11 comments/ 27431 views/ 28 favorites Strange Haven By: LoveMenLoveSex Three days earlier ... He hunched against the tree's bole, teeth chattering, listening to the baying to the north-west. The thin coverall wasn't going to be enough, he thought, feeling the hard, stinging flakes coating his hair and peppering his face. The snow had started with sleet four hours ago, and he was already soaked, caught too many times between the fast-paced rain bands, then forced into a necessary immersion in the icy waters of a stream to cut his trail a mile from the prison. The second half-wade-half-swim across the river four miles after that had completed the job of removing every bit of body heat he'd had. He was moving steadily south and east, looking for the logging roads that might take him out of the area before dawn. If he didn't freeze to death first. Two years. Eight months. Ten days. Five hours. He ducked his head, pushing his face into the half-frozen folds of his sleeves. The brawl had been provoked and he'd been fighting against a man holding the broken bottom of a bottle. Self-defence was raised and ignored. His lawyer, a piece of shit lowlife provided by the system hadn't even argued against the charge. Manslaughter. Aggravated. Nothing from the eight people who'd been there in the bar, who'd watched the three of them come at him. Nothing from the bitch he'd been with; paid off, he'd thought, to keep her mouth shut. The guy he'd hit had been someone's son, liquored up and full of coke and convinced he was the man. He'd been wrong. And he'd ended up dead. He'd figured he could do the time, keep his nose clean and get out on parole. But someone'd had enough clout to pull some strings and his parole hearing had been a sham, no one listening or looking at the records, no one interested in the truth. Denied. Tarrant's brother had stopped beside him on the way out, leering into his face, his breath thick with the sickly-sweet stink of bourbon. "See you rot in here," he'd said. "You'll die in here." It hadn't been until the guy'd stepped back, and he'd looked around the room, that he'd realised everyone in that room had heard the threat. And not one face held surprise. Back in the cell, he'd realised sooner or later, the threat would be made good. He couldn't guard against every possibility. Hearing a rise in the dogs' voices, he forced himself to stand, jaw clenching tight against his teeth's desire to maraca some more. South and east, a couple of days' walk through the state forest and he'd be three counties over. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Now ... He hadn't heard the dogs for a day and the forest stood, silent and dark, behind him. The snow that'd begun on the second night was still falling, covering everything in a thick mantle of frozen white. He'd tried to stay under the trees, too aware of how fucking obvious his tracks were in that clean sweep between them. Thirst wasn't a problem, but hunger was now. And the cold. He couldn't feel his hands or feet. Across the gentle roll of cleared fields ahead, he could see a light and he stared at it, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of going there or staying here. He snorted at himself impatiently. Staying here meant dying, guaranteed. Checking out that light held a possibility of running into trouble, but most likely being able to find somewhere out of the wind, out of the snow and getting some much-needed sleep. No contest. He forced himself to straighten up, muscle aching. Forced himself to step out of the shelter of the trees and start across the field. In moments, the capricious bite of the wind dropped the temperature further and he started to run, a shambling, half-stumbling run, blindly across the smooth white ground, tripping and staggering over the hidden hollows and rocks, hoping he'd see anything bigger before he ran into it. It wasn't as far as it looked - or felt - and he slowed as the shape of the house and outbuildings became clearer through the flurries of snow, white on white, discernible only against the shelter belt of thick pines that were gradually blocking out more and more of the wind, the closer he got. In their shadow, the flakes fell straight down, thick and fluffy and sticking to his hair and lashes as he cautiously walked through the gate and stopped by a shapeless, featureless garden bed. The house was small and a prefabricated double garage stood off to the right. Behind that, aided by the faint luminosity of the snow, he could just make out the shape of a couple of bigger buildings. He turned back to the house, moving around to the side, where a couple of rooms spilled their lights onto the snow. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Elbows deep in suds, Sara stared sightlessly at the black glass in front of her, her hands automatically sponging and scrubbing the dishes, lifting them out, dipping them in the rinsing sink and placing them on the drainer, her mind going over the chores for the next day, occasionally diverting onto the same, looping track of worries she couldn't seem to let go. They needed more firewood before the end of the week. That meant putting the chains on to get down to the back paddocks and tackle the fallen trees with the chainsaw. It wasn't an impossible task, just an onerous one, needing a bit more strength than she had, a bit more reach, a bit more weight. She shook the thought off. There was no one else so she'd just have to figure it out. It was Wednesday and it would be another two days before Dan got home. Not that things would change much with that, a slightly bitter voice muttered in the back of her mind. He spent time with the kids, she told herself. At least when he wasn't glued to his laptop and chatting online. She understood his doubts, his self-consciousness about his size, but it never seemed to occur to him that they could give each other pleasure in other ways - or, she thought, perhaps he was just no longer interested. Rinsing the last dish, she set it on the rack and squeezed out the sponge, moving around the kitchen to wipe down the counters and stove-top, before rinsing it out again and emptying the sinks. She wasn't making much of an effort to look enticing when he came home, she thought distractedly. There was too much to do. A quick shower in the evenings, washing her hair and letting it dry in its natural curls was about all she had the energy for by the time dinner was over and the table cleared away, the washing up done, the kids sent to bed. An hour of television and he would be asleep on the couch. And another night would be gone. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ There were no curtains at the plain square window, giving him a view inside of what looked like a kitchen. A woman moved into his view, a light above the inside of the window showing her clearly. Despite the luminance shining from the window onto the snow below, she wouldn't be able to see him, he thought, just her own reflection in the glass. Dark brown, curly hair, showing a hint of red and cut to her jawline, framed a heart-shaped face. The few lines, on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, didn't detract from the smooth, pale olive complexion or sharpen the full-lipped, naturally rose-tinted mouth. The vapid prettiness of youth had gone; he could see that life had inflicted sorrow and pain, but those experiences left behind an austere beauty that wouldn't fade with time. She was looking down and it took him a few minutes to work out what she was doing, standing there, the repetitive movement of her shoulders finally clueing him in. The realisation came with a brief stab of memory. His mother had stood just like that, at the sink in front of the kitchen window, washing up, rinsing, setting the dishes on the drainer. He shook off the past with a faint huff of impatience, angling his head to catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall to the woman's right. A few minutes before eleven, and he hoped she'd be heading off to bed soon. He turned away from the window and the lit room, skirting the edge of the square of yellow light on the snow and headed for the corner of the house. He'd almost reached it when the light behind him abruptly went out, and he stepped into a hollow he hadn't seen. The snow reached his knees, almost bringing him down. He swore softly under his breath, forcing wet, frozen limbs to move faster. