A Hard Knight's Night

Of course, she knew him far too well. Before he knew that he was about to cum, she had read the signs and prepared. She dove deep and did not resurface. Somehow, her tongue still worked, lashing the shaft that was entirely within her. Hot puffs of air pattered below his cock, surely the products of an overcompensating nose.

He might have been able to resist, but he didn't bother to try. He gripped the back of her head tight as he started to roll his hips forward. He stretched and began to feel cramps as spurt after spurt left him and entered her. She did not react at all, not a single move, not a single noise. More than anything else, he was pleased with the amount. Even though this was last, it felt like more than he had given anyone else today.

It was only when he finished and dropped back onto the bed that she responded. As expected, she gulped loudly, then slowly propped herself up into a sitting position. A glance over her shoulder was enough to crush any resistance that may have existed in his heart, nevermind the desperate licking of her lips in search of a last drop. There was, of course, no resistance to be had, but he entertained the thought nonetheless.

And still she acted like a flirty maiden. She pressed a finger to her lips and pulled down gently, baring the faintest shimmer of glossy teeth. He twitched at the clear message.

She had apparently had her fill and so she leaned back onto him. It took a good deal of gentle adjustments and sliding for her to find a comfortable position that left his vulnerable cock safe from her pussy's predation, but find it, they did.

She lay atop him at a slight angle, her head nestled against his cheek, her legs splayed and bent at the knee, resting atop his. Their difference in height was just convenient enough to let his cock rest peacefully mere inches from her ever-hungry depths. With her closer hand, she cupped his face and gently rubbed back and forth, delighting in the bristle of his day's worth of beard. With her other, she clasped his hand in an imbalanced interlocking of fingers.

Together, they gazed up at the dark ceiling and banished all thoughts unrelated to everlasting love.

He didn't spend his recovery dwelling on anything in particular. His taken hand was squeezed from time to time and he squeezed back. His free hand drew lazy shapes on her side when the mood struck, venturing only rarely into ticklish territory and never overstaying his welcome beyond the birth of a giggle.

He considered going to finish his meal, but decided against it. That could wait until they were done with everything, as was originally intended. He wasn't sure if anyone else practiced this particular agreement of theirs, to eat half of dinner before making love and the other half after. If they did not, they should. It made things much simpler.

While his mind was on the subject, his free hand ventured down and rested on her belly. She had eaten very little earlier. It was beyond unlikely that she had filled up beforehand, so perhaps she was planning something rather acrobatic. He did not ask, not out of gentlemanly tact, but because her surprises tended to be of the good variety.

In due time, as it always did, the conflicting emotions welled up once again. As far as he was concerned, the Cevisa matter had been handled expertly, with Yvethe thoroughly dispelling all negative thoughts. However, there was still Mauvelle. He had the utmost confidence that his wife could handle that as well, but until then, it was a weight on his heart. Yvethe being Yvethe, she was able to read whatever subtle signs he gave off immediately.

"And the second?"

That woman had no shame, wriggling her hips before he even began to speak. The motion shook free a drop that landed on his cock.

With no hesitation this time, he set about his clinical recount of the event. How the courtesan had laid on the bed, exactly what she was wearing and how she was posed, the lighting, how long he fucked her, how they changed positions, how much he came. He delivered it all without emotion, but that was no act. It had been a pleasant experience, true, but that was more because of Mauvelle's pragmatic appreciation of the encounter than any real pleasure. In contrast with the young and lustful Cevisa, the older courtesan's unabashed rejection of love was a breath of fresh air.

As difficult as it was, he kept those remembered sensations firmly in mind even as his hand searched downward for her heaving womanhood. Every slow inch of progress was met with ever-increasing panting and writhing. She said that it was necessary to remember such twisted memories so that she may crush them into dust. She was right, that's how it went, but getting there was still uncomfortable.

He ran his hand through her hair, gently gliding over her lips without parting them. She moved her hand down and laid it atop his. Neither guided the other, for there was no need. Together, they gently massaged her pussy.

