Afternoon delight

The telephone call was unexpected, as we were together just not too long ago. "Hi, how are you?" she had asked hesitantly. But the slight nervousness in her voice was a clear innuendo to me, so I dropped everything and made an excuse to be out of the office.

Her dress was hiked up to her waist as she reclined on my bed. She arched her back to help me remove her Sloggi panties. We were in the guest room where the airconditioner was non functional. I intentionally left the window curtains drawn open, so every part of her anatomy would be brightly lit for my scrutiny. In anticipation of a sweaty bout, I persuaded her to remove the rest of her floral dress, with the lame excuse that we didn't want it wrinkled.

As I walked across the room to drape the garment over a chair, she laid pensively with her spread legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Anyone looking down from the adjacent block of flats would be rewarded with a rare scene of a leggy nude spread eagled on the Queen size mattress in broad daylight.

I took my time to undress, the mind locked in limbo. Not a time to ask irksome questions when such a gourmet treat was on the buffet table. Perhaps the last coupling woke up the dormant sexuality in her. There were no tan lines on her lithe body, just an expanse of white except for the dark triangle crowning her swollen pubis. The rays of the afternoon sun played an optical trick, turning the brown pubic fur a tawny hue, a flaming bush igniting from the smouldering embers within her loins. Her long glossy hair spread a rich luxuriant coat around her turned head. She was looking out the window. It must have been deliciously exciting for her too, the potential of being spied upon.

My hands reached up to fondle her breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples into life, as my tongue skated across her pubic area. The mons veneris was sparsely covered with short hairs, a grass scrub rather than a savanna thicket. Her legs now hung over my back, thighs clamping my exploring head, smothering me with her secret scents. I eyed her clitoris being teased out of the protective hood, and the yawning vagina orifice still flanked by the remnants of her hymen. She must have been deflowered gently when her cherry was first plucked. The labia minora at her vestibule was a healthy set of pink tissue, not some dark loose flaps of extra skin. There was no hint of the musky odor from natural feminine secretions, she must have washed specially for the occasion. Under the probing attention of my tongue, she started to get stimulated. I saw tiny droplets of fluid forming on the hidden surfaces of her insides. Nature's lubrication process underway. The cylinders greased to receive the piston.

Inching up her body, my roaming tongue traversed the hairless skin from navel to cleavage. Now my head was eclipsed by her protuberant breasts. Even lying down, her mammaries were impressive hills. They did not collapse flat onto her chest, or flop pathetically down the sides. As her excitement rose, they inflated further. She could feel my hardening phallus seeking out her vaginal opening, brushing and probing tentatively, attempting to locate the entrance to her pleasure hole. "Don't ejaculate in me, I'm not on the pill," she advised. Talk about waving a red cloth in front of a raging bull.

My erect member was now primed for service, a ready poker to stoke the smouldering firebox of her lust. The dipstick would be testing the lubricity of her gearbox, affirming the need for a fresh oil change of seminal fluids. Inserting it with one well placed thrust, I rammed home expertly.

Her fit was perfect, a custom pleasure glove made to measure. The spasms wrecking her body evidenced her orgasm was quick and fierce. She must have languished a lifetime for this release. I felt every ripple of her vaginal muscles, sensed every contraction of her pulsating flesh. I drew it out partially to enjoy the delightful sight of the penile shaft emerging from within her clinging vulval folds, and then buried it deeply in again. As anticipated we were both drenched in sweat, from our exertions as well as from the afternoon sun. Our wet bodies made loud smacking noises, as our genitals slapped and ground together violently. While she was bucking like a bitch in heat, she threshed her sex against my tool, trying to cleave to my penis tenuously with her love vise, never letting go. I was grabbing both her breasts tightly, to leverage the onslaught below. Fingers left angry red marks on her mangled breasts, such was the intensity of my grip.

The tremor was recognisable, and the flood would surely come. Just in time, I pulled it out, and sprayed her belly with the spurting semen. "Good boy," she said, remembering her own caution not to empty the discharge in her depths. I wiped her heaving torso with a tissue, lest some might flow down to the nether lips. Unplanned parenthood was not on the agenda.

