8 comments/ 54744 views/ 13 favorites A Welcome Surprise By: aussie_101 "Hi," he said. "Hi," she said. Looking up, she saw it was him, and she smiled: just as she had planned. They were in the study room together, they were alone, and they would be alone for the next eighty minutes. This was it, she decided. This was her opportunity. She had been feeling somewhat peculiar for the past few weeks. She could feel her heart beating; ordinarily she couldn't feel it beating, it would just beat away without making itself felt, but for the past few weeks she could feel it pumping in her chest, could hear the thump-thump in her ears, could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Sometimes, she noticed her hands trembling, ever so slightly. She felt on-edge, perky and alert, aware and awake; she was having trouble getting to sleep at night, her mind was racing with all manners of strange and alluring thoughts, ideas and fantasies. Confiding in her friends, they came instantly to the same conclusion: she was horny. She was very horny. She was in a seemingly constant state of physical, mental, emotional and sexual arousal. She had to agree. "So what can I do?" she asked them. There was the obvious answer, which, in the words of her best friend, "begins with an 'm' and ends with an 'oh, oh, OH, OHHH!!!'" They were all pretty sure that, correctly spelled, the word ended with an 'e', but they laughed because it was funny. She had already tried that, of course, more than once, but to no avail. It had made matters worse, in fact; though she did come to the 'oh', it left her feeling even more aroused and awake. It was as though she was stirring herself up even more instead of releasing whatever it was that had her this way, so she decided to give it a rest before she made herself explode. Recently it was becoming stronger; her friends told her that her nostrils were flaring, that she looked like she was prowling around, as though she was on the hunt. "Baby," her best friend told her, "you need a man's touch." That posed a dilemma. She wasn't too fussed with boys; she wasn't a lesbian, not in any measure or fashion, but the boys that she knew were all, well, boys. They were immature, leery, coarse, loud, and pretty well unlikeable. But she didn't have to like them, her friends told her, she just had to fuck one of them before steam started whistling from her ears. "Okay," she relented; "so who should I do?" It didn't take them long to settle upon him. Yes, he could be as immature and irritating as the rest of them, but at least he was a sure thing. He had what could be called a very strong heterosexual streak; he was a clear and known appreciator of the female form, and he often made as much quite obvious with winks, nods, comments, observations, and lewd suggestions from time to time. Here was a lad in the throws of sexual frustration; despite his appreciation of the female form, he seemed lacking in that certain something that allows a guy to actually land a lady. He was cute, no question, and he had a nice body and quite a shapely rump to boot, but for one reason or another none of them would really consider making a romantic liaison with him, and so far as they knew he was thus far unlucky in love. But his luck was about to change; she needed it, and he was a dead certainty to give it. So she had waited for a decent opportunity to get him alone and in private, and now it was upon her. 'So...' she thought, '...what do I do now?' She looked him up and down. He seemed preoccupied; he had dumped his backpack and sat down straight away, and appeared to be working on a piece of homework that must have been due soon, for he did not look up from it or make any chit-chat or comment. That was a bit of a set-back for her; she had imagined that, were they to find themselves alone, he would make his customary flattering remarks, and she could use the opportunity to play along demurely yet flirtatiously, to eventually lead to a steamy and satisfying sexual encounter, like it was done in the movies. But for once, perhaps one of the few times she could remember, sex seemed to be far from his mind. It wasn't very far from her mind though; her breathing, heartbeat, and arousal had never been so high. She had to get the ball rolling, and she could think of no quicker way to do so than to be as direct as possible. "You know something?" she said. "What's that?" he said, not looking up from whatever it was he was writing. "I," she said, "am extremely sexually frustrated." He stopped what he was doing, and looked up. He was seated at a table in the study room; she was perched up on the wide windowsill, sprawled out somewhat languorously. He found her looking him right in the eye, seemingly expectant, waiting for his next move. He was stunned. There she was, one of the nicest-looking girls he knew; she was a bit snooty, sure, but very easy on the eye and good for a conversation and a laugh once in a while, so she could be forgiven for her somewhat uppity ways. He had been trying forever, in his own particular way, to get the ball rolling with her; he had argued strongly and at length with her over the joys of getting one's tits out, or posing for a raunchy bout of tasteful photography, or just plain-old-fashioned getting down for a quick and spontaneous shag. But of course, she'd have none of it, just like all the rest of them. But now... she was 'extremely sexually frustrated'? Why would she be telling him that, him of all people? Stunned as he was, he saw that there was only one obvious answer, so in a flash he decided upon a course of action. He was gunna go for it. "Sexually frustrated, you say?" he answered. She nodded, unblinkingly. Breathing hard. He nodded too, wisely and knowingly. "Yep, I'm familiar with that," he said. "I know all about it." "Do you now?" she smiled, not sounding all that surprised. "Mmm hmm," he said, smiling too. "And I know just the cure for it." He dropped his pen, and stood, moving to the centre of the small study room. "Come on down from there, I'll show you." She did so, hopping down from the window sill, and moving to stand in front of him. "Turn around," he suggested, gently. She smiled, and turned her back on him, slowly, trustingly, expectantly. "Okeydoke," he said, and wet his lips nervously. "Just relax..." he added, both for his benefit and hers, and he placed his hands upon her sides, just on her hips "...and I'll see what I can do for you." Relaxing, she knew, was more or less physically impossible. She couldn't help but breathe in a great big trembling breath, as his hands moved slowly down her sides, down her hips and on to the side of her thighs, and then back upwards again, ever so slowly, ever so gently. His hands felt incredibly good, surprisingly good; her skin tingled at his