Michael moved through the garden, jacket thrown over one shoulder, tie tucked into a pocket, white shirt, and black trousers, socks and shoes. James Bond she'd called him. For that, he really needed a ruffled shirt. Maybe he should buy one before dinner tonight. Clare had picked this place, not him. It had an old world charm though. Rustic brickwork, covered with flowers and as the Sun was beginning to dip he turned into a flowery avenue and saw the bench she had said would be there, and so was she. A flowery sun print dress barely hiding shapely legs, and her arms, lightly tanned, under the lowering sky. He tried for a measured step, not wanting to appear too eager, but he felt the quickening in his groin, and his stride lengthened. He hadn't seen for all of four hours, but the conference had seemed like a lifetime of torture. Now he could make out her features, and the welcoming smile of greeting.
He climbed the few steps to the bench, and he bent and kissed her, slowly, deeply, again drinking in the smell of her chestnut hair, the scent of her skin. Her lips eagerly pressing into his with equal passion. Michael had known a few women who could excite him, he had only known one who could drive his hormones into overdrive, and as he kissed her he felt again the screaming, primal lust in his body wanting her. His hands trembling as he tried to calm his racing heart.
They'd made love so many times now that he'd forgotten how often in the past few days she, or he, had orgasmed. With most women he would have become bored, and the love making would have become mechanical. Somehow though, each touch, every kiss, kept feeding his desire to have her. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for the way this woman seemed to able to stoke his need for her. And she seemed so eager to make love to him too, every time he had left, since the first meeting, a tear in his heart, every meeting, the freshness ever present, but now doubly piquant, because they had learnt what each desired from the other. They had not yet covered some of there kinkier fetishes, but they were learning each other still, most important, learning to trust the other.
Michael sat upon the bench beside her, trying her not to just throw himself on her, and he assayed a small smile of greeting, one of his hands capturing hers, knees touching. They still weren't good at small talk. There lust for one another seemed to enough, at least for now, but Michael felt that this too would eventually sort itself out. Right now they were more like randy teenagers, instead of the mature people that they suppose to be.
As before, his tongue was sticking to the roof as he gazed at her, but she seemed to be slightly distracted, because her head and eyes were moving looking all around the garden. She'd seemed happy to see him, but now she was paying him no attention at all.
"You ok, love?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "Just thinking." Her returning smile was warm, but her gaze returned to scanning the surrounding gardens. Michael looked too. No one was around, and he was fairly sure that the gardens were due to close soon. He was surprised that people weren't taking advantage of this glorious afternoon, but he'd seen no one since he had paid to get in. He squeezed Clare' s hand and then he put it to his lips and kissed it, before putting it back into her lap. He reached down and took her sandalled foot, into his hands, slipped it from her foot, and began massaging her foot.
He liked her feet, small and neat, painted nails, and whenever he was unsure of what to say, or do, her feet found their way in his hands. Across Clare' s face he saw a deepening smile, and he raised her toes to his lips, and saw the hem of her dress slide easily down her thigh, and her legs, parting slightly, revealed that she was not even wearing her usual thong. He took a hard pull at her toes, his eyes though now looking at her pussy, remembering her taste and the welcoming pleasure of his penis inside her.
Michael slipped off the bench, lapping slowly up her leg, and Clare' s smile became wider, as did her legs. Michael reaching her pussy, began parting her lips, kissing her clitoris. Her hands in his hair, just stroking his ears, his neck. He wondered for a moment about whether or not anyone would see them, and he was about to start drawing her into his mouth when her hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him off her. Michael thought someone must be coming, and his head began to turn, but her hands kept pushing him back and he felt her following him onto the sweet grass.
Her hands pushed him flat onto the grass and then she slowly shuffled back on her knees, and with quick hands she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned the trousers, before peeling them back, and pushed back the deep olive green boxers, to expose his penis. Her hands pulled it up straight, and then even as she caressed it, she looked up at him.
"Now then," she said, "I think it's time you learnt something new about me." And she bent down over his cock, taking it slowly in her mouth. Michael made to raise his hips to meet her mouth, but almost immediately both of her hands pressed hard down on his hips, so that he couldn't move. And then he felt her slowly pressing his cock further into mouth, and then he felt as with very slow deliberation his penis entered her throat and Michael closed his eyes as she swallowed his whole shaft, and his glans began being stimulated by Clare s throat. And her whole head began moving up and down on him, her hands firmly holding his hips to the grass as she made all the movement, up and down on his cock.
