Falling Pt 03 Fallen

The monochrome of the world rolls to colour as I make my way to your house. Two weeks have passed since we spent the night together and I've replayed this in tantalising detail. Now, the fifteen minute drive from my place to yours feels unreasonably long, my heart racing, the frisson of excitement tying my stomach in knots, the stirring of desire... the feeling of wetness soaking into my underwear despite myself.

As I park and walk to your front door, I imagine saying the things I know I should say to you: I should put my husband, my family, first. What happened between us cannot happen again. Can we still be friends? Unfathomable. I know exactly what will happen, what I desperately want to happen, what I've fantasised about for weeks, and I know it's futile to resist you: my perfect obsession.

How I long for your touch.

You open the door and your smile pierces my heart; I feel wobbly, a soft melty sensation running right through me, and all other thoughts dissipate as I cross the threshold into your world...

As is often the case when I'm near you, I find myself tongue-tied, thoughts I wanted to share with you fall beyond my reach, my words scattering; the sight of you takes my breath away.

Our greeting is clumsy: just enough time to register the scintillating green of your eyes before we hug, the hot proximity of your pelvis to mine, a few seconds pretence of just saying Hello, half-formed sentences as our arms encircle each other's neck and waist... and then our lips meeting, the immediate push of our tongues - soft, deep, intimate - and I can tell from the way you're kissing me that you were aroused before I knocked on your door, that you've been waiting for this moment, waiting for me, as I have for you.

In the bohemian ambience of your hallway you breathe life back into me, a kind of resurrection. Like solved puzzle pieces, our bodies reassemble and vaguely, as if from a distance, I wonder what I've done for the last couple of weeks, where I've been, who I've been with, when it only seems that I inhabit this other world, this dreamscape, with you.

I let my bag fall to the floor as we kiss harder, our hands sliding to each other's waists, riding up the fabric of our t-shirts, sighing into each other as we feel the warmth of each other's hidden skin. Around us electrons shift, the air heavy with delayed desire, our ravenous passion for one another taking over, our reconnection an essential nourishment.

We undress one another for the first time, lifting our tops over each other's heads, sliding our trousers down the soft skin of our legs - the tender undressing of love - until we're pushing against each other wearing just our underwear: the incredible feeling of satin and lace against bare skin.

Still kissing me, and with a little too much force, you push me back against the side wall of your hallway and my body rebounds against yours, our breasts squeezing together, the ricochet of our tongues, struggling for air. I'm so overwhelmed with desire for you that I'm not sure if I say these words out loud: I've missed you so very much.

As we kiss, our hands explore each other's bodies until we're sliding each other's bras down, the band sitting across our rib cages, the straps catching around our arms. The spill of our breasts into each other's hands, laden with their perfect weight. Our nipples, pert from the slight chill of your hallway, warming under our fingertips; prickles of goosebumps dissolving in our searching palms. We massage each other here and you're pushing into me, our legs intertwined, the slow rub of our clitorises against the soft skin of each other's thighs, the sensual feeling of our growing wetness rubbing against the fabric of our underwear, the only thing which separates our skin.

Now, you stand back just a little and trail your fingernails down my stomach and over the outside of my thong, the pressure and heat of you driving my wild as you stroke me here. Thrilled by the anticipation of your fingers making contact with my bare skin, I gyrate against you until, finally, your hand moves underneath the fabric...

Your gasp as you slide your fingers down on me sucks the breath from my mouth and I feel wonderfully dizzy as you breathe your words back into me: How are you so wet?

Over a couple of seconds, a montage from the last fortnight reels before my eyes: lying in bed with my husband, desperately trying not to think of you but, of course, thinking of you, powerless to stop the sensual replay of images, to stop myself from reliving the sensations of your body touching mine... desperately trying not to touch myself but feeling my wetness build until, when I shift my body slightly in arousal, my juices rub against the inside of my thighs so that even this small movement is exquisite.

Surreptitiously rolling onto my back in the darkness of my bedroom, I finally give in and slide my fingers down on myself and rub my wetness up to my clit, perilously, trying not to make a sound, stifling my hot shallow breaths as my come drips down between my legs and I can feel it on my anus, rubbing in between my bum cheeks, all of me soaking wet.