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Getting out of the shower, Sara wiped the mirror clear of condensation and looked at herself critically. Past her fourth decade and with two children, one of whom had started high school that year, and she couldn't say that life hadn't left its marks. The farm work had kept her trim, exercising practically every damned muscle she had, one way or another. Digging, lifting, walking - or more often, running, after the neighbour's break-and-enter specialist cows - carting water or hay or dirt, cutting, splitting, stacking ... the physical activities were non-ending and only a short time ago, she'd enjoyed them. What seemed like a short time ago. When Dan had still been helping with some of them. Her breasts were still full, not sagging, the small, dark rose nipples surrounded by large, dusky areola. More than one of her handfuls, she thought, cupping them in her palms and lifting them slightly. Round. The skin soft and a very pale cream. She could see the outline of her lower ribs, her stomach had a little curve, but not much and her hips swelled out, making her waist look smaller. Long thighs and calves, with very little padding, a somewhat dubious benefit of so many steep hills to climb and descend to check the stock and the fencing in the furthest fields. Every climb left her thighs and ass aching for a few hours afterwards. She didn't think she was unattractive. But he didn't seem to want her. Didn't seem to notice her, even when he got into their bed. His breathing would quieten then get louder again as he drifted off to sleep and within an hour, he'd be snoring like Jack Nicholson in that movie about the witches and she'd lie there, listening to it, wondering if he had the low libido he claimed, or if he'd found someone else down in the city, or if the weight he'd put on, that had added at least two hundred pounds to his big frame, had drowned whatever sexual inclinations he'd once had. Twisting away from the mirror, Sara dried herself, hanging the towel on the rail and grabbing moisturiser from the cupboard. She tipped it generously into her palm and spread it over her skin - face and neck, hands and arms, shoulders and breasts and stomach and ass, down the length of her legs. It was the only thing she'd bought for herself in the last five years, her one luxury, and despite the fact it often seemed like a waste, she kept buying it and had kept applying it. It might not have been anyone's fault, she considered, watching the last drops disappear into her skin and straightening up. It might have been both of their faults. It didn't change the fact that she needed more. Needed something more than battery-operated assistance and fantasies that seemed unattainable. She'd always loved sex, loved the pleasure and the intimacy, the smell and taste and feel of a man. And for the last few years - the last eight years, she corrected herself tersely - she'd been denied that intimacy and release by the person who was supposed to have been the one she'd forsaken all others for. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Walking more carefully toward the corner of the house, he stopped when he heard the deep panting ahead of him. He couldn't see a damned thing but he could hear a crunch of weight on the powder snow, a piece of the night seeming to move to his left. Crouching a little, he scooped a handful of snow and worked it into a hard ball with hands that couldn't feel anything and could hardly close. The panting sounded closer and it was reaction that launched the snowball into the darkness. He heard a splat and a surprised low groan, then the sound of something big moving off, the cloud cover above parting into streamers for a heart beat or two and letting moonlight flood down. Jesus, he thought, staring at the bovine shape, black against the white drifts. Goddamned cow! The rush of adrenalin was at least warming. The moonlight disappeared again as the clouds crowded together thickly, but he'd had a glimpse of the terrain and he walked around the house, slowing when he saw another light on at the back. For a moment, he wondered if he was pushing his luck, if he shouldn't just check out the outbuildings and find someplace that would at least be out of the weather for the remainder of the night, move on before dawn. The series of shivers that shook through him vetoed that thought almost instantly. He could be a fucking popsicle come dawn if he didn't find a way to get some heat back into his body. It was a risk, trying the house so soon after the lights had gone out, but one he was going to have to take. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Twisting restlessly in her bed, Sara squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force herself into sleep. The day's physical workload had been hard enough, she thought. She should've been able to drop off without a problem. Images formed, against her will. Sensations. Ghost touches and phantasms over her skin. All the things she'd been without for too many years now. She rolled over irritably. The weekend would come and once again her husband would be disinclined and it would go and she would spend another week alone and without the physical intimacy that seemed more and more important as time rolled on and it continued to fail to materialise. Eight years. It was almost impossible to think of anyone wanting to touch her now, after that length of time. Forget it, she told herself, rolling back and dragging the covers into a tight bunch in one fist, held under her chin. Realistically, sex, or its lack, was the least of the things that weren't happening on the place, and in the morning, she'd have to take the truck and chainsaw down to the valley and cut enough wood to last out the next week. She needed to sleep. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The back door, partly protected by a small overhang and half wall, was unlocked, the knob turning easily under his hand. He pushed it open slowly, feeling the warmth inside the house turn the ice crystals on his face to water. He wiped them off with an equally wet sleeve and closed the door behind him, closing his eyes and trying to force them to adjust to the near-total darkness faster. The light he'd seen outside was coming from a room on his right, to one side of a narrow hallway leading from the closed-in back porch. It shone under the door, a thin line of warm white. Further up the hallway, he could see more light, a gold-reddish colour, spilling from a narrow gap into another room. Taking a deep breath, he crouched down and started to unlace his boots, fingers fumbling with the half-frozen, wet laces, stiff and aching from the cold. He pulled the boots off and carried them, easing open the first door. A flexible lamp pointed its low-wattage bulb toward the far ceiling, and he saw the tousled head against the pillow beside it, the only part of the child visible under a mound of bed covers. Glancing around the room and taking in the posters of race cars and superheroes, a kite hanging on one wall and a baseball bat leaning up against a corner, he figured it was a boy. He pulled the door shut carefully and walked up the hall, his socks squelching into the carpet. The warm red glow of light came from a fireplace. Double glass-paned sliding doors were open a couple of feet, letting the heat flow out of the room. The slow combustion stove had been built into a dividing wall, glass doors on both sides and he pushed aside the longing, to huddle next to it until he'd thawed out completely, with impatience. Checking out who was in the house was a higher priority. He walked toward the fire anyway, skirting the living room furniture and glancing at the incurious blinking stares of a number of cats. The other side of the fire glowed out over a dining table and chairs, a low wooden box under the raised combustion stove on that side. Putting his boots on top of it, he held his hands out to the heat seeping out, working his fingers and trying to feel something. A bowl of fruit on the dining table snagged his attention and he grabbed an apple, biting into it hungrily. It could only have been a few minutes, standing there in the luxurious warmth of the fire, the growls of his stomach subsiding as the apple found its way to filling it, but it felt like hours. When the piece of fruit had been stripped down to the core, he felt his eyelids dropping. Three days walking, hiding, freezing his ass off was falling onto him like a fucking ton of bricks and he needed to secure someplace safe - safer - to sleep. Pulling off his socks, he left them on the woodbox along with his boots and walked barefoot back through the living room. Two more doors were closed along its length. He moved closer to the front door and opened the first cautiously. It was dark, and he pushed the door a little wider, the faint light from the living room showing a bedroom, a double bed against the opposite wall, a desk beside it. Movie posters hung framed above the bedhead and between the room's bookshelves. A school backpack