My Horniest Housemate

My lover moved out yesterday, out of my home, out of my life. After more than a year together, he had become secretive and distant, seemingly happier on his own than when sharing my company. He had begun to spend whole weekends by himself, climbing mountains, surfing at the beach. Perhaps it was my fault for letting him go away each time, believing a touch of distance would make us grow mutually fonder. The sex had become increasingly masturbatory: our standard routine consisted of me sucking him for a while, then him going down on me in return before putting it in and moving in and out for a few minutes, then him withdrawing and kneeling over my thighs, rubbing his balls and jerking off his purple prick wet with my juices as I used both hands on myself, him coming in great white spurts over my breasts and chin then smoothing it into my skin and sucking hard on my nipples as I rubbed until my own satisfaction came in quiet ripples.

He didn't understand how I could complain when I came every time - I truly enjoyed his tongue lapping me and his hands rubbing his hot semen all over my breasts - but for me, it just wasn't a true ritual of quality love-making.

How painful now to recall the day he arrived at my door in answer to my request for a housemate on a shopping centre noticeboard. I was a physiotherapist in my late thirties, he was a school groundsman in his mid-twenties; I preferred baroque music, he liked '70s hard rock - in so many ways we were opposites, and yet I knew he personified the strength and security I wanted with me inside my house.

He was young and active, sensitive to my need for space, generous in doing his share of the housework, and, I confess, his honed body was indeed mouth-watering. Watching him walk to and from the bathroom in his satin boxers or a mere wet towel day after day, listening to the gentle squeak of his bedsprings on the other side of my bedroom wall as he masturbated himself to sleep - it wasn't long before he began to appear regularly in my fantasies. Each time I lay in bed giving myself pleasure with well-rehearsed fingers, I recalled his face on the two or three occasions when he had walked in unexpectedly to catch me in only my underwear. Each time, the flicker of his eyes over my scantily clad form had suggested initial amusement backed by unmistakable lust. But each time, he merely excused himself and left the room.

My enjoyment of undressing him mentally was undeniable, and, fuelled by the frequent raucous suggestions of my visiting female friends as to what they'd be doing with a housemate like him, our domestic atmosphere became saturated with sexual tension, steadily increasing in pressure right up to the night when my scream caused by a sudden thunderbolt in the storm outside brought him running into my bedroom.

My bedside light revealed him standing in my room, naked, although he covered himself quickly with his hands. I feigned a panicky pleading he lie beside me until the storm passed. There was initial hesitation before he slid under my doona, lying next to me, facing away. We lay there for long minutes listening to the driving rain and thunder outside, until, with my heart pounding, I slid forward to press my body against his, my upper arm around his waist, my breasts squashing into his spine. The musky male smell of his skin was a perfect aphrodisiac. After restless months without a lover to enjoy, I was intoxicated with the excitement of having my fantasy man in bed with me, nude and touchable. Can you imagine the tides of my emotions that night, as I surrendered finally to the physical and emotional needs my rational side had tried to deny?

Totally melting with desire, sensing it was now or never, I slid my fingers down his body to wrap his penis tightly. It was already erect, hot and so incredibly smooth. He responded instantly: rolled to face me, took my breasts in his hands and kissed me deep and hard, his tongue penetrating my mouth as his hairy legs brushed over mine. From there we began to make fantastic, furious love with all of our bodies, letting all the built-up pressure from our look-but-don't-touch relationship of six months explode as he pulled off my chemise and we explored each other's bodies urgently. When he rolled onto me with a sense of capture and slid his cock straight into my burning wetness, I cried out in sheer delight and when I took firm hold of his heavy sac as if to confirm it was really him entering and withdrawing from me so smoothly and commandingly, his sudden moan of enjoyment sent a fierce thrill through my nervous system. When he was deep inside, I squeezed my inner muscles as tightly as I could to heighten his sensations and when he began to thrust quicker and harder and moaned louder, I did something I had never done before.

I needed him to give me irrefutable proof I was still capable of giving a young lover the most intense of joys, needed to experience his orgasm as intimately and undeniably as I could, so I moved fast, pushing him sideways to eject him and sliding down the bed to take his beautiful, throbbing wet prick straight into my voracious mouth. He spurted uncontrollably as I fondled his balls and ran my tongue around and around him, sucking hard, nearly drowning on his pent-up come, swallowing as much as I could and letting the rest seep out of my mouth, sucking as if to drain the life out of him. At that moment, with my mouth and hands giving his cock sensations to remember for years, and with his gratitude for my giving of myself expressed in his unstoppable moans, I felt so powerful and so womanly I almost cried in happiness.

We lay together breathing heavily for a few minutes as I continued to gently nuzzle and kiss his softening manhood, before he pulled me up beside him and then slid himself down the bed to spread my thighs apart with his hard workman's hands. Lowering his face so his short beard tickled arousingly against my bottom, he proceeded to give me the most exquisite, mind-blowing sensations I have ever received from a man's mouth. He ran his long tongue slowly up and down my sensitive folds, probing for moisture in every tiny ripple and crevice, tantalising my clit from all sides before sliding his loving pink blade inside to taste my innermost juices.

He used his tongue like a searchlight, skilfully moving around the walls just inside the entrance, lingering wherever my movements suggested new pleasure. I pushed his face further into me, almost delirious with the intense excitement he was causing to rise so rapidly. Abruptly he withdrew his tongue and instead inserted two fingers to stroke my G-spot in firm and rapid alternation as he took my whole clit between his lips and sucked hard. Immediately, I climaxed with shattering intensity, and as he continued to stroke me internally with his irresistible rhythm, my love juices squirted in forceful bursts into the palm of his hand as I came again and then again. Finally, unable to bear any more of his superbly skilled stimulation, I pulled his head away from my thighs and hugged him tightly.

Drawing the doona over ourselves, we embraced comfortably and with the falling rain filling our breathy silence, I fell asleep in his arms, already dreaming of a love lasting forever. And even now we have grown apart, that thrilling, stormy first night remains my sweetest memory of him, tinged with the tiniest trace of sadness.