Deja Vu

We lie together on the bed, the sheets tangled in our feet, her head resting on my shoulder, my finger tracing down and up the valley of her spine.

I feel rested, as if I have just woken from a deep sleep. She sleeps beside me, her naked body heavy against mine. I feel her stir, murmur in her sleep, then her eyes open, slowly, so slowly, as if weighed down, closing, then struggling open again, unfocussed, looking nowhere.

I feel my heart beat quicken, an excitement building – anticipation, perhaps. She looks at me and smiles, contented. Her eyes brighten as I feel my pulse throb against where she is lying. I move my arm from under her. She lies back flat, looking up at me, her eyes hooded. I push myself on my elbow, then effortlessly onto my knees between her spread legs.

As I watch, she puts the fingers of her hand into her mouth, all the time holding me with her eyes, smiling. As she sucks her fingers she lets her eyes close; she savours the taste of her fingers. It is beautifully sensuous. I glance down at my red but flaccid penis. It is beginning to show signs of life. I feel blood flowing in, my pulse speeding.

Her fingers emerge from her mouth. They are covered in a white stickiness, which she proceeds to smear in slow circles on her abdomen. The white stickiness adheres to her skin and forms itself into little pools and droplets. I glance down. My penis is swollen, redder, though still not fully erect. I encourage it by putting my hand around it. It feels tender to the touch, but I ignore that and start to stroke it firmly, almost roughly.

She arches her back and, looking at my penis, cries out unintelligibly, repeating sounds that could be encouragement, could be pain, could be ecstasy.

I squeeze harder, stroke more vigorously, point the head of my penis at the flesh above her pubic hair. A shudder convulses me and the pools and droplets of white fluid leap from her skin into the eye of my penis. I feel spasms wrack my body as I force my penis to suck the fluid in. It jerks uncontrollably with the effort. It feels huge and hard in my hand. The girl moans and twists under me, her hooded eyes fixed on it.

When no more fluid remains and her skin is clean, I lean towards her arched body, stroking my penis more vigorously. She thrusts her pelvis up towards me. I want to continue stroking myself, but her wet lips draw me into her. I feel the warmth of her close around me. I feel as if I should be slowing my movements, but instead I feel more urgency, a frantic need to thrust into her, hard and fast. She must share the same need, for her body pushes up to meet me just as hard, just as fast. She urges me on in her strange guttural tones.

I slow a little. I can feel the ecstatic pleasure of the moment waning, but only slightly. The sensations in my penis seem a little less intense, but still exquisite. She wraps her legs around my waist, lightly at first, as if the effort were almost too much for her, then more and more tightly, as if trying to stop me escaping her.

I continue to thrust, but though the desire is still there, the intensity is dissipating. I lean forward, kiss her ear, nibble her neck. She writhes and moans beneath me. Her legs release me. I kiss her and she thrusts her tongue hard between my lips.

But as if her passion were dying too, her thrusts also become less vigorous. We settle into a more gentle rhythm. Which is probably a good thing, because I can feel a slight reduction in the lubrication she is producing.

I slow even more in the hope we'll both be more comfortable, but eventually I am forced to withdraw. Reluctantly, though, as witnessed by my penis's one or two attempts to re-enter.

Perhaps in the belief that my lips will stimulate her to produce more moisture, she grasps my head and bends me to the opening between her legs, crying out, shaking her head from side to side as if in contradiction to her actions. My mouth immediately covers her lips and I feel her pushing herself hard against me as my tongue flicks between her vagina and her clitoris.

Gradually her movements become calmer. I change to a teasing motion, letting the tip of my tongue trace the outside of her lips, touching her bud less and less frequently. It seems to relax her somewhat, though moans still come from deep within her body.

Eventually with a last cry and an almost involuntary grasp of my head, she lets me leave her. I look down at her. She smiles wantonly.

I lie beside her and kiss her ardently. I touch her between her legs and insert my finger between her lips, despite the fact I have some kind of cramp in my hand. She is still damp, enough for me to move my finger in and out of her freely anyway, despite the fact that her legs are no longer so wide apart.

This goes on for some time, but it isn't onerous – in fact, the cramp in my hand gradually disappears. At one point, she reaches down, miraculously retrieves her panties from within the tangled sheets and pulls them up her legs and into place – but accompanied by a look of desire and a lot of her strange speech. It seems an odd thing to want, to be just a little dressed, but I am willing. It is more uncomfortable fingering her inside her panties, but just as exciting. I keep it up for a good ten minutes.