But I wasn't done yet. Even she could see I was still ramrod stiff. "Eat me clean, I want to go in again," I commanded her. She sat up obediently to take it into her mouth, and proceeded to lap up every drop. Using her lips skillfully to roll the foreskin back, her tongue rimmed the undersides to clean the exposed glans more thoroughly. Her fellating actions stirred my organ even more, and there was danger I'd cum into her right there and then. I fell her on the bed once more, and burrowed into her hot cunt again. We kissed madly this time, as we copulated frenziedly like two primal creatures lost in wanton lust. My bludgeoning penis was locked in her pocket of sin, and the copious sweat we were bathing in glued our parts together. I had to break her clutch, so that I could withdraw strategically and shoot the cum at her bosom this time. The chalky cream splashed the underside of her breast, a thick lava flowing down the slope of the curve. Her hand traced the sticky fluid, and then spread the thinning liquid all over her bosom, her moisturising lotion of eros.

I was knotting my tie, when I walked over to the bathroom where she was washing up. She had left the door open. Standing naked under the massage shower head, she let the pounding waters cascade down the deep valley of her cleavage, and flood the other V of her sex. It was a picture straight out of a porn movie. She turned to flaunt me her complete nude ensemble, jutting breasts, erect nipples, taut belly, the pubic hair dripping with fluids, a mixture from the water stream and her love juices. Her hand was gliding the lucky bar of soap wickedly between her legs. She smiled a secret smile, a smile of contentment, and maybe a smile of surreptitious invitation. I was tempted to join her in the shower, and replace the soap with something more satisfying for her.

A change in weather

"I regret doing it with you," she protested softly. We were alone in the same house where she first humped me like a wild animal. What was on her mind?

I had picked her up at the block of flats, a week after she flew in, so she could complete her rounds of meeting old friends and running the odd errants. Didn't want to appear too enthusiastic to hook up up with her again. We hadn't corresponded during the two year break, except for the odd greeting/birthday card. She still remembered my birthday.

The lunch outing didn't start off well. After the ignition was switched off, we kissed in the car. While our eyes were closed in the embrace, one hand cupped her right breast and gave it a welcome squeeze. But when I reached under her bra to feel the familiar nipple, she demured. Instead of being pliant and soft under my groping palm, she hardened and stiffened. Persisting, I clutched at the breast, trying to free it from her blouse, to see it naked, and to taste the warm flesh. She blocked me with her arms, folding it akimbo to embargo her teats. The struggle would attract attention of others in the car park, so I decided to call it quits.

We ate lunch without a word about her change of attitude. If she was upset, she didn't show it. She simply put it behind. She asked about my travels, and my state of health. We were both slim, and a good looking couple. Eyes from nearby tables glancing our way were either in admiration or envy.

"Where are we going," she asked, "I don't want to go to your house."

But we arrived there.

As soon as we closed the living room door, we kissed, standing up. She was more accommodating this time, and her tongue thrusted into my mouth at her own volition. I took in the invading flesh, she seemed to get a kick out of having it sucked vigorously. If she was born male, she'd probably be sticking her tool into every available orifice. Between soft moans, she started to protest again as I pushed her back against the wall. Both my hands were now rummaging her breasts, tenderly massaging the firm globes, and wantonly manhandling the nipples protruding through the fabric. They were growing in size under my caressing hands, her body's confirmation of her simmering desire. I tried to unbuckle her belt, but they were fastened too tightly. Her thick denim jeans also similarly bonded to her hips, resisting my effort to unbutton her fly. The denim stretched tautly across her crotch, so it was impossible to feel her vulva through the clothing. Squatting down, I muff dived to bite where her labial lips should have been, but all I got was a mouthful of fabric. I pressed my face hard against her mons veneris, pushing from behind with the hands which were gripping the cheeks of her buttocks. She would not let me remove her jeans. In frustration, I pulled up her blouse, so at least she would be naked for me waist up. The bra was a half cup. I shoved them rudely aside for my voracious mouth, and devoured one breast, then the other. Feasting on the delictable flesh that was denied by time and by distance. The gourmet nipples were fiercely attacked, alternately sucked in with lips and chewed about by teeth. The lovebites were scattered around the periphery of the aeroles, red reminders of the violence visited upon her breasts. She was completely nude from the waist up now, and I held both her hands up against the wall, a sexy crucifix that was still fighting submission. Sunlight seeped through the drawn curtains to splash across her torso, outlining the sensuous curves. She looked down the slopes of her own heaving bosom, the erect nipples betraying the lie that she did not want me inside her.

