0 comments/ 6040 views/ 1 favorites Voice from The Past By: romancer There was nothing significant about the day - I'd gotten up, had breakfast with the kids before they headed off to school, read the front page and some of the comics, made a piece of toast and headed off to work. Once there, I'd grabbed a cup of coffee, booted up, and started deleting through the daily pile of spam and much of the formatted stuff from within the corporation. Clicking through the list, looking for significant failures in our system, calls for help from my far-flung managers, taskers from my taskaholic boss, I hit one that said, "Hello from Becky Andersen Donley." It stopped me dead in my tracks. Was it spam? How would that happen? Checking that no one was approaching my door, I read on: "Hey, if this is you, this is Becky, aka Airman Andersen, from the Air Force - I'm hoping you remember. I've been meaning to contact you, if for no other reason than to say "how's it?" It just dawned on me that this year marks 10 years since you and I last saw each other! God, where did the time go? I've run out of G.I. Bill time!! How the hell did that happen????? Well, what all have you been doing? "I ran across the old squadron's reunion information, and there you were - bigger than life - still making fun with words, explaining what the alumni could expect at this summer's reunion. I'm so sorry I didn't see the info in time to attend - I understand the reunion was a smashing success thanks to your efforts, as well. Sounds like it was a blast, and I enjoyed seeing the photos - was that you in the ball cap at the barbeque? I think so, although you're way in the background, and if so, you haven't changed a bit! "Speaking of photos, I've attached a few for your viewing pleasure from my unofficial farewell party, which of course you missed, being an officer and all, and my party definitely NOT being for officers. I cannot thank you enough, even now, for all you did to make my time in the squadron so memorable and good for me. You shielded me from a bunch of bullshit, if I can say that now, and I especially remember your comments at my official farewell party about how 'Natural Disasters Seem to Follow Becky Wherever She Goes.' "People were falling off their chairs they were laughing so hard (in the beginning), and then the trepidation set in and the laughter got v-e-e-r-r-r-ry NERVOUS and sporadic... you are a great speaker, Dan, and I could almost hear the relief when you didn't go in several directions you could have. Always the gentleman. And you had that audience in the palm of your hand. Not to mention the nice words you said about me. I still have the video of that momentous occasion..." The email went on, but I was more taken by the photo, of that young airman who worked for me in the squadron. She wasn't the classic bimbo, busty type that Hefner thinks make up our fantasies, but she was blond and tanned and young and attractive by all measures, and she had a spark in her eyes that broadcasted sex appeal in every direction, or at least in mine. We had flirted subtlely, nothing inappropriate, just the more cheerful greetings, the knowing glance shared during "Dilbert Moments," that sort of thing. I was married, she wasn't - I was an officer, she wasn't - I was older than she by 8-10 years or so. So it had been not even a flirtation by any standards, just a vibe thing that made the day a little brighter. The photo was of her in a bikini top, one that I'd never seen - officers weren't in a position to see subordinates so attired usually - and she looked stupendous, just enough cleavage to beckon, to leave it open to whether she was offering a come-on or just being innocently and marvelously attractive. Then the photo called to mind an encounter with her that was distinctly embarrassing for me, yet mildly erotic. My commanding officer then was a real bozo - great braggart when things were going great, and a blame-laying hip-shooter when they weren't - the antithesis of the buck-stops-here leader that we needed at that time. Air Force regs explicitly required females to wear appropriate underwear, i.e. bras, with their uniforms. Normally not a problem, the lack of a bra became evident especially when the uniform for various work details was t-shirt and dungarees. Becky had neglected to wear a bra so often it had become almost expected, and all of us males tried not to blatantly stare, and all of us officers pretty much mentally looked the other way while "eyeballing" her surreptitiously, more interested in the view than in a strict interpretation of good order and discipline. One day the skipper actually noticed something other than his career path, after some sort of screw-up that the wing commander had chewed on him about. Casting about for a target, he spied her bralessness, and I was soon directed to tell her to "get those damn tits covered up!" Reluctantly, and without much of a plan, I called her into my office, where at least the "counseling" would be audibly in private, and glassed in from the passageway, so safe as well. I could so clearly remember the outline of her nipples straining against her t-shirt, with her innocently reporting to me, "You wanted to see me, Mr. Ford?", as she closed the door behind her. I don't recall the words, and I expect that I was probably stammering my way through the reminder and caution that she should wear a bra on duty. I do recall her blushing appropriately and saying she'd been unaware that she was making me uncomfortable and promising to adhere to the regs. Meanwhile, her eyes laughed at me, silently but clearly saying, "And if you were doing your job, just how did you notice... and what would you like to do about it... really... and as a matter of fact yes, so would I." And all the while breathing steadily, making her breasts rise and fall, with those nipples... Obviously, it had made an impression, although that's as close as I got. But for that moment, we both knew that the chemistry was there, and that we both wanted to go with it, and that we