and a pile of battered books on the floor suggested another child. He backed out and closed the door silently, turning down the hall to the last door. That opened into a third bedroom. The queen size bed stood against the wall to his right, two wardrobes and a chest of drawers covering the remaining wall space. The nightstands to either side of the bed were wide, each holding a short bookshelf above them. The room was almost black, the bright red numerals of the digital clock on one nightstand barely shedding enough light to see the dark curls against the pillows. He stepped into the room and closed the door, moving silently between chest of drawers and the side of the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the woman from the kitchen, sleeping alone. Teeth gritted together to stop them from chattering, he stripped fast, and lifted the edge of the bed's coverings gingerly. The warmth he could feel there was compelling and he slid under the covers, eyes closing involuntarily as the trapped heat surrounded him. He pushed his arm slowly under her pillow, curling it around her chest and he felt her jerk back against him. "Don't move. Not going to hurt you," he said, his voice low and croaking a little. "Not gonna hurt anyone, okay? Just need to get some sleep." She hadn't moved and he edged closer to her, tightening his grip as her body's heat penetrated the cold of his skin, slowly chasing the chill from his limbs. Lying there, feeling returning to his fingers and toes, his hair dampening the pillow and beads of moisture slipping from his rough beard onto her shoulder, he knew he couldn't risk just falling asleep. She might have been a timid woman, but he had nothing to stop her from easing out when he was out except his own instinctive responses. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara lay still, the weight of the man's forearm across her neck, his body pressed against her back, legs drawn up to spoon with hers. She could smell the cold on him, and a fleeting image of the snow-covered fields filled her mind's eye. His beard was brushing her shoulder and neck, the dampness of it chilling her more than his skin, which although cool, seemed to be rapidly warming. He wasn't sleeping, she thought, listening to the sound of his breathing in the silent room. As the warmth seeped through to him, from her body's heat, and the cocoon of down-filled quilts surrounding them, she realised she could smell him, beyond the fresh scent of moisture. He smelled of the woods. Of conifer and pine and the needle-covered forest floor, more faintly of sweat, a musky odour that made her nipples harden abruptly, her eyes screw shut. Strange Haven It'd been a long time but she couldn't be aroused by a stranger, she told herself. Breaking into her house, sneaking into her bed, threatening her. That wasn't what she wanted. Was it? Against her back, against her bottom and legs, she could feel every inch of him, awareness sharpening on the lean, hard body far more than she wanted it to. The thin singlet and panties she wore to bed seemed a laughable barrier between them, and as if her thoughts had transferred to him, she felt a slight twitch on her ass. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ With the gradual infiltration of heat, he felt his eyelids closing, his muscles relaxing incrementally. Too much time spent running and hiding, ignoring pain and exhaustion, was dragging him down and he pulled in a deep breath. With it, the scent of the woman next to him invaded his nostrils; soap and smooth skin, clean, soft hair, an indefinable faintly musky odour that trembled around the edges of his consciousness, bringing into sharp focus the silky skin under his hand, the soft curve of the woman's ass against his groin. Ah ... crap. No, he thought, drawing in another breath, his fingertips slipping a little on the shoulder of the woman, a sudden awareness of the cotton-clad bottom his cock was nestled behind. It'd been too long and he felt the twitch of arousal at the same time as he registered the flimsiness of what she was wearing. Imagination furnished images and his drowsiness was withdrawing as arousal deepened. It'd been too long since he'd been this close to a woman. Too long since he'd breathed in that scent. Too long since his hands had slipped over skin so smooth, firm, yielding ... electrifying. Rape had never been one of his fantasies. Games, mutually consensual, were another thing, but taking by force? No. He ground his teeth together as his cock continued to stiffen, apparently not interested in anything but the feel of that inviting ass against it. He needed sleep, he told himself, trying to insist on it, not the increasing desire that was filling his balls with an ache he knew was only going to get worse. Almost involuntarily, he moved his hand, fingers slipping down her arm until he could feel the curve of her breast under the heel. The touch, as light as it was, sent a deep throb right through his nervous system and he leaned into her, his mouth brushing along the soft and sweetly scented skin of her neck. He felt her shiver. "Sorry," he murmured, so faintly even he could barely hear the word. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what the hell he was apologising for. It was getting harder to hold a coherent thought. What he wanted ... what he needed ... was pulsing through his veins and pounding in his balls ... to taste her sweet juices and the thick cream of her come ... to feel the slick, wet thunder of her with his fingers, spasming around them as he teased her to shattering climax ... to push himself deep inside, into the tight, giving volcano of her sex and feel the tension go in a long, silent scream of satiation ... His hand slid down a little more, his palm rubbing over the breast beneath it and he felt the nipple, hard as a rock, under the thin material. It scraped against his skin, producing a shuddering reaction in his cock and he could hardly tell what he was doing any more, one hand squeezing the breast under it, the other sliding down her stomach and reaching the elastic line of her panties. "Sorry," he mumbled against her jaw. "S'been ... a ... long ... I ... Jesus ... I-" He wanted to shut up. He'd broken into this woman's home, had gotten into her bed, it was too fucking late for apologies, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't finish the sentence, his fingers found the hollow of her hip, where her panties didn't touch the skin and they slipped under the elastic, registering a soft tangle of curls, smooth skin and ... moisture. For a moment, the incandescent desire swirled away as he moved his fingertip cautiously down between hot, puffy lips. It pushed along without the slightest resistance, gliding in a film of thick liquid. He stopped and lifted his head slightly. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara tensed as she felt his hand cup and squeeze her breast, her heart slamming into her ribs at the strangely gentle touch, her mouth opening and her breath whistling a little as it pumped in and out of her lungs. The tremble increased, anticipation of what would happen next, what he would do, what he would touch ... and she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to lie to herself that she didn't want this. It'd been so long, too long, since she'd felt a man's hands on her, felt a man's desire pressing against her. And he wanted her, she thought dazedly, it wasn't like her asking and being rejected, time after time. She was wet, she could feel the pulsing deep inside as his mouth slid along her jaw, unable to make out what he was saying but feeling his breath in plosives on her skin. Her breasts felt heavy, swollen and needing under his hand, and blood was rushing to her pelvis, swelling the lips there, making her clit harden and throb as well. The humiliation of wanting this stranger vanished as his finger slipped along her lips, touching her with a slow intimacy that hit every nerve in her body. He stopped, agonisingly, and she felt him shift a little, his head rising. