Chasing Time

Something different enjoy ...or not.

I met Dr Lewis while researching a story I was writing about time travel for Science Week Magazine. She seemed far too young to be an esteemed scientist, and far too pretty to be a Nobel Laureate. She was very typical of the stereotype sexy secretary, so much so that upon our first meeting I had thought I had been duped. The first time I met her she was a distracted mess, looking tousled and strung out. She was stumbling to explain her simple yet complex notion of time/space. She looked like she had been interrupted in the middle of a frantic screw, sweating, flush and barely able to speak. I was slightly amused by her appearance and at first thought that this may have been some elaborate practical joke. The people I worked with, in order to stave off the boredom of dealing constantly with "facts," were notorious for their twisted sense of humor.

Dr Lewis, however, was not as she appeared on that first day; on subsequent meetings she was cool and professional. A few days before her disappearance, she calmly explained her theory. "Einstein's relative time concept, simply put, the theory that time was relative to speed and distance was accurate ...to a point." She leaned forward unconsciously cradling her substantial breasts in her folded arms. "His theory only applied to space travel, the example used being acceleration beyond the speed of light. He reasoned that if an object breaks the light barrier, speeds away from earth, and then comes back, the time experienced by the occupants would be relative to the time experienced by those on earth." I stared at her and tolerated her condescendence for the chance to really get a look at her. "The theory states that time experienced once you accelerate closer to the speed of light essentially slows, it feels the same but has actually slowed, while the time on earth being the constant moves faster relative to that of the astronauts." Pleased with herself for her explanation she smiled for the first time since we met.

"OK, I get that, but what, if anything does it have to do with the Fabric Theory you developed?"

"Nothing really," she laughed. "I usually only use that to introduce people to the concept of what we understand as time travel, you apparently already understand it as a concept," she blushed. "I'll admit sometimes I just like to hear myself talk."

The air suddenly lighter we both seemed to relax a bit, "How about we take this conversation somewhere ...less clinical." She said, only the slightest hint of provocation in her voice. She laughed again, "This may sound like a come on, and I'm not so sure it isn't but.... my place?"

I laughed along with her, "Thankfully I'm not that vain, but a man can hope. And yes, your place will be fine, mind driving?"

"Not at all," she said extending her elbow to me. Grasping it, thinking it funny that we had reversed roles for the time being, we strode out together.

That evening we discussed spatial distortions, wormholes and the "Fabric Theory" between finger food and two bottles of cheap, but effective Merlot. Luckily we had dispensed with the scientific jargon around the third glass and we had moved on to more intimate discussions. We talked about the lonely life of a research scientist and the trade off between work and play. Believe it or not, we had much in common, the life of a science writer wasn't much more exciting. Both paid well, but the time involved and the straight-laced nature of the job prohibited any real social life.

We were openly flirting as we polished off bottle one, upon arrival she had changed into a baggy pair of sweats and a tee shirt and the mood reflected her casual dress. As we became physically closer, she started in on a line of conversation that would change the way I saw her, and the world, forever.

Reclined in the crook of the sofa, shoes off, white dress shirt removed she lay next to and partially on top of me. Arm propped up behind my head, her hand moving gently across my chest she began to talk to me about how time, and our perception of it was relative not to speed but to our personal choices. "Every action has a reaction,' she said only slurring a bit towards the end. Whether I decide to kiss you or not, has consequences, and the decision to tell you about it still more." She craned her neck lightly brushing my lips with hers, not kissing just barely touching. "And the decision to do both, and neither, more consequences still," She smiled slyly.

"Each, and every decision..." she punctuated every word with a movement of her hand on my bare chest, "has not only a consequence but that consequence," she kissed and gently licked my right nipple for effect and smiled, "and each consequence that arises because of each action is woven into the fabric of time as we know it."

Extremely aroused but also intrigued I brought my head up from its ecstasy laden weight. "So what you're saying is that if I decide to," I suddenly moved my hand from her hip and cupped it over her shirt covered breast, "do that," I squeezed. "It creates yet another strain in the interlocking fabric of time?"

