that I rarely drank anything other than
whiskey, which I added dry ginger to if it was to be a session (only
the cheap stuff mind - I'm not a heathen). I raised an eyebrow at
her, trying to look like Roger Moore having temporarily misplaced the
dinner suit. "You're planning on staying a while then?"

"If you don't mind. We haven't really had a chance to talk since the
case began and as Megan said you were all on your lonesome tonight I
thought you'd like some company - or at least a drinking partner."
She smiled wickedly, then added "Anyway, I brought supplies so we
won't run short." Opening her handbag, she handed me a litre of
supermarket scotch - reasonable stuff, not the cheap throat-burner,
and a two-litre bottle of dry ginger.

For the first time in ages, I felt a little happier. Someone not only
wanted my company, but also wanted to spend a bibulous evening with
me and chew the fat. I got glasses and an extra ashtray for Sylvia.
Having poured the drinks, I sat down in the armchair to her right. We
supped a glass or two and talked inconsequential gossip for a while.

A thought occurred to me. "Sylvia, do you want me to book a taxi for
you for later - you're not going to be driving, are you?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stay in your spare room." Sylvia had
stayed there several times whilst I was still with Amy. "I'm not
working until the 2nd, and a good piss-up with a friend seems like a
nice way to celebrate Christmas before we both get dragged into the
family things."

I was pleased by this in several ways. Firstly, that she regarded me
as a friend, despite the difference in our ages, gender and that I'd
been unable to get her out of the problem at work. Secondly, that she
wouldn't be running off just as we both got a "nice drunk" going
around midnight - a real chance to talk seemed uppermost in her mind.
Thirdly, that she trusted me enough to be vulnerable like this around
me - from someone coming out of a sexual harassment suit, that was
very flattering.

Having nodded my acceptance, I reached for another cigarette and
offered Sylvia one. She lent over to get it and in doing so knocked
the remote control for the video that I'd left on the arm of the
sofa. I caught it with my free hand, but in doing so triggered the
play button. Both of us were distracted by the sudden music coming
from the television. Sylvia's eyes widened as she took in the scene -
the girl in the hay had a cock in each hole, and all three men were
moving rapidly towards their orgasms. Thirty seconds later and we
would have been watching the "money shots". I thought, oh no, that's
the end of this pleasant evening. I looked at her sheepishly. She
smiled and said "I wondered why the tissues were on the sofa instead
of on the shelf where they normally are."

I blushed. "Sorry," I said, "I wasn't expecting company." Feeling a
little emboldened by the fact that she hadn't run out screaming
"pervert", as well as the whiskey, I added "Besides, I'm single and
not getting any at the moment." I pressed the stop button and the
chat show that had been on in the background returned.

Sylvia eyed me thoughtfully. "I would have thought that you'd have no
problem finding another partner. How long has Amy been gone - six
months?"

I nodded. "But I'm not good at that sort of thing. It's also a bit
difficult doing the cherche la femme bit when you're 35 with nothing
really to offer."

She laughed out loud. "You, nothing to offer? How many other guys
would stick up for their niece-in-law at the risk of their jobs? How
many other guys make a girl feel so secure that when she needs some
company, she feels that it's okay to come round his house
unannounced, get drunk and stay the night knowing that nothing will
happen that she doesn't want to?"

I paused to think. There were two things in that statement that
needed closer inspection. In my arrogant way, I'd assumed that she'd
come round to keep me company. Obviously, she had another agenda.
Just as obviously, she saw things in me that I didn't. Both warranted
investigation, but at the moment the fact that she needed someone to
talk to was paramount.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Sylvia?" I asked, wanting to
find out what her problem was as well as wanting to distract things
from the matter of the video.

She shocked me by immediately bursting into tears. I was flummoxed.
On autopilot, I stood and reached next to her, handing her a tissue.
She took it, and further surprised me by throwing her arms around my
neck.

"Oh Ianto, I can't cope with it all" she blubbed, "I'm so unhappy."

I was aware of the fact that I was leaning forwards, my robe gaping,
with 125lbs of very pretty young woman hanging on my neck. I was also
very aware of the fact that with my knees bent like this, I was going
to topple over in a minute. I swivelled round and rather gracelessly
fell into the seat next to her, her arms still around my neck. She
buried her face in my robe and carried on crying. I sat there,
holding her and stroking her hair.

After a few minutes, she calmed and lifted her head to meet my eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I must look a sight."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder", I quoted, embarrassed at the
trite comment.
"Get it out with Optrex!" Sylvia replied, grinning. I'd forgotten she
was a Spike Milligan fan, too. I returned the grin and she released
my neck, leaning back on the sofa. I looked at her face, wondering if
to prompt her to recount what was upsetting her.

