"Here?"
My wife shook her mass of wet curls, tendrils of hair hiding her tanned face.
"No, no, not here."
This time, not a question. Her eyes were wild with fear - or was it excitement? I knew her well enough to know that her resistance was real, but not firm. All the years we have been married, we seem to take turns pushing each other's boundaries. Fitting, perhaps, that we first made out playing truth or dare the very first night we had met in college. Neither of us had been prepared to quit first, right through the seven minutes in heaven. Even when our friends locked us together in that frat house closet, where we could simply have done nothing and waited, or nervously kissed, hands fondling hips and sides only outside clothes, we continued escalating the moment. At each stage, before moving boldly forward, she had sighed a breathy "no..."
No, don't nibble her earlobe.
No, don't gently squeeze that finely toned swimmer's ass.
No, don't slide my hands up under her sweater.
No, don't unclasp her bra.
Yet it was she that sighed as I licked down the side of her neck, lifting my mouth to her waiting lips, thrusting her tongue past my teeth. Grabbed my waist and pulled my hips tightly against hers even though she must have known that my twenty year old cock would be fully engorged. She simply wriggled her hips in response, and then sighed as my hands automatically slid down her back.
The "no" as they reached her ass was subtle, just enough to make me pause, followed by her giggle, no doubt entertaining any party goers listening outside the door. She declared her true desire by releasing my body, her hands sliding over top of mine, showing me just how she liked to be held.
Once that task was completed, she fumbled with the button at my waist, loosening my jeans. It was hard to believe the "no" when my hands moved up, following her curves along her torso, because by then, her hand was inside my pants, caressing my swollen cock. Her breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic mode, confirming the effect of the alcohol in releasing her inhibitions, softening her mood, yet not making her so drunk that I felt like I was taking advantage, or that she would try to forget it in the morning. I was hardly more experienced than she was then - her hands were much more expert at their tasks than mine - but I understood true passion.
Afterwards, she admitted she must have meant "no, this can't be happening" not "no, stop."
Lots of "no" but not one "stop". She must have known it was risky, grasping my steely hard shaft, my tighty whities sinking below my root, containing only my roiling ball sac. Neither of us could have known how much time had passed. Someone might open that closet door any moment, yet still, her well manicured fingertips traced the swollen vein; her thumb grazed the slit; her palm cupped the head, rubbing in a soft slow circular motion.
She slid her fist down my shaft until her fingernails scraped gently against my scrotum. It had been a long time since anyone except me had touched me like that and it sent shivers up my spine, where they exploded like fireworks in my brain. She drew her palm up my swollen rod shaft and twisted her hand around the girth, my silky outer sheath rubbing against the fullness within. I was in her hand. My cock grew thicker in this strange girl's hand.
I realized that I was holding my breath as she flicked her thumb across the drop of precum leaking out of the tip of my cock.
Her free hand cupped behind my neck, holding my face to hers. She pressed her chest against mine, kissing me hungrily. When she pulled back just enough to breathe that last "no", I felt the air carrying the sound more than I heard it. That time, I instinctively obeyed, leaving the bra in place. Instead, I rolled my hands around under her arms, discovering that I could easily slide my fingers up under the bra, palming her firm B cup mounds.
"Oh my, wow," she breathed in her unaffected Mid-Western accent.
My fingers found her nipples, hard rubbery points of excitement. Later, I would learn how rough she liked them tugged and teased, but on that first night, I simply raked my fingernails along the very tips. She shuddered into a teeny tiny wave of pre-orgasmic bliss, her hand releasing my cock as she ground her pelvis against my erection.
Then the door burst open, light seeming to burst in, though the room actually was very dimly lit. Our fellow players clustered around, reactions ranging from nervous giggles to faux sophisticated guffaws. To this day, I am uncertain whether I had time to fasten my pants and stuff my cock inside before she grabbed my hand, shouted "enough party for us," and scooted me out of the frat house, leading across the quad to her dorm.
Giggling, kissing, groping, we danced our way all around the building, rattling each door. All were locked. There was no way she was going to ring the night bell. The security guard would not allow me in after midnight. We ended up in an alcove between a pillar and a drain spout, where no light shone. Her back against the brick, she drew me close, mashing her lips to mine, a palm cupping each side of my face.
In that position, it would have been simple to undo the button on her jeans and shove them around her knees. If the panties did not slide with the pants, well, I was horny enough to just tear them off. That is what I imagined as we kissed, a gentle rain starting to fall, creating a sense that we were hidden behind a curtain in our nook. She would whisper another "no", but it would be her hands first freeing my hardness and then guiding it toward her honey pot. I was all set to bump her repeatedly against the roughness of the brick, raising one hand to shield her skull from harm, while she locked her ankles behind me knees to urge me deeper.
Then reality intervened. There was no murmuring "any" as I undid her jeans. Instead, she quickly broke off the kiss. At that moment, I felt the chill of the morning for the first time. Thoughts cascaded in a jumble through my overheated mind - she was so hot, she must have a boyfriend who she suddenly remembered; she was a virgin saving it for marriage; or I just wasn't hot enough for her.
None of the above. What she whispered as the raindrops beat their cadence around us was "Do you have a rubber?"
My heart sank. This angel was prepared to fuck me, if only I had come prepared. If only I had thought to scoop one of the dusty packets out of my roommate's twelve pack before heading to the party. I had done it so often that he was complaining about the wastage, since they never seemed to get used, but ended up crumpled in my pocket, often forgotten until they turned up weeks later in the laundry.
Speechless in my disappointment, I simply shook my head, letting my pout speak for me. I was shocked when her response was a girly giggle, which eased into a deep throaty growl.
"Well, then as much as I love the thought of being pounded against this wall until we achieve mutual orgasm that will have to wait until another night."
It was possibly the longest she had spoken to me up to that point in our brief relationship. Not a "no". A "next time". My weight shifted back to my heels, my body automatically preparing to step away, allow her to go around the corner and enter her dorm alone. I realized that I did not know her room number, and was not all together sure I knew her first name let alone her last.
She must have seen my disappointed, because she filled the silence.
"I can't send you across the quad with this swollen meat. It will never fit back in your pants. My excitement won't be obvious, and I only have to stay far enough away from the security guard so that she doesn't smell my musk."Another pause, another chuckle. "That dyke would probably try to rape me if she knew how horny I am right now."