"Let me give you a handjob instead," she volunteered.

Tired of the charade, I seated myself on one of the dining chairs, and let her hands free me of my pants. Mechanically, with practised fingers, she slipped out my penile shaft, veins now engorged with blood from the unfulfilled excitement. Normally, the flaccid penis was of humble proportion, almost puny compared to the large scrotum on both sides. But erect, as it sprung from the fly opening in the underwear, it stood a good length in her fist. Her lips took in the glans, while the fingers worked a staccato pattern on the rod of hot flesh. She deep throated it, then let it out thoroughly moisturised, a glistening popsicle to tongue around the sides, and under the sensitive shaft. If she wasn't a willing sex partner, her concentration on the phallic organ must be motivated by industrious research. She used one hand to squeeze the base of the penis, fondling the testes, while the other to stroke the entire length, sliding foreskin with the reciprocating action. My shaft had been standing at attention for nearly an hour by then, and I could sense the inevitable coming soon. Reading my reaction, she increased the pace, pumped faster and harder. The hot cum shot out, and overflowed from the meatus of the glans to her gripping hand. The cloudy fluid looked like melted ice-cream on her fingers. I would have wanted her to lick me clean, like she did the very first time, but she used the Kleenex for the task.

She mellowed after the effort. Still gloriously nude except for the damn jeans. A sexy pose with long flowing tresses and twin set of naked breasts, sunlight silhouting the shapes from behind. Tenderly I licked her teats, and she held me close to her chest, my face buried in her cleavage. Will she strip now for the entree? I never found out.

A smile on her face

I drove into the multilevel carpark earlier than our planned time of meeting to check out the lay of the land. Depending on her whim/mood/fancies, a bit of privacy may come in handy for the second part of the evening's program. As anticipated, the higher decks were devoid of vehicles at that evening hour.

Waiting outside the restaurant I had suggested over the phone, she was wearing a long sleeved cotton turtle neck and a wrap-around skirt. Hmm, no buttons or zippers. Good signs. She never wore make up, her face was still fresh with the youthful features that stood well against the test of time. Even without heels, she was slightly taller, one reason why I never contemplated a future together. Petty, but it was a real obstacle for starting a relationship, for me anyway.

We did not order too many dishes, but what was on the table, she determined to empty the plates. Shouldn't waste food, was her remark. Surely she was financially comfortable, although both of them started off fiscally tight in a new country. Unemployment and other social benefits sounded pretty generous, given the numbers she quoted, even though it lasted for about four months before the business took off. No designer bags for her, no brand name clothes, a simple gold chain was the only ornament adorning her.

Nothing significant was discussed in the conversation. The small talk was casual, neither touching our separate lives or delving into our state of mind. Any eavesdropper would deduce we were merely two shoppers running into each other by chance, and stopping for the pleasantry of a cup of coffee. No hints of an assignment. No clue to the smouldering convoluted tangle of emotion that brought us together. Again.

Since shopping was not on her list, we proceeded to the carpark after dinner.

As soon as I closed the door, we reached out to kiss. She volunteered her tongue, and I curled mine over hers. Suck face was an appropriate expression. My hand palmed her right breast, and felt the rough cotton of the cheap bra. As I pulled up her turtle neck, she unclasped the undergarment to release the twin mammaries. The blind nipple was on the left breast, thicker and shorter. Mouthing it after working my tongue down the cleavage, the exploration got her excited and she reached under my shirt to stroke the bare flesh of my chest. First her nipple, then a substantial portion of warm breast went into my hungry mouth. Free fingers worked the right side, twitching the longer nipple there, kneading the breast meat like baking dough. The windscreen was starting to steam from the efforts of our gymnastics.

I leaned back to enjoy the splendid vista of her naked flesh. She had taken off the top completely, tossing it carelessly behind. She was showing off her bosom, and the protruding hemispherical orbs that affirmed the maturity of her sex. A flower in full bloom, no longer the flat chested school girl that failed to catch my attention during schooldays.

