Lonely Lover Lost

Pussy, he wondered? Or anus? Soon he knew. Slowly, gently, a soft hot pressure arrived against the flat topside of his shaft and began to slowly glide along it, back and forth. This must be pussy, real pussy, wet pussy, hot pussy. As it climbed to the top of his pulsating tower, it moved kneewards just enough to catch his glans between its lips. As it sank back down next time he was caught, his glans was wedged between lips and clit that bounced gently on their new landing point. He felt the gentle recoils as his shaft was repeatedly pushed down against his balls. This lady was a smooth slow dancer.

After a while a cool foot arrived against his arm, increasing its pressure to keep it where it was as the hand that had been holding it disappeared. Next moment the hand was wrapping itself gently round the his penis and pushing it back and forth. One turning point was in a soft collision with the clit; the other moved a little further down each time through the long furrow between her inner lips, until it reached the soft depression round her innermost well. Her the hand paused, everything paused. The lips of her well rested gently round his glans like a crown, and there they stayed, just as the hand on his stomach had done.

Eventually he realised that, like her hand had done before, her well had begun a slow spiral dance. The pressure on his glans slid a little to one side, then to the other, flowing slowly round and round. He felt his penis sing its joy to the rest of his body. His stomach trembled, his nipples fluttered. He felt the pressure against his glans increase, as the lips of her well moved a fraction of an inch further down on his glans, squeezing it gently. Or had this happened? He wasn't sure, his penis wasn't used to reading such subtle changes. After a while he realised that it really had happened, and it was still happening: the soft warm squeeze round his glans was slowly, slowly moving downwards to envelop him. He knew that when this motion had gone far enough her lips would suddenly slip down over the rim of his glans in a fantastic slalom rush, but he had to wait. And wait. And then suddenly there it was, fully in focus, breathtakingly wonderful, like seeing the moment the salmon makes it up the waterfall and dives to disappear into the upstream flow.

This lady was still in no hurry, slowly circling like the sea birds far above them. She was lowering herself around his shaft as gently as a snowfall covers the fields. And he didn't mind. An inch an hour? So what? All the more time to feel each fibre of her body ease itself down past each vein, each fibre of his penis. Was this what really turned her on? It was certainly turning him on. Or were her pussy muscles so tightly cramped by some health condition or ancient trauma that they needed to be weaned open so slowly? He could wait her in, any which way. And the whole time he sensed the gradual increase in pressure round his shaft, like wearing thigh-boots to step further and deeper into the salmon stream.

His thighs felt the gradually increasing pressure from hers as her hips got closer and closer to his. New areas of skin sang their songs of joy. Areas of skin that hadn't been touched since before his...

And he suddenly realised he wasn't interested in 'before' any more. He didn't intend to let his thoughts to be anywhere but Here and Now. He explored his skin from the inside like she was meeting it from the outside. Felt every nudge, every pressure, every warmth, every coolness. Towel and granite mountain under him, keeping him in position in the universe. Ocean air rustling across his stomach. The towel clean and airy over his face. Above him a female being he'd never seen, above her the blue sky. Or was she his sky now, his arc of heaven, his canopy of stars. And was he her earth, her mountain, her whispering grassland, facing skyward to receive her rains, her hail, her sunlight, her midnight starlight, whatever...

Suddenly his consciousness was running a playback on last week's thunderstorm, a mighty dark wall of bulbous clouds that had rolled onto the empty beaches, filling the hillside with their potent cauldrons of pent-up energies. It's her ass, he realised, it's her bulbous cheeks taking over the naked beach of my stomach, it's her energies taking over my landscape! And here she was, her ass pressing firmly against his belly now, his penis ever deeper within her well. He felt more than heard the rustling as his pubic bush was firmly crushed by hers. Delicious changes of pressure delighted his muscles each time his belly pushed against her cheeks for every breath he took. Centred down his stomach he felt the squeezing of her buttocks cleft, half-way down it the little firm knot of her anus. Still her weight on him was increasing, her pussy was still sliding down to envelope him ever deeper, somewhere on his glans he felt the round lips of her cervix, the kiss of her uterus.

Soon he felt the pressure from her feet and knees change as she lifted them from the ground to attain maximum pressure against him. So this was her whole body weight! He could handle it fine, he realised. She was no Big Momma, he could still breath easily. In fact he could have tossed her skywards with one good thrust of his hips, but he certainly wasn't going to, not now at any rate. She was trusting in his passivity and he wasn't going to disappoint her, she sure wasn't disappointing him.

But what now? She was rising, she was leaving, she was pulling herself off him! Though slow, slow, slow. A desperate loneliness gripped at him as the warm squeezing round his penis ebbed away. Soon nothing remained but that first round kiss of her well on his glans like a crown. And just as he could start to wonder whether it all was just a dream, the kiss gradually firmed up and started to slide down over his glans again. This was crazy! Two strobes at a pussy had filled his afternoon like a full-length movie! How many times had he jabbed against pussies once a second and missed ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent of what had been going on!

Perhaps it wasn't quite as slow second time around, but he was with her all the way until her whole warm body mass was drilling into his belly again. And up. And, filling him with gratitude and joy, back down again. Gradually accelerating, maybe, but still real slow, real intimate, real close. Skin whispering to skin -- ok, there was a condom there somewhere, but all the pressure, all the heartbeats, all the trembling, all the veins and muscles were really real, filling his heart with joy, constantly reminding his nipples to stay firm.