"Pour me another drink, please - I'll tell you." Sylvia said,
obviously reading my mind. She held out her glass and I refilled it.
I sat back down next to her, and she began.

"I'd thought I'd got over the problems at the Firm. Until today,
anyway."

I nodded, "So what happened?"

"I had a job interview. They asked me why I'd left the Firm, and I
did what I just did now; burst into tears. I couldn't answer anything
else - just went totally to pieces. Eventually, I got out of there
but there is no way I'm going to get another job if I react like that
every time someone asks me a question."

"But I don't know what I'm going to do! I've just totally lost
confidence; who's going to employ someone who can't get through an
interview without crying?"

She sniffled again, and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "What do you
think, Ianto?"

I studied her face, pondering what to say. There was nothing I could
do to change the past, so obviously what was needed was a different
way of thinking about it.

"Breaking down like that isn't because of what happened - it's
because of the way you feel about it. Why do you lack confidence?
What happened at the firm wasn't your fault - even if that biased
tribunal managed to absolve Dave. You're intelligent, with a good
work record; you can get people to disregard the reasons for leaving
the Firm fairly easily if you tell them that you were in a harassment
inquiry with them at the time of the 'misdemeanour'."

She nodded agreement at this, "But if I cry every time they ask me
about it, they're going to think I'm unstable."

"Not really," I replied, "because next time you're not going to cry."

"How am I going to manage that?" Her voice was questioning rather
than scornful, so I felt we were making inroads.

"By getting the emotions right. Instead of feeling responsible for
what happened, you're going to feel angry at a system that denied you
your rights."

That got a smile. We spent the next two hours talking over how she
was going to deal with it, drinking the whiskey and eventually she
started to feel better about things.

I got up for a much needed piss break. Washing my hands, I heard the
tinny music of the porno film coming from the lounge. Obviously,
Sylvia had decided that she wanted to watch it. I re-entered the
living room and saw that she had sprawled out over the sofa, taking
up my previous seat. I moved to sit down in the chair she had
occupied, but she stopped me.

"Would you mind massaging my feet, Ianto? It would help me relax."

I smiled. "It would be a pleasure." I wasn't being polite either.
Although I knew there was nothing on here, the frisson of watching
the film whilst sitting so close to Sylvia was attractive.

She lifted her legs allowing me to sit at the end of the sofa,
putting her legs in my lap. I got a brief glimpse up her skirt [you
can't help looking if you're a bloke - honest!] and noted that the
hosiery covering her legs was tights, not stockings. I started
applying gentle pressure to the soles of her feet, careful to keep it
feeling relaxed - her calves were iron hard with tension against me.
The material of the tights made the movements difficult, however.

We watched the film for a bit, with little said. My penis was
responding to the stimulation from the proximity of Sylvia, the
contact and the film. I wriggled uncomfortably to stop it tenting my
dressing gown and lie upward on my stomach. Sylvia didn't appear to
notice.

After some more time, her calf muscles started to relax. The film had
reached the big finale orgy scene (do all porno films have the same
plot outline?), and people were getting into impossible positions,
with all sorts of fucking and sucking filling the screen. Sylvia
giggled at one money shot, where the guy seemed to produce about a
pint of cum.

"That's not possible!" she said. "Is it all trick photography then?"

"No, not trick photography in the sense of special effects   la 'Star
Wars'. It's visual effects - what you're seeing was there, but it
isn't all natural."

"How do they get a guy to come that much then? No-ones balls have
that much capacity."

I grinned. "Chicken soup."

Sylvia stared at me as if I'd grown a new head. "What, you mean they
eat it?"

"No," I laughed. "They inject it into the urethra then the normal
process of orgasm pushes it back out like that."

"Urg. That must be horrible." Sylvia winced.

"Moderately, I assume. But they get paid for it and get more sex in
one day than most guys get in a year - I don't suppose they'd do it
unless they wanted to."

Her calves were again tense. "Relax!" I said, "you don't have to do
it and nor do I."

She chucked. "Suppose not. Look, I need a pee and I'm cold. Can we
put a quilt or something over us?"

"Sure. I'll get one while you're in the loo." We both rose on our
respective errands.

Returning to the lounge, the video had finished. I hit the rewind and
eject, leaving the tape winding back noisily - Dave's blank tapes
were never of the best quality, and searched for a CD to put on. I
picked some Fleetwood Mac - uncontroversial easy listening. I dimmed
the lights too - it was now 2AM and the brightness felt
uncomfortable. I sat back down and waited for Sylvia.

When she returned, we resumed our respective positions and I pulled
the quilt over us and resumed massaging her feet. "That better?" I
asked.

"Much." Sylvia replied, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to
me. I took it and continued massaging her feet with one hand. We
talked a bit more about the film, me explaining how some of the
weirder positions were filmed. Sylvia stubbed out her cigarette and
picked up her empty glass and waggled it at me.

