3 comments/ 29311 views/ 2 favorites Inside Source By: MaxSebastian “How do you do that?” she asks him in disbelief, still breathless as she stretches her neck slightly to look over her shoulder at him. “How can you make me feel like that?” “You inspire me,” he replies softly, smiling up at her though she can’t see him properly where he is between her thighs. His hot mouth on her pussy again, though she’s only just come that way already, her back arching, her behind pushed high to allow access. The look on her face one of surprise, an expression making her seem somehow vulnerable, those wide open eyes, that trembling bottom lip, perhaps because she’s opening up for once, letting her guard down with this man, the first time she’s done so for so long she can’t remember. “Oh God,” she whispers, no longer self-conscious like she was when she first stood in front of him what could have been a couple hours ago or more, when she dropped her panties to her ankles, shaking like she was hooked up to the mains, she was so nervous. Now she cannot speak at all, it’s just breathing and even that is difficult with the pulsating energy surging through her veins from his velvet touch, the heat of his face pressed so tight against her most receptive areas. The shock of another person in such intimate contact with her most private region has dissipated but it was never completely vanquished, especially in so unusual a position as this. The air is heady with the thick scent of her ripe sex, but with his tongue so tantalising on her clit, she no longer has any fears over whether he likes it. The kind of noises he is making down there are enough to calm her in that respect, the affectionate coaxing as he holds her behind with those strong hands reveal his comfort at being there, strange as it may seem to her. Men never used to be this way, did they? The sound of his soft arms sliding over her thighs like the sound of silk sheets being shaken out in the gentle summer breeze. She moves a little, changing position slightly, her body twisting, her hips swivelling though careful to avoid closing herself off to him. Lying on her side now, or at least below the waist, her upper half remaining so her breasts hang under her, her elbows pressing into the mattress. It’s such a lewd act, for a girl who has taken such pains to maintain real dignity in public since university. So dirty. His tongue teasing out the most incredible sensations from her pussy, his lips grazing her labia, his smouldering mouth so hot, so perfect. She grips the pillow as her second orgasm of the night approaches, her knuckles white in the warm, dim light of the bedside lamp. She moans quietly, again and again, but sounding somehow unsure, like she’s forgotten how to moan like that, unused to having to moan like that. Her face twisted by bliss and confusion – affected by the unbelievable power of his touch, but also by the questions racing through her mind – how could anyone make her feel this way? How can someone, virtually a stranger, make her feel ten times better than she’s ever even made herself feel? It seems impossible, absurd. But it’s happening. Has he been with many women? Is she now just one in a long line, one he may not even remember this time next year? Oh, but what does it matter? He’s eating her pussy, something she’s only ever read about before, an almost mythical experience that’s come explosively true. Is he just doing it to win her? Is it going to stop if she gets involved with him? Worse, is he only with her because she is a good contact, someone who has tipped him off occasionally over the past weeks and now with a new position in the civil service has some extremely interesting information at hand? Oh, but right now thoughts like those don’t matter, she is overwhelmed by the awesome force rippling through her vagina, her clitoris. Now something new, a finger at the entrance to her pussy, then slipping smoothly inside her, squeezing between her labia, gliding so easily inside, she’s so wet. Penetrating her, the first penetration since she doesn’t know when, such an unusual sensation on the scale of things but so blissfully welcome as his wonderful mouth focuses on her clit, driving her ever onwards to the roof of the sensual world. Right now she’d tell him whatever he wanted to know, however deep a secret it was for the government. She’d promise her soul to him in return for more of this, the first total satisfaction for so long. * Everything’s so normal in the office. She’s working hard, as usual, maintaining her calm. Her shoulder-length mousey hair is brushed tidily but not in any manner that might attract the opposite sex. Just like normal. Her trouser suit is smart but not in a way that might draw attention to her. She’s pretty, but she hides it behind a pair of glasses and a fringe, not to mention a borderline miserable