Slowly, the speed of her motions increased, like ripples on the sea responding to a rising wind. He recalled the "signs of the sea" he'd memorised as the Beaufort scale during their Lifeguard training. Soon she had gone from "Ripples without crests" to "Large wavelets. Crests begin to break; scattered whitecaps" as the energy hitherto hidden within her slowness started to show itself. He lay dead still and let her storm break over him. "High waves with dense foam. Wave crests start to roll over. Considerable spray." If he'd been sailing now he'd have reefed down to a tiny triangle of storm-sail, made everything fast and checked his lifeline three times over. Here on the sun-warmed granite the ocean couldn't take him, but his heart was racing as fast as it would have been if he was at sea. Her energy became a hurricane: "Huge waves. Air filled with foam and spray. Sea completely white with driving spray. Visibility greatly reduced." And her ass thumped against his belly and almost knocked the wind out of him, God knows what it knocked out of her. The muscles of her pussy grappled frantically with his penis and then faded into softness as she let herself fall onto his legs. He felt her breasts hit his knees, her stomach panting against his thighs.

He gave her a while to get herself together, in the meantime exploring his own libido. Gently he eased his pelvis up against her weight to see whether she would try to stop him. She didn't, just gripped his feet with her hands to keep herself in position. He pulsed again. Her fingernails dug into the soles of his feet. Memories of his sister tickling him as a child until he begged for mercy. She's using her nails as spurs to confirm my rhythm, he realised, rising into her pussy as her nails scratched back along his feet, and again, and again. His firm belly pressed at her round cheeks, his balls pushed against her thighs, his penis must be half-way to her heart now. He let his rhythm increase like hers had done, his stomach bashed against her butt like the ocean swell hits the belly of a yacht turning into the wind, he played her like you play a big shark on your rod, pulling when she's not expecting you to, releasing the pressure when she's not prepared, sliding to one side, letting her go deep and then heaving her back..

Then he stopped playing anything and just rode his wave, let his energy lift them both, felt laughs of joy bubble up within his lungs as the laughs of joyous sperm bubbled up from his balls, up within his penis and bashed against the roof of the condom, bashed against the roof of her vagina. He didn't know whether the throbbing ripples round his shaft came from him or from her, and he didn't need to know. During his climax she'd swung up from his legs to let her full weight meet his full strength, and now as his penis finished its pulsating release she let herself slowly wilt down onto his breast, carefully re-positioning her legs one at a time to let her feet land beside his without letting his slackening penis slide out of her deep warm well. He felt a finger landing just front of his balls to check that the edge of the condom was still where it was supposed to be, as her warm back rolled down onto his panting chest. She laid her head against his cheek and shoulder, still hidden under the towel that had protected his face from the sun.

Now she wasn't restraining his hands, he could lift them from the rock and let them land on her stomach. Quickly her hands were there on his, but she wasn't trying to push them back down. His palms drank in the beating of her heart, the ocean swell of her breathing, the intensity of the peace that followed their storms. She let his hands slide up to find the edge of her rib cage, to feel their gentle way to her breastbone, to breathe their way up to her breasts, but there her hands tensed. She didn't seem to want him to go further, nor did he need to just then. He let a finger glide gently round each nipple, down into her cleft, round the damp crease under each breast, back up their outsides and back to her nipples. He let his thumbs press gently against the outer sides of her breasts, let his fingers close gently under their roundness and lift them this way and that across her rib cage. At first her hands wouldn't let his hands continue up towards her shoulders, but after half an hour of gentle caresses he sensed a shift in her attitude and found that she was no longer restraining his hands from continuing. As they explored the smooth northern slopes of her breasts up towards the ridge of her collar-bones, his liberated fingertips suddenly encountered a different but familiar texture: the unevenness of skin that's healed over deep burns. He heard her sudden intake of breath. He slowed his exploration, let his fingers follow the distinct boundary of her wound, crossing her chest, let them return to the smoothness under her breasts and revisit her nipples. Then he let them return to her scarred shoulders, let his fingers oh so gently trace the network of unevenness, the creased depressions and tight ridges, as if he'd been admiring the exquisite tracery of a Moorish screen window. He found which depressions matched the width of which finger, caressed each ridge, each crease. As his fingers climbed ever higher, she kept her hands on his but made no more attempts to check his exploration. Some of her throat still had the peachy feel of ordinary skin, other parts had the wrinkled shinyness of healed burns that continued up over her jaw-line and across her face. She let him explore her devastation. So this was why she had chosen a lovemaking position where she faced away from him! In fact, perhaps this was why she had chosen to come to a place that virtually nobody ever came to. Just like him...

Now he knew. He slowly took his hands from her face, and led her hands towards his own. He let her fingers enter the secret tent of the small towel that was still covering his head. Again, he sensed her sudden intake of breath as her fingers encountered the different but familiar texture of deep burns that have healed over. Somehow her body relaxed even more onto his, her butt on his stomach, her pussy still enveloping his penis, her feet wrapping his, as her fingers slowly explored his face as it was today, the patterns of ridges and pits on his healed skin, the knobbly hairless ridges where his eyebrows once had been, the narrow ridge between his nostrils that was all that was left of his nose. She didn't seem to mind any of this. She just lifted her head a little so she could pull his face towel free, and then relaxed back onto his shoulder. Cheek to cheek.

He smiled as he felt her carefully drape the small towel across both their faces, to protect them from the sun that was still shining its warmth on both of them.