I know I can't risk coming in the silence of my shared bedroom - at least not when I'm thinking of you - so I prolong my growing pleasure, slowly sliding then circling my fingers over my clitoris, then forcing myself to stop just before I climax, stroking my fingers over the wet hair surrounding my clit and labia, sometimes moving my fingers up to touch the less sensitive strip of skin which runs up from the nub of my clit, sometimes sliding down to stroke my puffed lips, slipping my fingers just into my opening, not wanting to risk the more abrupt movement I'd need to make to slide my fingers completely inside myself.

This delay of fulfillment is both satisfying and torturous and, like approaching thunder, the time I can spend touching my clitoris diminishes every time, my lower abdomen almost aching with my irrepressible desire to come. So as I stroke my fingers back up to my clit once more and nearly lose myself to the inevitable storm of orgasm, I know I can't stay in bed any longer...

Furtively, I creep to my bathroom, so wet now that my come is dripping down the inside of my legs, and I shut myself in and listen for a moment... Everything remains dark and still as, standing, I lean back against the warm towels of my tall metal rail and squeeze my breasts with my sticky hands, lightly pinching my nipple with my fingers before I let my other hand slide back down between my legs.

My clit responds immediately, so needy for this uninterrupted touch, and I sink back into the softness of the fabric behind me, rubbing myself harder and faster, stopping only once to bring my wetness up to my nipples, before my orgasm explodes through my body, the air static, my clashes and shakes absorbed by the towels, and I suppress my moans in almost silent release, somehow managing to hold myself up as my legs shake precariously beneath me.

In a fit of passion, I bring my soaked fingers to my lips and taste myself as you did, remembering our lips and tongues meeting for the first time. I can envisage you clearly enough to touch you, to almost touch you...

Although I'm stroking my clit slowly now, I know it's not enough - once is never enough when I'm thinking of you - so I give in completely and turn into the towels, the moonlight illuminating the pale skin of my back, the slimness of my waist and the soft mounds of my buttocks which glow in the soft light as I fuck myself.

My fingers on my clit, I grip the rail with my other hand; the towel against my lips and the mildly abrasive feeling of the fabric rubbing against my nipples is such a turn on as I grind into my fingers, pulling up new wetness from my cunt until I'm gasping, fighting for breath as I push into the towels. My body pulses with pleasure, but also with the panic of being absent from my bedroom for too long, so I rub faster, frantically now, and it feels so good after these hours of build-up of thoughts and feelings of you that I bring myself to orgasm expeditiously... and in those last few seconds, I can feel you behind me, your breath on the back of my neck, your hands on my hips, reaching around and squeezing my tits... then your lips are on my spine, down, kissing each of the dimples on my lower back, down, the top of my bum crack as your hands grip my bum cheeks, squeezing and stretching them apart, spreading my legs wider, your tongue running down my crack and flicking and pushing against my anus, down, until I feel you lapping the wetness from my dripping vagina.. then up and forwards... licking my clit through my moving fingers, before you slide back and push your tongue inside me from behind... and with this irresistible thought - of being penetrated by you - I'm coming so hard that I'm afraid I'll pull the rail from the wall, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it buzzing in my ears...

Until now, the best sex I've ever had has been on my own, thinking of you.

Forcing my body to slow, I let myself relax, stroking myself gently now as I wait for my breath to return to some kind of normal. I sit on the toilet to do what I pretended to come here for and even the trickle of my pee over my swollen folds of skin is stimulating.

As I sneak back into bed, I know this still isn't enough - now I've experienced you, it will never be enough - and so hours later, when my husband wakes up, I pretend to be asleep and, with him safely downstairs, I give in completely to my desires, rubbing my hands over my breasts, spreading my legs wide as I massage my wetness all over myself, turning on my stomach to thrust my bum in the air, rubbing my clit and running my hands over my bum cheeks before sliding my fingers inside myself from behind.

