Moonlight Serenade

The house was completely silent as I crept in, gingerly closing the front door with an barely-perceptible 'click'. All the lights were off downstairs: no great surprise, as it was two o'clock in the morning. After finding an empty vase in one of the kitchen cupboards, I unwrapped the bouquet that I'd been carrying, arranged the flowers in the middle of the main dining table, and placed a large box of chocolates in front. I also hid a packet of my wife's favourite sweets under her laptop on the sofa, for surprise discovery later on. I slipped off my shoes and tiptoed upstairs, past the kids' rooms on the first floor landing and into the top floor bathroom, where I swiftly shed the rest of my clothes.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, allowing me to push it open without making a sound. I could dimly discern a shape under the duvet: she was lying on her left-hand side, facing away from my usual side of the bed. I slipped in beside her, her warmth radiating outwards. I knew I'd be off-puttingly cold to her touch, so I waited a few minutes until my temperature climbed to match hers. I listened to her breathing, trying to gauge whether she was genuinely asleep, or smiling quietly in the dark as she awaited my first move.

I rolled onto my side and embraced her from behind. Holding her gently around her waist, I kissed her on the nape of her neck. She shifted her legs so that we fitted perfectly together in an S shape, top to bottom.

"Hello," she murmured softly, without the merest hint of surprise. "I've missed you."

"How much?" I asked.

"Wait and see."

We continued spooning, enjoying the heat of each other's bodies and imagining what was going through each other's minds. Although I briefly thought about keeping my hips at a slight distance to conceal my arousal, she could hardly have missed the sensation of my cock slowly thickening as it rested along the crevice below the small of her back. I stroked the soft skin of her belly, and slowly moved one of my hands up to her right breast, cupping it to feel its weight before closing my finger and thumb around a nipple whose pea-shaped firmness confirmed that she couldn't hide her arousal either.

I licked my fingers, gently moistening the nipple. My hand closed over her breast, massaging it gently, trapping the nipple between my second and third fingers so I could carry on tweaking it. When I moved my hand across to give the left breast similar treatment, she rolled onto her back to allow me to take her right nipple into my mouth. Placing my lips around the entire areola, I ran my tongue across the surface before sucking the nipple into my mouth through my semi-closed teeth. She moaned audibly for the first time, turning herself onto her right-hand side so that I could do the same to her left breast and nipple while continuing to work on its companion with my fingers. Our ten years together had given me a very good idea of what was happening elsewhere in her body, but I didn't want to spoil the suspense just yet.

We separated briefly, and I reached over to flip the wooden slats of the shutters. The pale, silvery light of the full moon spilled onto the bed, revealing her whole body. She was still lying on her side, her hips curving outwards, her thighs tightly closed. Her dark triangle was both demure and infinitely tantalising, pointing towards something that was still firmly hidden. I nuzzled the mound of her pubis through her short, springy curls, detecting a faint yet unmistakable aroma of what lurked further down. My tongue traced the well-defined outline of her pubic hair, along the top, down one side, passing swiftly and teasingly over the slight parting at the bottom. My left hand slipped under her right hip, and both hands began caressing her firm, magnificently curvacious rear. She began to move against me, rubbing herself against my face while still keeping her legs pressed tightly together. I moved my lips down to the apex of her vulva, briefly running my tongue along the lips as they joined at the top, feeling the hard little protuberance between them swell to my touch.

Unable to maintain the coyly virginal pose any more, she rolled onto her back and spread her legs wide. I kissed and licked her fleshy outer lips, parting them with my tongue and tasting her delicious arousal. The moonlight was too dim to reveal their colour, but I summoned a mental image from a few years back of her lying on a white towel in a brightly lit hotel room, rhythmically rubbing her clitoris while inviting me to describe the effect that it was having on her vulva. I've never forgotten the way her labia darkened to a rich purple as the blood coursed through them, or the way they parted involuntarily to reveal first their shyly reticent inner counterparts and then the fleshy, glistening aperture between them. I remember being mesmerised by the way that her empty hole seemed to clutch at the air, aching to be filled, and how the muscles around her entrance visibly pulsed when her orgasm finally broke.

Replaying this in my head, my tongue delved between her legs, her thighs pressing against my ears, her fingers having taken responsibility for her own nipples. My nose ran along the groove, savouring the musky scent. I flicked my tongue hard across her perineum, making her gasp, before licking back and forth along the entire length of her slit, dipping my tongue deeper and deeper inside her entrance before plunging it inside her wet, clenching tunnel as far it would go. I grabbed her buttocks again and she writhed on the bed, mashing the whole of her vulva into my face and smearing it with juices that were now in full flow. Now that I was lapping directly from the source, the pheromone overdose had me reeling.

There being no doubt about her readiness, I slid two fingers inside her vagina, feeling her muscles gripping them as they probed the slick and slippery channel to find the coin-shaped trigger on its front wall that would push her over the edge. As my fingers curled upwards, firmly massaging her G-spot, I began running my tongue around her swollen clitoris, just as I'd teased and tormented her nipples earlier. Deep inside her, I found a vein, hot and pulsing, and I moved my fingers apart to stimulate the muscles at her entrance, increasing the sensation that she was being completely filled.

What was going through her head right now? We'd made love like this hundreds, maybe thousands of times, usually followed and often accompanied by lengthy conversations about what key moments felt like from our own mutual perspectives. I remembered the way we'd both marvelled at the changes pregnancy and childbirth had wrought in her, increasing her G-spot's sensitivity and prominence and leaving her far less reliant on her clitoris as the locus of her pleasure. Her breasts had become much more responsive to stimulation: I'd once brought her to a full, juddering orgasm when we were lying on the bed fully clothed, merely by massaging them through her pullover and fondling her nipples as they strained against the cloth. I'd been fascinated by female sexuality all my adult life, voraciously reading erotica by women in an attempt to get inside their heads, but that final imaginative leap eluded me: I had no idea what it would feel like to be so exposed and open at the front, or to have three similarly-sized and ultra-sensitive erectile pleasure-points forming a triangle that covered the bulk of my torso.