wouldn't. Some time later, she was embroiled in a dispute with a more senior enlisted member. It fell to me to sort things out, and I did, not taking sides yet not relying on seniority to decide right or might. In the process, it came out that the senior enlisted person had misused his (or her) rank in the past, which led to a poor evaluation and transfer. In retrospect, I think that fed something like a combination of gratitude and father figure projection in her, and by the time of her farewell party she was showing all signs of a crush - I was glad to avoid anything further, knowing how dangerous it would be, but still couldn't deny the chemistry. Over the next couple of months after that internet rediscovery, we exchanged occasional emails, and the flirtation got more overt. She emailed me other photos, all very proper, which I raved about and which led to a whole new round of double entendres. She'd turned into a more mature woman, still flashing those sexy eyes, still radiating sexuality and love of life. She carped about having gained weight, and I admitted I'd lost hair as well as expanded my beltline (although not much, I was pleased to keep to myself). I also learned that she'd married, no kids. It was a bit vague as to whether she was still married or not, and I left my side of that unsaid as well. Meanwhile, there was an unmentioned understanding that this was between two old coworkers who'd felt the electricity between us at the time and had done nothing about it then. Now each of us was recalling that interest, wondering a bunch of what-if's, and thinking about renewing the "relationship" with fewer if any restrictions of propriety. Eventually, about six months later, my company sent me across the country to where she lived, near Washington DC, on a business trip. I wrestled with whether or not to say I was coming, whether or not to limit this to a fantasy occasional email flirtation, whether or not to go for the mutual attraction I knew we'd shared a decade before. When the time came, I cheerfully left town, flew to DC, and checked into a hotel near Dupont Circle, without mentioning my arrival to her. The itinerary didn't really allow for all that much off-time, but I had the last evening in town free. I had told my cohorts I was going to meet an old squadronmate for dinner on the last evening. That done, I called Becky the day before, reached her at work, and invited her to dinner. Thankfully, she bought my "sudden trip, little time, free tomorrow, then back" story, and we agreed she'd arrive at my hotel (since I hadn't needed to have a rental car) at 6. I told her to call my cell phone when she was close and that I'd meet her in the lobby bar. I finished my last meeting at 3, took a cab back to the hotel (one of those upscale suite places - very nice deal our company's got with their chain), and decided to sublimate a bit with a run. I stripped down, brushed my teeth to banish the coffee of the day, changed to my shorts, a t-shirt and running shoes, and hit the Washington neighborhoods for a little over a half hour. I re-thought through the frequently imagined scenario while running, deciding that it was best all around to play it straight, take her to dinner, enjoy the flirtation, but go no further - that it would be best for us both that way. I got back to the hotel, wringing with sweat, and went up to the room, dragged in using the standard, old-style key, and stripped to the buff, tossing the gym gear into a hotel laundry bag in the empty one of two closets - I'd attend to them later. After 15 minutes of cool-down, checking the TV channels, and setting the alarm for my early flight the next day, I'd stopped sweating, felt pretty damn virtuous for having run, and went into the shower, a glassed in arrangement next to a big whirlpool-style bath tub. I'd soaped up, gradually increasing the temperature to pretty hot, and had steamed up the bathroom, when I heard her voice, "Dan? Is that you in there?" "Yo! You're early," I yelled out, recognizing her voice immediately. That Californian accent was undiminished, despite her now living in the Capital. How the hell had she cracked the code on which room, gotten in, and so forth was less a mystery than a reminder of the crafty efficiency of America's enlisted force. "Not that early," she called back. "I'll be with you in a minute," I replied, starting to rinse off the vestiges of soapiness. "I'm looking forward to it!" she said, and I got the humor in that. Shutting off the water, I opened the door and took a big bath towel, starting to dry off, when I looked up and saw her watching me from the suite's living room, through the open bathroom door mirror. I could see the mirror was too fogged to yield any details in either direction, but it turned me on that she was watching, and that I was exhibiting, however unclearly. I was glad I worked out regularly, less glad that the calendar showed I'd aged along the way. "Hey!" I said, turning sideways and drying my legs, the combination of angle and towel concealing my privates as the fog started to clear. "Hey you," she said back, her voice a bit husky. "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, you know." I offered. "I don't know - you don't look disadvantaged to me from here." "Well, thanks, but I did expect to be at least decent when I met you - I'd been hoping to give you a big hug - we could never do that when I outranked you!" "And there's a reason you can't now?" she said. "No reason unless you come up with one, and quickly," I said back, quickly wrapping the towel around my waist. I walked out of the bathroom, parts of me not yet dried, hoping my chest was still full enough and my belly flat enough not to totally turn her off. Finally seeing her, I knew why I'd felt so attracted in the years before. She looked great - short wraparound skirt made of that jersey stuff that clings so nicely, good leg partly peeking through the slit created by the wrapping of the skirt (immediately I was drawn to wonder how it came apart and was gratified to see