She smiled, "Yep, and the more choices we make, conscious choices not unconscious instinctual ones, "she extended her tongue and ran it along my lips, "the more tightly woven the fabric is." She closed in for a kiss, gently grabbing my nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezing. Opening her mouth over mine she gently licked my teeth, and then caught my upper lip with her curled tongue and bit me gently. "And the more decisive we are, the stronger each individual thread, "she whispered as she slid her cheek along mine and nuzzled my neck.

We shifted position slightly, no longer was she semi over me, she was now prone along the line of my body. I could feel her pelvis grinding into me ever so gently. Tousled hair partially covering her face, she lifted it to face mine. "Who knew science could be so... interesting."

She ran her hands down my sides as she lifted herself to a straddle. Sitting herself gently on my hardness she smiled a contented toothy grin. "I'm glad you like my theory."

We both laughed releasing some of the tension. Wiggling her ass gently, stirring my already warm feelings for her mixing them like a catalyst and its agent. "I like you, a lot," she said almost with an air of innocence. "You're sweet, kind and smart, and that's a rare combination. I feel like I know you. And after I make you cum I want to show you something," a faint blush and a pause accompanied her use of the word "cum." I want to show you something that will change your life as you know it, well... in addition to this..."

She rose above me, her pelvis mere inches from the sizable lump now curling down uncomfortably in my cargo pants. Without hesitation or modesty she cross-armed grabbed the lower rim of her shirt and lifted it gracefully above her head. Her breasts were magnificent, large and slightly dipping, hardly perfect but as they belonged to her the most amazing things I had seen up to that point. Her back curved as she pulled her head through the hole in the top of her shirt, her breasts pushing outward, nipples pointing over my head. Now topless she scooted back down my legs. Looking me straight in my eyes she popped the button of my pants and one handed, slowly unzipped me.

Before releasing me, she gently ran the back of her hand down my length. Carefully she examined the texture of the silk boxers I wore. Smiling again, she reached in and extracted my cock from its sheath. "Yummy," she said, stroking me gently. In one swift motion she scooted her ass back further, resting it just below my knees and full mouthed my cock. She took me deep, quick. I never considered myself well-hung, maybe slightly above average depending on the day, but the way she took me, in one swift motion made me feel practically puny in her throat. I made a quick mental note to ask her from where (or when) she had acquired such a talent, before taking a deep breath and enjoying the ride.

Her mouth moved slowly up and down my shaft leaving a shiny coat of saliva behind, twisting and stroking me with her hand on the upstroke, screwing her lips down on me on the down. Having a limited sex life after college I can say that I had a few temporary lovers in my time and more than a few one-nighters. The way this woman used her mouth on me though, was very different than I have ever experienced before, This woman, who hardly knew me, was making love to me with her mouth.

Ascending from my peak both literally and figuratively she came off me with a smile, satisfied she had sufficiently prepared me for the next step. With a lick across my engorged head she folded her arms over my stomach and looked at me with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. I hadn't cum yet and she was well aware of that fact, her lips and tongue were only the appetizer, the promise of the main course yet to come, written all over her face. She tilted her head and eyed me, dare I say, lovingly. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself, "she giggled.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, returning her grin. "I'm still pretty amazed that someone like you would even touch me let alone look at me like that."

"I told you, I feel like I know you," she eyed me again, my stiff cock occasionally obscuring her face. "I just don't go around doing that for anyone you know."

"Trust me, I can tell."

Stretching like a cat and extending her arms, flat palms along the sides of my stomach and then my chest, she stuck her ass in the air and wiggled. Flattening her hands over my sparsely hair covered chest, she again pinched and tweaked my nipples. Slowly, again she dragged her hands down my torso, bringing herself upright. "I want this," she grabbed my cock gently, "In here," she cupped her sex through her sweats. I could see the obvious signs of her arousal there. I had been in similar situations many times but never had the wetness been so pronounced. She really did like, possibly even love me. How this was possible after knowing each other for such a short while and how the swelling of my heart could so easily accompany the physical swelling in my groin, questions for another time.