expression. Just like she does every other day, too. It’s not exactly a thrill a minute working for the government. She’s pretty, but she makes herself so invisible, no one in the Department even notices. She’s desexualised, like a spinster librarian. She’s a faceless civil servant among all the other faceless civil servants here, and it’s just like nothing ever changed. “Sarah, you have those figures?” “Uh… yeah. Hang on.” But though it’s like nothing ever changed on the surface, underneath the frumpy outfit everything has changed for Sarah Jones. Under those librarian’s clothes, hidden from the surface normality, her pussy still tingles with memories of his touch. Everything has changed. “That bloody journalist’s asking questions again. Barry’s seriously pissed off.” “Here,” she says, handing an innocent sheet of paper to Piers, a sheet containing all the bad news the Department was hoping to keep to itself. Poor naïve Piers, who is being slowly but surely brought under the tainted influence of Party Politics. “God knows how he found out,” Piers who hasn’t quite grasped the need to keep certain things to himself even among people supposedly on the same side. “Barry said if there’s a leak in the Department there’ll be hell to pay.” “Barry’s paranoid,” she said, acting cool, dispassionate, like nothing’s changed. Low profile. “That’s Barry’s job!” Gullible Piers, who doesn’t get that civil servants aren’t here to cover up the Labour Party’s mistakes to make the Party look good in government. Scampering off to deliver the statistics to his political master to massage before passing over to the Press. Only she’s already given the unmassaged figures to the Press. Her heart beating powerfully inside her as the adrenaline burns inside her veins. She’s never leaked anything before. He said he’d go to the Press Office, ask them officially for the figures to make them think there was no leak. She’d asked him if she could trust him – even after that incredible night in which he’d made her come so many times she hadn’t even counted. He’d said of course she could trust him. He’d said he wanted to see her again as he’d stroked her cheek, kissed gently under her ear. He’d said he’d call the Press Office, ask for the Department’s official figures. Calling the Press Office was proof she could trust him if she still needed it. So there it is. He’s clearly phoned the Press Office now to put her in the clear. But still, she’s nervous. Her heart thumping like it had ten minutes before every single piano lesson she’d had until she had been given the blessed permission to give it up at the age of ten. It’s not like she’s betrayed the nation. She may have signed the Official Secrets Act, but on the scale of things, the Press isn’t like a foreign power. In the light of the complete failure of Her Majesty’s Official Opposition to stand up to the Government in the House of Commons, the media has become the only faction to hold the Government to account. She’s only letting the British people know what’s going on. But is that what she’s nervous about? Really? She can’t concentrate. The text on the screen of her ludicrously old computer is swimming about, dancing away from her focus. The truth is, she’s more nervous about whether she’ll hear from him again. Though they’ve met a few times, it was only the one night. Maybe he has sex with a lot of women only once. Takes what he needs, no big deal. But it was a big deal for her – a major event. She’s opened herself up for the first time in years. She shouldn’t feel like this, it’s only been one night. She shouldn’t be trembling all over, craving him like this, like some desperate addict gone Cold Turkey. How could she be addicted to something after such a brief exposure? But she is, she cannot deny it. She’s sitting there holding a pencil, tapping it so rapidly against the desk someone might think she had some kind of condition. For some reason, she feels slightly drunk, as though she had so much booze last night, it’s still affecting her. But she’s stone cold sober. It was only one night, but hope is a powerful emotion: right now, her life could have finally turned flipside, her future could now be one of sheer ecstasy, every waking day so bright and thrilling. Or, it could all have been a dream and her future will be the same lifeless nine to five grind, every waking day a tireless slog from flat to Tube station to Westminster before getting back to the lonely flat again at the end. She’s in limbo – it could all be so great now, or it could all be so terrible. She’s tasted happiness, and she can’t face another sip of anything else. The uncertainty is agony. She’s been like this all day, though she’s quite impressed that she’s shown no sign of it whatsoever on the surface. No one in the entire Department has guessed – no one could. She was history if she