contact, as though he had an electric touch. She was definitely enjoying this. So was he. He let his hands move upwards and downwards along that track, down her thighs, and back up to her hips and sides; then he let his fingers spread a little, and cupped his hands a bit wider about her sides, so that his fingers moved over more of her hips and the front of her thighs, while his thumbs and the palms of his hands gently caressed her back and the sides of her buttocks. He definitely liked the feel of her arse, very nice indeed, but he held himself back from grabbing a couple of handfuls; he wanted to take this slowly. He wanted this to last for as long as it could, because he had a feeling that it wasn't going to happen again. She marvelled at how extremely good such a simple and light touch could feel. His hands swept slowly and oh-so-gently up and down her sides, and gradually they started to move around to her front, up across her stomach, down across the sides of her hips, the front of her thighs, and back up again. She approved of his self-restraint; his hands were skirting very close to what he'd doubtlessly call her "goodies", and though his hands moved close to her breasts and her crotch, they did not make themselves rudely known. Not yet, anyways. This was good, he decided. He was doing well. Her eyes were closed, her face a picture of sensual pleasure; her head tipped back slightly, to rest on his shoulder, as he held her close and continued with this fairly platonic body massage. He could feel her skin through her clothes: soft in some ways, yet firm; nice and warm, almost hot; not too bony, but not at all flabby. Just right. He was starting to wonder how, or even if he should make things a little less platonic, when she moved backwards, closer to him, and came into contact with his lap. He froze. She froze too, but just for a split second; she knew instantly what it was that she could feel, protruding somewhat from down there, and he knew she knew. There was no mistaking it for anything else. But to his immense relief, and disbelief, she did not leap away or start yelling or throwing things at him. Instead, she leaned further back into him, further into his arms, and leaned her head back just a little bit further. And she exhaled in a pleasured, contented kind of sigh, which told him that she was very much enjoying herself, and that the state of the contents of his pants caused her no trouble. Having reassured him and got his hands moving again, she smiled. Now this was a happy turn of events; he had a hard-on. Quite a hard-on; even contained and restrained in his pants, it felt nice and hard, and sizeable too. She was surprised to find that she felt flattered by having aroused him so in such a short period of time, and she hadn't really even done anything. This should prove to be interesting, she decided. With the reassurance of her not fleeing from his bulging pants, he allowed his hands to become more adventurous. They stopped moving so far down her legs, and started moving ever so slightly a little further up her chest; first brushing lightly against the undersides of her breasts, then a little bit stronger, then a little further up the breasts, until she surprised him again by grabbing his hands and putting them right on her tits, cupping his hands firmly against them. 'Now THAT'S what I'm talking about,' he thought. He let his hands just sit there, relishing the moment: so soft, so warm, so good. Shortly, he gave them a squeeze, and noticed that the action provoked an amused smile from her; he smiled too. He'd been waiting forever to be able to give those breasts a bit of a toot, and they both knew it well. As he began stroking and caressing her breasts, he noticed her neck: with her head resting back on his shoulder, her neck looked very long and slender, the skin so fair. It all looked rather open and inviting, so he went and kissed her right underneath the corner of her jaw. That caught her slightly by surprise, but it was a pleasant surprise: his lips were soft, moist and warm, and the contact sent a shiver along her skin right up to the top of her scalp and down to her toes. She had never been kissed there before, and she found herself marvelling yet again at how incredibly good the things he was doing felt; it was as though he had gone straight for the part of the neck that felt the best. What was this guy's story? Were her friends wrong about him? Did he have more experience in these things than they gave him credit for? She decided she didn't care, and she took one of her hands off of his, and reached back to run her fingers through his hair, partly to lend reassurance that he was doing exactly the right things, and partly to press his lips harder against her neck. He received both messages, loud and clear, and kissed her neck again, a firmer kiss yet no less tender and passionate. And with one of his hands released by hers, he let it drift down her body again, stroking along her side quicker and, again, a bit more firmly. He left his other hand on her breast though, and he busied himself with tracing a finger around and over her nipple, which was firmly erect and standing proudly through both her shirt and bra. She was feeling incredibly good. Her nipple was tingling with his ministrations; his kisses, moving up and down her neck now, were setting the skin of her neck ablaze with pleasure; and the wanderings of his other hand also felt wonderful as they followed the rises, dips and hollows of her body. She sighed again, and was a little surprised and embarrassed as a very small moan of pleasure escaped with the sigh. They had both been utterly silent through the encounter so far, and she hadn't been meaning to break the silence. But he didn't stop or slow down, he just held her a little closer, and she reciprocated by leaning harder against him, and against the mound in his pants which was, to her delight, still growing. He was really starting to warm up now. He could feel her heart beating hard and fast, and his own heartbeat was on the rise too. He loved the feel of her skin: so soft and smooth, so much unlike his own, which was rough and a little furry. He yearned to feel more of her skin, so he diverted his wandering hand and let it venture up and under her untucked shirt, his fingers brushing up and around her lower torso, across the skin of her hips and stomach. His venturings brought no protest from her, so he ventured further, tucking his fingers a little way under the brink of her tight-fitting pants and then moving upwards across her stomach. He wanted more, but given his position and angle he could only reach up so far, so he gave himself a few more seconds and then undid a couple of buttons on her shirt. She grinned, as he stopped at undoing only a couple of