The Adult Story Hub

Back in the bedroom, she tells me to lie down. I do, and she climbs aboard me, but backwards. Her knees beside my chest. I realize what's happening as soon as her ass lowers towards my face. No preliminaries, just the direct act of getting into position, and starting to sixty-nine.
Somehow, I think of Susie again. So different. Tamara is direct, she wants sex, and that's what we do. Just climb on, and start. Susie is so sensual, so indirect, so creative. We can touch, caress, explore, kiss, lick, everything for it seems like hours, driving one another up and up and up until finally one or another takes charge and makes the other explode, then switching roles until both have come. Then resting, talking -slowly, languidly. That's my style, really. What's the hurry? Why be so quick, so impatient in search of the orgasm? Make it wait. Enjoy every moment for as long as possible.
Tamara places her pussy on my mouth, and takes my cock in hers. I lick, she licks. I probe inward, she sucks. I fill, becoming hard in her mouth. She gushes against mine. We are, I must admit, a perfect fit. To do a good sixty-nine, the two bodies must fit together nicely, otherwise, uncomfortable contortions are required of one or another partner that detract from the experience. But this girl is exactly right for me in the way of physical compatibility. She can sit on my face and take me in her mouth without bending me back alarmingly.
Pretty soon the feeling mounts in me, but then she suddenly climbs off, quickly, hurriedly. She spins around, clumsily knocking a knee into my shoulder as she does, but paying no attention, not even a hurried apology. She wants me inside her again, and straddles and inserts me without ceremony, and starts immediately to hump up and down. A little time to adjust, to play, to feel myself still inside her would be nice, but she's too impatient.
I content myself with watching her rise and fall, eyes closed, breasts jiggling up and down, nipples small and pointed and hard. I've come too recently to feel any overpowering sensations, so I at least can relax as she grinds her way to another orgasm within a few minutes. Even on top, she stops rising and lowering, and hunches her hips back and forth, then falls down on me chest to chest, and I enjoy the feeling of her hot little body against mine, my cock buried still inside her. Until she revives and requests "Do me doggy."
Good God. The word "insatiable" is often misused, so I'm tempted to avoid it here. But we're getting close, very close to an appropriate time for it. At any rate, I'm certainly not going to turn down a chance to enjoy the spectacular view of her on her knees, that incredible ass raised to me. So we rearrange, and I pause (since I'm in control now) to watch, admire, touch, and caress her sexiest asset before moving up on my knees and letting her hand guide me into her.
We hump again, in a steady rhythm. The bed groans and squeaks, again. She moans, and I feel a rising lusty sexual sensation spreading through me. It may be possible to come again, I think. But it's very nice just getting there, so I keep my eyes open, watching the action like the camera in a porno movie, inhaling the hot, musky aroma rising from our friction right up to my nostrils.
Then, she comes again; grabbing the sheets in a ball and wiggling her ass as I hold still and let it happen. I hear a muffled cry and realize she's biting the bed.After she stills, I hold her against me tight, moving ever so gently inside her. But she pulls away, and falls down. This is it, I think, and I'm in between wanting to come, and wanting to sleep. I could accept either, as I crawl up beside her on the small bed. Her chest is still heaving a bit, but it gradually quiets. She opens her eyes, and looks at my face, a dreamy look on hers. But her hand moves to me, and finds my cock still hard, and caresses it. That decides it: I want to come, and then sleep.
I signal this by moving my hips as she masturbates me. I doesn't matter to me how I come, as long as it happens. Hand, mouth is fine. I can understand if her pussy is too sore. But no: she rolls to her back, spreads her legs. Wordlessly, I mount her, and insert. She welcomes me with hands on my hips, urging me in, and soon we are fully locked together, yet again.
What time can it be? I think hazily as I start to make the abused bed squeak, yet again. I'm into it, but not close to coming. We rock steadily for a while, almost soundlessly except for the bedsprings. The sensation starts to mount again, and I'm enjoying it deliciously as she starts to heave and wriggle beneath me. My elbows are on either side of her head, and her legs are up high, thighs against my sides, bare feet in the air behind me I'm sure.
Her head starts to shift slowly from side to side, lips touching each arm in turn, her eyes closed. I watch her face as we hump, and as she turns to the left side, her mouth opens and she bites into the skin on the inside of my upper arm. I can actually see her teeth take the skin and pull on it. Owwwwww! It hurts. I jerk my arm away. But it doesn't hurt enough to deter me from my goal, and I start to fuck her more fiercely, while keeping both arms away from her mouth. She fucks back at me, and for a moment I can feel our pubic areas meeting forcefully. It's not my style, not my style at all, but I do come in a great thundering seizure, the power of it sending the room reeling around my head. Somewhere below I feel a violently writhing body.