did, moral high ground or not. No one in the Unit has guessed, either, which is good – those who’ve been working most closely with her. They can’t guess she’s a leak. Not if she keeps like this. She’s been working here for ages – ever since leaving college and completing the Fast Track training. The recent promotion doesn’t matter – she’s like furniture now at the Department. How long does she have to wait? How long are you supposed to wait for a man to call? Can you call a man? Might it make you seem desperate? Might he think you’re scary, stalking him or something? Jagged Edge. She should calm down. Chill. It’s only been a matter of hours since he kissed her goodbye. But what if he doesn’t want her? Surely it would be better to know early on. She’d lose that wonderful sense of possibility, but at least she wouldn’t be kidding herself. He’s a great reporter. She’s read his stuff, he knows what he’s talking about, bar the odd speculative misdirection. He’s no doubt got plenty of contacts other than her, plenty more giving him way more useful information on a regular basis. Now she’s played her only good cards. She may not get anything she can offer him for a while. Has he any use for her now? A tear slips down her cheek, and she quickly mops it up with her sleeve, dabbing rather than rubbing so as not to make her eye red. God, she’s got to control herself. Piers might be a moron and Barry a self-obsessed prick, but anything out of the ordinary at a time when the word ‘leak’ was being banded about might alert them to her. The phone rings, the sudden shrill noise almost violent in the way it shakes her out of her introspection. It sets off her heart fluttering again. The telephone. Could be him. Could be the Party Machine. Could be heaven in human form, could be trouble in human form. The divine Jack or the repulsive Barry. Her hand on the receiver, pausing, shivering. Heart in her mouth. Deep breath. “Sarah Jones.” “Hi.” It’s him. Her heart pummelling her ribcage now. “Hi,” she replies awkwardly. So nervous she can hardly make a sound. He hasn’t launched into his charming patter like before, there’s something between them now. It’s awkward. It’s no longer easy between them like it was when he was a silver-tongued journalist and she was a new contact thrilled to have someone paying attention to her every word for once. “You were right,” he says. About what? About him having no interest in her whatsoever? No, that had been internal thoughts. “They missed off some of the figures you gave me.” Please, her unsaid appeal, give me an answer. To hell with the bloody figures. “I… I thought they might,” she says quietly, like a mouse. Not only because she doesn’t want anyone else to overhear their conversation. “How are you?” he says softly, clearly referring to last night now. About to shoot her down in flames? The world is whirling around her now – it’s Monte Carlo or bust. “Good,” she says, shaking like a leaf. “Nervous.” He chuckles, and she laughs briefly too, the ice a little broken between them. “How’s that pussy I like so much?” he says, and she can’t believe he’s said that. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t want to see her any more. He might be a filthy-tongued slut, but he’s not. He can’t be. He’s charming, he’s irresistible, he’s the smoothest of the smooth. “Are you alone in the office?” she whispers urgently, amazed he could say such a thing in the middle of a busy newsroom. “I’m not in the office,” he says, that voice so unbelievably alluring, just the sound of his rich tones and that slight hint of gravel enough to raise the temperature between her thighs by several degrees, saying unbelievably: “I can’t stop thinking about you. The way you feel, the way you smell, the way you look, the way you taste.” Her hand slipping between her legs. God, she can’t do this. “When can I see you again?” he asks, and the entire essence of her being is on fire. What has she ever done to deserve this? She’s still silent as he says, “I mean, I know it might be a little soon after…” she can hear a slight tremor in his voice now, and it is clear to her he is going through the same nervous tension she is. He’s worried she doesn’t want to see him again. “Tonight?” she says, breaking her incredulous silence. To hell with sounding desperate. She is desperate. She needs him like she’s never needed anyone. “You have no idea how hard I am for you right now,” he says softly, and the tickle between her thighs turns into a tingle. “You can’t say that!” she whispers urgently. “Why not? It’s true,” he replies, and she can tell he’s smiling, that beautiful irrepressible smile of his. “No one can hear me – I’m in a phone booth.” “But I’m in the office,” she reminds him. “You’re driving me crazy. And what if someone’s listening in?” “Then they might like to know how incredible you are,” he says, and