it tied and hoped that was all it did), sandals, and a thin white t-shirt with a "Carpe Diem" logo and as I looked closer, obviously no bra. She'd also put on some weight. She'd gained enough that I immediately knew she'd be sensitive about it, but I also liked it - she looked fuller, more womanly than the young airman I'd remembered, not overweight per se, just more mature. I loved it, and started to respond. After all, I was essentially naked, and she was barely dressed, and we were in a hotel room. I glanced over and saw that after having come through the door that I must have failed to close fully, she'd not only closed it but slipped the brace over the lock. Crafty and efficient, like I said. I held out my arms, she came to me, and I hugged her to me, loving the feel of her t-shirt-covered breasts pressing into me, and pressing my hips a bit further forward than a hug would require. "Hmmm... After all this time..." I murmured, not letting go. "Yeah, and why'd it take you so long?" she countered. "Damned if I know - just lousy judgment, I guess." "I should let you go dry off and get, uh, changed." "If I don't, I'm afraid it won't be the clothes that get changed," I said, not letting go, but feeling my dick growing. "Hmm... So I can tell. Did you stash the soap in that towel, or are you just happy to see me?" I laughed at the turn on the old Mae West line and stood back, taking her hands in mine, to look at her. "You look stupendous," I said sincerely. "Ooh, flattery will get you everywhere!" she came back. "'Everywhere' - such a great word," I mused thoughtfully. While trying to keep up the banter, I was pretty amazed that here I was, seeing her for the first time in years, immediately turned on, and that she was acting as if she were the same. I'm not used to the barely hidden blatant thing we had going here, but I was certainly enjoying it. "By the way, I especially like the wet t-shirt look!" Looking down, she saw that my wet chest had soaked through parts of her t-shirt, most notably the parts that had stuck furthest out - her nipples were visible and pointing, the tips a good half inch, it seemed, in front of the also exposed areolae. "I see you still aren't supporting the bra industry, and I can see why there would be no need in your case." "Damn! No use trying to hide anything from you, is there?" she laughed. "I'll never forget your 'counseling' me on my uniform habits - I didn't know whether to be embarrassed, or flattered, so I picked flattered, and found myself enjoying your discomfort about the whole thing, sorry." Then, she continued, "And speaking of flattery, if that's soap, I thought soap was supposed to get smaller with use! You must be a boy scout - you brought your tent along!" The friction of the hug, the sight of her nipples showing through the wet material, and the intensely sexy banter had me harder, and the towel was tented in front. "I think soap does get smaller - that could only mean two things," I said. "And what would they be?" "One, that's not soap. And two, even if I'm no boy scout, it looks like I'm definitely prepared for something!" "Well, I'm not the kind of girl who just walks into a man's hotel room while he's naked, then pushes out her boobs at him and makes dirty jokes and jumps into bed right away, in case you're getting ideas." "I figured as much, but what kind of girl are you?" "Apparently I am one who walks into a man's hotel room while he's naked, and apparently without meaning to, I'm finding it hard to stand here without my boobs being stuck out in front - they sort of remain there, I find. And I am enjoying the dirty jokes, so that leaves the jumping part. I think I'd have to say I'm the kind of girl who walks in on a naked man, sticks out my boobs, enjoys checking out his scouting skills, and then expects at least to be plied with liquor or dinner or something." "Well, I can take care of that - we can go out, have dinner, go partying until we're exhausted - or, we can opt for the expansive hotel mini-bar and room service - or, I have a bottle of scotch as well - what can I offer you?" "Scotch will be great to get started - I'll just run get some ice while you wait here." "Well, I guess you are better dressed than I am to be wandering the hotel halls, although there are a couple of spots that may attract some attention if you encounter others. I'll just change into something less comfortable. Oh yeah, I gotta shave, too." "Don't you dare! I went to beautician school once upon a time and learned how to shave a man, and I never get to practice. Here's the deal: I'm going to get some ice, mix both of us a drink, and then I'm going to shave you and dry your back for you." "Damn, you sure know how to keep a guy wet! Maybe I can do the same for you later." "What, keep me wet or dry me off?" "We'll have to see, won't we? Maybe both, if you give me the chance. Here, before someone sees how sexy you look and pulls you into his room," I said, tossing her a fresh shirt of mine from the line in the closet. There's something extra sexy about a woman in a man's shirt. "Hurry back before I air-dry, and don't get lost." "I'll hurry." With that, she collected the ice bucket and turned toward the door. I went back to the bathroom, hearing the door a moment later. I was practically breathing hard from inhaling the sex in the air. I went back into the living room for a moment, opened the bottle of scotch and set it on the room's wet bar, then headed back for the shower. If she was going to dry me, I was damned well going to be wet all over. After a couple of minutes, I heard her voice, "Damn, you have got to be the cleanest man I've ever met! Is that some sort of compensation for your state of mind?" "Hey, if you're doing the drying, I'm going to make sure it's worth your while. Plus, shaving requires a saturated beard, or so the directions say." I grabbed a fresh towel from the stack as I stepped out of the shower, rewrapping myself. I was enjoying the flirtation so much, I didn't want it to become totally forward until just the