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Do you want me?" he asked, his voice cracking a little high with surprise. She didn't answer, but he could feel her flexing slightly around his fingertip, could hear, now that his attention wasn't solely concentrated in his cock and fingers, her breathing; rapid and shallow. Seconds ticked by before she turned her head a little, her voice low and almost defeated as she answered, "Yes." The admission sent a violent shock through his balls and up his cock, as if she'd touched him with a live wire. "Roll over," he said, moving back a little to give her room. "And take off your top." After another long moment's hesitation, she did, rolling closer to him, onto her back, her hands fumbling against the obstruction of his arm to pull the thin top off, her legs moving apart slightly, giving his hand more room. He closed his eyes briefly at the feel of that tacit request, swallowing hard. He wasn't going to question this, he decided, opening them and looking down at her. He could see the gleam of her eyes in the subdued red glow from the clock, the outline of one cheek, the short curls that lay against the white pillow. "Put your arms around me," he whispered, not believing she'd do it, not knowing why he'd asked it of her. She lifted her arms slowly, her hands sliding over his shoulders and curling around his neck, the sensation somehow more unbearably intimate than his slow exploration of her pussy. Like a lover, he thought distantly, the idea distracting. He lowered himself, until he could feel her breath on his mouth. "Kiss me." He hadn't really believed she'd do that either, but she pulled him closer, brushing her lips over his and at the light touch, another low-voltage bolt ran through him, stabbing into his balls and shooting up his cock, turning it to steel. Her lips explored his, mobile and softer than he'd imagined, then he felt the tip of her tongue slip along between them, tracing the shape of his mouth, first along the outside, then from the inside. The tentative delicacy of it brought a deep shiver, running down his back, and he slid his fingers along her pussy, cupping her mound and pushing a finger inside her as her tongue explored his. She was hot. Much hotter than he'd thought. And tight. So tight he pushed in very slowly, feeling her stretch around his fingertip. Her clit, under his thumb, was hard, and he felt her whole body shake as he circled it gently, her hands closing hard on his shoulders, her breath, slightly minty, gusting into his mouth. Fuck. Between the kiss and the sensations surrounding his finger, he could hardly keep himself from coming there and then. Two years. Eight months. Thirteen days. Nine hours. She gasped against his lips and arched up, pushing back as he pushed a second finger into her, curling both and finding that tiny patch of nerve-endings, fingers and thumb stroking in unison, inside and outside. Muscle, swollen and hot and coated in liquid, squeezed rhythmically along his fingers, in time with his caressing massage, the sensations transmitted by the sensitive nerve endings in his fingertips going direct to his cock, and his low groan, at the way the feelings were screwing deeper into him, exploding in nerve-wracking detonations up his length, escaped in a huff against her throat. Then she was coming. A fast vibration around his fingers, her hips bucking up against him, her head thrown back as she tried to stifle her moans. The sight, the sound and smell, and feel of her, twisted almost painfully inside him, jacking him up higher again. He ground his cock against her hip and ass, watching her ride that roller, the way it felt astonishing him. He'd always been careful to make sure sex was mutually enjoyable, that the women he took to bed had no complaints, even when they woke up alone in the mornings, but he'd never felt their arousal as an adjunct to his - and never dreamed it could stir him that much to see a woman shaking uncontrollably with the pleasure he'd given her. His fingers were soaked, and abruptly he wanted to taste her, drive his tongue deep into her and lick out her thick creamy come. She was spasming around his fingers, eyes half-closed, mouth open, panting softly then holding her breath as another peak shook through her, her thighs clamped like a vice around his hand. Was that one or two, he wondered as he ducked his head to trail his mouth down her throat and over her collarbone to her breast. He was going to lose it without ever getting into her if he didn't move fast. And he needed to be in her, needed to be swallowed whole and feel those tight, slick muscles pump him dry. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Shivering and unable to catch her breath, Sara felt her toes curling under without volition as another wave of swelling pleasure flushed through her, her fingers curling and uncurling involuntarily over the big muscles of his shoulders, in time with the violent contractions of her back and thighs and the shooting spurts of sensation that seemed to be ricocheting back and forth and up and down her body, gaining strength with every rebound. Dying, she thought incoherently, arching up again without any control over what her body was doing, mind and senses completely lost in how it felt; how unbelievable it felt. She wanted it to keep going. She needed it stop, for a second, to get some air into her lungs, before she passed out. His lips slipped down the slope of her breast and that drew an audible moan from her before she could stop it. God, she was on fire, on fire and needing more, more touch, more sensation, more everything. His tongue lapped at her nipple and she arched up again, heels digging into the mattress, pressing her breast harder against his mouth. Enclosing the nipple, his mouth was hot, teeth scraping a little. The sudden suction drew an answering shriek from the nerves in her pussy, and the combination was building in her again; sharp, spiking stabs, restless ripples undulating the muscles of her abdomen, washes of pleasure, almost like electrical discharges, fluxing through her organs, inflaming her thighs, twitching and jerking her toes. His mouth moved to the other breast, fingers pinching and rolling the wet nipple left behind, and she was cresting again, spasming around the fingers inside her, aching for more. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He pulled his fingers out as he slid down her body, dragging her panties down her legs roughly and pushing her legs apart, burying his face between her thighs. Dragging a deep breath in through his nose and nearly drowning in her scents, he slid his tongue along the swollen folds of her sex. She tasted sweet, he realised vaguely, sweet and thick, like honey mixed with something else, something juicy, musky. Addictive. He forced his tongue into her, sweeping it against the walls of silken skin. His cock was throbbing in time with his pulse, twitching and jumping to have its turn. Against his scalp, just touching, her fingers were unconsciously stroking his head in the same rhythm as he licked and the sensation was contradictorily relaxing and stimulating. Lapping his way up to her clit, hard and erect, he flicked at it with his tongue, feeling her buck lightly against his mouth. God, he could get lost here for a long time. The thought barely had any meaning as he dragged his teeth over the small, throbbing nub. Lost in the sounds she was making, lost in the taste and smell and feel of her. He lifted his hand, sliding it from her thigh to run up and down the puffed lips, gliding in her moisture, his arousal escalating with every breathless moan he forced from her, every tight spasm of her muscles around him. "Huh - uh - uh - uh ..." He slid his fingers into her, two and then three, fucking her with them, lips closing around the pulsing clit in his mouth, lashing his tongue over it and sucking hard. It didn't take long. She thrust up against his hand, against his mouth and he felt the violence of her orgasm, squeezing in rolling waves down the muscles that ringed her vaginal tunnel, oscillating in between the deeper convulsions, a never-ending ripple that trilled up and down his fingers. What the fuck would that feel like surrounding his cock, he wondered, his breath whistling in his throat at the thought. