Patience Is A Virtue 1

The evening is fun but tension-filled. Your invitation for dinner and a movie at your apartment was not surprising -- it has been a familiar gambit between us for the last couple of months. I was surprised, however, when I arrived to discover you already had a visitor; a friend from "out-of-town." You lightly hold his arm even while you kiss my cheek hello. We chat inconsequentially until dinner arrives, which I eat without tasting. You are subtle, but we've shared too much for me not to feel an undercurrent of sensuality in the way you move, in the glint in your eye. You have something planned.

I sit in the arm chair closest to the TV while you and your friend lounge on the couch slightly behind me. The flickering light of the screen sends shadows chasing across the darkened room while I pay no heed to Japan's latest cinematic effort. I am worried that is only my hyperactive imagination creating that certain "energy" in the room, and it takes every bit of restraint I can muster to not turn around to see if my suspicions are justified.

The movie ends, the credits roll, and the screen goes dark. I should yawn and stretch loudly. Someone should ask me if I liked the movie. I should start my good-nights. But no one says a word. In the sudden silence the whoosh of a passing car on the street outside is startlingly loud, and I realize that I have been straining to tune out the movie for the last hour. I have put everything I can into listening for any small sounds from behind me; a rustle of clothing or the creak of weight being shifted on the sofa -- whispers, murmurs, sighs, anything. My world shrinks to my sense of hearing as I tune everything else out.

There! That's the sound I've been waiting for! It's almost inaudible -- the small whisper of fabric moving followed by a small, sharp intake of breath. Without moving, I make myself smaller, minimizing my presence in the room in case I am right. In the darkness I sharpen my focus on the couch, creating a mental picture without turning around.

During the movie you must have moved closer to your friend. You are now lying on the couch, leaning back against him, your head on his chest and your legs pulled up under you . One of his arms is stroking your hair gently while the other... I strain my ears even further. Oh God, yes ... that is unmistakably the sound of one of your blouse buttons being undone! I quiet my breathing over a suddenly thudding heart.

New sounds come to me over the ever present sounds of the city outside: the breaking of a soft kiss, maybe? Another small gasp? A slight shifting of someone's position? I am painfully aware of how swollen I've become as the aural clues I hear suggest your head tilted up, his lips, mouth and tongue playing over yours, his hand sliding inside your blouse to caress or fondle your breasts, or maybe just to crush them cruelly. My own hands burn with the remembered weight of your breasts; the hardness of your nipples as you beg me to be rough with them. I can taste your laughing kisses on my own lips.

I am frozen in place now -- the night is now endless and eternal; a timeless bubble of stolen sounds and imagination, teasing and arousing me. I don't know how long I am lost like this, perhaps a minute, perhaps a lifetime. But out of the darkness an unmistakable noise pulls me back to the now. My heart stops. Faint though it is, I distinctly hear the halting purr of a zipper being undone. What was arousal before become pale in comparison to the feelings that surge through my body now. There is less subtlety now -- someone shifts and there is the a low murmured exchange. I cannot make out the words but the passion is clear. I hear you whisper, then sigh. I don't need to hear the next gentle, damp sounds to know that his hand is now in your jeans; in your panties, and your legs are open to him. I have a flash of irrational jealousy -- I don't know what color panties you are wearing and now he does. It's silly and it passes quickly as the whisper of fabric becomes rhythmic, and your breathing grows heavier. Now it is clear when his kisses cover your mouth and when they cover your face and neck. I hear you whimper, once; a hungry, plaintive sound of desire.

I burn. My face is flushed and hot, and my cock strains at the fabric of my trousers. Silently I slide out of the chair and move into a dark hallway. I feel blindly for the entrance to the bathroom and slip inside without turning on the light, closing the door behind me. I turn on the cold water in the sink, and sit down on the edge of the tub, resting my head on the cool of the counter top until the trembling stops. In my imagination I see his fingers sliding through the swollen wetness of your lips, teasing them apart, sliding around and over your clit, over the opening of your pussy, sliding inside of your warmth. I feel the heat of your arousal trickling over his fingers as your body responds to our touch. I feel your arms around my neck pulling me into a savage kiss as he explores you; feel my cock respond to your arousal.

I find myself at the door of the bathroom, ever so gently turning the handle and opening it with the greatest of care. Noiselessly I glide into the hall, pulling the door mostly closed behind me. I haven't turned off the faucet; and I should feel ashamed at this cheap subterfuge, but I don't. Instead, I am breathlessly exhilarated as I let my eyes adjust to the dim light trickling into the living room.

He is kneeling in front of you as you lean back on the couch. A crumpled stain on the floor is all I can imagine of your jeans in the darkness. Your legs are draped over his shoulders and your feet, still wearing your signature ankle socks, rest on the edge of the coffee table, where your lace panties lie discarded next to your forgotten wine glass. With an internal smile I note that they're white. Your head is tilted back, your eyes closed, and as your blouse is completely unbuttoned, I can just see the creamy whiteness of a breast pouring out over one cup of your bra. His head moves gently as he tastes you, his hands under your ass. I imagine his fingers, already well-lubricated with your pleasure, sliding into the tabooed opening they find there. Your fingers alternately rake his shoulders, or push him down more firmly on you. He apparently knows your body well, and soon you are shaking and sobbing his name out loud, over and over. When you come I see the flash of your teeth as you bite your lower lip and arch your hips into his mouth once; twice, three times, then collapse back onto the couch panting.