right time, which I believed we both knew was going to be soon enough as it was. She was just outside the bathroom door, watching, and I couldn't tell how much of me she'd seen, with the mirror fog gone by then. OK, let me parenthetically offer that I'm not called 'The Horse' for nothing. In fact, I'm not called 'The Horse' at all, not even the pony. I'm one of those guys who's not quite big enough in his own opinion, and in my case, the ruler confirms the opinion. I measure maybe 5 3/4" fully erect, while I almost triple in size from very softest to hardest, which leads to coming up short, so to speak, in the locker room shower sideways glance comparisons as well as in the bedroom. I know that puts me at statistically average, and I've never heard any female complaints, but over the years and through the women, I've definitely sensed a few who may have stayed a bit longer if I'd been a bit longer myself. Maybe to compensate, I'm a dedicated cunnilinguist, which I think I'm good at because I love it as well as having been repeatedly told it, and I'm an enthusiastic and long-lasting lover, having conditioned myself to that end over the years. My wife was virtually always multi-orgasmic and enthusiastic as well, and a number of lovers before I met her were as well, so it's not the end of the world or something I think I dwell on... but it's something that I am aware of all the same. So there. Back to the hotel room - I came out and noticed that she had on the shirt, but the t-shirt neckline had disappeared. Glancing around, I saw the dampened t-shirt draped over the desk chair. There was also a backpack in the corner that wasn't mine. Before I had time to think too much about that, I refocused on the shirt. She had the cuffs of the shirt rolled up above her wrists, the top 3 buttons undone, creating an image I wanted to jump immediately. Voice from The Past "You look great - have I mentioned that?" "You did, but don't let that stop you from repeating yourself," she said, handing me a glass with some ice and a lot of scotch in it, just like the other one she was holding. "But you're all dry! The wet t-shirt look is now a mere memory, albeit one that I intend to keep for some time to come." "Yeah, well, I'm the toweler, and you're the towelee - let's not get the roles reversed - proper nonmilitary etiquette and all that." I had no idea what she meant by that, but it sounded like fun, and I chuckled for the umpteenth time in our conversation. She stood there, sipping her drink, eyeing me over the glass, and looking better than I've managed to convey. I was dripping on the rug outside the bathroom door. She pushed me back into the bathroom, stepped behind me and came up with another fresh towel - I was going to have to compliment the management on their liberal provision of towels - I was liking this hotel chain a lot. "Now, let's get you dry before you catch your death of cold. I see you put your tent away while I was gone. I guess you're not planning on camping after all?" "You never know when a camping opportunity will arise - hence the preparedness focus." "Well, I'll keep an eye out," she said, moving behind me. Reaching up, she toweled off my wet hair, then rubbed the towel over my back, then wrapped it around each arm in turn, doing a brisk and effective drying. "Mmm... I used to watch your back, you know," she mused. "No, I didn't. Was I in peril that you were covering for me?" "Oh no, I just liked to watch your back. I'd just sort of check you out. Those uniform pants do nothing for men's backsides, you know - too blousy. And those flight suits - they shouldn't be sexy, but somehow they really are - they always looked like you guys just might be naked under them, and all those zippers led to who knew where." "I had no idea, but I sure watched your back - those dungarees you wore had to be painted on some days, and on the work details when you did the t-shirt with the dungarees - yow, you looked fine!" "There you go again with the flattery - too bad there's no way I could get back in those dungarees now. I'm big as a house, which is making your nice talk that much more appreciated." Saying that, she dropped to one knee and started drying my legs, from the ankles up. Her thigh emerged from the skirt, right up to her hip. It was tanned and smooth and looked great. As she reached above my knee, her hands, still holding the towel, were getting the tent going again although she hadn't reached anything critical, and she smiled while watching it return. I jerked as her hand snaked up my inner thigh on one leg, then the other. She had gotten marvelously close to my balls, but had stopped just short. I was amazed that my towel had not fallen open, and I knew that she had me growing again. We were both having fun, going with it, seeing where it would take us. "You are not big as a house. In fact, I noticed immediately that you look better now than you did then, and you looked great then. You look like a woman, and you look like a woman who loves life and does it well." I gotta admit, it's a lot easier complimenting a woman when you believe it, and I certainly believed that. "I do love a lot of things about life, and I hope I do them well." She went on, "But I constantly battle my weight. It's fun to have bigger boobs, but the bigger ass that goes with it is hardly attractive. You, on the other hand, haven't put on a pound! That's so unfair." "Uh, thanks, it's more like five pounds plus, but before it gets away, let me say that I have not had much chance to view you from behind today, but you look great from in front." "Nope, you've got the in front territory staked out today, Mr. Boy Scout Redux. Just what am I going to do about that?" "Is that a problem?" "Well, from the way you jerked when I dried your thigh, I was beginning to wonder. But it doesn't seem to have suffered from the touch. I think it's not a problem - certainly nothing we can't deal with! Now about that shave." Guys, those of you who've ever been shaved know it's a treat if well done. I can confirm that