She turned and awkwardly stretched to kiss his cheek, giggling at the prickly surface. With a creaking groan, he acquiesced to the signal. He gently pushed her up into a sitting position and rose with her. The rubbing of her lower body on his was intense, but manageable enough and that was all he needed.

They sat like this for a moment while he considered his choices. She wasn't guiding him towards anything, so that left the onus on him. Fair enough, considering that she took the initiative earlier. He gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulders and she nodded.

With a forceful shove, he pushed her down face-first into the blankets. She fell limply, his clay to be molded, her ass sticking up in the air and her face hidden from the world. He trusted her and she trusted him.

He sat back and admired, half to build up some suspense for her and half to decide exactly how he wanted to proceed. He bought some time with his hand, reaching out and cupping her pussy. He was always impressed how small that slit seemed compared to his hand, but groping it drove her wild, so he didn't question it too much.

He kneaded the edges with his forefinger and ring finger, reserving his middle for the inevitable entry. Despite her wordless agreement to remain putty in his hands, she quivered and shook with anticipation, clearly aware of the missing finger.

He smiled a smile she would never see and decided. He picked up a smaller pillow with his free hand and carefully placed it beside her. Buried as she was in the blankets, her face and tits completely out of sight, she likely didn't notice.

He prodded the pillow, guiding it under her hips. She responded favorably, making room and expecting what anyone would expect. They had done it a hundred, a thousand times before, him propping her up before a comfortable fucking.

But that is not what he did.

She expected a reprieve and very foreseeable mounting, her pussy waiting and begging, but he took the opportunity to fuck her with his finger. He went deep and crooked his finger at a breakneck pace. He wasn't sure if she would like it and so he watched and waited for any signs of distress.

Her body shook and shuddered in surprise, her hips fell lopsided atop the half-placed pillow, and her moans were loud enough to escape the muffling prison of thick blankets. He slowed, but did not stop. Her hands remained outstretched and limp, but she did not pound her fists. Her fingers flexed over and over, nails digging into the blankets, but she did not give the sign to stop.

He smiled the same smile and repositioned himself. He dropped down to his hands and knees behind her while his free hand pushed the pillow in all the way. She fell into place, but only because he guided her.

His finger withdrew and she slumped down. Heavy panting was heard. She must have freed her face and turned to the side for lack of air. That pleased him.

He gave her no real time to rest before lifting her hips once again, this time far above the pillow. Up and up they went, her entire body forming a triangle. He brought he pleading pussy to his lips and threaded his arms under her legs. There, she rested, her legs hanging over his shoulders, her pussy the main course. He knew that her cute, tiny tits were hanging helplessly in the air and that her face was likely crimson from the embarrassment, blood, and effort, but he could not see. He did take solace that she was probably staring at his cock.

Without further ado, he kissed her. He did not falter as she giggled at the prickling, not did he speed up. He was used to this particular obstacle and they had long since agreed upon an ideal solution.

He kissed and nuzzled, searching for the perfect position. His hands adjusted her legs, looking for the perfect angle. It seemed to change each time, but that didn't bother him. It was found when her giggling stopped, no more and no less.

Satisfied that they had reached such a state, he set about his real task. He lapped gently, venturing only a short distance at first, then further and further. He tried not to open or close his mouth for fear of tickling her again.

As the position grew more familiar, the hands were no longer needed like so. With one, he squeezed and pulled her cheek, gently parting the way for his tongue. Back and forth he moved, slowly spreading and letting it all return to its natural state. Sometimes, he didn't move his tongue at all, just letting the opening and closing handle it all.

She moaned louder with every passing second. He decided that he would wait until she lost her composure before moving on to the next step. Whether that was before or after she came was up to her.

To his surprise, she gave in easily. Though she was to be passive and accepting, she reached out and grabbed his cock with a hand. She didn't tug or even move after that. It was just a sign that she needed to be fucked right this second.

He had no problem with that.

With some gentle wriggling of his own, he extricated himself from her legs and slowly lowered her back down onto the pillow. There was a slight pang of regret as her fingers slid off his cock, but he assured his more primal side that it would only be temporary.