buttons so he could get at more of her skin, but not too much more. She knew he was taking his time, being slow and deliberate about it; on one hand, she was champing at the bit to just get down and at it, but she knew that this slow-and-steady approach was a much better way of going about it. He was building them both up, bit by bit; she hadn't believed she could become any more aroused than she already was, but he was definitely building her up to even higher levels of yearning and anticipation. And she was enjoying it, too. He was becoming braver, now. He tried to slip his hand further into her pants, but her beltline was too tight-fitting, he could only get a couple of fingers in just a little way. Deciding to remedy this situation, he used his wandering hand to undo the clasp of her pants; this loosened her beltline, so that he could get his whole hand in, but he left the zipper mostly done up. He just wanted to do a bit of rummaging around for now, though he had plans to let her pants drop a bit later. She approved of his bolder moves, and let her hands drop to his sides, holding him closer. His left hand, formerly pinned by her hand to her breast, moved now across her chest, up and around to caress her shoulders and neck, and down to the breasts again, tracing a wide and pleasurable arc. He had stopped kissing her neck, for now at least, and had his cheek pressed lightly against hers, both of their eyes closed in sweet and silent bliss. And his right hand, having found its way into her pants, was still showing admirable restraint; at first it stayed fairly high, moving across the skin of her lower abdomen and hips and moving up above the beltline, but gradually it worked a bit lower, still sweeping across her body, but eventually coming into contact with the upper bounds of her underwear. On the next sweep, the tips of his fingers tucked briefly under the elastic, but they quickly moved up and out again: she could tell he was becoming more eager and impatient, but still he held back, not yet allowing himself to breach the bounds of her underwear. He held himself briefly in check: he wanted to plunge his hand down into the depths of her underwear, he wanted it bad, but still he held back. There was plenty of time, no reason to rush; they always had this study room to themselves, everyone else had classes or was off doing something else. He didn't stay still for long, though; he let his hand start moving again, sweeping across the upper half of the front of her underwear, appreciating the feel of the material, and sensing the increasing heat of the skin as he gradually, very gradually, swept lower and lower. She grinned again, savouring every second that passed as he ever-so-slowly swept his way towards the mark. Meanwhile, she noticed his other hand was busying itself with undoing a few more buttons on her shirt; one more, then another one, and she was surprised as it undid yet another one. Her shirt was almost totally open now, just the one button left up towards the top; it was as though he was so preoccupied with making his pants-bound hand behave, that his other hand was quietly and stealthily moving things along while he wasn't looking. It paused in its naughty button-undoing, to trace its fingers along the centreline of her chest and stomach - down to her partially opened pants, and up again along her stomach, skipping lightly over her belly-button, and then up and over the lower edge of her ribs, and up towards her cleavage. The palm of his hand encountered her breast again, resting upon her bra with the shirt almost completely open; he allowed himself to stop briefly, appreciating the feel of both pieces of her underwear. Without warning, both of his hands acted: the upper one quickly undid the last button, opening her shirt wide and exposing her chest to the cool air of the study room, while his lower hand dipped suddenly and cupped against the front of her crotch. The sudden, unexpected yet eagerly awaited move caught her off-guard, and she breathed in suddenly; the air hung heavy in the room, as they both held still, the seconds passing incredibly slowly as they just stood and enjoyed this new turn of events. As soon as his hand had pressed against her groin, she became immediately aware of how moist her nether regions had become; she felt like she was swimming in herself, and she knew that he most definitely had noticed it too. There was no turning back now, no denying it, no pretending that what they were doing was maybe something other than it was. She could feel his arousal, and he could now feel her arousal. So she did what she had wanted to do for a while now: she spun in his arms, and kissed him. The instant she started turning, he knew what was coming, and he was kissing her as soon as she was kissing him. They held each other close and tight, her arms wrapped about his head and neck, his lower hand now in the small of her back and his other hand up in her hair. The kiss began with fire and passion, an initial outpouring and recognition of the lust that was driving them; but he let the passion scale down just a trifle, and kissed her more softly, with more caring and tenderness. She was stunned at how good a kisser he was: she had been kissed before, mostly by guys who wanted only to smoosh her lips into her face and crush her in a bear-like embrace, and that's only if they weren't trying to grab all of her goodies at once. But he was doing it differently. He was doing it better. His hands continued their caresses on her back and sides and neck, gentle and tingling and expertly, complementing his kiss: on the lighter side of lip-pressure, and only with the barest hint of tongue, making another welcome change from those who had tried valiantly to have a taste of her tonsils. Though the kiss was light, almost fleeting, it was still sweet, and the burning desire she knew he had for her was transmitted through the restraint he showed in kissing her so, as well as the ever-growing pelvic bulge. After what may have been a moment or an age - time was becoming difficult to measure - he tore his hands away from their favourite task of caressing, and slipped her shirt back off her shoulders, down her arms, and onto the floor. She took the opportunity to break off the kiss, only momentarily, and quickly undid his shirt; he busied himself by grabbing her breasts with both hands, massaging them and tracing along the line between bra and breast with his fingers. Their eyes met, for the first time since they started; they were both enjoying themselves immensely, and they shared a knowing grin as she slipped his shirt off too. She held back for an extra couple of seconds to appreciate his surprisingly strong upper body, with its squarish shoulders blending very pleasingly into his neck, and