Cathy's Exception

Cathy was a rarity among the women I'd gone to bed with -- she was single. For a married man, all things considered, a married woman as a lover presents fewer problems. You find one who wants to stay married, so that makes her motivated to be equally discreet. She's likely to be selective in both the quantity and quality of men she's been to bed with. And she understands that you can't see her on a regular basis.

Cathy wasn't looking for a steady boyfriend. She'd been married for fifteen childless years, widowed for five. She kept busy with her job, her house, her aloof cat and her inquisitive Airedale, and her eclectic interests in New Age spirituality. "I enjoy men," she'd told me during an online chat. "I enjoy occasional sex. I'm not looking for a roommate." Then she echoed my own philosophy. "Besides, married men are safer, for all sorts of reasons."

The first time we met face to face was for breakfast at a restaurant near her work. Cathy was tall, a mere two inches shorter than me, with a body typical of a woman in her early forties -- moderate sized breasts, womanly hips, and sporting a few extra pounds. She had pale blue eyes and thin lips that were quick to smile. Her thin blonde hair barely reached her broad shoulders. We hit it off.

A few weeks later she invited me to her house. A few seconds after the front door closed behind me, Cathy was pressed against me and we were locked in a long, wet kiss. We moved to a nearby couch, soon shifting from being half-reclined to her lying on her back and me on top. Active mouths, busy hands, full body contact -- my erection announced its presence to her, and Cathy's body temperature and hot breaths announced that she was equally turned on.

"Let's go upstairs," she suggested. I followed her to her bedroom, standing at the foot of her bed -- a waterbed, as it turned out -- impatiently undressing each other. It was past time for the obligatory conversation. Her fist gripped my shaft, encouraging it even stiffer. My hands were on her boobs. They were nice handfuls, tipped with big, hard brown nipples. She pulled me toward the bed.

We got horizontal, my furry chest against her smooth breasts, my erection denting her soft lower belly, our hands caressing and mouths nuzzling. Cathy murmured between kisses, "I always use condoms." Uh oh. "To be safe." Her thumb was smearing my precum around my cockhead. "Is that okay? I have some." It didn't seem like the right time to debate it.

It was the usual getting-to-know-you first time. Mouths and tongues, hands and fingers exploring the newness, breathy gasps of pleasures both received and given. My tongue brought her to a vocal, shuddering orgasm that smeared my face with her musky juices, and her mouth made slow love to my erection as it seeped my readiness.

"Shall we?" Cathy asked me, looking upward, her thumb and forefinger encircling the base of my throbbing cock. Yes, I replied.

Cathy squirmed to the edge of the bed and retrieved a condom from the bedside nightstand. My quick glance saw a white vibrator and a bottle of KY. She smiled at me, then focused on opening the packet and rolling the condom down my shaft. "There!" She moved on top of me, straddling my hips, sitting half upright and positioning herself until my cock lay lengthwise in her cleft. I felt her internal heat and her slickness that she smeared on my latex-covered penis. And then I was inside her, our eyes glued to each other, my cock embedded in her warm, gentle grasp.

Cathy's weight pressed her pubis against me, driving my ass into the waterbed, and she rocked in a steady rhythm as I held her breasts and played with her nipples and arched my own hips to keep my stiff cock held high and buried. Cathy's g-spot signaled her orgasm, and she sat more upright to scrub it against my erection. Her eyes closed, her breathing accelerated, and she released a series of loud, guttural grunts, quickly triggering my own orgasm and my spurting jets into that frustrating latex sheath.

My second visit was a few weeks later. This time we skipped the preliminaries on the living room couch and headed straight to her bedroom. Our lovemaking was less frantic than before, our bodies and our rhythms just a fragment more familiar. My mouth was more patient, too. I savored her pussy. Her scent invaded my head, my tongue lapped her widening split, greeting each labia individually and slathering her little wonderbutton at the top. When my fingers joined the fun, Cathy's squirms and vocalizations guided me to her puckered anus. A wet forefinger slipped inside to a moaning welcome, and that seemed to trigger her orgasm, complete with rhythmic clenches around my invading digit.