if it's an attractive woman, it's a great experience well worth it. Then, if you've ever had it done by a babe when you're pretty much undressed and she's doing it in private and you both know it's a sexual thing, it's pretty stupendous, and a guaranteed memory for life. Leaving the bathroom for a moment, she returned with the office chair from the desk and bade me sit, back to the sink, where she had a stream of hot water flowing. "This won't be as good as having a barber's chair, but we'll make do." she chatted, as she drenched a hand towel in steaming water from the sink (note: include the plentiful very hot water supply in that thanks to hotel management). Tilting my head back, she wrapped my face, the heat just a nanodegree this side of searingly hot, but after the initial shock it felt great. "I much prefer a brush and cake with straight razor, but I see that you have this can of foam and injector type, so I guess I'll compromise my principles, just this once. At least it's not electric!" "I do love it when a woman compromises her principles, I must admit, especially when it involves my injector," I said through the hot towel. "You have the filthiest mind of anyone I've ever met as well, Mr. Clean Boy Scout. Who knew there was such thinking even possible in the officer corps!? Was it always so?" "It certainly was in your case - you made it hard... to leave work at times!" "Well, that kind of difficulty I guess I'll take as a compliment as well." she answered, smiling. I watched her as she removed the towel and applied the foam to my face. It felt great as her fingers stroked my cheeks and chin, and I smiled as I saw the look of concentration on her face. She shaved me, twice, and I looked into her eyes, focused on the blade. Although nothing was going on, the effect of being so served by this babe was keeping me tented, and I was simply and thoroughly enjoying the entire scene. "There, I think you're done," she said, wiping the remaining bits of foam away, and running her fingers over her handiwork, checking for any still-rough areas. There appeared to be none, and amazingly, I was all smooth-cheeked yet not scraped raw in any area, something I've never been able to do on my own. "One final check, though," she whispered in my ear, and bending close, she lightly kissed my cheeks, first one, then the other, then continued on, not on the lips but all around the shaven area, testing, and raising full body goosebumps. Finally, she gently kissed my mouth, so gently that although our lips were parted, neither of us involved our tongues yet, but just reveled in the lovely, quiet, lingering kiss. "Mmmm..." she murmured into my mouth, then pulled back to standing before me. "Aaahhh," I think I answered as she stood. "That was precisely incredible. I'm dazed." Smiling, she took my hand and led me into the bedroom, pulled the covers back to the basic bed sheet, then nudged me to lie face down on the bed. "I still see some wet spots, I think," she reasoned. I lay down, backside up, and waited. "Now, to thoroughly and properly perform the drying maneuver, we need to attend to all the areas, not just those most apparent." She said, in mock-instructor fashion. Tugging at the towel, she pulled its wrap free and then pulled it out from under me. I'll admit, I rose up to help, and quickly adjusted myself as I lowered again. She noticed. "Now, now. No tampering with the equipment, young scout." "Just keeping it from getting bent, ma'am." "Oh, ok, then. We certainly don't want any damaged poles! "Mmmm... Your backside is every bit as cute as I always thought it would be - your wife is lucky to have such nice sights around the house!" "Now you're the flatterer, and you're getting the results." "We'll see about that," she said, and proceeded to dry my lower back, not that I thought it was still wet, then ran the towel up my calves and then along the backs of my thighs. I instinctively spread my legs a bit, and she knelt between them, leaning over me as she rubbed. I was definitely hard and wondered how we'd handle the finale. She methodically ran the towel down the crack of my ass, eliciting a jerk of surprise. Almost roughly, but not quite, she dried there, and I could feel the towel under my scrotum as well. "What, you thought I'd neglect the details?" "Oh, no, just appreciative of the thoroughness, thanks." "You're welcome. Now, you'd better turn over. I don't want to miss anything." "Well, if you insist," I said, and rolled over onto my back. Naked, my erection cheerfully bobbed in the air as I lay back and looked up at her. She was teasing, not watching my cock at all. "Oops - a drop still here and there!" she mocked, and did the ankle to thigh drying thing again. Then she shifted to chest and then belly, and finally, when there was nothing in the least big damp except cock and balls, she sat next to me on the bed, still teasing, as she ran the towel between my thighs up to my balls, and stopping there, the pressure distinct and distinctly pleasurable, "hmm, and what do we have here?" "Less than we'd like to have, but I guess it is what it is, as they say." "Oh, I think there's plenty! And it seems so eager! There's nothing quite so flattering to a girl's ego as an eager, let's see, what do you call it?" "Uh, maybe a penis?" "Well, yes, it's certainly that. But what do YOU call it? I was expecting more along the lines of Dick, or Wang, Peter, Thomas, or even Dong, although you don't look Oriental. There are so many choices for men's equipment, while women's seems to be narrowed down to two or three. I still haven't come close to exhausting the possibilities - Glory Pole, Mr. Happy, or Prick, or - Cock. Yes, from here, it's cock." "I do love it when a woman talks dirty! Actually, hearing a woman call it a cock is about the best!" "Then a cock it is. And it definitely needs drying off," Becky said, finally (finally!) wrapping it in the towel and gently drying the pubic hair, then the balls, reaching under as well, ensuring no private part was left unturned-on. Enjoying this as