his modestly well-developed pectoral region with an acceptable covering of soft hair, which she ran her fingers through. A Welcome Surprise He had been gone so often. He was gone again. Was it her birthday, was it their anniversary? It seemed like it happened so often that it did not matter. His country needed him again and he had no choice but to go. He had been gone for so long it already but there were hints he would be home again very soon. Very soon her lonely nights would be over again but it was not soon enough. She opened a bottle of wine and lay back on the couch, thinking to herself about happier times, nights she had spent in his arms, the time they had spent together. She longed for those nights again. As she topped off her glass "just one more time" she wondered to herself why the bottle was empty already, she was certain she had just opened it a short time before. Since the wine was gone she opted to soak her cares away in a nice warm bath. She began to fill the garden tub with water and as the steam clouded the mirror she added a few drops of bubble bath and the room began to fill with the sweet aroma of strawberry champagne. She stepped out of her robe and let it drop to the floor. She looked in the mirror one last time as the fog from the tub dimmed her view and admired how nicely her Red Hot Diva Lingerie was accentuating her curves, her breasts, and her body. Her head began to swim and she slowly unfastened the corset, releasing her breasts with a sigh of relief. Her hand caressed her shoulders, hugging herself against the loneliness that consumed her, brushing away her sadness and reassuring herself that better times were coming soon. She continued to prepare herself for her bath and as she slid the matching red g-string to her ankles she admired the softness of her legs. She loved the feel of fingers exploring her freshly shaven skin. She loved the smooth silkiness and the fragrance that was left behind after she used her favorite shaving lotion. She settled into the tub, taking time to let her skin acclimatize to the warm water. She gently caressed her body with her scrubby pad, her feet, her calves, her thighs, working her way up her body and surprising herself with how responsive her skin was to the sensations being created by her own touch. She laid her head back on the edge of the tub and relaxed as she sponged the fragrance infused water over her chest, her shoulders, and her neck. She sat the sponge on the side of the tub next to her scrubby and let her hands float on the water, closing her eyes and resting her mind as she let the warm water soak her cares away. Her eyes popped open with a start when the bathroom door opened. She grabbed for a towel to cover herself as she peered through the steam to see who had invaded her personal refuge. A figure began to solidify in the fog and she could not believe her eyes. It was him, he was home; he was finally home. She began to climb out of the tub and he insisted that she stayed where she was as he removed his shirt and tossed it onto the bed through the open door. He continued to undress and made his way to the tub. She slid forward and he settled in behind her, letting the warm water, the sweet fragrance, her welcoming smile, wash over him. He kissed her neck, massaged her shoulders, nibbled her ears, caressed her body and she melted into his chest. They stayed in the tub for quite some time; so long they had to add more hot water to the mix to maintain the temperature. They kissed and nuzzled, caressed and explored one another under the water until the water finally cooled a second time. They agreed it was time to get out of the tub and move their reunion to a more fitting environment. He stood and toweled himself then reached for another towel and wrapped her in the soft folds, pulled her close, kissed her deep, held her tightly. As they move to the bedroom she sees the implements he has pulled from her private drawer. There are candles burning on the dresser. On the nightstand are tubs of Nympho Niagra and Butter Cream Icing X-Scream both of which they had used with great success separately on occasion but the times they had been used in concert were nothing short of amazing. A flush of excitement washed over her as she pondered the possibilities of what was in store for her. An almost giddy anticipation welled up in her when she saw her "close personal friend," the Endless Pleasure vibrator that was displayed proudly on her pillow, as though to remove all doubts of what was to come. He asked her to apply her magical "love potions" as he turns on some music. He finds a suitable CD for the event and waits as the rhythm begins and turns to her. She is laid back on the bed, her back propped up on her pillows watching with eager anticipation as he begins with her foot, kissing, sucking, and massaging every inch of her leg as he worked his way up her body. Her soft smooth skin in his hands, her firm shapely calves tightening with his touch, she writhes in the bed, her hands reaching out wildly; half to push him away, half to pull him closer. He works his way up to her knees, licking one leg, massaging the other, biting on one, blowing on the other, randomly, sensually, and breathing in her fragrance, feeding on her increasing passion. He continues up to her inner thigh; blowing, licking, nibbling, massaging, the room is filling with the aroma of her lust, the sweat from her body glistening in the flickering candle light. He glides a hand up through her legs, along her inner thigh, over the crest of her freshly trimmed mound. Her hands grip his hair, clenching his scalp, her muscles clench and her body stiffens as his fingers crawl slowly across her body. With a finger he gently parts her waiting lips and blows into the moist folds or her pussy. He drives his tongue between her parted lips and tastes the sweet mixture of her juices and the ointments of pleasure she wears as his thumb finds its way to her stiffening clit and swirls around it. He reaches for her toy as a wave of excitement washed over her. He applies a small dab of toy lubricant and turns on her toy. The sight of it swirling and pulsating in his hands, the anticipation for the pleasure that was just a few moments away added to her excitement and she threw her head back on her pillow, her legs stiffening, her hips bucking as he put the wand to work inside her. They played on and on, changing positions, trading roles, servicing each others needs, satisfying their desires until the first rays of the sun began to leak through her curtains. What time was it? How long had they been playing? How many times had her pleasure caused her body to quake, her throat to moan, or her juices to flow? She had no recollection, only that she was waking from one of the most passionate