She rose and swung her leg over mine, pulling up from the sofa and standing proudly before me. "Do the honors?" She asked.

"Absolutely," I replied as I sat myself upright and marveled at her imperfect beauty. She was a woman in the truest sense, neither plastic nor silicone she was tight in all the right places and soft in the places that mattered to me the most. Her hips flared in the sweats she wore, the loose fitting fabric unable to hide her very feminine curves, He belly was slightly convex as it should be, the little bulge of skin and fat most women tried desperately to lose, she wore with pride. Yet still in all she was no slouch. The pendulous nature of her breasts, untouched by scalpel, but not by gravity, begged for a touch, a lick. She had obviously kept herself well, lab workers were sedentary folk but whatever she had been doing that first day I met her it had certainly been of a physical nature and it showed.

She was extremely gracious in her allowance of my inspection. She could see in my eyes the plain fact that I now, was in awe of her. The two of us in no way prefect as the world saw us, but to each other a new and perfect landscape for exploration. Finally satisfied by my examination of her exposed skin, I readied myself to view, touch and taste what was still hidden to me.

Sitting on my crossed legs and smiling at her I gently slid my hands past the gather that kept her sweats resting above her hips. Feeling the softness of her hips I pressed my open palms down over them, my eyes set on the spot of her arousal. She was so wet for me it looked like she might have peed herself, but the stain was centered clearly over her hidden treasure and the scent was of arousal, not at all an accident.

As I felt her flaring hips, moving my hands down past her mid section and towards her rear, my mind again raced. How did I find myself here, the seducer and the seduced? And why had this been so easy for me? Upon previous first encounters the tension was so thick I could barely function. But here I was cupping her fleshy perfect ass in my hands and seeing the first wisps of her hair covered puss. The scent of her arousal was overwhelming. The scientific debate over human pheromones settled decisively in my mind at that point. I continued to push, gently and slowly exposing her opulent, pleasantly flawed skin to my gaze. I could feel a trickle of saliva escape my open mouth, as her swollen lips came into view.

"I take it, you like what you see," she said calling my uncooperative salivary glands out. "Good, I knew you would be different." She used the index finger of her right hand to collect the little pearl of spittle fro the corner of my mouth. Sexily, without hesitation she accepted me and sucked my juices between her lips.

Dropping her sweats, now freed from the hold of her thighs, she kicked them off her feet. My hands traveled down her legs, her thighs then circled her knees tickling her just enough to cause a slight reaction. With the backside of my hands I gently spread her form her inner thighs, her wetness was smeared on the inside of her legs, thick, viscous and fresh. The first touch of my hands on her soft lips caused a moan that sounded like chorale music to me. As I pushed my hands into a tight vee against the sides of her pussy she opened up to me, thick fluid forming wet bridges between her parting lips. Her vocalizations and slight movements ushering me on, I gently pressed at the apex of her opening. As if on cue her clit appeared, hard and slimy like a little snail, I could swear it winked at me.

Now it was my turn to taste her. With no great speed, yet no hesitation, I pulled my hands from her now pouting opening. Fluid trailing behind them, I wiped her along the front of her legs folded my hands almost into fists and reached around to take two handfuls of flesh in my hands. Gently I pulled her to me, smiling at her one last time before extending the flat of my tongue just above the snail. Her arousal was evident in the extreme; her slime ran from the edge of her navel to about where her knees began. I was thankful she was so wet for me, thankful that she found me as imperfectly perfect as I did her.

Licking the arousal from her hair, I was surprised at the taste. She literally tasted like a light wildflower honey. The female tang was there, but she was sweeter than any woman I had tasted before, and it all came from her. Moving my tongue downward with the grain of her soft down, I swallowed any evidence of her I could catch. As I reached the small peak of her button I backed off slightly, cupping my tongue just out of reach of her bud. My head abuzz with the sensory input of the taste sight and smell of her, I slowly went in for the little death. I rested my forehead on her slightly protruding belly and pressed my nose to her pubic bone, inhaling her glorious scent, then, extending my cupped tongue I had my first taste of her from the source of her fountain.