Eventually however, it's too much even for me. I withdraw my hand and proceed to finger her through the damp cotton. Her moans become progressively less passionate. She even puts her hand on mine, whether to encourage or discourage me it's difficult to tell.

Then, with my hand on her arm for support, she cleverly levers herself into a standing position beside the bed. Perhaps she wants to go. I sit on the edge of the bed facing her. She seems not to know her own mind, for she grabs my head between her hands as before and pulls it towards her, so that my mouth is once again on her crotch, though now with her panties over it. I dutifully place my mouth on the damp material, immediately bringing on loud moans.

But no matter how much I kiss and lick her, the cotton strangely becomes less damp instead of more so. Her moans also become less intense. Until she appears to tire of it, so much so that when she unexpectedly puts her hand out to the side, somehow her jeans rise into it from where they have been lying on the floor. In one swift movement she pulls them up her legs, zips them and buckles her belt. Despite this, I begin to feel stronger sensations in my groin.

Thinking that she is intending to dress completely and definitely leave this time, I lie back on the bed. But instead of putting her top on, she drops to her knees between my legs. I suddenly have the inescapable sensation that I am about to come. I look at my cock, hard, swollen and red on my belly, throbbing with expectation. She leans over to look at it, her hair brushing it lightly, exquisitely. Despite my fear that the slightest touch will tip me over the edge I nevertheless grasp her shoulders and slowly bring her face lower. She smiles up at me, licking her lips sexily. Her mouth opens, her eyes close, her lips enfold me. I am so close to coming, it is torture.

And yet it doesn't happen.

As she sucks and swirls her tongue round the head of my cock, I gradually feel the imminence of my orgasm recede. It is as if her lips and tongue are soothing it rather than stimulating it.

After only a few minutes of her ministrations, I am calm. I am still enjoying the wetness and gentleness of her mouth, but they are no longer steering me towards orgasm.

Eventually her movements reduce to a teasing lick or two, her warm breath drifting up and down the length of my shaft as she smiles mischievously up at me. In another moment, she has reached to the floor, found my jeans and boxers, deftly put one inside the other and slid them up over my legs. Well. It's not the first time a woman has dressed herself after having sex with me, but it's the first time a woman has dressed me too. Instinctively I raise my hips and she pushes them all the way, zips me and buckles me.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and I rise into a sitting position, as if by some unseen magnetic force. I lean forward and kiss her breasts, at the same time cupping and squeezing them. She writhes and moans under my touch for a while, then we both stand. Her top flies into her hand from where it has been lying in a corner of my room and she puts it on.

I feel an intensifying pain in the skin of my back, then her fingernails tracing the exact spots. When she stops, the pain immediately disappears as if it had never been. I feel a similar pain in my lower lip. I raise a finger; it has a smear of blood on it. I touch the finger to my throbbing lip, but when I remove the finger the blood has gone. She reaches up with her mouth as the pain intensifies and sinks her teeth into the cut. I cry out, but when she withdraws her teeth and kisses me only with her lips, the pain disappears.

She extends an arm and my t-shirt flies into it from another corner of the room. In a second she has wrestled it over my uplifted arms and onto my chest. She returns to kissing me, passionately, forcefully. She grasps me around the waist and we shuffle over to the door, locked in an embrace. I begin to feel that if she wants to go so much, she doesn't have to keep up this pretence of still wanting me.

By the door, she pushes me against the wall, kissing me and grabbing my crotch through the fabric of my jeans. Frankly, it's too little too late. As if sensing it, she backs off, but still moaning and with a desperate, almost hungry, look on her face. The door flies open onto her extended foot, then we are through it and out into the lobby.

She flings her arms around me and rubs her pelvis against me as I lock the door. As we walk to the station I almost have to drag her along behind me. To tell the truth I am finding this pretence at a reluctance to part a bit tiresome.

When we reach the station I give her a cursory kiss on the cheek – though she smiles very enthusiastically, perhaps with relief that our date is over. As she backs away towards her train, her arm raised in farewell, I am already opening my newspaper. Five minutes later, I'm walking away, trying to remember what she looked like.