she blushes even though she’s only talking to him over the phone, her own smile stretched so far across her face it virtually makes her cheeks hurt. “They might like to know how amazing it is to be with you, how great you look in the altogether, how soft your skin is when I kiss you, what an unbelievable experience it is to make you come with my tongue on your pussy, how tight you are around me when we…” “Stop!” she whispers a little breathlessly, feeling the moisture seeping from her vagina. “Same place? Seven o’clock?” “Can’t wait.” “Okay. ‘Til then.” The receiver hits the cradle and she has to shut her eyes and screw up her face to keep from screaming and yelling in sheer joy. She wants to get up and run through the corridors shouting about how great life is, how wonderful things are having something so good to take her mind off the mind-numbing sluggishness of life in the Department. He wants her! He’s going to see her again – that night! She’s being given another opportunity to tear off his clothes and screw him senseless! Life is so fantastic! But she’s still got the rest of the day to get through in the office first with damp underwear and a pussy throbbing with need. * She’s there fifteen minutes to seven, standing outside Lillywhite’s in Piccadilly Circus, one of hundreds or thousands of people there at that time, the bright neon lights all around to dispel the darkness, the hustle and bustle of pure commerce under the flashing advertising that along with Times Square in New York is some of the most famous street advertising in the world and still impresses even Londoners with its brash audacity. Ridiculously early, but she didn’t want to be a minute late and the Tube isn’t exactly reliable and there’s that long walk to change at Green Park. Her breath forms little clouds in the chill winter air, which is threatening snow, there’s that fluttery feeling inside her again – not nerves now so much as pure unadulterated excitement. God, her pussy is soaking. Fourteen minutes to seven. Perhaps it is too cold to be waiting here, but if she can steal a few extra minutes with him, it would be worth the suffering. Checking the countless faces, none of them his. There’s two entrances to Lillywhite’s, what if he’s waiting outside the other one? This is the main one. He’ll find her. Numerous people coming out of the store holding carrier bags containing brand new England rugby shirts, the merchandise of champions. Christmas shopping now, not many days left. Nearly the weekend, and then could she be with him? But still, early days. He wants to see her again tonight, but how long would this keep up? Are they rushing things? Is it true, the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long? “Sarah,” he surprises her, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. Twelve minutes early, twelve wonderful minutes extra to be with him. What did it matter how the candle burned? Right now, it was alight, and she was going to enjoy it. “Jack,” she turns in his arms, reaching up to kiss him. The kiss, reminding her just how incredible he is. Even that short connection between them enough to send ripples of arousal throughout her body. He’s a little scruffy, a journalist after all, but so sexy with his top collar undone, tie slightly askew. “You have no idea how damp my underwear is right now,” she says, looking up into those dreamy cocoa eyes, feeling so naughty so frisky and so dirty speaking that way when she’s never done so before. Shocking even herself with such explicit words. But he’s already affecting her life so much, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. That boyish grin again, melting her insides as he slips one hand under her skirt to nudge up against her wetness – outrageous in so public a place, but she doesn’t care and no one’s really looking at them anyway with so much energy and life going on all around. “You know, I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he says, bringing his finger up to his mouth now, tasting her moisture. “You make me burn up inside.” Such an overtly sexual gesture in the middle of Piccadilly Circus of all places, it makes her catch her breath. Enjoying her taste in front of hundreds of people, the fire in his eyes revealing his glorious intent. She blushes again self-consciously all of a sudden because she knows he now knows she’s wearing particularly special underwear. She might look like a librarian on the surface – though she’s put some make-up on by now, slipping into the toilet in the Trocadero to transform herself as best she could – but she’s now more dolled up than ever. He gently brushes her fringe out of her face with his fingers, and she says urgently, “Let’s get out of here. I need you so badly I can hardly stand it.” * The Thistle, Piccadilly, he’s already booked in, it’s just a matter of getting the key