This idle musing was abruptly interrupted by the all too evident approach of her climax. As her vaginal muscles began their familiar spasming around my fingers, I sucked hard on her clitoris, pushing her over the edge. Her body shook uncontrollably, and she dissolved into a series of wrenching sobs from which she needed several seconds to recover. Finally, she subsided, lying back against the pillow with a tired but beatific grin on her face. I gently slipped my fingers out of her and she turned her to face me. Wrapping our arms around each other, we kissed long and lasciviously, and I knew that she could smell and taste her juices.

She lifted her position to let my thighs move between hers. My cock, neglected till now, had nonetheless remained erect throughout, and guided itself perfectly to its target without needing a helping hand. As her vaginal muscles squeezed its base and our pubic bones collided for the first time, we held still, looking into each other's eyes, our bodies locked in ecstatic union. Her breasts were flattened against my chest, our bellies pressed together, her legs wrapped around mine, and we both liked to think that the tiny openings at the head of my penis and the mouth of her cervix were kissing as passionately as our mouths had done moments earlier.

We held that position for a few moments, relishing every exquisite sensation, and then she rolled onto her back. Recognising the signal, I began thrusting hard and fast, pulling out almost to the tip before filling her again, knowing that she loved the constant back-and-forth of the crown rubbing against her ultra-sensitive entrance as if I was helping her scratch a deep-seated itch. I began sucking a nipple and she reached down between her thighs, feeling my thick shaft as it repeatedly parted her now dripping labia. I dipped my fingers down there too, wetting them with her juices and bringing them up to her face to let her lick them clean. When she tasted herself again, she began frantically strumming her clitoris, her hand squashed between our bodies.

Sex-starved for days, we were both on a hair-trigger. My balls slapped against her buttocks and I felt my scrotum tightening. She rolled over onto her side, wrapped her entire body around me, looked directly into my eyes and said "Now!". I plunged as deeply as I could and began to gush hot, thick fluid. She felt my length pulsing inside her, and squeezed it in blissful empathy. We kissed again, treasuring the last few seconds before the inevitable deflation on both sides. I flipped the shutters closed again and turned on the bedside light.

"Happy anniversary, darling," I said.

"I thought you weren't home for another week?" she asked, finally realising how unexpected this encounter had been.

"I've got tomorrow morning off, and I managed to get cheap last-minute plane tickets. I'll have to live off baked beans for the rest of the month, but it was easily worth it."

"You were taking a big risk," she giggled. "My secret lover could be lurking in the wardrobe right now. Or dangling from the second-floor window wearing only his boxers."

"Well, I could have spent the plane fare on a prostitute instead," I pointed out. "The money would have stretched to a pretty specialised one, too. Much less effort, and I might have learned something along the way."

She snuggled up to me, laying a breast across my chest and caressing my thigh with her damp mound. She reached down and gently fondled my cock, stroking it more vigorously when she felt it respond. When it was fully engorged again, she took it into her mouth, running her tongue over the head and massaging the area between my balls and my anus with her fingers: long practice had established the perfect pleasure-spot. I doubted that I'd be able to manage another orgasm after my earlier exertions, but she knew better, sucking me to the point of no return and finishing me off with her other hand.

It had taken me some time to persuade her that I adored cunnilingus as much as she did (for me, it's the one sexual act that powerfully triggers all five senses at the same time), and I used to think she was merely doing me a favour as well, but she'd repeatedly told me that she was just as turned on by running her fingers along my shaft, feeling its veiny hardness and recalling what it felt like inside her. She particularly loved to watch it spurt, thrilled by the graphic demonstration of the power that she had over it.

I'd been home for three-quarters of an hour, and had another fifteen minutes before I had to hit the road again. I was completely spent, but she thought she could manage another orgasm, so she reached inside her bedside drawer and took out her glass dildo, a birthday present from a few months earlier that I'd had shipped to my workplace to prevent her from stumbling across it prematurely. I should have predicted the agonising suspense that this would create between order and delivery as it passed through the postroom to the mailbag on my floor. What if the package had split? And how would she react, given that she'd got surprisingly little pleasure out of vibrators or sex toys made of rubber or latex? But it arrived intact, and the way that her eyes lit up when she saw what I'd bought her remains another of my indelible memories.

She hardly needed any more lubrication, so I knelt between her legs and pushed it inside without any preliminaries, watching it parting her lips to give me that unmatchably generous view deep inside her body's very core. Although my own erection was slightly thicker at the base, the dildo more than compensated with what she described as its initially daunting firmness, a series of ridges along its length designed to rub against both her entrance and her G-spot. When she grasped the bulb at the far end and began to thrust it in and out at an alarming speed that I was convinced would damage her internally, I turned my attention to her clitoris again, licking the sides of its hood this time as I knew that it would now be much too sensitive for direct stimulation. My hands were free to tweak her nipples into fresh excitement, and as I teased all three of her pleasure nubs and she focused on what was happening lower down, her body quickly surged to another shuddering climax.

"That's it; I'm done," she confirmed. "And I can't begin to tell you how much I love you right now."

We kissed each other gently on the lips again, and she turned over and went back to sleep. I slid out of the bed reluctantly, dressed and headed back to the airport. When I reached the hotel and prepared for the three hours of sleep that were all I had left before the job recommenced, I realised that I still smelled strongly of her. For now, this would have to do.