I could feel her sigh as no sound was able to penetrate the buzzing in my head. I pressed my tongue to her trying as best I could to encompass the whole of her clit in my cradling tongue. Gently sawing it back and forth, with every stroke I dipped deeper into her honey. Thankfully I was so immersed in her that I didn't have time to think of my performance, these thoughts have thwarted me before and I was too far into her to care at this point. Every indication was given that she was more than adequately pleased at what I was doing, every response unmeasured by her. She had become a fountain of sexuality, her drippings coming at a rate that I had never seen before. I had once written a story about clinical studies of women who "juiced" uncontrollably. My colleagues had a felid day with it, as straight laced as they were they could descend easily into a childlike state when faced with "uncomfortable" assignments. I imagined their sex lives as vanilla and plain, with little variation in position and few "kinks."

This thought was fleeting as I delved deeper into the cunny that fed me, this amazing Pandora's box that would open up a new confusing world to me. I became aware that I was forcing my mouth deeper into her dripping sex and the drip was becoming a trickle as I fastened myself to her fleshy buttocks and tried to consume every drop. Her thrusts increased as she lost all control and clasped her hands behind my head thrusting me into her. "God, I fucking love you." She screamed. Then a guttural, animal moan as she gushed into my open mouth.

Fearing over stimulation and feeling the pressure on my head lessened I backed off. The sight that greeted me was indescribable. She was splayed wide open, her female fluids literally dripping from her gaping snatch. Her taste and the sustenance she provided still tangy and sweet in my mouth.

She briefly ran her fingers through my hair as she stiffly crouched down to meet my face. Her countenance was a mask of satisfaction and desire, and a hitherto unknown look to me, one of love. Smiling at me she began the process of cleaning herself from me like a cat, licking my face and kissing my mouth. The kisses were the sloppiest I had ever experienced, wet with her ejaculate and our shared saliva, the drunken type usually reserved for illicit couplings at New Years parties. The evidence of our passion for each other was the natural way we unselfishly shared our collective fluids.

Satisfied but not sated we embraced, the thick liquid smearing across our cheeks as we held each other. As she released me and I her she looked down at my half removed pants and the still very much alive erection poking out of them, and laughed.

"Thank you," she said plainly, caressing my wet cheek.

I laughed, "thank me? Thank you!"

"I can teach you how to cum like that." She said as she stared unblinking into my eyes. "I can teach you so much, but it wont be easy," she warned. "The next step is something very different, I don't let anyone inside me because of it. But you, don't be scared off by this but, I love you... and I think you are ready to go where I have been."

I pondered the nature of what she meant by "inside" I felt it held the promise of penetrative sex, but also the foreboding of something more, something potentially dangerous. Meaning exactly what I said I spoke plainly and directly to her, "And I love you." I smiled. "I'm not afraid of where you may take me, as long as you keep me close."

I wasn't sure whether I had let the lid off the Box or whether I had invited the vampire into my home, but whichever it was I was willing to face the consequences.

She pulled back and settled on her haunches. As she gently pulled the remaining clothing off my body she explained as best she could why she hadn't joined in coitus with another man since High School. She told me with no pretence or fear how the first time she had a man inside her, bareback and on the pill, as she came she felt pulled out of time. The feeling unnamed during the experience but given a name after she had recovered. She initially called it falling, as it was involuntary, then later leaping as it became controllable yet unpredictable, finally settling on the term "jumping" as she mastered its properties if not its effects. As she gently and seductively slid my boxers down over my fore-legs she continued, "The first time was scary, very scary as I was not well connected emotionally with the man I was with at the time. We were both terribly immature and not ready for sex let alone that thing that happened." Feeling the need to comfort her I cupped her face in my hand, she stopped her movement for a second and leaned her head into it graciously accepting my offer. Smiling as one does when something traumatic is cooled by another soul who truly understands, she went on. "This," she removed her hand from the silk and placed it over mine, "is why I can take you there."