nights of her life. She smiled to herself, relishing the events of the previous night as her hand stretched across the bed to feel him there beside her. She was startled to see that he was not there. Had she imagined the entire thing? Had any of it really happened? Had it all been in her head? The feeling of satisfaction she felt told her it did not matter, it was only important that she was able to relive the night in her head. She raised herself out for her bed and wrapped herself in her robe and opened the bedroom door. The smell of bacon and scrambled eggs were coming from the kitchen. Was he downstairs making breakfast? There were few things she enjoyed more than his famous breakfast burritos (such as last night) and she walked down the stairs eager once again to see what was in store. A Welcome Surprise "I never realised you looked so good with your shirt off," she breathed, with a smile. "Why thanks," he replied. "You're pretty good-looking topless too, you should make a habit of-" "Enough talk," she said, and they kissed again. They pressed even closer into one another, sharing and enjoying the sensation of skin against skin. She took the opportunity to move her hands and fingers across his back, running them over his shoulders, down the hollow of his spine, and lightly across his lower back, tracing the curve into the transition of his buttocks. His skin tingled at her touch, and he realised for the first time how good it must have felt when he did the same to her. So he returned the favour, and for the longest time they just stood there, kissing and pressing against one another, gently running the very tips of their fingers across the tender skin of their backs and giving each other the most delightful coverings of goosebumps. Presently she felt his hands come to rest on the strap of her bra, and as they kept kissing, she grinned. 'Here we go,' she thought. It was time for that eternal and monumental ritual, the wrestling with the bra; she knew of the difficulties that the young and inexperienced male could have with unhooking a bra, having heard tales of epic hour-long battles the frustrated boyfriends of her friends had waged. And she knew she was wearing a particularly uncooperative bra, with three tiny hooks on a thin little strap, which she often had trouble putting on; 'he's in for trouble,' she thought. But he simply grabbed the strap by both sides, and with one smooth and easy motion he had all three hooks undone and the straps dangling loosely. She broke off the kiss, and regarded him with astonishment. "You've done this before," she almost accused. He said nothing, merely favouring her with a wink and a grin, before he slowly slipped the bra off her shoulders. He didn't remove the bra entirely or immediately, though; he hung back, savouring the anticipation, with the fact that he was doing so clear upon his face. Here was what he had been dreaming about for donkey's years: he was about to lay eyes upon her breasts for the very first time, and he was getting set to burn the image forever into his mind. She almost laughed; it was so very cute of him. After a few more seconds of agonizingly sweet anticipation, he let the bra fall off her breasts, and his jaw almost hit the floor before the bra did. There they were: full, round, nicely sized and admirably self-supporting, with a pair of nipples that just stood up and almost said 'hi there!' "Phwoar," he heard himself say. She did laugh at that. "You're hopeless," she grinned. He was aware that he probably looked quite foolish, but he was far from being able to help that. "Look at them!" he simply said. "I've seen them before," she informed him, kindly. "They're just... they're so..." he was beyond words, so he just shook his head in wonder, took another look, and kissed her again. He may not have been able to express his sheer appreciation of the sight of her breasts in words, but Cher was right: it was there in his kiss. She could tell that she was being kissed by a man who had achieved a life-long dream, who had seen what he had been wanting to see for longer than he cared to remember, and that having seen them he was not disappointed or underwhelmed in any way. Her breasts had more than surpassed what he had imagined; if anything, he seemed pleasantly surprised. It was all so very cute and puppy-like of him, she was amused and thrilled by his reaction, so she kissed him back, warmly and rewardingly. He started moving, guiding her backwards, and shortly he picked her up and sat her on the desk, on top of his homework. She knew instantly what he was up to, confirmed as soon as he stopped kissing her: her breasts were now level with his face, and he was in close, looking right at them. She was loving this, and she rested an arm on his chest and placed her hand upon his cheek, holding his face tenderly, almost benignly. He looked up, briefly; it seemed that he so scarcely believed that he was faced with what he was faced with, that he almost felt compelled to ask permission for what she knew he was planning. She shut her eyes and laughed softly, resting her forehead against his; then she looked him in the eye. "Go on, then," she said, indulgently. An expression of delight flashed across his face, but it wasn't to be seen for long, because he quickly buried it in her cleavage, smothering himself in her breasts. She rocked with laughter, and ran her fingers soothingly through his hair as he indulged himself. It didn't take him long to regain some control, and he returned to his more passionate-yet-restrained self, moving his hands gently along her outer thighs and buttocks, and pulling himself out of her cleavage to cover her breasts with kisses. Shortly his hands went upwards again, and he caressed and massaged her breasts while he started kissing her nipples, occasionally running his tongue around the outer rim of the nipple. She was surprised to find that having one's nipples tickled gently by a considerate tongue felt quite good, and she communicated as much by pressing his head a little more into her bosom, her eyes closed, head raised and back arching with pleasure as he poured sweet love upon her breasts, the minutes passing by. Still standing, he wrapped his arms around her lower back again, and pulled her forwards on the desk, and he moved his hands slowly about the waistband of her pants. She could guess at what he was planning next, and she slipped off the desk, their lips locking as they came face-to-face once again. Sure enough, he came to her zipper, and he slowly unzipped her pants; he held on to them for just an instant, and then he let them go, and they tumbled slowly down her legs and around her ankles. Again, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare legs, and her whole body in general; she almost didn't