I replay our night together and I imagine all the other things I'd love to do with you when I next see you, all the ways I want you, and I come again and again - as I always do: dawn is my time with you - but now my whole body convulses as if struck by bolts of lightning and in my mind, your hands, your fingers, your tongue are still on me...

Later, I will tell you all of this and you'll smile as you kiss me and we'll stroke each other into new arousal. But in this moment, in the late morning hush of your hallway, I can only answer: You... Oh... because of you...

You kiss me ever more forcefully, pushing me into the wall as you finger me, your tongue flickering against mine, and I breathe the words I'm thinking into you: Have you been thinking of me?

For a second you pause and pull away and the flash of your eyes, a variation of your smile which I haven't seen before, tells me everything I need to know. But you lean into me and whisper the words into my ear: All the time.

Immediately, I transpose my actions over the last two weeks onto you and I see you in your bed, your duvet sticking to the sweat of your naked body, the play of your fingers under the covers as you touch yourself, I hear you crying out at the pinnacle of your climax... and all the time you're thinking of me, perhaps thinking of the very thing you are doing to me right now.

I sigh against you in happiness and my chest swells with the incredible warmth of wanting and begin wanted. I take this feeling and hug it close to my heart as I return your smile and touch my lips back to yours.

We kiss deeply now with the passion of making up for lost time. Your fingers are going wild between my legs and it feels so fucking good after weeks of immutable longing for you.

Men have touched me like this before, this ecstasy of fumbling, and I love the excitement of it, love the feeling of wet, soft, stiff fingers everywhere at once. But with men, this frantic pleasure is shortlived; I always want more, to be touched in the right place, for the right feeling to be sustained. With you it is different: as you pull up, every stroke hits the mark and you're taking me there with dizzying speed. The dexterity with which you touch me, as if you know me better than I know myself.

I feel every little bit of you permeate me and, all of sudden, the rawness of your hands on me after these weeks without you is too much, too overwhelming, my over-sensitised clit raw from my own masturbation and your precise touches on me now feel as if you're fingers are reaching into the very core of me.

I squirm in this pleasurable agony beneath you, pushing up onto my tiptoes, and I move my arms up to push you away, even just for a moment. God, it feels so good I can't take any more...

But my bra strap constricts my movements and, with your other hand, you push my arm against the wall. I'm so incredibly turned on now that I can barely catch my breath. I try instead to reach my hand between your legs, desperate to feel my wet heat reciprocated, but you stop my fingers before I can reach you and interlock them with your own and finally I understand: you want to concentrate on me... and you're unwavering. There's nothing I can do to stop you.

I let myself slide back down the wall onto your fingers and relax into you - my sweet surrender to this power you have over me. Our lips are just touching and we're looking, unblinking, into each other's eyes and I think this might be the most intimate moment I've ever shared with anyone.

So aroused now and giving in completely to you, I feel myself starting to pulsate against the persistence of your fingers, your musician's hands strumming and finding the melody as my heart drums against the squeeze of our tits, heaving and falling until I'm throwing my head back against the wall, feeling the softness of your lips which you bury in my neck, feeling my cries shudder through me as our bodies harmonise and I drench your fingers in my orgasm.

The hardness of the wall holds me up as I convulse against you so violently that I imagine your entire house, the whole street, this vast city falling down around us - this unstoppable force of you and me... until I gradually slow.

I look down now between us as your fingers slowly massage inside my underwear - how delicate the pale white skin of your wrist facing upwards - and I take this now and slide your hand out and up (oh, the feeling of my come sticking to my knickers, the protuberance of my clit exposed against the fabric) and I bring you to my lips.

We smile, breathing hard as we lick each other's tongues between your fingers, reminded of the wonder of our first kiss. And before I know what I'm doing, I push forward, propelling you the short distance across your narrow hallway against the opposite wall and I kiss you hard, my hands stroking the length of your body.

You're rubbing your clit against my thigh and it feels so good but I pull away, teasing you as I kiss and lick my way down your body, deliberately not touching in between your legs... knowing that's exactly where you want to be touched. The feel of your nipples hardening under my tongue, the softness of your navel on my lips, tracing the beautiful shape of your body which I love so much - in at the waist, out at the hips - until I'm knelt in front of you, looking up at you, your eyes hazy and imploring as I kiss the tender skin on the inside of your thigh and you quiver under my touch.