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Suffused and swamped by the pleasure that filled her, Sara bit down hard on the insides of her lips to hold in the cry that wanted to burst from her. Every part of her body was jittering, her nervous system overloading and sparking - her breasts were orgasming, her knees, even the damned insides of her elbows. There was no air in the world, and she couldn't control the jerking and twisting of her wired-up body. She'd never had multiple orgasms, not even with Dan at the height of their passion. She'd thought she probably wasn't capable of experiencing it, one of a large percentage of women, had been grateful for the orgasms she did have and not wasting much time on wishing otherwise. Another earthquake rippled through her pelvis and legs and abdomen, peaking in a fierce ache in her nipples and the feel of his tongue sucking gently on her clit. Were those contractions and sharp-edged waves lessening? She couldn't tell. When he lifted his head, she felt bereft, her clit cooling suddenly without the heat of his mouth. She felt him slip his fingers out of her, and shook with the sensation of loss, tears inexplicably pricking behind her eyes. "Don't - please - don't stop." Was that her voice? Whispering and begging him? He loomed over her, his shape dimly outlined in the glow of the digital clock and she felt his knees against the insides of her thighs, sucking in a deeper breath, relief flooding her. She was both satiated and aching for more, flushed through with sensations never dreamed of, needing as she'd never needed before. Needing to be filled, needing to feel him - his warmth, his hands, his lips and tongue, his cock - on her. Against her. Inside of her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He knelt between her legs, braced on one arm and looking down at her as he rubbed the head of his cock along her dripping lips, pushing lightly over her clit, and against the opening lower down. In the barely-there light, he could make out that her lips were parted, her breath still rasping in and out of her throat, her eyes half-closed. He couldn't tell if she was looking at him or not. The throaty whispered plea had torn right through him, a bubble of near-hysterical laughter rising in his chest as he tried to imagine stopping at that moment. His balls were full - stretched and rounded and taut - and filled with a deep ache he couldn't remember encountering before. He guessed he could've stopped - if someone'd cut his throat - but not otherwise. He pushed gently against her, feeling the head stretch out the tight hole. She was tighter than he'd thought, swollen and engorged, and he ducked his head, holding back a groan as the small entrance reluctantly opened to him; licking, swallowing and compressing him as he went a little deeper. She spread her legs wider and her hips lifted against him, driving him in another inch. The sensations that surrounded him were cacophonic - heat and pressure, smooth, silken slickness, bathing him and squeezing him at the same time. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to rush. She lifted her hips again and this time the groan emerged, soft and low as he slid in another couple of inches, thought wiped out by feeling, her interior walls undulating against him, sucking him in, caressing him. "I won't break," she said, her voice low. "You're so fucking tight," he responded, lifting his head and trying to see her expression. "It's been a long time," she said, turning her head away. He thrust in, harder this time, feeling half his length slide into her and hearing her small gasp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me what you want." "I want to feel all of you," she murmured, looking back at him. "Slow and deep ..." The image that came into his head was duplicated by reality as he pushed again, and her hips rose to meet his, driving him in, all the way. He let his head fall forward, her shoulder under his brow, his cock throbbing inside her as he pulled out again, the excruciating torment of the slowness robbing him of breath and strength. She exhaled against his neck, her arms sliding around him. "Oh, god, yeah." Her hips rocked back, and arched up sharply. "Christ, I don't know how long I can do this," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Not long," she said, muscles clamping and vibrating along him as he withdrew again. "I want you ... god, I want you ... hard ... and fast ... and deep." He lifted his head, eyes widening as she widened her legs, ramming her hips against his, taking all of him in. "Huh-uh-fuck!" She felt like an inferno; his cock sucked in, rubbed, slicked, stroked and roasted. He was so close to the line where nothing he'd be able to do would make a difference and he started moving, one arm curling around her lower back to hold her still; slamming into her and pulling out, her legs lifting to wrap around his hips, her fiery cunt gripping him hard with every withdrawal, resisting him, tugging at him. He was already there, teetering on the edge when her body began to convulse around him. A series of pulses, getting stronger, pulling at him, pummelling him and he exploded, hips jerking hard, his come flooding out in brain-seizing jets that seemed endless. That long, long scream ... only in his head ... filled with light ... filled with darkness ... Jesus, he was filling her ... and dying ... did it matter? No ... it didn't. Nothing else mattered. Still jerking involuntarily against her hips, aftershocks milking him out, his balls were slack and empty and every muscle in his body heavy with a lassitude that was sucking him down. Somewhere, a long way away, the small voice that sometimes offered sarcastic comments at tense moments piped up ... so much for staying alert ... "Please. Don't - don't move," her voice whispered against his ear, her arms reaching around him to hold him closer. "I - I'm gonna crush you," he somehow managed to say back. His tongue felt thick and unwieldy. "No," she contradicted him, and he felt her legs against his hips, over his back. "You won't." He let himself down a little more, supporting most of his weight on one arm, hips and stomach pressed against her, his cock still buried deeply inside. Frissons of diminishing pleasure ran up and down his nervous system, sputtering out incrementally. Strange Haven He hadn't been a monk. He'd been enjoying the bodies of woman since before he'd had his driver's licence. All kinds of women. Until relatively recently, he hadn't gone without for long, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember having sex like that. Could've been the wait, he thought drowsily. Could've been the surprise of it. It took a few minutes longer for him to soften enough that he couldn't stay in, sliding out on the gentle flow of their combined come. Her arms loosened then, and he rolled to the side, feeling her move away, reaching out with an arm and pulling her back against him. He was warm. He was tired. He loved her smell. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara woke two hours later, slowly and languidly. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was, or whose arms were wrapped around her. Memory returned and she curled up her toes, feeling an answering tingle in her skin and muscles. Sex with a complete stranger. Incredible sex with a complete stranger. Neither of them had really moved, she realised, faintly surprised. She hadn't wanted after-sex cuddles much, even when her husband had still been ... husbandly ... and he'd liked them even less, rolling away and leaving air space between them. This felt different. She wasn't sure how, but it did. Under the quilts, the heat they made together was just enough, not stiflingly sweaty. Beneath her cheek, his chest rose and fell and she extended her tongue a little, tasting him; slightly salty, musky. A single throb shook through her and she inched closer to him, breathing in deeply. This was what she'd missed so much, she thought. This skin-to-skin intimacy. Love wasn't essential to sex, but over the last eight years, she'd come to the conclusion that sex was essential to love. At least the sort of love that a still-fertile woman might feel for a very virile man. Lying there, his arms around her, she floated in her thoughts. She felt safe, she thought, in a very primal and primitive kind of way. Protected. That was probably a fantasy, considering the man who was holding her had almost certainly escaped from the prison three counties over, but despite the logic, the feeling remained. She felt womanly, she realised. Not just desired, though that was a powerful aphrodisiac. Not just feminine, although it'd been a long time since she'd felt so fully feminine, aware of her body, of her skin, of her desires. Something else ... something deeper. The clichés rushed through her mind and she rejected them. They were a part of it, but not all of it. Who cares, she derided herself, letting her hand move over his chest and down his side, revelling in the freedom of touching him, stroking him. That low-down hum was returning, and everything about him was charging it. Shifting her weight onto the arm under her, she brushed her mouth over his chest. He wasn't hairy, but he wasn't smooth and hairless either, a fine mat over the big muscles that protected the ribcage, thinning out where she found his nipple and tongued over it curiously. He moved a little, his exhale slightly louder. Exploring with her fingers, she followed her hand with her lips, curving over muscle and nuzzling against his side, his body twitching at her touch. She licked along the places where his muscles fluttered beneath the skin, smiling as he rolled onto his back, his legs sprawling apart, and she pushed the covers down further. He smelled ... manly, she thought, repressing an