He adjusted her hips and ensured that everything was straight, but she was having none of it. She wiggled her ass from side to side, her own way of expressing childish impatience. She even went as far as to spread her cheeks with her own two hands, as if he needed any further motivation.

"Silly girl."

Before she could free her face to respond, he shuffled on his knees until he was right behind her. Much to his dismay, the pillow wasn't big enough to raise her sufficiently and he was in no mood to spend however long stretching his groin to stoop down to her level. He was far too old for that.

He considered switching the pillow. It was that or reposition her on the edge of the bed. He voiced the dilemma aloud.

At that, she rolled over and folded her hands to make a pillow for her head. Her face was indeed stained red, visible even in the darkness. Such was the radiance of her face. Heavy breaths came from an impossibly wide grin and her eyes twinkled with all manner of thoughts, pure and impure alike.

What she did not do was offer an answer. Apparently, she just wanted to relax and watch while he struggled with his conundrum.

He gave up promptly and set about massaging her feet, or rather, foot. The other was out of reach and stretching for it was out of the question. He absently alternating between rubbing with fingers and kneading with knuckles, completely absorbed in some trivial thought. The thought of sex hadn't left his mind completely, nor had it even begun to leave his stiff cock, but he found himself distracted anyway.

His trace was interrupted by a slow and pleasant sensation on his cock. Somehow, she had snuck her other foot over and was rubbing her bare toes against the ready shaft, barely grazing with each pass. She was still smiling gently, but her eyes told a much more mischievous story: she was not satisfied quite yet.

However, he found himself profoundly lacking in motivation. To bend her over and fuck her hard, as he had intended, he was far too tired for that. Too tired to do it, too tired to set it up, too tired to eat after, just too tired.

She must have read his mind, for she drew herself up to him, her bent knees the only barrier between her chest and his. They sat together in the middle of the vast bed for a time without saying a word. Her body fascinated him on every level and so he stared at nothing in particular.

His reverie was broken by yet another giggle. That woman was incorrigible. Her grin had widened and she was acting shy, always a sign of a devious plan. With a decent attempt at shyness, she covered her mouth with a hand and pointed gingerly behind him.

It sounded like a good idea. He began his laborious and awkward journey backwards, pulling and pushing on the blankets, dragging himself to the wall at the head of the bed. She followed like a stalking cat, her hair dangling down low enough to tickle his cock as he went. She bit her lips as she went, a very effective taunt and the perverse predator knew it.

The mound of pillows marked their destination. He began to turn and clumsily move the pillows out of the way, but she bounded into action long before he could move a single one. She first parted a section for him to lean against the wall, then thought better of it. She arranged a few of the wider pillows in a column and then helped guide him back to hold them in place.

As he leaned back against the layer of love and thoughtfulness that separated him from the cold, hard wall, he felt an irrepressible urge to answer her kindness. Fortunately, the opportunity was immediate and mutually desired.

For the first time in the night, she seemed genuinely sheepish as she situated herself before him. His legs were spread, his cock was ready and waiting, and he was watching her under heavy lids, but she did not leap at the opportunity. Perhaps she felt a burst of self-consciousness, but he did not pry. He just watched as she crawled and then knelt before him. Her eyes and hands searched in the darkness for the best way to reach her desired position, but he was more than ready to help.

It was only as he leaned forward that he saw how low the candlelight had fallen. In the looming darkness, his hands met hers, but they did not lock. His fingers traveled up her arms, to her shoulders, then slid down to her sides. He lifted her easily and guided her forwards until she was past his knees. He set her down just short of his expectant cock. Her knees fell into place on either side of him and he slowly let go of her weight. As expected, her hands lightly grasped his shoulders and her face remained level with his. Inch by inch, she shuffled closer until her pussy pressed against his upright cock, the hair on his chest tickled her tits, and her nose brushed against his.