and going up to the room. It’s a fairly low profile hotel opposite McDonald’s by Leicester Square. Not exactly where you’d expect a hotel, but it’s just where they need. A quick glance around as they step inside, no one seems to be watching them. It’s a different room to the one the night before, but the décor is virtually the same. As she sees it, it only makes her more excited, bringing to the fore those burning memories of how it was, raising the strong likelihood of more of the same. Inside Source “You want a drink?” he says, there’s a bottle of chilled white on the small table by the curtained window, two glasses. “Sure,” she says, a hit of alcohol would steady her nerves. He pours the wine, passes her a glass. “You’re still nervous,” he asks, noticing the slight shake of her hand. “A little,” she admits, swallowing a small sip of the nice dry Soave. “It is cold in here, though.” Not adding that it’s the anticipation more than anything that’s making her tremble. Perhaps worried he’s going to think she’s needy, scaring him off. “It is, isn’t it?” he tilts her head up to his, kissing her mouth to taste the wine on her lips. “Strange for a London hotel. I’ll have to warm you up somehow.” She smiles, and already she’s feeling warmer, the arousal burgeoning inside her. But then her smile drops. “Why do you want me?” she asks, serious. The questions have been bugging her all day, and she can’t take it any more. She wants certainty for the days, weeks, months ahead. She wants to know she’s not just a trivial plaything he’ll drop after – “Because,” he says before taking a gulp of wine, setting his glass down on the table and stepping as close to her as he could. “You fascinate me. You thrill me, you amaze me, you arouse me.” He kisses her, and it’s so right it’s frightening. Like if she loses him no man she’ll have afterwards will ever compare. His hands slipping under her jacket to hold her so tight it’s as if they’re both wearing that jacket, his tender kiss setting a benchmark for kisses – and an impossible benchmark for any other man to ever surpass. “You’re beautiful,” he says, looking into her eyes with complete honesty glowing in his. “You’re so beautiful you make my heart miss a beat whenever I catch sight of you.” Kissing her again, his reassuring words reaching her as powerfully as his exquisite touch. “You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever met who doesn’t know it and flaunt it. You’re so good you’re now a senior official in a government Department and you’re not even thirty. You’re so principled, you risk everything you’ve ever achieved to make sure the public finds out what the Government it elected is doing with its tax money.” “But now I’ve given you what you need,” she says, bringing up her main concern: her part in his coverage is complete, he has no reason to stay with her. Her heart drumming until she knows his answer. “You’ve given me what I need,” he nods, understanding her fears, not chiding her for being a sad, paranoid little girl. “But you haven’t given me what I want.” “What do you want?” “You,” he smiles, kisses her again, removes her jacket and drops it on the chair by the table. “I want you, as much of you as I can get for as long as I’m allowed.” Her reaction to his request is like a depth charge has blown in her tummy – he wants her! A thousand choirs are singing sweet Hallelujah inside her as she runs her hands all over him, still kissing his mouth, her breathing uncontrolled, her blood filled with adrenaline. He holds her head in his hands, pulling away from her to make her understand, “I’m not going to drop you now the copy’s in. It’s not exactly journalist ethics that I’m involved with a source like this, but you’re still my source. And a very valued source at that. But the fact I want you so much is almost pure coincidence. I’m not here because I’m grateful to you. I’m not here because I’m hoping you’ll let something else slip. I’m not trying to seduce you into revealing more Government secrets. I’m here because you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met and I am completely and utterly obsessed with you.” She’s speechless. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t know what to say. It’s like a dream. It’s like the culmination of all her wishes she’s ever had. It makes all those romance novels she’s read over the years seem like real-life accounts preparing her for this moment. Or, it’s like candid camera and she’s being set up, filmed, primed for a fall. But strangely for her, it’s more likely to be real, he’s here, he’s hers and she’s his. “Okay,” she says with a mischievous grin all of a sudden, “you pass.” He smiles too, and the serious moment is passed, they both know where they stand. “What do I get for passing?” he asks. “How about a nice wet pussy?” she replies audaciously, loving how she can be with him. “Mmm…” he purrs. “Then it’s high time I claimed my prize.” He unfastens the buttons on her blouse slowly and then simply allows the garment fall. She’s wearing a teddy underneath, black, lace, expensive, new. He doesn’t react, leaving her to wonder what he’s thinking, but kneels in front of her like a faithful worshipper, then reaches round to unzip her skirt and release it from her hips. For a moment, which seems like an age, she’s standing there feeling suddenly exposed, and Jack is silent. She has goose bumps, she shivers a little. She’s suddenly more than a little self-conscious. What if he thinks she’s a slut in that outfit? It is only their second time together. Her damp underwear feels cold against her crotch now, the air getting to it. His face is just inches from her pussy. Does he like it any more? Does he like her any more, now she’s fully revealed? What if he’s reconsidering? She’s not exactly a Playboy Playmate – her breasts are too small, her legs are too short, her – “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes reverently, his eyes running up and down her body before latching onto hers as she looks down upon him, smiling but with a hint of sadness in her eye. “What’s wrong?” he asks, kissing her skin with his gentle mouth, just beside her soaking crotch. “I’m afraid,” she says, not wanting to spoil things but feeling such strong emotions she cannot contain herself. . “Afraid?” he is a little confused, he scratches his head. “Afraid of me?” “Afraid of losing you.” She says. She’s worried he’s going to think she’s some kind of desperate needy type now, what’s to marry him already, wants his kids, a signature in blood on a marriage register. Maybe he’ll get scared, run away. Why do good things in life have to come alongside bad things? A person feels good, there are bad feelings to go with it. A person has what they want, they have a lot to lose. Someone who goes without doesn’t suffer the bad times, though they don’t get the good. She feels she has everything in this man, Jack, but now she has everything to lose. Love, she can feel that whether she believes in it at first sight or not, but now she has pain too. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Perhaps she should shut up. She’s spoiling things. He’ll leave. He kisses her again delicately in the same place, and her pussy stirs in response as though it is telling her to shut her mouth and quit ruining things. Her pussy wants his attention, it doesn’t want her scaring him off with her whining desperation. But he’s not scared off. Slowly, he rises to his feet and brushes her hair away from her face and then sweeps the tears from her cheek before gently taking her head in his hands. “You’re not going to lose me,” he says softly, those warm, calm eyes on hers. He kisses her and adds, “If I believed in love at first sight, I’d tell you right now that I love you.” “So you don’t believe love at first sight could ever happen?” “No, I do,” he kisses her and smiles. “But I didn’t want to scare you off.” His smile is infectious, but it’s not just his smile that ignites fireworks inside her, that fills her heart with warmth and energy. She feels drunk all of a sudden, intoxicated by what is happening to her. “You can’t scare me off that easily,” she whispers. “Then I’ll tell you,” he says, and she catches her breath. “Sarah, I love you. With everything that I am, I love you, with everything I could be, I love you. I’d do anything for you, anything.” For moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Her every hope has come to fruition, her every desire is now real. Then she gives him a mischievous grin and kisses his lips before saying, “Well you can start by making love to me until I can’t walk any more.” * Rolling around on the bed with him, laughing, giggling, touching, caressing. He was like the best Christmas present a girl could ever have, and now he was completely unwrapped. His strong arms, manly body, his soft skin, firm muscular frame, all over her. And his hardness, brushing against her, promising so much to her while revealing his own thrill to be lying there with her. Kissing, touching, his hands holding her lace-covered waist, then her bare behind, then her lace-covered breasts, teasing her hard nipples, then sliding down over her nylon-clad legs. “You feel so good,” he says quietly, breathing in deeply, inhaling her perfume. “That’s because you’re making me feel so good,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around the long shaft of his erect cock, squeezing him until he lets out a low moan of pleasure. “I know how to make you feel better,” he says with a flash of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” she grins, “does it have anything to do with this?” and she moves his hand from her breast, pushing it down her flat belly to the hot wetness