Pubic hair peeked out from the waistline of her skirt, now riding low below her belly button, no thanks to the contortions in the confine of the small car seat. The wrap came off for me to reach between the hot flesh of her thighs. It was wet. Hot and wet. Her vulva was literally soaked with feminine juices. The labial, swollen with her desire, were drenched like buttered buns. "I always get wet easily," she whispered. One finger, then two, slipped into her ready vaginal, and roamed her portal insides to seek the G-spot. Last located just an inch above where the clitoris reared its head, the contact produced an instant spasmic reaction from her. Her vaginal tunnel would start its rhythmic contractions, squashing my invading digits, flooding them with the special secretions, wetting my hand, as her face clenched in a contortion of pleasure. She uttered not a sound, but the tightly shut eyes and strained facial features would betray the violence of her orgasm.

She lay relaxed in the supine spread of her absolute nudity. Her triangle of dark pubic hair hid the source of her throbbing climax, whilst pointing to the apex of her voluptuousness. "Would you like me to shave it for you?" she asked, running her fingers over the short fur.

After a short interlude, practised hands in the dark moved to unzip my fly, and reached in to massage my shaft. Even before I could clear my clothing, she swallowed the rod of flesh, taking the entire length in one swoop. Her cheeks hollowed and filled alternately, applying gentle suction with the back and top parts of her mouth while moving her tongue exquisitely around the frenulum. She began fellating me in earnest: using an up-and-down motion, simulating vaginal intercourse with her mouth. She was still stark naked, and her boobs bounced as she went about her pleasurable task. I reached under to milk her teats, in rhythmn with her bobbing head. Then I asked her to take the penis out and rub it between her breasts. The visual sight was as erotic as her lips sliding over my glans, the tactile pleasure from being sandwiched with the slopes of her breasts a new delight. She was kneeling in the carpet of the car floor now, elbows on my thighs, breast tips just brushing my scrotum, as she started to pump my rigid rod with increasing tempo with one hand, and the other fondling my testicles, then wandering down to stroke my perineum, the sensitive area between the scrotum and the anus. Doggedly, she worked on the strokes, up and down, up and down. She used her tongue to tease the eye in the glans, the sensitive back of the head of the penis, the line of skin that runs down the center of the testicles, and the underside of the shaft of the penis. Her long hair was flying with her efforts, her breasts slapping my thighs with each descend. As much as I would liked to have the scene burnt permanently into my mind, I closed my eyes to drown in the ecstatic moment. I came. Spurting furiously, even as her relentless hand continued to squeeze every drop out. "Some of it is in my hair, you nearly hit my eye," she reported with pride. She was beaming with delight, obviously pleased with the vehemence of my ejaculation. Was her happiness attributable to my performance, or her efficiency to produce the result?

She was still smiling broadly when I dropped her off at the bus-stop. Before she alighted, she reached out to plant a playful squeeze between my legs, drawing instant reaction. She's insatiable.

Meeting in the air

"This is like cybersex!" she typed, the thrill was palpable in the rapid flow of characters across the screen. I imagined her girlish delight at her end of the internet dial-up line.

She had been busy with the family, and had not been able to cross the ocean. So it was the private chatroom that we had to contend with.

The "meeting time" would be early in the morning, when the kids had just been packed off to playschool, and the rest of the office staff had yet to show up. Her cyber presence alone was enough to initiate a hard-on, and she was told so explicitly via the keyboard. She would be in her usual yukata housecoat. If the computer did not lie, she claimed that she had nothing underneath. With no one else in the house, she could just as well have been stark naked, but she reserved her nudity for me, not some nosy neighbour peeking through the french windows. I recall from yesterdays past the precious sight of her proud breasts, full tipped with huge dark nipples, standing firm without bra, challenging gravity. Too bad she did not have a videocam set up. On the other hand, the mental conceptualisation of a horny housekeeper meandering about the kitchen furniture with a wet tush was more erotic than any tiny pixellated image on the screen.

"I get wet easily," was not an idle boast, as she had demonstrated at an earlier real-life encounter. So if she had followed the instructions over the internet, she must have had several orgasms by then, fingering the swollen clitoris at her vaginal entrance. Or she could have climaxed just to the mental copulation of two minds across the wires, squeezing her vulva tightly between sweaty thighs. Her ecstasy, imagined or otherwise, was sufficient to coax ejaculate into my underwear. But there was no subsitute for her real lips pleasuring my tool, and her tensed up vaginal muscles as they milked me to completion.