realise that she was very nearly naked, with a thin and somewhat moistened pair of panties maintaining what little mystery there was left. He paused; she could tell he was trying to decide what to do next. "Stuck for ideas?" she enquired. "Hardly," he replied. "I'm paralysed with indecision, such is the large number of things I want to do to you." "Really?" she grinned, as he stooped slightly to kiss her on the neck again. "Mmm hmm." He placed both hands gently on her hips, and turned her around once again, and she took the opportunity to kick her pants over to the side of the room. He was behind her again, and again they pressed into each other; it was the same as before, except he was wearing less and she was wearing even less than him. He ran his hands all over her bare skin, softly yet quickly, seemingly covering every square inch that he could reach: they ran over her breasts, her chest, her stomach, her hips, her crotch again, her sides, and her thighs. He kissed her again on the neck, and this time his kisses extended down her neck and along her shoulder, and back up again, sending exquisite little shivers over her skin in all directions. She was waiting for him to slip her underwear off, but it didn't happen; he was still intent on building up their excitement, stroking and touching and kissing her, and pressing his bulging pubic proboscis into her back. She was on fire: she was burning with lust, with expectancy, with three weeks of alertness and awareness and horniness. She wanted him, she wanted it to happen and to finish, but she was also loving the delay; just waiting for it to happen was simultaneously the most enjoyable and the most agonizing feeling she'd ever had, the anticipation teasingly delicious. He could sense her urgency, her expectancy. Her breathing was ragged and raucous; every inhalation sounded like a whispered moan, every exhalation a trembling sigh. He could feel her body quivering with anticipation. He knew he had kept her waiting long enough, so he ran his hand down along the centreline of her stomach again, and he kept going, tucking his hand into her undies, his fingers passing briefly through her pubic thatch, until they parted her lips ever so gently and landed right upon her swollen clitoris. The sudden contact with her most private and sensitive of places made her gasp, large and loud, throwing her head backwards; and there she froze, her every extremity tingling with unbelievable sensual pleasure. He froze briefly too, not with indecision, but deliberately; eventually, ever so slowly, ever so gently, he stroked her, up and down, with exactly the right amount of pressure and in exactly the right way. She was frozen as much with stunned surprise as she was with paralysing pleasure; there was no doubting or denying now that this guy knew exactly what he was doing. Onwards he stroked, slowly and rhythmically. His other hand moved very slowly too, roaming around her body: from cupping her breasts, up along her neck and face and through her hair, down her back, down her bottom and around her thighs, from outer thigh to inner thigh, brushing up her pelvis and stomach, and back to her breasts, with his other hand stroking her clit the whole while, ever so slowly, ever so beautifully. He alternated between kissing her shoulders and neck, sucking and nibbling on her ear, resting his cheek against hers, and over to the other side to do the same. She could feel her pleasure building up inside her; it was like a growing force, starting from some impossible depth in her pelvis and slowly spreading through her body, a warm, reaching, pervasive, indescribably pleasurable sensation. Never had she imagined that she could feel this way, let alone that someone else could know how to make her feel this way, and he hadn't even taken his pants off yet. She felt her control slipping away; she was giving in, giving herself to him. She wanted to give herself to him. She wanted him to take control, to do what he was doing to her, to take her as far as she could go. She was his. He could hear her now. It started quietly, barely audible, but it was there: a definite, occasional, low moan. He knew he was doing the right things. He was enjoying, loving every second of it; every touch of her skin, every stroke and caress, every rub he made down below, was sheer unadulterated enjoyment for him. There was nothing else on this earth he could imagine that he loved more than making a woman feel this way, pleasuring her, giving her the best that he could. If there was a way that he could do this all day, every day, for the rest of his life, that would be his definition of heaven. Onwards he went, caressing and stroking her body and her clit, and gradually she became aware that she was making noises. They were nothing overt, but still a little embarrassing: a soft, high-pitched, short and quivering "ohh..." with every other exhale. She couldn't stop; to try to hold the noises in would have been wrong, anyways. She was alive, aroused and well on the way, and there was absolutely no point in trying to hide it from him or from herself. She didn't want to hide it. She wanted him to know. Suddenly, things started building up quicker, as though her pleasure was bottling up, under pressure, and threatening to explode. Every rub felt better and better, every caress tingled more and more, and that growing force inside of her felt like it was expanding and doubling over upon itself, multiplying exponentially with every passing second. She lost all control over the noises she was making, the "ohh" quickly growing into a louder and more urgent "oh!", and then "uh!", and then "ah!!": a surprisingly high-pitched, feminine, almost helpless noise that she had never dreamed herself capable of making, but she was making it and she was making it over and over, and she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. Her breath was catching in her throat now, her voice echoed off the walls, and her body arched backwards into him, every muscle seizing up to pull her into a rigid pose of unbelievable, pent-up sexual excitement; she wanted to come, she wanted to let go, but it kept building up and up and up until she thought she would surely explode. And then the gates opened, the metaphorical dam broke, and she was coming, finally, mercifully, well beyond time; her knees went weak, and she had to throw her weight against him to keep from clattering to the floor; she was gasping and screaming and shrieking as he kept rubbing her clit and she was thrown about by violent waves of almost unbearable orgasmic ecstasy. And it didn't stop or slow down or abate in the slightest, it just kept coming, he kept stroking and she kept coming, until her throat burned and his ears rang and finally he slowed down, and let her settle