When I mounted her and nuzzled her neck and plowed my cockhead up and down her furrow with a slippery tease, when Cathy murmured "Let me get a condom," I continued to glide against her clit. I have a vasectomy, I reminded her. It was something I'd told her months before during online chat, but perhaps she'd forgotten it. Her blue eyes studied my face. "Really?" Yes, really. "And you're healthy?" Yes, really. Her knees raised up. I could see she was considering it. "Okay," she finally decided. "Okay."

And in I went. I sunk into her vagina, bare skin against bare skin, my sensitive flesh surrounded by silky slickness and smooth walls that felt alive. My hips found a steady rhythm that synced with the wave action of the waterbed. In, out, in, out, with little side-to-side or circular rooting motions mixed in for variety. Cathy's face was flushed. Her eyes glistened. Her mouth stayed open in an 'O' with breathy pants. "Do you come a lot?" she asked me. Yes, I replied, I believe I do. She was going to find out soon. "I haven't had come inside me for years."

Her words, I'm afraid, didn't do much to help my self control. My cock hardened another notch, my thrusts increased in pace and strength, and I tried to get us both to the finish line together. "That's it," she gasped-grunted-moaned, "Like that," and I just kept going, with tiny increments of faster and harder and deeper, and Cathy's slippery little embrace kept getting hotter and slicker.

I couldn't hold back any longer. Gonna come, I grunted, and my hips went into that final charge over the brink. Cathy's knees raised another notch and she hooked her ankles behind my lower back, and her hips rocked upward to meet my downward, full-force thrusts. And then I was there, jammed inside her as deep as I could manage, my body paralyzed in that never-never-land of pure, explosive pleasure.

Cathy's hips kept rocking, her rapid breaths turned into pants, and then I began to spurt. Cathy's kegels gripped around the base of my cock, and then she climaxed an instant after my second long pulse shot another rope up inside her. Her eyes closed, her face reddened, and she was lost in her orgasm. By my third pulse my hips got unstuck and I could restart my thrusts, my cock still spurting, her sweet cunnie now feeling very liquid.

"Oh my God," she whispered when she found her voice and my spurts faded. "I felt you come." We slowly rocked against each other. "I am _so_ wet." When I softened and slipped out, Cathy reached a hand down to check things out. "Yep," she announced, "I'm overflowing." I glanced down. Yes indeed, she was leaking white. She was oozing my juices.

That afternoon we had time for a second round. Cathy's mouth got me hard, then she got on top, impaling her juicy snatch on my shaft. Her grinding pressure and undulating hips and breathy moans kept me hard and drove herself up the ladder. Her climax was the usual thing of beauty, complete with an arched back and a face frozen in an agony of pleasure released.

When she floated back to earth, her eyes refocused on my face. "Did you come?" she asked. Not yet, I told her. Cathy wrinkled her nose. "Come for me," she demanded. Not yet, I replied. Lie on your tummy. Cathy smiled and dismounted, settling beside me on the bed. I straddled her hips, she spread her legs, and I guided my cock into her pussy again.

Alas, the waterbed wasn't ideal for this position. My knees sunk into the bed, making it impossible to stay deep inside her. Roll over, I told her, and once again I was inside her with the trusty, all-in Missionary, and once again I found that rhythm of full-length thrusts that buried my erection inside her creamy heat. Cathy's legs sprawled open and her hips cocked upward, and my thrusts bottomed out, again and again, my erection stirring up those slurpy noises of our mixed juices and the ricocheting sloshing of her bed beneath us.

"Come for me," she breathed. "Come in me." My erection stiffened. Feel that? "Yes, do it, yes." I felt another gush of her slickness inside. It was time. Feel me come, I told her, feel what you do to me, and then I surrendered to the sensations, surrendered to my primal desire to splash more manhood into her intimate welcome. I groaned, I strained against the all-too-yielding waterbed to stuff my cock as deep as I could get. "Let it go," she encouraged, and I did. Spurt after long spurt, each met with Cathy's repeated "I feel it" that only kept it going even longer.

Afterwards we lay on our backs, heartrates retreating, skin moist and flushed. "You make a mess out of me," she scolded with a pretend irritation. I'm sorry, I replied. "You should be. I'll need to change my sheets." It's your wet spot, too, I told her. Cathy pretended irritation, and I pretended defensiveness. "You leave me overflowing." She giggled, then added. "I hope you're right about that vasectomy."