It was a good start for each morning, although sometimes she would log in late. Then we had to contend with brief platitudes like what her day would be like. Maybe she wouldn't have time to undress for our cyber meeting. Maybe she would have been wearing her faded denim jeans and jacket, ready to dash off to the supermarket. Then it would be another dreary day in the life of a suburban housewife, or cubicle warrior.

Dreams are made of this

She was supposed to meet at 4 o'clock. The bags were unpacked, shirts on hangers in the closet, toiletries placed in the bathroom. The double bed would have been perfect for the long awaited re-union. A phone call said she will come round at 6 instead. Disappointment. Scratch one afternoon tryst.

The SUV showed up at the hotel driveway. She looked good behind the wheel, dressed in black turtle neck sweater and black slacks. Her long hair framed her bright eyes and high cheek bones. Except for a slight perceptible thickening of the waistline, no one could tell she have had children. As it turned out, breast feeding did her good, swelling the bosom to fuller proportions. The bell hops were green with envy.

The walk up the hill was through winding pathways, flanked by bush and trees. The colours of the summer flowers had long given way to the autumn brown. It was nice to stroll in the cool weather. We did not hold hands, never did. The light banter was about old friends and meaningless comment on current movies and newspaper articles. Names of friends came up, not that we bothered with what they were doing anyway. The vegetation was lush and thick despite the lack of rain. Wandering into a small bamboo clearing, we turned to face each other. Not a word was exchanged. We kissed. Lips met. Arms reached out to enfold and draw us closer. Her tongue went into me, I sucked on it. Emboldened, I reached under her sweater to unclasp her bra from behind. Freed thus, her breasts jutted proudly against the strained fabric, large nipples poking out to announce their presence. The cold air was not necessary for her teats to become erect, they stood out on their own accord. I rolled the sweater up to her neck, and dove my face into the body heat of her cleavage. She nursed me like her newborn, offering me her left nipple, then her right. I loved the taste of her flesh, and managed to stuff three quarters of one breast into my hungry mouth. She was warming up quickly, and I moved downwards, licking her flat belly as I progressed, until I was at the the swell of her mons veneris. With some help from her, the slacks were drawn down around her thighs, enough to reveal the triangle of pubic hair. Somewhere in that musky jungle was her vulva, and the scented folds of her labia. As she was standing, it was quite impossible to tongue her clit effectively. Instead, fingers wedged her plump oyster open, and fingers entered her hot cavern, sopping wet with cuntal juice. Looking up, I show her face between the generous slopes of her breasts, eyes shut tight with erotic tension as I churned the invasive digits in her sensitive parts. The lubricating fluids exuding from within her pleasure cove made my fingers wet. I pried her legs open, making her squat slightly, so the juncture between was more accessible for my tongue. Her labial folds spread like butterfly wings to reveal the erectile clitoris, her miniature version of the penile tool. Sucking hard on the sensitive clit, I triggered her immense orgasm, and her legs quivered and threatened to collapse under the tremors emanating from her sex. She was thoroughly exhausted from the violence of her sexual release, and was primed for penetration. Although the foliage provided ample privacy, the gentleman in me decided not to take her standing up. We rearranged her clothing, and made our way to dinner.

The wine made her flush. She was not one for alcoholic drinks. The candle light and the colour on her cheeks made her younger, looking like a school girl once more, albeit a sexually charged one. We played footsie under the table, feet reaching below to probe forbidden zones under the table cloth. Her panties were soaked.

We hurried to her SUV, and drove to a deserted campus ground. School was out, and most of the students were home for the holidays. We necked and explored each other's body parts like horny teenagers. Wanton hands reached for libidinous places over and inside clothes. I cupped her plush vulva between her hot thighs, feeling the damp apex and the heat generating from within there. She grasped my distended crotch, squeezing the balls and stroking the shaft, masturbating me through my polyester pants. Our underwear must have been a mess. "I have to pee," she declared unceremoniously, getting out of the vehicle in a hurry. I waited a while, wondering where was the toilet as the nearest building was not within sight.