down slowly, until finally the screaming turned back into moaning, the moaning back into gasping, and she was done, chest heaving, energy spent. "Oh...my...God..." she finally gasped. "Oh," she said. "Oh," she said again. "Oh God I needed that." "I could tell," he said. "Do you normally get so worked up?" She shook her head, hanging limply in his arms. "This... this has been building up for weeks," she tried to explain. "I don't know how, or why; but I've been needing this for so long..." She turned in his arms, and kissed him, long and gratefully and thankfully. As they kissed, he leaned into her, and she realised that he was still in the mood. "Oh boy," she said, and looked up to see he had a somewhat naughty little smile. "I'm not sure I have the energy for anything more." "Don't you?" he asked, with a bit of feigned indignation. "Nah, you'll be right; all you need is to catch your breath and recuperate a little. Come here." And he kissed her again, lightly and sweetly as always, but with even more restraint; he backed off from pressing himself into her so much, and kept his hands upon the back of her neck and in her hair. He bent down, and picked her up off the floor, carrying her back over to the desk where he sat her down and let her rest her legs, kissing her all the while. As he kissed her, her sheer exhaustion began to lift, and she started kissing him back stronger, reaching around to get a couple of handfuls of his delightfully tight and perky buttocks, letting the passion and the lust come back into their embrace. 'He's been doing all the work,' she realised. 'I think it's time I started pulling my weight here.' Releasing his bum, she came back to his front, and laid hands for the first time upon the intriguing and flattering bulge in the front of his pants. There was no mistaking it for anything else; it was a hell of an erection, the shaft wide, long and round and the head large and swollen, straining hard against the confines of his pants. She almost felt sorry for the thing; it so clearly wanted its freedom, so she set to work on freeing it, undoing his belt and his pants, unzipping him as he had unzipped her, and pulling both pants and jocks down and away. Breaking the kiss to lay eyes on the prize, she almost fell off the table; the damn thing must have been ten inches long, pointing proudly and urgently at the ceiling, almost throbbing; it was underscored by a very tightly-packed scrotum, and fringed by a large, almost afro-like untamed growth of pubic hair. "Whoa," she said. "You like?" he said, somewhat surprised. She was lost for words. "This..." she started; "...this is amazing. I haven't even touched you, and look at you! You could dent a car door with that thing!" He laughed at that one. "Listen, my dear," he said. "If any guy had seen the things I've seen here, done the things I've done, and heard what I've heard, they'd have a big fat one wrapped around their ears too." "You're a natural poet, did you know that?" she chided. "Shut up and kiss me." He did as instructed, and she left her hands down there to caress and explore. She ran her fingers up and down the shaft, ever so lightly; it was covered in ridges formed by bulging veins, the foreskin pulled back tight by the state of his arousal. She moved down to caress the tightly-drawn skin of his firm young scrotum, and was surprised as he broke off the kiss and quivered with sudden and surprised pleasure; she grinned, and gently tickled his balls again, provoked a stunned, strangled gasp of ecstasy. "You like that?" she asked. "Uh huh," he whispered. "I've never felt that before." "Well, first time for everything," she grinned, and kissed him again, as they both got back to touching and caressing each other's naughty bits. She grabbed his cock by the base of the shaft, and stroked him up and down, very gently; he placed both hands upon her inner thighs, and traced his fingertips up and down, in and out, gradually building closer and closer to the treasures between her legs. Upon reaching her panties, she lifted herself off the table, allowing him to peel them off her, and he found himself staring at one hell of a sight. "You know something?" he said. "You look incredibly good with your clothes off." "I know," she shrugged. "Now please tell me you have a condom." Quick as a flash, he reached into his nearby backpack, and came back with an unmistakable slim blue plastic packet; she rejoiced, and he gave it to her, standing proudly as she placed the condom atop his formidable member and slowly unrolled the length of the prophylactic, down over the bulging head and along the shaft. She came to the end of the condom several centimetres before coming to the base of his cock, and they stared at each other in surprise. "Cripees," he said. "First time for that, too." "You must really like me," she grinned, and gave it a tug. "It'll stay on." "We'll keep an eye on it," he agreed. They paused to share a rather naughty grin, and then she was on her feet and in his arms, and they were kissing each other yet again. He picked her up, and pinned her against a nearby wall; she yelped with surprise at the feel of the cold plaster against her bare back and arse, but she gave him a reassuring smile, and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Think you got your energy back?" he checked. She looked him square in the eye. "Fuck me," she simply said. "You're the boss," he winked, and he lowered her slowly, until she was almost balancing upon the tip of his cock. Eyes locked into his, she positioned herself until she felt the flange of his bulbous, rounded nob up against her opened, waiting lips; then she lowered her hips, and he slid into her slick, moistened depths, ever so slowly, penetrating inch by inch. Her eyes widened as she felt herself parting to accept his bulk; he was so wide, so long, so very very hard, like a warm, gently curving rod of steel or concrete. It seemed to be going in forever, and she realised that as he was going in, he was growing even bigger. "How big can this thing get?" she whispered, with just a little awe. "This is a personal best, babe," he replied, as stunned as her. "Forgive me if I don't stop and grab a ruler, eh?" She chuckled at the thought of that, and pressed her body firm against him again, as he pressed against her to rest more of her weight against the wall. Still further his length disappeared into her, until finally she came to rest against his hips, his scrotum resting gently against her parted lips. "We're in," she whispered. "Let's go," he replied, and slowly, ever so slowly, he began to pump in and out. His first movement was very slow and drawn-out, only withdrawing a very little way before going back in again; she shut her eyes and rested her chin upon his shoulder, revelling in