between her legs. “It might do,” he nods, the slithers down tantalisingly slowly so that his chin is resting gently on the very centre of that hot wetness. Exactly where it’s been throughout her waking thoughts for almost the entire day. “Oh Jack…” she whispers, running her fingers through his hair. He runs his mouth and nose over her soaking mound and she can feel his touch through her underwear, tracing circles across her throbbing pussy. She feels faintly dirty, but in a good way, knowing that he’s breathing in the scent of her arousal and loving every minute of it, he’s focussing such exquisite attention on her and it’s only going to get better. “Oh please…” she moans as she feels his mouth open and his heat press against her receptive pussy, his tongue tracing along her juicy groove. His strong arms clamp around her thighs as he nudges aside the saturated black lace and kisses her bare labia, his nose pressing into her pubic hair. “My God, that’s nice…” she murmurs, but that’s the last thing she says for a while because the moment completely envelopes her consciousness as he French-kisses her pussy, his sensational tongue slipping inside her smouldering vagina, his lips gliding over her clit. He gets her going, then moves away, kissing around her outer labia and rubbing his face in the triangle of fur on her mound, then drifting back to stoke her fires again and lap up her profusion of juices. He’s like a great conductor guiding an orchestra of sensations between her thighs, building up the passion then allowing it to subside before drawing it to an even greater height. She’s rocking and writhing and his head is still there, locked between her thighs and he’s lapping away at her pussy like a man possessed. Before long, she feels like a small ship in the middle of a typhoon, with no control over where she is taken. Rolling and pitching, the waves of ecstasy swirling and boiling around her, soaking her decks. Then the mightiest wave of all approaches, and she’s climbing, climbing, climbing. The force when it hits her is like nothing she’s ever known. She’s holding his head in her hands, pulling him to her as his tongue delves between her pussy lips and she’s coming ferociously, bathing his face in her juices, groaning, whimpering, hyperventilating as the orgasm claims her. And at last, the storm fades, and she’s left to limp into port, a virtual wreck now. “Are you okay?” he asks her as he slides up by her side and cuddles her, spooning her as she recovers, holding her close, making her feel wonderfully protected and safe. “Fine,” she says breathlessly. “Fine.” “When you said make love to you until you can’t walk…” he reminds her, teasing her. “I can walk! I can walk!” she insists, still unable to get her breath back. “Oh good,” he says, and she presses her behind against him, his hard cock burning against her cheeks. She feels him lean over and reach for something on the bedside table, then he’s rustling something. “No, wait,” she says, ”I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you. Without one of those.” “Well, I suppose…” “Just don’t finish inside me.” So he leaves the condom where it is for now, and she’s positioning his cock at the entrance of her vagina, then pushing back to force him inside her. His length glides inside her tight pussy and he’s filling her. His cock so hard but so velvety against her responsive vaginal walls. There’s not too much movement between them for a little bit, they’re just comfortable like that, connected, joined as one. His hand reaches around to stroke her breasts, pinch her stiff little nipples. His penis stirs within her as he nuzzles into her neck. She can’t help but groan again, it’s all so much. Then his hand touches her clit, and yet more electricity floods through her network. Their writhing grows more forceful, but as another climax approaches, she’s desperate to look into those beautiful eyes of his when it hits. She almost jumps up, forcing him onto his back so she can straddle him, slipping down on his cock so that it fills her tightness once again. And she’s fucking the most wonderful man in the world, his cock squeezed inside her vagina, looking into his eyes as both of them build towards the most powerful orgasm yet. His powerful hands clasp her waist and help to perfect her rhythm. Then he slips the straps on her teddy over her shoulder and takes one of her hard nipples into his hot mouth. He grips her behind as she grinds her clit against his crotch, and the intense sensations build towards another stupendous explosion. “I’m coming,” he says, warning her, and it would have been nice to come with him, but she can’t. “Wait,” she says breathlessly, “Wait for me to – “ She rolls over with him still inside her, so he is on top, between her legs. “Fuck me!” she pleads, and doesn’t care any more if he comes inside her or not, just