Curious, I stepped out to see where she went. Turning to the rear of the vehicle, I saw her squatting against the spare tire mounted on the back of the SUV, slacks around her knees, a stream of steaming liquid flooding the ground between her feet. The smooth cheeks of her buttocks, a harsh white against the dark of her clothing and the surrounds, shone like pearly shell. Her primitive act stirred my primal instincts. She was patting herself dry,and about to get up, when I grabbed her waist and shoved her headwards towards the spare. Reacting quickly to my unbridled lust, she steadied herself with her hands on the tire, bending low and jutting out her naked bum as a welcomed offering. Already blood engorged and primed erect by her manipulative hands, my ready rigid flesh went straight for the moistured nether lips. It pierced the vulva gateway and entered the vaginal portal in one swift thrust. Pressing my groin hard against her buttocks, I savoured the deliciousness of being joined flesh to flesh, fusing my phallic member with her puckered cunt . I pulled out tentatively, dragging along the inner labia until the glans head was in danger of slipping out, and slammed in again, slapping the balls noisily against her cool buttocks. Because of the angle, I could stroke in and out effortlessly, like a piston reciprocating in a well oiled engine cylinder. She rotated her bum, and gyrated against me to heighten the intoxicating sensuality we were churning in. Her active contribution magnified a thousand fold the sexual stimulation of vaginal friction and body heat. When I finally crushed into her body, she knew I had come. My hands reached under her sweater to grab and fondle her bare sweaty breasts as I emptied the last of my load into her sex. After I withdrew, I stood mindless for a minute, cock in hand, as the Kleenex tissues were in the car. She turned around to squat in front of me and took the dripping member into her mouth. Sucked it dry and licked every drop.

You could tell she wanted me, all of me, every drop of me.

Just thinking about it on the flight home gave me an awkward hard-on. How would it have turned out if we had married instead?

Her happiness

It must have been June of 2002, when we strolled along the pathway by the sea. The breeze was a welcome respite from the hot weather.

She held my hand furtively at first, then slipped her arm over mine. We didn't do this during our early years. As a matter of fact, we couldn't have dated more than a couple of times. So why were we walking like this under the moonlit night, like any star-crossed couple?

We had got out of the automobile, because the public car park was too brightly lit for any private intimacy.

The night was cool, the humidity wasn't too bothersome. I was looking for a dark secluded spot. Shadowy areas where the tree and tropical foliage will provide cover from the merciless expose of the streetlights. As it was long past the dining hour, there were few others wandering around after a seaside meal.

She wore dark Adidas track pants. Slipping my hand from her waist, I reached into the elastic waist band from behind, and dived under her panties. Inched down the crack of her cool bottom, and fingered her puckered anal orifice. "I'm not clean down there," she whispered. Regardless, my index finger pushed past the spincter muscle, which contracted spasmically as I invaded her secret canal. She wasn't comfortable with the intrusion.

We came upon one of the few benches in the park. Bending her over the slatted back rest, I pulled her pants down to her hips, revealling the two moons in the shadowy night. Whipping out my partially erect phallus, I tried to insert it into her. But her anal opening was too dry, or too small. Lubrication, more than convenient mouth spit, was needed. With both hands, I spread her cheeks, and probed with the hardening tool. She wriggled her bum to help, thrusting it backwards against my blood engorged rod. It must entered an inch, the foreskin stretched back by the effort, and I felt the cool flesh inside. The constricting tightness gave great pleasure, but it was not wet and hot like her vaginal chamber. At the sound of approaching footsteps, we disengaged and sat down on the bench, as it was designed for.

The female walking past eyed the bulge of my erection, distending my pants, but her geek partner was focussing straight ahead.

We decided to resume activity in the car, lights or no lights.