the incomparable feeling of making sweet sweet love. They held each other even closer, her breasts pushing hard against his chest, her nipples warm and hard and very near to his own. He kissed her on the neck again, which she was thankful for; he was very good at that, not to mention how good he was at what he was doing below: stroking in and out more firmly now, with longer and slightly quicker strokes. His shape and length was hitting her in all the right places, the walls of her vagina clinging close about the slight banana-like curve he had that made his dick point a little towards his stomach. And after a while, his hand came back, somehow craning into the fray and finding her clitoris, first time, yet again. She felt her excitement returning rapidly, as he continued working with her and for her, pumping smoothly and slowly into and out of and back into her. A Welcome Surprise Again, he seemed to be placing her enjoyment above his own; anybody else might have gone hammer-and-tongs from the very get-go, but he was taking his time, putting all of his effort into building her back up again. Before long she felt that warm, growing sensation again, welling up deep inside of her; there was something about this that felt so good, so instinctively satisfying. "You..." she whispered, "...are so good at this." He answered her with a kiss, so soft and with so much feeling that she felt like she could have turned to a boneless, wobbling jelly in his arms. He could see her excitement returning, and he could feel his own excitement building. There was the urge to just get a good hold of her and pump away madly until he popped, but he beat it down and ignored it. Any quicker, any faster than this, and he would lose it. It was all against him; she was so close, so warm, so soft, and so achingly sexy that if he thought too hard on how long he had dreamed of it and waited for it without any reasonable hope of ever getting it, and how exquisite it was to actually be doing it with her, he'd blow it all for sure. So he cleared his mind, kissed her as well as he could, and kept tickling and pumping slowly and surely, forever monitoring the immensely pleasurable sensations being transmitted by his almost painfully rock-hard cock and going no faster than he had to. Again, she found herself softly moaning. She had never imagined that being breached and separated in this way could feel so good; it had always felt like a clamped steel vice down there, never before had she felt so soft, so pliable, so... lubricated. And of course, his hands were working their magic again; how could he know how to tickle her clit so well, so expertly, so perfectly? His other hand didn't miss a step or a beat; even when it went to places on her body one would consider mundane, it felt amazing, at the nape of her neck, through her hair and over her scalp, tracing down along her side and skirting over her breast; everything responded to his touch, everything tingled and made her gasp and tremble, as though any and every part of her body became an erogenous zone as soon as he touched it. Onwards they shagged, the time passing by long and unnoticed. They were in it together; they could feel each other's building excitement, they could feel the final moment approaching from afar. He was still growing, ever so slowly, and she could feel it, as the far end of his cock gradually penetrated further and further inside her. His excitement grew bigger and bigger, as though he was becoming acclimatised to the sensation, the upper limit of what he could contain within himself increasing with time, which allowed him to gradually go faster and faster, deeper and deeper. Her excitement grew too, just as before, and she gradually lost control of her breathing, her voice, and her inhibitions. Before long, he knew it was becoming too much, more than he could hope to hold on to or contain, and he found himself stepping up the pace, going harder and deeper and more frenetic. It worked wonders for her; each plunge of his cock, progressively diving deeper and harder, built her up higher and higher. They held on tight to each other, building each other up and willing each other on, until neither could last any longer. She screamed. He yelled. They came together with an almighty cry, and they rode high on the peak of their pleasure, every driving thrust of his hips making her holler with ecstasy, every hot white shot he let go welling up from deep within him and exploding forth under exquisite, incredible pressure; his cock spurted and convulsed, time and again, which she could feel even through the condom, until finally they settled down and went limp in each other's arms. They had done it. They had done it together, as one. And it felt damn good. They just stayed that way for ages, wrapped in each other's arms, cooling down, bathed in the incomparable bliss of a post-coital afterglow. Finally, unwillingly, he had to withdraw; they prised themselves apart, and started cleaning up. "Well," he said. "Did that fix your frustration?" "It certainly did," she beamed, breathing hard, as though she had just completed the three minute mile. She was absolutely cured of the delectable woes she had been suffering prior to his ministrations; her heartbeat was settling down, her senses were dulling, her nostrils flared no more. He had helped her release whatever had been pent up inside her, building for so long; she had released it and plenty more. He had worked a sexual miracle upon her, and it was something she wouldn't ever forget. "And you?" "Oh yeah, I'm plenty fixed," he affirmed. "That really hit the spot." "I'll say." She found her watch, and boggled at the time. "Holy shit; we've been doing this for two hours. Lunch is almost over." "Bloody hell," he frowned. "How did we not get busted?" "If we had been busted," she grinned, "do you think we would have noticed?" "Hmm, good point," he allowed. They were both fully clothed again, and aside from some messy hair and a good, healthy, dozy-eyed glow, they didn't look too worse for wear. "Well..." he said. "That was fun, wasn't it?" "Mmm hmm," she agreed. They paused, a little awkwardly, until they met each other's eye, and shared the same thought: what they had done was a hell of a thing, and it was something they'd have to do more often. "Same time next week?" she suggested. He grinned. "Depends on how frustrated you'll be." "Oh," she said, stepping towards him, "I have a feeling I'll be nice and frustrated by then." She favoured him with one last lingering kiss, and left him to marvel at his unexpected turn of fortune, and to try to do something about his homework. She found her friends a few minutes later; they looked her over, and instantly knew. "He was good for it?" her best friend asked. "You have no idea," she smiled.