almost-hysterical giggle at the banality of the thought. There wasn't another word for it. The woodland scent was still there but very faintly now. The chill, oddly metallic, scent of the snowy night outside had gone completely, overlaid with the powerful but pleasing smell of sweat, and that mixed in with the combined odours of their joining and release. He smelled of sex, she thought, her smile getting a little wider. Ducking her head, she traced the outline of muscle from above his hip down to his groin, licking along the crease between thigh and pelvis, nuzzling her face against his flaccid cock and the thick pubic hair that surrounded it. She'd missed the social revolution when men had made the decision, collectively it seemed, to start wearing make-up, pay attention to how they smelled, what colour their hair was and lay down their cash to be body-waxed. Had been married and unaware of it, at any rate. In both the abstract and in reality, she couldn't work out if it was a step of evolution or a sign that form had completely overtaken function and western society had way too much time on its hands. That this man hadn't followed the trend was a relief, she decided, turning herself around and easing his legs further apart, her tongue sliding under his sac and curling around it. She had no idea of what he looked like, only the knowledge of her other senses; the smell of him and the way he tasted, the textures of skin and body. He was beautiful to her, in his unapologetic maleness. Beautiful and intoxicating. His hips rose as she stroked him, his erection growing slowly. His response, even unconscious, sent a quaking, shivery delight through her. She'd tried hard to get the intimacy with Dan back, even when he'd gotten too large to enter her, had tried everything she could think of or could research to give him pleasure and recapture his desire. Not much had worked. And, after a while, she'd stopped trying, the imbalance between her desire and his apathy too great. And, finally, she'd stopped asking for intimacy altogether, her hesitant attempts sounding too much like pleas, to her ears; always only coming from her. Exploring the thickening shaft of this stranger's cock, tracing the veins, squeezing gently along the length, running a fingertip featherlight around the rim of the head, both hands massaging and teasing as her tongue played with his balls, it was a power of some kind, she thought vaguely. It turned her on to create this arousal, to fan it and inflame it. It wasn't a one-way deal. She was in it for the sensations it brought to her as much as she wanted to give him pleasure. She was moistening again, heat and a simmering passion arousing her nerves and filling her with a languid need. Leaning forward, she tasted the thinner salty liquid leaking from him, an answering trickle tickling between her legs. She'd missed this - all of this - so much, she thought was a soft moan, her tongue sliding around him, savouring the taste. The gusting exhale he released was just vocalised, rumbling in his chest and she lifted her gaze, seeing his head move. He was hard, and gaining consciousness, if he wasn't awake already. Straddling his hips, she slid herself up and down his cock; her nether lips hot and swelling, drenched in her juices, her clit demandingly hard and throbbing. Her head tipped back slightly as she rubbed herself more forcefully against him. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He woke to the exquisite sensations of being swallowed, a moan vibrating along his shaft, oscillating around him. Opening his eyes, he could see her, the covers pushed down, his body warm and flushed with blood rushing to his cock as her fingers clenched and released at the base and a tongue laved and teased the head. Memory returned in tiny shards - the forest, the snow-filled fields, the warmth of the house, and then here. This room. This bed. This woman. As she changed position, her thighs against his hips and her cunt dripping hotly over him, he couldn't help the involuntary upward thrust. He felt her lips part to either side of him and arched up again, rewarded as she seemed to lift that little bit higher, and he found her entrance, slipping inside an inch or so, the tight muscles there blasting a full return of memory, along with the furnace feel of heat and welcoming pressure. For a long moment, she held herself above him, and his cock twitched, straining to get in deeper ... then she plunged down, taking his breath and hers, he thought incoherently as he heard her gasp. Before he could react, she was rising again, almost agonisingly slow, her slick heat pulling and sucking at him. He lifted his hips in an attempt to stay in that inferno, and she dropped suddenly, enclosing him, squeezing him, all the blood rushing out of his brain with the rush of shocking ecstasy. Her hips swung a little, forward and back, as she rose again, and his cock was twisted in that tight channel, palpated from different angles. She was moving faster, increasing her speed gradually and rhythmically and every movement seemed to hit him from a different position, the sweet glide of her steady, but the effects unpredictable and heart-stopping. Tightening his grip on her hips, he jerked upward, matching every downward thrust, feeling her body tremble as his cock brushed past the sensitive patch inside of her. That tremble only added to the pleasure, the mutual passion of giving and taking, locked together and in sync, her breathless little moans ramping him up as much as the feel of her, surrounding him, did. Fuck, he loved women. Loved their taste and their scents, the way they felt and the way they looked and the hand-in-glove way he fit inside of them, filling them up. He loved how they shook, when they were about to come. It didn't last, but god, it was good in the moment. She leaned forward and he reached up automatically, catching her hands against his, sucking in a deep lungful of air as she accelerated, her breath rasping audibly in and out. Her fingers contracted around his and he felt the first staccato pulses along his length, thrusting harder as she rocked down, feeling that pulling sensation, somewhere deep, feeling it build, faster and faster. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara shuddered as his hands found hers and she increased her pace, slamming herself down on him, her body throbbing and clamping around him in syncopation with the thundering beat of her heart. Every stroke, up or down, brushed over the tight bundle of nerves inside her and every stroke was building a conflagration, a wildfire of sensations she couldn't ever remember feeling, not once through several lovers or in a marriage of twelve years. More than physical, it was a mindless, yearning ache for something she couldn't define, couldn't imagine, a clinging desperation that pumped her hips faster, harder, feeling him hit somewhere, deep inside, needing it more than she could bear. It was different from the first time. More thunder and lightning. More of everything. Deeper. Stronger. Rocking her from the inside out, her fingers gripping his with all her strength as the first shockwaves rippled through her body, from the tightly contracted muscles of her feet to the crown of her head; her internal temperature swinging hot to cold and back again; exquisite sensation exploding along the pathways of nerves, and when she felt him arch up under her, felt the hotter spurt of his seed flood her, heard his stifled groan, a second detonation hit her, overtaking the first. Contract and release. Contract and release. Light-headed and dizzy with the washes of pleasure. Shaking helplessly in the grip of sensations that had taken over. Lost and held. Stirred and sated and perversely, already longing for more. She tipped forward and he caught her, arms going around her, his breath on her hair, the brush of his beard against her temple. "Thank you," she gasped, glad that darkness was hiding her expression. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He slid his hand down her back, a part of him wondering at the kind of woman who thanked a stranger - a criminal - for coming into her home and having sex with her. The kind of woman who's as tight as a virgin despite having two kids, a small voice at the back of his mind suggested? Was there a husband around? The question wasn't that urgent. If there was, he wasn't there now. He closed his eyes, feeling her heart beat settle under his hand, his cock softening and slipping out of her. She wasn't heavy but it wouldn't stay comfortable for long, her lying on top of him, their hipbones and ribcages pressing together, and he rolled to the side, feeling her squirm away, his arms closing around her without thought, drawing her back against him as he settled mostly on one side. It wasn't just the need to keep her from slipping out and calling the cops when he was sleeping, he thought drowsily. She could've done that instead of waking him up again. Usually, he didn't want to be this close, after. This time he did. He was too damned exhausted to try and work out why. He felt the odd tension in her dissolve slowly, felt her turn and curl against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder and nestling there, her arm sliding tentatively over his chest. It'd been a while since he'd been able to pull off a couple of fucks in the space of a few hours, let alone ball-busters like those had been. Then again, it'd been a while since he'd had a tight pussy, hot and welcoming, to slide into. He drew in a slightly deeper breath, and the thoughts vanished without fanfare, his body heavy and loose, sated and comfortable, the darkness and the soft whisper of her breath lulling him into sleep. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was still dark, in the room, when he woke abruptly; disoriented by the warmth surrounding him, the woman he was still holding. Still dark outside as well, a stray thought suggested, the blackness of the window unrelieved. Memory returned, a flush of heat shooting up his body, and he relaxed back onto the pillow under his head. From close to freezing to this, he thought, one side of his mouth lifting in a slightly derisive grin. Someone was looking out for him. He'd pulled some pretty shifty shit on women over the years, but he couldn't recall anything as blatantly bad as this. It was hard to believe it wasn't going to backfire on him, sometime soon. She'd wanted him, he reminded himself, listening to the barely audible whisper of her breath. Wanted him a lot, the memory of the second time coming back. Waking to the delirious feel of her mouth around him being a good argument for the lady's choice. And she was still here, he thought, tilting his head to look down at her. Curled in his arms and showing no inclination at all to trying to escape or call the cops or anything else. Stop looking in gift horse's mouth. It wasn't a situation that seemed likely to last much longer, he thought, fingertips brushing lightly over her skin, drawing a muted shiver from her. He thought he'd been pretty much fucked out, but as memory and the smell and feel of her in his arms registered more strongly, his cock twitched hopefully. Licking his lips, he realised he wanted to taste her again. He eased himself out from under her, and drew in a deep breath when he was leaning over her, smelling the fresh scents of her hair and skin, mixed with the heavier smells on the sheets beneath them. Ducking his head, he kissed her neck, savouring the slightly salt flavour of her sweat on the tip of his tongue. Her skin was like silk, he thought, one hand running lightly down her shoulder and arm, fingers caressingly tracing the shape of her breast. His cock gave a deep throb and he closed his eyes, lapping at the nipple and rolling it under his tongue, feeling it harden in the heat of his mouth. His fingers played with the other one, and a faint moan slipped between her parted lips. He sucked harder as that soft noise seemed to zap straight from his ears to the root, any worries about getting up after the night's activities gone in that second. Moving lower, he tasted and licked under the swell of her breasts, one hand stroking a smooth thigh, letting his senses swim and drown in her body. There was something about a woman's body, something that contrasted and complemented a man's, he thought vaguely. Their softness, maybe. Their scents, sweeter and wilder. Their taste, complicated and addictive. It could've been instinct, plain old reproductive drive, all that crap about spreading seed and best combinations, but it never felt that simple, not to him. Those things were there, a rush of triumph somehow at the critical moment, a sense of completion, momentary, at least, for something he'd never felt could be completed. There was a feeling of conqueror as well, not just of strength but of will. A thread of self-satisfaction, in both the doing and in being chosen. Beyond those mostly physical things, mostly biological things, there were others. Watching their eyes, and mouths, as they reached with the same determination for the pinnacle of sensation, for the long sigh and release, he thought he saw more in those moments. Saw them give themselves up unconditionally. Saw an acceptance, not just of themselves but of him, in those fleeting glimpses. He'd felt as if he could almost understand that feeling, but not quite. He followed the curve of her hip with his mouth, realising he'd come closer to that understanding with this woman than with any of the others, despite knowing even less of her than almost any other sexual partner he'd ever had. Between her legs, the folds of her cunt were soaked and running, and he licked along them, savouring the smells and taste, distantly aware of the increase in her movements; small, restless twitches as he touched and tasted, more and more intimately. He drove his tongue inside her, the sweetness of her juices flooding his mouth. Fuck, she was sweet, he thought, a little incoherently. "Uh-aa-ah." The moan spiked through him and he lapped at her clit, pushing her legs further apart and sliding his fingertips between her rapidly-swelling lips, over her entrance, and under it, feeling her cheeks flex as he rubbed a fingertip over the tight, puckered hole. He couldn't believe how responsive she was to everything he did. Couldn't believe how those responses kept winding him up, either. Closing his teeth gently around the hard protrusion of flesh at the top of her pussy, he dragged them over it as he slid two fingers into her, and she arched up, another moan escaping from her, his cock throbbing and rigid. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara was catapulted out of sleep, aching fluxes of intense pleasure swelling out from her pelvis, through her thighs and abdomen, tightening her nipples, seizing her chest and leaving her gasping for air. She arched up under the mouth and fingers that were driving her, twisting as he changed technique, and a new set of pulsing sensations rolled along her nervous system, bringing her closer and closer to the melting point she needed. "Turn over." His voice was rough and low, disembodied in the near-darkness and she sucked in a lungful of air and complied, rolling onto her stomach, her hands fisting in the sheets as he lifted her hips higher. "Spread your legs, wide." Cheek pressed against the sheet, she obeyed without thought, her pussy open to the cool air, her body jittering and shaking with the need to be touched. Licked. Fingered and filled. She jumped when she felt his tongue slide up, thrusting into her pussy for a second or two and withdrawing, then continuing up to slick her ass. A shivery, quaking feeling filled her, her imagination clocking into overdrive, accompanied by the sensations he was creating, in his touches and caresses and the excruciatingly slow, deliberate exploration of her. How could it be so different each time, some distant, still sane part of her wondered? How could he touch her and pull more out, each and every time? She'd thought she'd been wanton and horny the last time ... it'd been nothing to what she felt now, spread open to him, her breath rasping harshly against the cotton fabric under her face, her body jerking and flooding with moisture every time he moved, touched her. She was hyper aware of her skin, of the connections between nerves and muscles, muscle and tendon. She could feel the deep-seated throbbing in her pussy, building fast to an ache as he played with her. She wanted things she'd never wanted before, wanted him to ... own her ... the thought surrounded by a glowing astonishment ... as she'd never wanted anyone to do before. She had to bite down on the plea, rising in her throat, for him to take her, do anything he wanted with her, just take her completely. Strange Haven Her husband had been a good lover, she'd thought. He'd never gotten her close to this state of helpless arousal, this passion that was burning her up from the inside out. "Oh, Jesus." His voice was low and rough, and the mattress tilted under her as he moved, his hands sliding up and down her thighs, thumbs reaching out to spread her lips and cheeks. Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon ... the thought looped and hammered in her mind, fingers clenching more tightly into the material. Pleasepleasepleaseplease ... She felt the head of his cock, sliding through her slickness effortlessly and she thrust back against him, desperate to feel it inside. For a moment, he leaned over her, his hand guiding himself up and down her lips, his breath hot and uneven on her shoulder blade, then he grunted and straightened, and the head pressed against her opening, forcing it wide. Every nerve ending there fizzed and buzzed, her thighs contracting and a rippling spasm tightening the muscles of her abdomen. Sara pushed back hard, and heard his breathless chuckle as the head slid in, his long exhale as he thrust slowly into her, forcing his way through her overheated and blood-engorged internal muscles. The feel of him, inexorably and far too slowly, filling her, set off another set of trembling quakes and she squeezed herself around him involuntarily, sucking him deeper. "Relax," his voice whispered behind her. "Gonna make this last, baby. Lemme show you." She tried, dragging in another deep breath, trying to loosen the crawling tension in the long muscles of her back, in the wire-tight muscles of her legs but his slow withdrawal was as agonising as the push in had been and she couldn't stop the shivering of her body, pulsing and throbbing around him, or the explosions even the slightest movement set off in the nerves in her pussy. He wasn't even touching her clit and it was aching. "Fuck me, please, fuck, fuck me, fuck me ..." She wasn't even aware of the words spilling out of her until she heard his low groan, felt him lean over her again, his breath heating her shoulder. "Christ, yeah, I am, I will." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She was going to tip him over without even trying, he thought, straightening up, pushing in a little faster, the inferno surrounding him amping up to new levels of heat and pressure. In between the soft pleas he could barely hear, she was moaning, and he felt himself get harder, impossibly so, from iron to tungsten in a heartbeat, her juices spilling out and coating his balls as he went as deep as he could with every stroke. He couldn't believe how different it felt, this same tight, wet pussy, this same soft, sweet-smelling body, each and every fucking time. He wanted to drive into her, fuck her until she screamed out his name as she came over and over, fuck her until she overloaded from the multiple peaks and passed out with his load deep inside her. He wanted it to last longer, last for hours, this unbelievable pleasure he felt, her body vibrating around and up and down him, sucking him in and squeezing him and clutching at him as he pulled slowly out again. He wanted to feel her mouth around him again, to push himself into her impossibly tight ass, to bring her off in every way he knew and he wanted her to keep begging him to do it, those soft pleas stabbing right through him, his balls so fucking heavy and tight, his cock like a fucking spear. Clawing back some hair-thin thread of control, he spread her cheeks apart, running his fingertips up and down her crack, his jaw clenching shut as she twisted somehow around him, the feeling like a huge, soft and shapeless hand pulling at him. Fuck, he would lose it if she did that again, he thought. His body was glowing, incandescent and full of power, of strength and steel and a sharp, bright feeling that razored through him. He slid one finger into her, alongside his shaft, feeling it squeezed and coated and pulled it out, rimming her as he fucked her, hearing her moans change note, get a little louder, a little more desperate. Thrusting hard into her, he slid the tip of his finger into her ass at the same time, and held on as her pussy tightened unbearably around him, the ring of muscle surrounding his finger cinching closed. Oh, sweet mother of god. She shoved back against him, against the cock in her pussy and the finger in her ass and he groaned, ramming back, his balls slapping her pussy and his finger driving in to the knuckle, twisting it slightly as he pulled out, feeling her flex around him. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sara gasped as she felt his finger slide into her ass, sparking a coruscation in the meandering trail of nerves threaded through her pelvis. She clenched hard on the cock in her, that needful throbbing increasing, pushing herself back against him, internally pleading with him to go faster. Harder. Deeper. To fuck her until she lost herself completely. As if he'd heard her thoughts, she felt him pull back, the finger twisting and sliding inside of her, detonating a wild string of pulses that seemed to hit her clit like bombs. Then he was plunging back into her, a second finger joining the first, stretching her wider, wriggling inside of her as his thick shaft started to piston, accelerating every sensation. "Yes," she breathed. "Oh, yes, yes!" she moaned. "God, do it, like that, yes, harder, oh, god -" He was fucking her, the way she needed it, the way she wanted it. His. Only. His cock and fingers were ramming in and out of her and her body was catching fire, her soul was breaking free, she was lifted and tossed, higher and higher, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but ride the growing wave, drowning in the feel of him in her, scratching the itch, that itch that'd been with her for too long, too painful, she was too needing. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He was too close and his breath hissed out from between gritted teeth, cock and fingers driving into her in the same quickening rhythm, his body shuddering as sensation became acute, became unendurable, a supernova just a heart beat away. She came around him, bucking wildly, her cunt and ass spasming convulsively, crushing his cock and fingers, pushing him far, far out from the edge and into the abyss. God, it'd never been like this, this freefalling ecstasy that was going on and on. Darkness danced at the corners of his vision, every muscle locked in full contraction, his hips jerking against her, pumping gallons of his seed into her, still going, unable to stop, an entire sea of pleasure lifting him up and casting him down, under it, drowning in it, no breath, no strength left, just the mindless seizures of overloaded nerves and his eyes were rolling up, and back, his being centred on the feel of her devouring him. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Air returned. Slowly. Almost reluctantly. He blinked, pulling in a deep breath, letting his fingers slip out of her still-tight ass, feeling his cock nestled in velvet heat. The faint moan from under him suggested that she was still alive too. He pulled back very slowly, as gently as he could. Staying in wasn't so much of an option in this case. He felt his arm almost give way as he tried to ease himself to the side, his jaw muscle pop out as he forced himself to stay up by an act of will. His entire body felt like jello, he thought, easing himself down beside her and making another monumental effort to lift his arm and pull her over so that she lay against his chest. Something was different. He looked tiredly around the room and realised he could see, a little. A very faint grey light outlined the curtains at the window. Dawn. He moved his head, inching closer to her, hearing the soft whisper of her breath in the silence of the room. He wanted to say something, but there weren't any words for it. Not for what'd just happened. Or what'd happened the time before. Or even for the time before that. He was wrung out, more completely satiated than he'd ever been in his life, and he didn't know why that was, was too pleasantly exhausted to even want to figure it out. "Hey," he whispered, his lips brushing against her neck. She lay still for a moment, then rolled a little toward him. Moving out of her way, he kept his arm hooked loosely over her hips as she rolled onto her side, her face shadowed, but looking up at him, he thought. For a long moment, they looked at each other, unable to see the details of each other's expression in the darkness, but feeling it. Feeling something, he thought. "There's -" she began, stopping and clearing her throat as her voice came out huskily. "There's a caravan, behind the house," she said. "I have to - uh - I have to get up, my kids have to go to school ..." She trailed off, and he got the impression she wasn't sure of what she was saying. What she wanted to say. He nodded, realising the uselessness of the gesture as he did. "That alright with you?" "I won't -" she stopped again, her head ducking a little. "I won't tell anyone." "I know." He felt her breath on his mouth before her lips grazed over his, reaching out too late. The mattress dipped a little and she was gone, a vague shape, bending, picking something up, the rustle and hiss of fabric over skin. He turned his head as the door opened and closed, then lay back, eyes dropping shut without volition.