She adjusted the seat controls, to slide it all the way back, so she could find more space in the foot well below the glove compartment. Like a child opening a birthday present, she undid my belt buckle and unbuttoned my fly to reach in and take out her sex toy. Pumping vigorously with her fist, she was anxious to bring it to life quickly. Her attention was dedicated to the veined rod of flesh, not the twin bags of testicles. Sliding the hardening shaft between her lips, I saw her cheeks hollow out as she sucked in deeply. She tongued it skillfully, rimming the corona, and never once did I feel her sharp teeth. I pressed her head down, trying to push the swollen head into the deep recess of her throat. From my perspective, all I could see was the top of her bobbing head, her tresses spread wantonly across my bare thighs. Repositioning myself, I sought the the sight of my penis disappearing into her mouth, and reappearing magically moist with her warm saliva. I gathered her hair into a severe ponytail, so as to see her whole face pleasuring my member, her eyes focussing intensively at her dedication. She must have fondled and massaged the love tool for an hour.
During a respite, she pressed the stiff pole against her left cheek, measuring it against the side of her face. It had stretched from her chin to the top of her eye brow. The satisfaction of exclusive access to such a tool was clearly giving her immense pleasure.

But what I was longing to see was her unique afterglow of sex, the reddish blush that spread from the tops of her breasts to her face. Some say the red flush is epitome of what a woman looks like after having *great* sex. She was the only one I have seen it with.

"I just want to put it in," I told her as I rolled over onto her, now supine on the fully inclined front seat. "I won't fuck you, I just want in."

Her pants a crumpled bundle on the floor, T-shirt and bra flung carelessly somewhere in the back seat. A bronzed nude in the shadows, her gloriously erect nipples betraying her excitement, despite the feeble objections articulated to preserve the remnants of her modesty. She had shaved her pubes, to show off the gentle slit at the juncture of her legs, a most erotic gesture of her complicity. Musky juices leaked from the plump lips of her vulva, signally her readiness for the penetration.

"You're so hot and wet down there," I mouthed breathlessly into her ear, as my penile head dipped into the smoldering heat and cupious lubricity of her vaginal orifice. Her innermost tunnel of flesh was so deliciously succulent, it was almost unbearable.

Locking fists, she grasped me tightly with both hands, pulling my chest into her bosom, straining to fuse our bodies together. Breasts squashed thus, her long, hard teats poked aggressively into me. Then I noted that whilst we were pressed flesh to flesh, her vagina was out of reach.

The passing years had taken its toll. Both our waistlines have changed. Our new contours prevented us from coming together in the missionary position, frustrating our clawing hunger for each other.

Then it shrunk. The rigid penis retracted to a soft limp. But she would have none of it. Her legs clasped high up around my waist, juxtaposing herself to claim my retreating tool, a desperate swimmer struggling to stay afloat. A lost battle.

When I stopped the car by the roadside to drop her off, I yanked up her T-shirt to see her glorious breasts one more time. The dark perky teats ringed with chocolate brown aeroles. She laughed quietly at the audacity, eyes darting around quickly to check for passerbys, and then at her own naked assets. I palmed the full weight of both mammaries with my hands, squeezing the firm globules, flesh overflowing between my spread fingers, pinching the erect nipples.

At least they seem unaffected by the passage of time. Reluctantly, I let go of the abundant breasts, knowing one day they will sag pathetically like water filled balloons.

Not a satisfactory meeting

"When can we meet?," she asked on the telephone, soon after flying in and done unpacking in the flat.

The occasion was supposedly scheduled for the handover of the album of old photographs, retrieved from forgotten boxes of memorabilia. She looked tall and slim in the pictures then, her schoolgirl chest had not yet filled out.

Peering down from the higher mezzanine floor of the office complex, she was sighted outside the ground floor departmental store as pre-arranged. Her waistline looked substantially thick. The full bosom, not a typical Asian attribute, came about only after her children arrived. "You should have seen them when I was expecting", she had boasted after our first time in bed. Almost clinically, she had then indicated her blind nipple, which her doctor assured, would not interfere with breast feeding.

She had dressed simply, almost shabbily, compared to the evening shoppers and office workers in the crowded mall. But she had a dress on, not the usual pants or slacks that was her style of ensuring access to her secret place between her legs would require a bit of effort.

"I thought we were eating here," she said, as we made a beeline for the basement carpark.

"I thought of a better location, where we might catch the sunset." The blatant lie was obvious when we drove out of the complex, as the sky was overcast with threatening clouds of monsoon rain. The "location" was a remote part of the city, preferrably with large, empty parking lots for the night's activity in mind.

At dinner, a simple seafood affair with pepper crab and scallops, it was painfully obvious age had been unkind to the once youthful face. I had a glimpse from a distance when looking out for her, but it was not that part of her anatomy that was of significance to me. During our last interlude, I theorised her middle age spread had prevented us from a proper coupling. Her waist still appeared substantially rotund, though the skirt did not emphasize it like her stretch pants did the last time.