...I awaken, it seems, slumped over her, still inside her. Our bodies are slick with mutual sweat. Somewhere in the muddle of glowing sensations, I can feel the small sting of the bite on my inner arm. But I don't care, and just lay there, until I doze off.
But not for long. As soon as the sun begins to lighten the eastern sky, she's up, working her way out from under me, waking me.
"I have to go now." she says.
Dazedly, sleepily, we both pull on our clothes. She needs me to take her home. As we get into the car, I realize I don't know where she lives, and ask for directions.
"Take me to Paul's apartment." she says.
Yes, I'm stunned, and ask her if she's sure. Yes, she is, and determined in her voice. I drive her there, and we speak not a word. Not one.
Paul lives on the second floor. She gets out of the car, says goodbye, and in the early dawn light walks up the stairs, turning once and only once to look at me.
Susie would not leave me like this. She would never use me like this.
(I can't imagine, even when I try, what happens between them this morning. I only dimly sense that I will almost never see her again, and then only once, in the arms of another man (a stranger) outside a Hallmark store. She will see me then, and give me a little smile in such a way that he does not see it. She will never return any of the calls I will make to her. Paul never speaks of her again, and I do not ask.)

A waning half-moon, swimming under Jupiter in a bright clear October night, maybe an hour after midnight.
Two identical glasses of white wine, posed on the tiny crate that pretends it's a table, on Susie's porch. The two of us, our nakedness bundled in two of her robes against the chill of the night. Talking, relaxing, watching God's casually spectacular display of thousands of alien suns sparkling in the crisp, dark, silent night air.
The bruise from the bite on my arm is still there, but no longer hurts like it did for days afterwards.
Even the crickets and creek frogs are tired and quiet, it seems. We've discussed some cosmic things, and now the conversation gradually drifts to something closer to home for us: orgasms.
How they feel, and how impossible it is to describe it. The best ones we remember, and how few we actually can recall individually of the many, many we have enjoyed, both together and with other lovers and friends, and of course, alone. Then about faking it, and how both women and men can do this, and sometimes do. She admits she used to, feeling inadequate because she just couldn't get there with a man inside her, but they almost all seem to expect it, their manhood tied ridiculously to the power of their hard cocks to produce a spasm in a woman. I amuse her by telling of the times I've faked it. She really didn't know men could, or would. She also thinks men's orgasms all feel the same, every time. But like women, we (or at least I) have larger, or smaller ones, in many varieties. True, we always ejaculate, but that doesn't mean the feeling is always the same.
We discuss what makes a better one. Mostly, it's the buildup, not hurrying, charging up a head of steam before letting it blow. But not always, I have to admit. There have been times when after hours of exquisite foreplay the actual orgasm was not as spectacular as some others that were induced quickly. She agrees, that it's only partially under our control, and fortunately even the lesser ones are simply wonderful.
The turn in the conversation towards sexual themes means an impending resumption of activity, you can be sure. Verbal foreplay is a isn't a lost art. But she offers something new, as usual.
"Betty says if she puts her finger in the right place, she can feel me come." she remarks.
"Really?" I am intrigued. Feeling a woman come is one of my quests. I mean, feeling something that can't be simulated. Heaves, hunches, trembles, tightening of vaginal muscles -all are typical. But that's not what Susie means, I suspect.
"I'll show you." she offers, and we retreat inside, leaving the moon to its own devices. Robes discarded, she takes up a position in one of her stuffed chairs, legs draped over the arms. I take up a position on the floor in front of her. She's spread wide, but only beginning to be aroused. Her vertical smile is but a narrow strip of dark red in the hairy valley.
I could arouse her fully with a few licks, but I take it as a challenge to open her flower up by words alone. I ask her about how she and Betty discovered the place where her come could be clearly felt. She describes the two of them, in a chair like this (maybe this one), with Betty experimenting, searching for her G spot, which they'd both read about but had never experienced. With her fingers on the upper part of the vaginal wall, where the G spot is supposed to be, Betty was rubbing gently while licking Susie's clit. The internal activity didn't seem to have much effect, but the tongue work did, and when Susie came, Betty could feel the little contractions deep inside with her finger.
