Dirty Talking Man

Once the door had closed behind them,
after it was locked and latched with a metallic certainty,
after they had moved those few feet to the foot of the bed,
they stood facing each other and they embraced.
They were beyond the myriad of obstacles that had to be
surmounted in order to bring themselves together.

He marveled at her mouth, the way her unfamiliar lips
brushed and slipped against his, her playfully
assertive tongue. The passion in her hands on the back
of his neck, her torso that pressed against his
chest, her hips against his hips. His fingers found
the zipper at the back of her dress. He helped her
fingers unbutton his shirt, then she paused while he
cupped her breasts held by a simple white bra. The
clasp was in the back. He needed two hands to unsnap it.

Her breasts thrust forward into his hands,
begging to be caressed, hoping to be admired.
Her nipples were partially erect.
Again she leaned her body forward against
his, giggling in his mouth as his fingertips gently
pinched those swollen little nubs of pink.

He stepped back, inhaling the sight of her.
Her smile, with no red spots in her eyes.
Both of our eyes tracked her fingers as they trickled
downward across his chest, pausing at his leather
belt, inches from the bulge below. Too impatient to
wait, his own hands unbuckled and unzipped, and then
his trousers joined her dress on the floor.

She seemed mesmerized at the sight of his bulging
underwear and the liquid spot at the apex. Wordlessly,
she shed her half-slip, exposing simple white panties,
and without the shy hesitation he had imagined she
would show, those too followed in a crumpled statement
at her feet.

And thus she was naked, with her wavy head of hair and
her constant smile and her perky breasts, her female
thighs framing her fluff of pubic hair. She stood
before him and watched as he eased his own underwear
past the protrusion of his erection. Their eyes met,
then their hands, and with no awkwardness they
traveled the few short steps to the bed and slipped
between the crisp sheets. She folded into his arms and
sighed, and they kissed once again.

Her skin was hot, a contrasting dry to the touch of
his moist palms. He was everywhere on her body. Face,
neck, breasts. His mouth followed his hands in their
wanderings. Arms, fingers. Her soft, slightly rounded
feminine belly. He eased his body lower between her
legs, and his face found her mound with its untamed
hair and a scent that advertised her arousal. His
fingers delicately parted her thatch, and there she
was, pink and pouty and ready for him.

He feasted on her, lashing her open even wider,
tasting her smoky honeyed flow, feeling her hips
squirm in his grasp. He was aroused to the point of
being anxious, his erection hard and throbbing against
the mattress, his heart pounding, his toes clenching
and unclenching. Fingers, lips, tongue, even his nose
caressed her folds, brushed and licked and sucked and
nibbled her. He consumed her, overwhelmed by his
passion and his lust and this woman in his hands,
under his touch, exposed to him, vulnerable to his
desire, willing in her own.

"Wait," she whispered, restraining his head. "Softer,"
she told him.

And this time when he resumed, it was with a timid
touch, a subtle tracing by the tip of his tongue along
the secret edges of her inner labia, first one side,
then the other. Between her petals, then outside them.
The barest wet pass along the twiggy shaft of her
clitoris. Was it still too rough? She shivered and
clung to him. Her hands held his head, neither pulling
him closer nor pushing him away. She was silent, even
though her body unhurriedly floated beneath him, as if
carried by the tidal ebb and flow of his mouth.

This first time he could wait no longer. He covered
her body with his and found her creamy notch with his
shaft. Eyes locked together, he held himself above her
on his elbows and felt the soles of her feet slide
against the sides of his legs, just above his ankles,
and he teased at her slick opening. They inhaled a
mutual breath as the mushroom head of his cock did its
erotic stretch and lodged just barely inside her. He
twitched, surely oozing, and her mouth pursed into a
tight circle that matched how her vagina snugged
around his rigid flesh.

"Okay?" he asked her glistening, expectant eyes.

"Okay."

And then he pushed inward, deeper. Her silky heat
enveloped and graced his entry, inch by inch, his
tentative testing advances alternating with lesser
withdrawals that eventually gained him full
possession. Their bodies moved against each other,
sometimes in sync, sometimes awkward in their
unfamiliarity. Her legs straightened, then adjusted
higher with bent knees. She clasped his strong hips
with her thighs, then spread her knees wider, then
back to clasp him again, then once more flat against
the bed and straight, and all the while he maneuvered
his body at different angles to feel her variations,
to capture her. To make love to her.

When he leaned forward to kiss her, her straightened
legs discouraged his deepest penetration, yet when he
held himself up above her with stiffened outstretched
arms and was able to fully embed himself, her face
seemed a million miles away, her lips a distant
memory. But his instinctive urge to be inside her as
deep as he could be was winning the battle. He wanted
her, he desired her. "Bend your knees," he urged and
she complied, allowing him his complete advance, his
primitive victory. His climax was near. Lazy, gentle
early strokes had now become insistent. He craved the
sensations, the feel of her body beneath his weight,
surrendering herself to him, the increasing
lubrication in her vagina, the satisfying
bottoming-out of pubic bone against pubic bone.

"You like to get deep," she murmured, and he moaned his
response. His thrusts were now steady and deliberate
and heading to the inexorable conclusion. She could
only hold her knees high and cradle him, welcome him,
accept him.

"Can I come inside you?" was his breathy rhetorical
question.

"Yes." It was a simple response. Inside she was smooth
velvet that wrapped around his stiffness with a
sensual clutch that delicately widened nearer his tip,
signaling her excitement, evoking in his
half-consciousness a reservoir for him to fill.
Deeper, he needed to get deeper.

And then he was there, with a groan that escaped from
his constricted throat and a final straining push than
swathed him all the more in her wondrous embrace. His
body stiffened and his hips pressed down onto her,
into her, and his penis swelled to its ultimate reach
and he gushed his seed, pulse after liquid pulse.
"Yes," she whispered, echoing his throbs back to him
through her eyes, "Yes." He couldn't speak. He could
only keep holding her, tightly, and try to hold on to
the magic.