Gone were the hot and heavy breaths of lust. Gone was the playful trickster that yearned to exercise its powers after being trapped for so many hours in the body of a timid housewife. In their place was Yvethe. Though her details were hidden, her warmth put all would-be contenders to shame.

It was locked in this embrace that he felt most at home. All of her facets were brilliant, but this is the one that he wanted right now, in his state of tired resignation. This is the Yvethe that he wanted to hold, the one he wanted to kiss, the only one he wanted to fuck.

Their noses barely touched, so he changed that.

He petted hers with his, gently stroking, marveling at how much of his body was needed to perform this simple act of intimacy. Nose, neck, chest, all was needed just for the most ephemeral of touches.

Her response was immediate: brief recoil and then redoubled affection. She met his nose with hers and they danced back and forth, one gently rubbing and then the other. There was no fixed pattern to the motions, just general feelings, replete with all of the missteps and bumps that one might expect.

Their hands could be closer, so he changed that.

Once more, he explored her body in the darkness, working from her toes this time. Her legs, neatly folded on either side of him, were easy to follow. Sometimes he skipped with two fingers lightly poking, sometimes he flew, the tips barely kissing her naked skin. The rivulets of sweat and imperfections of age excited him more than he would ever admit aloud.

Around those wondrous hips, then in and up her tight sides, across each rib, counting as he went. For now, he resisted the urge to explore inward with his thumbs. Armpit, elbow, wrist, victory. His hands on top of her hands on top of his shoulders.

He lifted them gently and she resisted slightly. He understood that she wasn't particularly keen on losing her balance in the precarious blackness, but he knew that he could keep her safe. He pulled her hands down and out to nowhere in particular. They hung in the air, accomplishing nothing beyond the obvious.

As their fingers wove a pattern, his concentration returned to her face. He could see practically nothing now, only a silhouette, but it was the most perfect silhouette he had ever seen.

The soft and slow embrace of their noses transformed into a kiss. He knew not who moved first, but they were soon gently drinking one another in. Her tentative pecks fueled his love and he grew more forceful. More pressure, a little more depth with the tongue, heavier breaths on her cheek.

Their hands parted ways, with his drifted down to her petite waist and hers wandering up to his neck. She wrapped around him, her forearms limply resting on his shoulders, her hands barely clasped between him and the supporting pillows. With his hands, he helped her slowly begun to rock back and forth up against his cock.

In mutual understanding, their lips parted. He helped her as she rose slightly, stopping only when her lips were level with his forehead. Her elbows inadvertently massaged his neck as he reached down to guide the connection.

She slowly dropped back down, trusting him completely to join body and soul. The tip slipped in with a wet exclamation and she giggled, but her descent did not stop. He could barely withhold a gasping moan as he filled her and she enveloped him.

For a time, neither of them moved and he had plenty of time to appreciate exactly how her body pressed against his. He was inside her, but far more overwhelming was the way her tits deformed against his shoulders and the way her cheek rested on his temple. Her breaths grew steadier, but they only grew more intoxicating as they battered that part of his hair over and over again.

In her pleasure and desire to be closer to him, her back had arched at a practiced angle. Her belly pressed just above his and her ribs squeezed against his chest, slowly shifting in her search for the perfect spot. He inhaled her essence and waited.

She found it, slowed to a halt, and lightly kissed his temple. They began.

He flexed his ass gently and pushed against the blankets, just to get started. The gentle slipping in and out covered a distance of mere hairs, but it wracked her body in waves of excitement. Bit by bit, their bodies slowly separated. Each tiny thrust pulled their sticky flesh apart with the unbecoming sounds that they treasured so dearly. Each was a private secret that only they shared.

Without moving her legs, she began to rise and fall gently. Still wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed down with her forearms. It was only enough for another inch or two of movement down there, but it was plenty.

The light brush of her tits against his shoulders, the way her breaths grew closer and farther away to the beat of the fucking, the way her ass slapped down against his legs with every fall, it was all too much. He didn't think he could fall any deeper in love with her, but this regularly proved him wrong and it was a defeat that he was happy to endure.