As he stands, his back still to me, I hear you both speaking softly. His trousers slide to the ground and he steps out of them. You don't resist as he gently, but insistently, turns you over so you are kneeling on the seat of the sofa, your arms resting on its back. I know the second that he enters you from the sudden lines of tension in his back and in his buttocks. From the tilt of his head I know he is watching in the dim light as he slips his hardness inside your swollen pussy lips. I can see your sex in my own head; your dampness glistening on your cunt in the faint light; sparkling in the trim patch of hair you allow to remain. I can feel the head of my engorged cock parting your lips, every fiber of my being hungry to bury myself inside of you. I am only barely aware that I have pulled my erection out of my trousers and am touching myself.

I can smell the sex in the room; the instantly recognizable sweet-salty tang of arousal. His hands hold your hips as he thrusts in and out of you. He leans over you and whispers something harshly; you laugh. Your breasts sway under the firm, almost rough impact of his hips on your ass. I am captivated by their motion; by the rhythm of your bodies; by the sensuousness of it all.

I understand when he suddenly stops, pulling out of you and tugging you down onto the floor. I slow the rhythm of my hand as you lay back on the floor, spreading your legs enticingly. He kneels, and you both shudder when he swiftly reenters you. His need is palpably more urgent now, and I stroke myself faster as he slams his hardness deep into your willing body. I can't take my eyes off your hands as they clasp his back; pull his hips tighter into yours; run through his hair as you pull his mouth down onto yours; or cup a breast to feed a hard nipple to his questing tongue. Your hands are the most beautiful things I've ever seen as they wordlessly beg him to give in to his passion; to spend himself in you.

I am no longer aware of my own body when your lover shudders and calls out; arching over you, his hips pinning you to the floor. At that moment I honestly don't know whose semen is shooting inside of you, filling you; his or mine. I feel your hot breath on his ear as your tongue flickers and your teeth nip gently. Your hands clutch his ass to you, keeping him from pulling out until the last drop of my cum has jetted inside of you. The moment hangs in the air, stretched out in the intensest passion, until he collapses forward onto your body; into your arms and gentle kisses. Shaking, and myself once again, I retreat back into the bathroom.

The water is cool on my face. After an eternity I close the tap and dry off. I wait for another lifetime before I open the door and emerge tentatively into the hallway. You haven't moved from where you lie on the living room floor, although you are now covered in a blanket. Your lover is gone. Your eyes open languidly and when they fall on me standing there, you reach out a hand. I kneel beside you and you close my mouth with a single finger over my lips, which is quickly replaced by your own soft, warm lips. Your tongue gives me no chance to say anything at all as your hands make quick work of my clothes. I hear only the softest sigh of "yes," as your hand closes around my cock and guides me between your legs as I mount you.

I suffer a sweet rush of deja vu as I glide inside of your soaking wet pussy. Every image of the last hour is etched in my memory as you lift your hips to meet me. Your eyes twinkle in the near dark, locked onto mine as we move together with increasing need. The eroticism of what you want; what we both want, is staggering. I have no self-control and you don't want me to exercise any -- it's all about your fantasy tonight. It has been all night, every step of the way, and now it is my turn to help fulfill it. I can't imagine anything sexier and even before the thought is fully complete I feel the dam of my control give way the flood of my orgasm . Your words are tender as you implore me to surrender myself, to become part of you in a deeper way than we have ever shared before; in a way you have never shared yourself with anyone before. The sexy, liquid sound of my cock moving inside of you becomes a delicious counterpoint to your delectable cries of delight. You hold me through the throes of my pleasure, and bring me back down again with your soft caresses and gentle kisses.

We lie tangled up together, wordless, for a long while, each lost in our own thoughts about the magic of the evening. Almost without thought I fondle and kiss your breasts, and lick the cooling sweat off your neck. I wonder if you have fallen asleep until I feel you smile and lever myself onto one arm to look down onto you.

"Thank you," you whisper with a smile. "You're patient to a fault, you know."

"Au contraire, it was entirely my pleasure," I respond.

"Not even vaguely," you demur, stretching prettily, then arching an eyebrow at me in mock innocence. "But since you mention pleasure..."

I feel your hand slip up my body from between your legs and with a rush of heat I understand that your fantasy hasn't quite run its course. You run two slick, salty-sweet tangy fingers over my lips sensuously, then slide them into my mouth..

"...there is just one thing I've been waiting for patiently." With a kiss, you push my head gently down to where your legs are open for me. I slip my hands under your cheeks and lift you slightly as my tongue traces its way to your wetness. It seems tonight will be a long night of firsts for the both of us...