Moira

The first few times they had seen each other, the initial meetings were remarkable not only for their awkwardness but also of their interaction. It could be said that they did not completely ignore each other.

She had very little to do with him because the eroticism she felt in his presence was like the thick jungle air, pressing on her like two atmospheres, making the ground under her feet soft and treacherous. She knew God was cruel and that a feeling like hers couldn't be reciprocated with one like him... or so she thought. She focused her concentration on something else, keeping her hands locked around her drink, because her hands trembled.

She reacted in the same way she would if someone had shoved her into the tiger cage at the zoo. She was fascinated by his power and beauty, and she was afraid of what might happen if she made any sudden moves. She was afraid of what would happen if she touched him. Her thighs and back felt weak, and she didn't think she could run. She finished her drink and left to go back to her cabin.

When he woke up, he thought of her. When he drove, he thought of her. He masturbated to porno magazines. He could come only when he closed his eyes. He made the decision to see her. He asked the front desk at the lodge about her, if she had a phone. He groaned, she did not, but his heart gave a little leap when the owner said that she usually came to town on Tuesdays. Sitting on the porch of his rented cabin, he composed a story about how to approach her. He forgot it when he saw her boat approach the dock, the dock-boy running to help her. He forgot that he had composed a story, he forgot that he had ever been concerned with cover stories at all. He stood up and walked to the dock.

"Hi," he said. "Hello," she answered.

That morning, she'd dreamed that he'd say hello to her. In the dream, he was the same age but she had somehow been much younger. He'd talked to her about gardens, and for some reason the conversation had made her heart burst with excitement.

She did not speak, and he resisted the urge to say what he was about to say. The urge overcame him. "How do I get to your cabin?" Numbly, she told him. "I'll be there in four hours. Put your hair up. Put your makeup on. Do not use perfume. Go barefoot. Where white panties and nothing else."

"Yes," she said. He swallowed, turned and walked back to his cabin. She stared at him, trembling and then walked to the lot where her car was parked, go it, just sitting with the key in the ignition. Then she snapped out of whatever phase she was in, turnedthe key in the car and drove to town to buy a few groceries. She also bought white panties, even though she already had three pair in her drawers.

She got back to the cabin with half an hour to spare. She stood naked in front of the mirror putting up her hair and applying her makeup. The sight of her own body increased her excitement. She turned her easy chair to face the window overlooking the lake below and arranged herself in it. She rearranged herself after two seconds. She squirmed around a third time, crossed her leg over her knee, spread her arms along the back of the chair, and instantly felt so absurd that when she heard his boat approaching she leaped to her feet in a panic of embarrassment. After a short bit, she heard his steps, and then his knock on the door...he knocked again. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. He opened the door and walked into the cabin.

He walked into her cabin.

He stood with the door open behind him, studying her as if he was trying to see through a thick fog on an early morning after a heavy rain. He looked at her ankles, he looked at her face. She watched his eyes roam over her auburn hair. Fascinated, she stared at the way his cheekbones created the hollows of his eyes. She realized that she had passed the point where she could have not fucked him. Where had that been?

"How are you?" she asked. He reached carelessly behind him, and with a flick of his fingers swung the door more shut. He extended the fingers of his other hand out towards her stomach, he had the waistband of her new panties in his fist. He moved his hand downwards slightly, she could feel the heat of his body, her waistband pulling at her, a thrilling inch of her pelvis exposed. His face was against her face. She felt his warm breath against her neck, drawing shivers upon her whole being. The crackle from the wood stove the only sound other than the beating of her heart she hears

He pushed her down in the chair. He brushed his thumbs down her hipbones as he pulled the panties off. She raised her butt off the chair to let him do it. Having to push her pussy closer to his face made her breath go fast and shallow. He ducked his head and sucked her clit into his mouth. The thought that he was tasting her - literally tasting her, actually experiencing her through his tongue - fascinated her. She tried to imagine it. What is he thinking? His doing it shattered her concentration.

He put his hands underneath her back and her ass. Warmth radiated into her flesh. He licked her belly button. Although she hadn't come, she was already soaked and trembling. Someone was undoing his pants, and it was her. She'd never been so aware of a cock before, it's thickness, it's length, the come glistening on its head. He was rhythmically pressing his upper thighs between her spread legs. The muscles in his arms trembled, his fingers were pressing into her back.

"Fuck me with this," she whispered up to him, pressing his cock against her damp pubic hair with the flat of her hand. He took his thick cock in his fist and plunged it into her. She was breathing like a animal, her teeth clenched and bared. He used fast, deep, sliding strokes, his fingers interlaced behind her neck, and in five minutes he made her come like nothing before. Just as she came she was surprised to feel him yank himself out of her. He stood up and bumped his cock against her face, she lifted up her chin...opening her mouth and stuck the tip of her tongue out. Warm pulses hit her tongue, her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and then swallowed him, and thought, 'that can't be his come', just before it was spurting into her mouth, down her throat.

He groaned. His knees bent, she felt his legs threaten to give way, and suddenly she knew the power she had over him, that he was barely aware of the noise he made. The realization made the room spin. The softening of his cock in her mouth was something she wouldn't accept. She grabbed the back of his knees with her hands and went with him onto his back, never letting him out of her warm mouth, her tongue flicking under the length of him, chewing gently, swallowing him whole.

Afterwards, she would always think of sex with him as eating him. She would always associate it with a feeling of pressure at the back of her throat, even when she was imagining him pounding her to the mattress with his cock, hard and wet. The door was still ajar, the cool breeze stirring the hairs at the nape of her neck, but nothing of that mattered, not now while feeling his cock swell deep in her throat and from his groans, knowing that another come was soon to happen...and gladly wanted.

As their brief although fantastic summer relationship progressed, she was surprised that she was not his slave. She collapsed so completely that first time that the thing she could imagine him having was ownership entire. She was convinced that he would one day try to penetrate her ass. She mentally prepared herself to resist him. He never tried it. Her reactive efforts to enslave him were like trying to fit her hands around a marble floor. There was no place to get a grip and the floor didn't notice. He didn't want to own her. Owning her would have destroyed the dynamic in their relationship that excited him. He couldn't take what he already owned, he could only use it.

As it was, they could hardly sleep together. Literally sleep together. After five or ten minutes of ferocious sex, which the jealous clock told them had taken three hours, they would faint practically on top of each other, the muscles in her thighs quivering, his cock stinging as it shrank. Ninety minutes later his bladder would torture him awake. Back from the bathroom, he would slide gratefully back into the warm bed and find her, half-asleep, already spreading her legs.

He would remember forever how she looked the first day that found him at her cabin. The setting sun had been creeping into the room through the window for a quarter of an hour, showing first clearly her features, then the exhaustion, then the ecstasy, finally the sweat at her temples. Her pelvis and head had both been tilted back, her body a bow, her long auburn hair streaming down her back, her breathing labored, and him pumping her steadily from behind, her knees on the bed, her hands on the windowsill, when the last birdsong came through the screens before the sun finally set.

"I have found her," He thought to himself...

To Be Continued...