so long as he fucks her good and hard. She’s not disappointed. His mouth enveloping her other nipple now, he pumps into her, his cock stretching her, filling her even as her pussy tightens further still around that irresistible shaft as she hits her peak again. And her second orgasm of the night rocks her world. She’s lying back catching her breath again, and she realises he hasn’t come, his cock is still hard and he’s not released his seed inside her. “Did you…?” she asks. He shakes his head. “Good boy!” She pulls him down to kiss his lips. If she’d been a man, she feels almost certain she wouldn’t have been able to contain herself in such a situation. But now it’s clear to her that her Jack needs release. “I want you to come in my mouth,” she whispers into his ear, smiling when she sees his look of pleasant surprise. He withdraws from her, collapsing down onto his back beside her, although she’s not there beside him for long. Exhilarated beyond measure, she slides down between his thighs. His big, beautiful cock is glistening with her juices, but nevertheless she wants it inside her mouth. She wants to be close to it, she wants to worship it with her lips, swirl her tongue around its sensitive hood. She kisses her way up his shaft before enveloping it in her hot mouth, and it’s a little strange tasting herself on his cock. But that’s not important now. The only thing that matters is giving him satisfaction, giving him the reward he so richly deserves. She grips the base of his shaft with one hand as she fondles his balls with the other, then slowly, she begins to bob up and down on his cock, her lips sliding over his hard flesh, her tongue and cheeks squeezing him. And he wasn’t lying when he said he was nearly there: it’s not long before he’s groaning himself, making the kind of noises that fill her heart with warmth – she’s making him feel good, and it’s something she just wants to do for the rest of her days. And he’s holding her head – firmly, but not forcing her, guiding her, his breathing deepening, his groans becoming strained sighs as his climax draws near. Then he’s coming – her own Jack – pumping his hot seed into her willing mouth, and she’s swallowing his cream, already addicted to it. * “We’ve got to be careful, though,” he says. It’s morning, though this close to Christmas it’s still dark outside, and they have to face up to reality again. “You’re still my source, remember. You can’t let anyone even suspect that.” She nods her head, pledging secrecy. “As a journalist, it’s my duty now to protect you, keep your identity a secret. But we can’t afford to let anything slip about this yet until we figure it out.” “I won’t,” she says, a little worried about how their relationship might have to progress. “We’ll give it some time,” he says, seeing in her eyes what she’s worried about. “We’ll continue like this, just enjoy what time we can get together. Then we’ll make some decisions.” “Right,” she nods, happy he knows what she’s thinking, happy he’s thinking about it, too. But she doesn’t like that word, ‘decisions’. Despite his declaration of love last night, it hints at the possibility that he might decide his career is more important than her. “We’re going to have to decide how to make this work,” he says. “I mean, if I have to I’ll quit my job for you, Sarah.” She grins like the Cheshire Cat and they kiss again, so soft, so sweet. He’s already decided she is more important than his career. What did she ever do to deserve him? She’s never known happiness like this. Risks or not, she’s found the one, the only, the most perfect man in the world. There is a God, and He’s shining His light on her. Jack says, “Hey, maybe I’ll go write for a travel magazine so we can get some free trips to places.” They’re both throwing their clothes on so they can get back to their own places to change before work. It feels a little strange putting that fancy underwear on again – it’s served its purpose, but it’s cold and damp, saturated with sex gone by. “My God, you’re gorgeous,” he scoops her up and kisses her again, touching her breasts, running a hand back down to her pussy. “I can’t resist.” * At work, she’s exhausted and very, very happy. But she can’t show it to anyone. They might suspect. And right now, the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been. Jack’s story made it to the front page of his paper, and all the others picked it up for the front pages of their second editions. The 24-hour news channels are providing saturation coverage and Barry is hunting for a leak in the Department. But all Sarah can think about is that it’s Friday, and when the clock strikes six she will be out of here and she’ll have the whole weekend with Jack. She feels all warm inside at the thought, while beneath her demure exterior, that low throb of arousal in her pussy just will not stop.