Telling this, in her slow, languid southern style, Susie keeps her legs open for me, only inches away. As she talks, losing herself in the memory, her vulva begins a deliberate but visible and exciting transformation. The hairy sides part under the gentle swelling, and the reddish lips inflate outwards revealing lighter and deeper hues. Pink, red, tan and white, and at the center a set of folds that grows moist as I watch, feeling my own cock grow and harden, untouched.
That words and thoughts alone could do this is unique, and exciting. Obvious and not uncommon, but still unique and exciting -like that starry nightly display that is both familiar enough to not be noticed, yet stunning and incredible when you understand what it really means.
"You want to try it?" she asks, anticipating my question.
My answer is to insert my tongue into that place where the moisture seems to be coming from, and then to work it all out and around until the whole landscape is painted with clear honey and saliva, gleaming in the candlelight. She just leans back, as I imitate Betty, inserting a finger, then two, and licking gently up above where they go inside her, finding that little nub already hardened.
I work gently but steadily, moving the fingers a little, but keeping the fingertips up against where the G spot is supposed to be. Everything is warm, slick, musky, sexy, beautiful. I hear sighs and little moans up above me. My free hand goes up to her belly and rubs it, but really it's there to help hold down the inevitable heave that I know is coming.
I love this, I really, really do. It's just as wonderful to give such pleasure as it is to receive it (as long as you're sure your turn will come, of course). She climbs higher, higher. I recognize all the familiar symptoms, although predicting the actual moment of the explosion is difficult. I just keep up the steady rhythm, tongue on clit, over and over and over. Her legs tense, and I know it's near. An intake of breath almost desperate signals the eruption, and her legs flex up to push her split into my face. I hold her as still as I can, and wait for the moment.
And I feel it, I feel it! Gently, like the flutter of butterfly wings, right under my fingertips: pulse... pulse-pulse-pulse-pulse-pulse. The same rhythm of my own spasms when I come! One long tightening, then a series of rapid little pulses. Incredible. No possible way to fake that, it's too deep, to fast, too regular. The spasms stop after only eight or ten, and then her hips relax back down into the chair. I look up at her in wonder. I've never felt anything like that before. When she opens her eyes she asks if I felt it, and I reply in wonder that yes, yes, yes I did.
She lays me on the chair, and sucks my cock until I come in her mouth.
Before I can say it myself, she remarks impishly "I could feel you too!"
"Smartass." I murmur.

After that, she says it's time for bed. That means: it's time for me to go. No matter that I drove an hour or more up here to be with her, and have to drive an hour home at 2 AM. Staying overnight is forbidden.
Foolishly, I ask why. I've often been tempted, but never so bold as to ask, fearing to upset something delicate.
She looks at me as one who has had some suspicion confirmed."I don't really know how to say this, so I'll just say it." she says, after a considerable pause. (Mental note: when someone starts a statement like this, nothing good ever follows it, no matter how gentle their tone is.)
"What we do is fun, and I love it, but it's just for fun, can you understand? Do you understand? It doesn't mean anything else, it *can't* mean anything else. Are you OK with that?"
"Sure." I say, but I fear a slight tone betrays me. It's hard to admit it to myself, but I do want it to mean more.
"I just need to be clear on that, very clear. It's important." she continues. I agree. I surely don't want whatever we have to stop, even if this is all it ever gets to be. But her look is stern, and I regret asking the question.
We part with a hug, and my thanks for the companionship, the wine, and the sex. I drive home, alone under the starry night.
(No matter how I deny it to myself, the mistake of asking about staying all night was fatal. I will call her again, we will talk, and she will dodge all my efforts to get together. From here on, I'll never see Susie again, try as I might. I doggedly deny to myself it matters, I insist I only miss the sex. But it is pain: it hurts, it numbly and relentlessly hurts.As I left Jeanne, as Paul and Tamara hurt each other, so Susie hurts me. We are all bouncing through our lives without a map and with very few clues, colliding with each other, feeling the sparks of pleasure, and of pain. We smile, we laugh, we cry, we are kings and queens, blunderers and fools. Our fears rule us even as our hopes pull us forward. Everyone looking for a safe shore on an endless sea, we struggle, and we learn.)

I lie under an October sky so blue it breaks your heart to look at it. The leaves are changing, and I hear their rustling in the breeze. It sounds like something familiar. It sounds like pages turning, turning in the wind.