much as I was, I also wanted to reciprocate. "I definitely think it's my turn now, don't you think?" I asked, starting to sit up. "Oh, there's no need for turns - I'm just getting acquainted here," she said, pushing me back on the bed, and laying the towel aside, she grasped my shaft in her hand and gently squeezed it, then ran her finger around its tip - always a winning move. I could feel the slickness of my lubrication being spread around the head. "I've always been a talker, so just tell me to shut up if I start babbling, ok?" she explained, then continued, "Well, hello there, how are you? All swollen and stiff, and you keep rising up and down in my hand, like you really like this. Do you really like it?" "Oh yes, he and I both really like it," I managed, the sensations being just wondrous. "Oh, good. I do like making men like what I'm doing. Now, you just enjoy this. First, I'm going to check out your balls - hmm... they're nice and full, and they're all tightened up, like something's about to happen. We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" She had a ball in each small hand, and was rolling them around lightly, not hurting them at all, as my cock twitched in the air. Bending, she examined them, so closely I could feel her breath, as if she were memorizing them carefully, and then slowly, slowly she licked first one, then the other, then took one, then the other into her mouth and pulled ever so little on each. There was no pain, just a lovely sensation of being attended to. "And they taste all clean and fresh - I like a man's taste sometimes, but this after-shower freshness is nice, too. Now, let's see about this part." With that, she took my cock in both hands, her face only inches from it, and squeezed, stroked and generally investigated it. "Now, you said, what, that it's less than WE'd like to have? I think not, Colonel. No, I think this is just what WE'd like to have. Are you one of those size-hung-up guys, after all the experience you must have?" "Maybe a little, I guess. I just wish I had a bit more - maybe another solid inch and a similar boost in girth - something to make a girl's eyes sparkle on first seeing it." "Well, I'm sparkling here, if you haven't noticed, buster. It's a great size, by the way, and we can test its suitability for several functions today!" With that, she lowered again and very slowly, kissed the tip, then keeping her lips pursed, sank down on it. I watched it enter her mouth, and she watched me watch it. Her eyes were indeed sparkling, and she really seemed sincere. Of course, I'm not sure what insincerity looks like when my dick is being sucked, but that's not what this was, for sure. She took about half of it in her mouth, then started rising and lowering on it, pulling more and more of it in on each stroke. I was already so excited, and had been for some time by then, I wanted to give her some options. She was exquisitely slow - not torturously, but more languidly, as if she wanted to miss no sensation, no detail. It was far better than the more frenzied pace to which I'd become, rarely, accustomed. "That feels great, but I may not last long - between the shaving and drying and wonderful conversation, I may... " I didn't know quite how to tell her that if she wanted to back off either to avoid my ejaculate in her mouth or to make me last longer, she'd better back soon. "The idea is not to make this one last a long time, although this is a treat for me, you know." she said, stroking me as she lifted her mouth away. "How do you really want to come? Because I really want you to come, you know. If it's okay with you, I'd like you to come in my mouth - this is a dance for me, with each of us having a part, and for this one, I want to taste you, and I want to swallow your coming, and I want to feel you soften in my mouth. But if you want to come another way, just let me know." And with that, she lowered her mouth on me again, sinking down so that I was fully engulfed, and staying there. I could feel the cock head pushing against her throat (what, did she have no gag reflex at all?), and then her tongue moving up and down the underside, and then a firm suction as she drew back up. Holding still, I could feel her tongue continuing to stroke frenulum as she rose, then down again as she repeated that at a pace that was slow enough for me to savor each detail, starting to piston at maybe a waltz pace - certainly not a jitterbug or even a foxtrot. I had never, ever, had such a luxurious surfeit of sensory pleasure, all concentrated just... exactly... right.... there! "Well, you win... now...!" I stammered, as I felt the boiling start way deep and rise up. I raised my hips as I felt the liquid spurt forth, and true to her word she continued to suck deeply, swallowing as I came, and came. I think I may have cried out or moaned or whatever. The truth is, I was pretty much oblivious to anything except her mouth on me and my coming in her. I blasted and thrust and jerked and finally collapsed back, momentarily exhausted by the intensity of it. She never missed a beat, continuing to suck me dry, her tongue swirling around the head of my cock as it relaxed and shrank. When I was fully soft, she crawled catlike into my arms and kissed me, her tongue seeking out mine, the taste of me barely but distinctly being shared. I held her close and she nestled into my arms. "Now, a nap for you, and we'll see about those other functions," she whispered. I watched her stand and without ceremony, unwrap her skirt, letting it fall. The shoes had been discarded some time ago. Then the shirt, leaving her standing before me in a mesh, transparent demi bra and matching string bikini panties. Damn - when and how did the bra get there? I thought back to the backpack, to the amount of time when she went for ice, and smiled that obviously, she'd planned out a couple of options for the evening, all flattering to me. Back to the view, I had a glimpse of her spare pubic hair through the thin material before she crawled back into bed with me, pulled