I press my lips forwards into your underwear and I kiss your clit through the fabric; you're so hot here and you groan and push into me as I breath in the heady fragrance of you.

Slowly now, I slide your knickers to one side, my fingers wet from just this single movement, and for a moment I'm stopped in my tracks, struck anew by the yonic beauty of you after two weeks apart: your clitoris and labia dark pink and swollen, gleams of wetness, a single sticky line of your come trailing in between your lips and your underwear, threatening to drip down... I catch it with my tongue and savour the delicious taste of you; imagination couldn't replicate this.

Wild with desire but forcing myself to slow down, I place my tongue between your lips - fuck, you're so wet - and in one precise movement I lick up to your clitoris. You're bucking into me and stroking your fingers through my hair and my passion takes over as I force you back into the wall, entwining my hands in the fabric of your underwear, stretching my tongue up to you and circling it over the protrusion of your clit, feeling it flickering and pulsing against me as your moans become louder.

Overwhelmed with the urge to sink my face completely into you now, I stop and slide your wet knickers down your legs and you step out of them. Standing up and taking your hands in mine, I kiss you - the taste of you on our tongues, the smooth feel of you on our fingers - and I lead you to the stairs, kissing you still as I sit you down a few steps up, kneeling between your legs.

Your thighs are wrapped around me as we kiss passionately, my lips reaching up to yours, and I slide my hand between your legs and you moan as I slide two, then three fingers inside you. I slip my other hand under your bra which is still resting under your ribcage and there's something incredibly arousing in the contrast between the satin-like fabric and your bare skin.

I fuck you slowly at first, remembering the idiosyncrasies of how and where you like to be touched, this other world of hidden grooves and bumps which are yours alone, and I feel your cunt tightening around me as you writhe against me.

Nothing has ever felt as good as you.

As I feel you getting closer, I force myself to break away from your lips and kiss down to your breasts, then down until I'm knelt between your legs; they are spread wide, your bum on the edge of the step, and I stare again unabashedly at the complicated beauty of you.

I lean into you, the slow revolve of my tongue joining my fingers and lapping the steady accumulation of your wetness until I'm licking your clit again, the swirl of my tongue sending you into ecstasies as you moan and gyrate into me. I can feel my own come dripping between my thighs now as I kneel before you on all fours, my own legs spread slightly, moving my body instinctively in time with yours.

I feel your climax begin deep inside you - the dark, moist walls of your vagina clutching my fingers - and I press up a little harder against your g-spot, vibrating faster now until you're pushing into my tongue, gripping your fingers clumsily through my hair, so hard that it almost hurts, your other hand grasping the bannister, your whole body shaking uncontrollably as you come against my mouth and fingers.

You try and clamp your legs around me but I use my head and my free hand to hold your legs open and I can feel that the forced vulnerability of this position is making you come harder as you buck into me so I don't stop and I don't stop...

Your screams echo around the high walls of your hallway and I think: I've never made anyone come like this before, I've never seen another person in such delirious abandon - and before I can think twice, I slide my soaked fingers out of you as you slow and slide them down into my own knickers, covering my clit with your juices as I lick you in the final throes of your orgasm.

I don't know if you'll mind me touching myself as I go down on you, if you'll think it's selfish or stealing my pleasure from you, but I'm so turned on that I can't stop myself and the reaction of my body is instantaneous: mere seconds and I'm coming, my bum and thighs convulsing as you watch me orgasm and I breath hard between your legs and lean my forehead into your stomach, our sighs of satisfaction filling the charged air.

We are still for a time, our breath slowing, and as I look up into your eyes we both giggle with the excitement, the relief of being together again, the awe of you and me. And then your words, provocative: Come up to my bedroom?

My heart leaps as you take my hand in yours and lead me up the stairs, my bra twisted around my ribcage, my soaking underwear rubbing between my legs so arousing that I almost forget to bring my bag. I double back for it through the glorious sea of our strewn clothing, catching your eyes which are now full of intrigue...