"Sorry, I'm being a bad host." I poured more drinks from the bottles
by our side, but had run out of ginger. "Excuse me." I said and rose
to get some more from the kitchen. Whilst there, I switched the
heating back on - if Sylvia was already getting cold, she'd find it
intolerable before long.

When I returned, I noticed that Sylvia's tights and skirt were on the
chair. She was still under the quilt and saw my glance. "I got more
comfortable." She said, "Could you carry on massaging my feet - maybe
my legs, too?"

I nodded and resumed my position under the quilt. I was starting to
wonder what Sylvia really wanted - this seemed to be getting a bit
more sexual. I decided to keep it cool and just do as she asked; why
risk a pleasant evening?

For about half an hour, I just stroked and massaged her lower legs,
only as high as the knee whilst we chatted about many things. Sylvia
then brought the topic back to sex.

"So how come you're still solo? Doesn't it get boring with just your
hand for company?"

I was taking a gulp from my drink at the time and choked at the
directness of her comment. Sylvia rose and started thumping me on the
back. "Sorry!" she said. "Was that a bit direct?" She sat back down,
the quilt on the floor, her nude legs now visible.

"No, just unexpected!" I swallowed and tried to get my breath. "I
haven't really thought about it - still mourning for Amy, I suppose."

She hissed slightly. "That cow! I know you loved her, but really..."

"What do you mean?" I was puzzled by her obvious antagonism.

"She spent most of the last three years bad-mouthing you to anyone
who would listen. Looking for an excuse to leave and wanting us to
justify it for her."

I felt a catch in my throat. I still loved her and it hurt to be told
that her love had died so long ago. I'd wanted to believe that it was
a recent thing. Sylvia looked at me, concerned.

"Look, I'm sorry, we won't talk about it anymore if it still hurts so
much. Here - you lie down and I'll massage you. Looks like you could
do with some relaxing now."

I did as she bade, carefully keeping my dressing gown closed. She
started gently stroking the top of my feet and my lower legs. She
wasn't very good at massage, but the contact was pleasant. I relaxed
and let my eyes close in order to enjoy the sensation. The feel of
her naked thighs against the back of my legs was arousing and I
became erect again - fortunately, my position kept it from being too
obvious.

The music played on and we enjoyed a companionable silence, Sylvia
still gently stroking my lower legs. The room warmed as the heating
did its work. After a bit, Sylvia spoke.

"Ianto, can you give me a full massage?"

I thought quickly. Did she realise what she was asking? If she did,
what did she really want? I decided that honesty was the best policy.
"Yes, but are you sure you want to be that intimate? For best
massage, we should both be nude and I'd use some oil to make things
smoother. I could do it clothed, but it wouldn't be very satisfactory
that way. What do you want?"

She looked at me. "Get the oil." She said challengingly. "I told you
- I trust you."

I left to get the oil from the bedroom, musing that I wasn't so sure
I trusted myself. When I returned, Sylvia's clothes had joined her
tights and skirt on the chair; she had spread the quilt on the floor
and was lying on it face down. The lights were dimmer than I had left
them, too. Bowing to the inevitable, I removed my gown and knelt by
her legs.

"Okay," I said. "I'm going to start with your shoulders and work down
- okay?" Sylvia murmured assent, so I carefully moved her hair away
from her neck to avoid getting it oily before pouring some oil onto
my hands to warm it, then spreading it over her shoulders and upper
back to start massage.

"Nice scent and feel," Sylvia said, muffled slightly by being face
down. "What is it?"

"Almond oil with white musk. I've found it's about the only oil that
doesn't raise the skin or turn sticky after a while."

"Mmmm," Sylvia acknowledged, moving her shoulders sensually. I
continued massaging, sliding further down her spine and spreading the
oil over the rest of her back. Her whole body looked so beautiful
that my heart ached, and other parts of me reacted in more primal
ways. I was glad Sylvia couldn't see how much this was taxing my
self-control. If she only wanted to relax and be intimate, which I
was beginning to doubt, she might be concerned at my reaction.

I was still being cautious about how and where I touched her at this
point, but the way she was responding to the massage made it obvious
even to my thick skull that anything went. I therefore trickled some
oil into the crack of her buttocks, causing her to wiggle and give a
little "eek" of surprise. I followed up by spreading more oil over
her buttocks, massaging smoothly with small pressure on the
upstrokes. After a few minutes of this, I did her legs, spending a
great deal of time on the backs of her knees and inner thighs since
this seemed to be where she was most sensitive. Running my finger up
the crease of her buttocks made her squirm with pleasure, so I
decided that more intimate measures were appropriate.