It looked like the bottom of her face, from the cheek bones onwards, were weighted down. The surface was like the melting wax of a candle, burning too long into the night. Distorted, a battle lost to gravity. I tried to focus only above her eyes, as my mind entertained the possibility of cancelling my plan for the evening and just send her home immediately after dinner.

The night fell quickly like a curtain, soon after we finished the meal, and the automatic street lights came on. She sat wordlessly as I scouted several carparks for a suitable spot, silent partner to our surreptitious mission. After giving up on finding a darkened area, we settled on the shade of a large tree, which blocked the harsh invasive glare of the closely spaced lamp posts.

Without a sign of exchange, the pants came down and the recently shaved groin was made available for her exploration. No token objection this time, not even the false "why you want this" query. She fondled the member with both hands, and I asked her to run her tongue over the whole length, including the testicles, before putting it between her lips. Her bobbing head prevented me from seeing the administrations with her mouth. I reached under her left arm to shove aside the bra cup, to reach for and squeeze the hanging globe of hot meat, and tweak the taut knob of her hardening nipple. Her breast was reassuringly firm, it had not yet sagged.

Barely five minutes later, her panties roughly dispensed off, she was lying horizontal on the fully reclined front seat. Her blouse was partly raised, exposing only one full left breast. The shade of the tree, intended to provide modest shield for her face, also shaded her body, now naked from the waist down. She had also shaved her pubic region for me. The faint triangle pointed to the slit of her smooth sex, our mutual destination.

The ejaculation came quickly. It was like emptying into a toilet bowl. In the manner her body was positioned, I had made sure her broad waistline would not be in the way. Not this time. The wet, smacking sound of contacting flesh as I rammed my shaft through the parting labial folds of her mons veneris confirmed the trajectory was correct. Her grimace, with eyes clenched tightly shut, evidenced her orgasm was intense. She arched her back as she came again, her hands clawing my back, and pulling me deep inside her.

Once upon a time, we were a perfect anatomical fit. Lying together, the post coital penis still nested in her damp vaginal portal, we had wished the moment to be frozen forever in time.

As she laid back to rest from the exertions, I had no desire to remove the rest of her blouse and bra, to play with her breasts, to feast in her complete nudity. "You wanted me stripped naked," I recalled what she said the first time we copulated in a car.

When we reached her block of flats, she asked if I wanted to park. We used to do that. To engage in a final round of frenzied coupling in the confines of the automobile, furtive pleasure heightened by the exciting possibility of discovery by wandering neighbours in a public place. But I had discharged my load in her twat, mission accomplished.

As she alighted, I didn't even reach into her pants to finger her clit as a parting gift.

"I don't know when we'll ever meet again," was my plaintive truth.

The Last Time

"Guide me in," I prompted her.

She reached between our flesh, familiar fingers adroitly guided the tumescent tool in, parting her nether lips. Her vagina sleeve did not seem to fit as before, the heat of her loins and the cupious lubrication of feminine fluids were a shadow of the past. "I get wet easily," used to be her boast. Not tonight though.

Determined to conclude what we failed to accomplish during the previous engagement, nearly two years ago, I pulled her waist lower down the reclined leather seat, maximising the contact surfaces of our pubic regions. Throwing caution to the wind, I raised her spread legs, the whole right limb would be clearly visible to anyone in line of sight of the window screnn of the bucking automobile. There were only three vehicles at the large carpark, and none seem occupied. Maybe they were just more discreet.

I could feel the clasp of her labia folds hugging the invading shaft, but only a thin ring of flesh seems to be gripping the blood engorged meat. It used to be a tight pleasure glove of throbbing internals, hot and slick with her female mystery secretions. Does aging start down there?

Her face was the one feature visibly ravaged by the passing years. It was nearly reason enough to cancel this interlude. The large leafy tree provided enough shade from the bright lamposts, so I could transpose the youthful face of earlier encounters. The first time. When she took my limp virgin phallus into her mouth, suckled it to rigid penile erection, and lapped up every pearly drop of the orgasmic discharge.

She wanted to be my first, even though she wasn't my bride.