up the covers, and snuggled close, her fingers finding my wilted cock again and gathering it and my balls into a handful. "Mmm, yes, a nice size indeed. Now, sleep. Actually, I'm tired myself - it's been a long week. Let's both refresh with a nap, and we'll awake and continue." I wanted to ravish her right there, and I wanted to sleep in the aftermath of that astounding orgasm, and I didn't want to disappoint her, but understood it was ok, and somewhere in there I drifted off. I awoke after about 45 minutes, power nap refreshed and quickly recounting the events of the early evening. Checking the clock, I saw that it was almost 8, and just getting dark. There was plenty of time left. Becky was asleep beside me, my dick no longer in her hand, her back to me, and the sheets somehow having been kicked off. The room was a pleasant temperature for that, and I mentally added thermostat to the hotel management thanks. She had an ass not unlike Scarlet Johannsen in "Lost in Translation." Full and female, not girlish. I watched it for a moment, then arose and went to bathroom to take a leak. Standing there peeing, I reflected on that tremendous fellatio - far and away the best I could recall ever being favored with. Then I quietly, with barely a stream of water, carefully washed myself, wanting to be fresh again for her, whether or not she cared or we got in a position for her to register that. After that, I rummaged through my shaving kit and found a tablet of Viagra and popped it, just in case - I wanted to be able not to concentrate on anything but paying her back for such a wonderful time, and certainly not to come up wanting when the occasion would arise. Empty stomach, 20 minutes, no sweat. Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, I wondered how far I could get in making love to her before she awoke. As if inviting my advances, she murmured and rolled onto her back. I slowly crawled up onto the bed, lowered my head and nudged her pubis lightly with my nose. I took in the scent of her - it was mixed with vanilla and maybe cinnamon - very nice and not overwhelming at all. Nudging further down, I was thanked with another murmur in her sleep. Kneeling next to her, I traced a finger over the mound in her panties, trying to induce a sexual dream that she would enjoy even unconsciously. I may also draw her cooperation in my next moves, although I didn't foresee much opposition in that regard. Her panties were damp, and as my finger pressed a bit harder, I discovered she was well lubricated already. I flattered myself that our earlier exchange - ok, earlier activity - had made her wet. The panties were thankfully tied at the sides with strings, which I loosed. Oh so slowly pulling her legs apart, I managed to get them fairly well spread, and laid the fronts of the panties down on the sheet, exposing her pussy to me. It was trimmed, and waxed to a bikini line, and it attested to her blondness, the light brown hair barely curling, the lips revealing no inner lips, nothing of the internal marvels that I knew awaited. I did note that I was hard again, and was glad of it, and knew that it was too soon for the Viagra boost as well. This time I'd last longer, and this time I'd be able to return the favor and more, I hoped. Again slowly and as gently as I could, I lay between her legs and started lightly tonguing her. Just kisses at first, all along her mound, then my tongue gently parting her lips, curling in and raising up, coaxing her clitoris into the game. More kisses on her vagina, more tongue, a bit deeper, finally getting to where I could taste and feel her wetness. The condition of her pussy made me want to fuck her then and there, but I was determined to deliver the same patience and pleasure to her that she had to me. Voice from The Past As my tongue found her clitoris, it circled around it and felt the hardness of the nub, emerging and apparently ready for attention. More murmurs came with that, and then a start and her whole body jerked awake. I held her hips close, my tongue still attending. "Oh, oh! Oh, Dan? Oh, Dan, oh..." she stumbled through the words, trying to gain clarity, climbing back to consciousness. "Mmm - hmm.... Sorry to wake you so soon... I just couldn't resist... seeing you there... I hope you got a bit of rest," I offered, interspersing my words with licks. Each lick brought a bit of a rise in her hips, and each rise brought a smile to my mind. "Oh, what a nice way to wake up," she said blearily. "Well, good.... now it's your turn to lie back... and just enjoy a bit." I went back to my ministrations. Feeling freer to move more boldly now, I took her ass cheeks in my hands and massaged her cheeks, my thumbs pushing her legs wider apart so I could fully invade her cunt with my mouth. My tongue made tracks along and around her lips, then inside, exploring and tasting, in no hurry but never leaving from her clitoris more than momentarily. I traced down to her anus with my tongue and brought a jerk of response but not a rejection of the attention, noted for future reference. Then my mouth went back and sucked deeply at her, drinking in her juices. Tracing her labia with my thumbs, I returned to her clit and sucked at it, hard, while my tongue circled it. After a minute of this, I heard her start to pant, and felt her legs start to straighten in little convulsions. Then with a quick acceleration of all her responses, she was crying, "Dan, Dan, Dan, yes, yes, yes!!" and came, a driving, happy, irresistible orgasm, her hips thrusting autonomically, her hands now holding my head in place, her legs curled around my back. I kept it up, the same movement of sucking and circling, my thumbs still running up and down her labia, and she launched from the first orgasm into a second close aboard, now laughing. If there's one wonderful human sound, it's honest laughter, and hers was simple glee, which was music to me. As she came down from the second waves, I reached up and could barely reach her breasts, which I cupped and massaged through the thin bra. I