I repositioned myself sitting on her thighs, and leant forward to use
my chest and upper arms to massage her back. My cock, of course, was
resting in the crease of her buttocks; lubricated by the oil there it
could slide up and down the crack with my movements, giving me some
strong sensations and hopefully her as well. Her reactions showed a
great deal of enjoyment; she moved against me with every movement,
and her breathing grew heavier.

Finally, after a timeless interval, I felt I could take no more
without cumming on her - terribly bad manners. I stopped and
stretched out beside her, my arm holding her, looking into her eyes.
She pulled me to her and kissed me; a deep, passionate clash of
tounges that left me in no doubt what she wanted now. In case I
wasn't sure, she made it clear: "Fuck me."

I rolled her over onto her back and she spread her legs to welcome
me. My cock slipped into her with no guidance or assistance -
sometimes, Mother Nature is kind. Her cunt was slippery and hot - the
temperature of a hot bath. She began to thrust against me, her muscle
tension squeezing me and causing tremendous tingles in my entire
body. I moved up slightly so that my pubic bone pressed against her
clit and pressed my lips to hers. Our mouths tried to consume each
other as our bodies ground together; it seemed like an eternity of
fucking and kissing before her movements became more frenzied and her
nails dug into my back. Suddenly, she threw her head back and bucked
under me, stiffening and freezing. I took over the movement, grinding
my pubis against her and my cock inside her, her orgasm pushing me
over the edge. My whole body shivered and tensed as I came and it
took all my willpower to keep the rhythm going until she collapsed
back, relaxed.

My cock was still stiff inside her - fairly usual for me, and I kept
gently moving inside her, keeping us both hot. After a few minutes of
the "resolution phase" as the books put it, she kissed me and said
"Mmmm. Nice. What do I get for afters?"

I grinned and twitched my cock inside her. "There's plenty more left
yet. I was going to suggest a long slow fuck now that we've both got
our rocks off followed by a pleasant supper for me."

"Supper?" She looked at me quizzically.

"My favourite dish." I replied. "Fresh creampie." I licked my lips to
leave her in no doubt about what I wanted.

"Oh God, yes." She hissed, and started fucking against me again. This
time was much longer, but twice as frenzied at the first time. I
surprised myself by coming twice more - usually it takes much longer,
but obviously tonight all bets were off. She managed one long,
seemingly multiple orgasm trigged by my second cum followed quickly
afterwards by a series of short sharp ones as I hit upon a rhythm
that she found stimulating.

After we had got her breath back, I slowly pulled out of her and slid
my tongue down her body, nipping her shoulders and rolling her
nipples under my tongue. I was amused to realise that this was the
first time I'd kissed them - sometimes pleasures arrive in unexpected
orders. I teased them between my teeth, pulling them gently. I was
rewarded with a murmur of pleasure and her back arching again.

I slid further down, licking our sweat from her stomach and navel
before reaching her pussy. Her thighs were slick with our sweat, so I
licked and nibbled them alternately, blowing gently over her cunt as
I changed sides. After a few minutes her back was arching again, so I
moved between her thighs and started gently licking her labia. She
moved against me, so I pushed my tongue into her vagina and started
lapping and sucking our mingled juices back out of her. She became
more excited and I explored every nook and cranny with my tongue and
lips, finding her sensitive spots by reading her muscles and
movements. She liked me licking between the inner and outer lips on
the left, but not so much the right. She didn't find having anything
this intimate too close to her clitoris directly stimulating, but
loved me taking the whole area into my wide-open mouth and gently
sucking. She gasped with shock when I licked her anus, but after the
initial surprise enjoyed it. My fingers were still oily from the
massage, so I started moving one around her rim whilst concentrating
on pleasuring her pussy with my mouth. This quickly brought another
orgasm and she relaxed to allow my finger in slightly.

I rotated the finger in her anus gently, whilst lapping slowly at her
vagina, letting her come down gently. When she had relaxed, I moved
up to hold her in my arms, and she contentedly rested her head on my
shoulder.

"You are wonderful," I said.

"I know, and I'm cute too. Can I ask you something?" she replied.

"Sure. Anything. I think we can be honest with each other now."

"Could we do some kinky things like in that film..." her voice tailed
off, embarrassed.

"Anything you want. But I'm afraid I don't have any hay barns or
another male available, so the choice is restricted."

She punched my chest playfully at this sally. "I know, silly. I was
thinking of some other things..." She yawned. "Thing is, I'm exhausted
now for some reason."

I looked at the clock. It was 4AM. "Okay, I suppose we'd better sleep
on it. Would you like to sleep down here on in the bed?"

"Down here. I don't want to move." She snuggled back into me and was
seemingly asleep in an instant. It took me a bit longer, my mind
analysing what had happened and trying to work out what was going to
happen in the morning.

End of Part 1


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