Weeend Getaway

We have finally managed a babysitter for the weekend and arrived at our destination a little while ago. It is a lovely old bed & breakfast, somewhere in Vermont. We have wanted to get away, just the two of us, for so long. The building is an old restored Victorian, with a wraparound porch and gingerbread details. We have a suite on the third floor, a large bedroom and bath.

I have left you to unpack and change for dinner while I shave and take my shower. My preliminaries finished, I open the bathroom door and see you. You are bathed in the soft light of the bedside lamp. On the dresser several small candles are burning, smelling lightly of vanilla. You are unaware that I am watching as you dress.

I approach you from behind as you stand in front of a large, floor length mirror. You are wearing a white blouse and a dark skirt; you are almost finished getting ready to go out to dinner. You catch me approaching out of the corner of your eye and smile. I reach around your waist from behind with one arm and pull you close to me. I can smell your hair and feel the warmth of your neck as I nuzzle your ear. Neither of us says anything, we just stand there, me holding you, for a long time. You reach up with your right arm and lay your hand lightly on the back of my neck and close your eyes. Your hand feels cool on my skin. I am still warm from the shower, wearing a white terrycloth robe.

Our bodies seem to have synched up somehow, finding a rhythm before forging ahead together. After several minutes, we are breathing together slowly and deeply, relaxed but somehow expectant, too. I say something in your ear, not a whisper, but deep and low, something about being late for our dinner reservation. Your lips curl upward in a smile.

My hands begin to move to the buttons on your blouse. There are many, but my fingers are up to the task, and slowly your blouse opens from top to bottom, still tucked into your skirt. My right hand finds its way inside the fabric, feeling the soft skin of your stomach. You inhale sharply as my hand finds its way to your left breast, still safely covered by your black bra. I can feel the weight of your breast through the silky fabric, and feel your nipple harden under my hand. I move my hand away to tug your blouse from your skirt. I undo the final button and slide it off your shoulders, let it fall to the floor. You are watching all of this through half closed eyes in the mirror. We have not kissed yet.

I turn my attention to your skirt, lowering the zipper. It joins your blouse on the floor. You are now only in your black bra and panties, very conservative. I admire the way they contrast with your complexion. We are both watching in the mirror now. My hands seem to have a mind of their own, exploring your body slowly but surely. The curve of your hips, the symmetry of your shoulders, the roundness of your bottom, the curvature of your lower back are all discovered under my touch. I begin to kiss your neck; you are getting goose bumps. I release the clasp on your bra and slide it from your shoulders. Still, we have not kissed.

My hands waste little time finding your now exposed breasts. They are a marvel to me. They are alabaster and rosy pink all at the same time. Firm but soft, too. My fingertip traces your tan lines, the back of my index finger grazes the bottom curve of your left breast; my thumbs circle your nipples and feel them harden. I drop my hands to your waist, following the upper edge of the fabric of your panties. I feel the slippery texture of the fabric covering your behind. I ease one hand into the front of your panties, feeling the tuft of downy hair, the slight mound at the intersection of your thighs. I slip my index fingers in each side of your panties and explore the smooth skin underneath. I ease them down, over your hips until they, too reach the floor. You are now naked, reflected back to me in the mirror. I just look at you for a long moment, drinking you in. You are a wonder to me. You are watching me now in the mirror. You can see the want in my eyes. I feel you shudder as you settle against me.

My left hand moves to cup your right breast; my right hand explores the now wet place at the top of your thighs. I boldly slide a finger inside you, then two. You gasp with pleasure. You can feel my excitement growing, pressing against your back. I can wait no longer. I must kiss you. I turn you towards me, your arms going around my neck. I feel your breasts flatten against my chest. Our lips meet, gently at first. The tip of my tongue explores the fullness of each of your lips. More and more urgently now, our lips, our tongues heatedly battle. You lower your arms and pull open the belt holding my robe together. You lean closer to me and can now feel the hardness of me against your stomach. One of us moans, which one is difficult to tell.

We kiss harder still, my hands now on your ass, pulling you to me. You are on tip-toe; I can feel your wetness against me. You reach down and your hand encircles me. You squeeze gently and I moan. I must have you.

We untangle from each other, you take my hand and lead me to the bed. It is a big, high, antique bed, a massive four-poster. You push me down on my back, and stand there, still holding my hand. You seem to be deciding what to do next; I can see the change in your expression as you consider and discard several options. I can tell when you have made up your mind. Wondering what you have decided sends chills through me.

You mount the bed, crawling towards me slowly. You stop on your way to kiss me, instead kissing my nipples, playfully biting them gently. You ask me if I want you, as you slide your hand down my stomach and encircle my hardness again. I say yes, I am nearly begging.

You swing one leg over my hips. I am so close to where I am aching to be. You slide your wetness along the length of me. I am now nearly mad with desire. You reach down and position me and slowly, slowly sink down until I am deep inside you. It seems like it takes forever for you to reach the bottom of me. I cannot stop myself from releasing a moan. You do not move again for what seems like forever. My hands have found your hips, I am trying to move you, but you resist. You have a wicked smile on your face. You are making me wait.

Finally, after an eternity, you begin to move. Slowly at first, I can barely believe how good you feel. Gradually, you begin to move with more purpose, all the way to the end of me then slowly back down. When you feel I am getting too close, you become still again. It is slow, delicious torture for me. When you become still, you lean forward and kiss me. These kisses are enough to keep me ready for the next round. They are wet, passionate, probing. I think I could kiss you like this for a long, long time. I also know that when we stop kissing, you will lean back and begin again. I am torn.

After several rounds of this, we are both approaching our limit. This time as you feel me building to the end, you are getting there, too. Now you are alternating between long, slow strokes and short, rapid, grinding movements. You reach the end a split second before me, your contractions sending me over the final hurdle. You become still, we can feel the pulse of our connection. We go on together for what seems like forever.

Finally, you collapse on top of me, our bodies still joined. I stroke your hair and absent-mindedly drag the backs of my fingers casually up and down your back and bottom. After several long moments of comfortable silence, our breathing has come back together, deep and still in rhythm. Our hearts are beating in unison. Our connection is complete. We share a long, slow, intimate kiss. We will be skipping dinner this evening.