continued to tongue her, now feeling her hardened nipples in each hand, squeezing and pulling them lightly, sensing her response, wondering how erogenous they were to her. After a moment, she tugged at my shoulders, urging me to rise up from between her legs. I scooted upwards, greeting her with a kiss as she had me earlier, knowing she could taste what I had, and hoping she could appreciate its wonder. At that position, my cock was at the entrance of her, but I wasn't ready for that just yet. Kneeling beside her, I unclipped the front fastening of the bra and helped her shrug out of it. Finally naked before me, I wanted to seal the visual image into my memory, as well as manipulate her loveliness. I started by caressing her face, smoothing her hair, outlining her nose and jaw line, as if I were memorizing in Braille. She watched me intently and smiled as I moved down her body, taking my time to investigate her clavicle, the texture of her skin, the segue of coloration from face to neck to chest. I greeted her breasts as if for the first time, treating each one independently, squeezing gently, hefting, rolling the nipple, watching the liquid movement as I lifted and let fall their mass. There is nothing that moves like the female breast, and its contained liquidity is ever a miracle in the way just that movement drives straight to the male limbic with predictable results. Eventually, I moved on, still watching her, seeing that she was watching me. Finding her groin again, I started an almost medical examination, peering intently as I opened her, stroked her, and noted her rising again out of her relaxation, the breathing just a little faster, her hips starting to rise up to meet my caresses. More quickly than I'd expected, another orgasm rose out of her - more like burst out of her - and she came, hard and fast, as I hooked two fingers inside and rode her as I vibrated my whole hand against her. Now, now it was time, I reckoned. I was kneeling, my cock standing straight, and it was easy for me to shift over and enter her, an inch at a time, savoring each new area invaded, each new heat surrounding my shaft. I took my time, still thinking this was a once and never again sort of thing, imbedding the memory for future reference and reflection. Now that I think about it, I had totally forgotten about any size issues as I sank into her, her vagina like a soft honey-filled and warm glove fitting over my cock. It must have taken maybe six slow strokes for me to be fully inside her, and I pressed upwards, capturing her clitoris between my cock and her pubic bone. She seemed to enjoy that, and I made a note to return to that. Starting to fuck, I established a steady pace - nothing rough, just hopefully enough to make her want more, enough to get her going for now and to make her frustrated in a few moments. It worked well, as she settled into the pace, matching me, like a relaxed canter on horseback, just loping along. Soon, I could tell she was yearning for a little more, but I held back, making her come to me for it, making her roll her hips upward, seeking something a bit harder, seeking something to bang against her, not just slide in and out. As she sought it, I held off, then returned it and raised up into a push-up position, my torso well clear and above her, with just my dick making the contact. Then I started ramming home, each stroke hard in itself, but each one having an extra oomph at the end, when the shaft was impaling her and I was pressed into her clit. Soon I was a pile driver, a James Taylor steamroller, with no mind other than ramming, while I watched her breasts, the nipples hardened, the rib cage heaving as she neared another orgasm. When it hit, she had her legs wrapped around mine, ensuring (whether consciously or not) that I could not escape, her hands were on my shoulders, her hips were rising up rhythmically into each of my thrusts. She came, and came hard, again, and I didn't let her off, but kept it up, ramming home again and again, demanding she come again, and loving that she obeyed, that she could not but obey. She was panting and fucking, and I could feel her cunt's spasms as she came. She also suddenly became wetter than earlier, although she'd not been dry at all. Now she was a river of fluid, and I was running out of breath, wondering if the physical demands of the position might start siphoning blood from my dick. I rested back lightly against her, most of the weight of my body on my elbows, as we both caught our breaths. When I could breathe again through my nose rather than heaving great mouth gulps of air, I kissed her slowly and firmly. She kissed back, then said, "Why did we wait so long? How many of these times have we missed over the years?" "I think we waited just the right amount of time," I said. "We wouldn't have been ready earlier - we would have screwed up your or my relationships with our others, somehow. This was just right." "Yeah, I guess so," she murmured. "But still... And by the way, what was that concern you had? I don't get off like that for anything but the best. You proved your way out of that one, I hope." "Well, thanks - I don't know if I'll get over it instantly, but if anything would help, it's having a woman like you respond as you did to it - you were great - you are great!" With that, I felt her squeezing me again, and stayed still, moaning softly with each squeeze, so that she'd know it was effective. It was. By now I could feel that extra hardness that Viagra delivers, as well as the sensation of extra size, although I've never tested that part. Giving a particularly tight squeeze, she asked, "So, as long as we're catching up and being honest, is there anything you'd like in particular? I've pretty much exhausted my list of wants for now, but I know there are more variations - some that you might even prefer." For a former Scout, I was far from prepared to even think about, much less answer that one at the time, but was certainly willing to do my best to come up with something... (maybe to be continued)