House of Feathers Ch. 07: A Stroll

Nothing complicated here, just an excuse for good sex between a loving couple.

I always motioned her to go first when we went down the path to the beach along our bay to swim. She no doubt liked to think that I was being a gentleman and showing respect to what my grand-père would have called 'the gentler sex'.

Me? I'm an uncomplicated man. I just liked to admire her fine unclad posterior as we walked. Perv status accepted.

Her two firm, tanned globes wove gracefully from side to side with that delightful little female hip twitch at every step. Two dimples graced the base of her swaying narrow waist and her broad, shapely shoulders were half-covered by her long hair. Trim, fit legs -- it was all poetry in motion, as the saying goes. I was almost always hard by the time we got to the beach.

On a whim today I stopped, waited until she'd gone 20 or 30 yards, then called. She turned around.

"You OK?"

"I think so, but could you come here, please? Like, um, hurry?"

She did and I again wondered at the love the Creator must have had for men. Such an amazing sight!

Lush hips rolling, firm breasts bobbing, slender legs pounding, she was in front of me in seconds, not even breathing hard. The girl could teach running to gazelles. She took me by the arm.

"What is it? Are you OK?"

I realized that complete honesty - that I simply wanted to feed my woody by watching her bounce - would not be a good idea, even with a woman as good-natured as this one.

"It's been too long since we had a good hug," I said. Lame, but all I could think of.

"You made me run just to give you a hug?" she demanded.

"No," I dodged, "so that I could give you a hug." I held out my arms.

I could see her rolling that one around in her mind.

"OK, you get a hug," she announced. Side-stepping my hard-on, she embraced me, running soft arms over my back and butt. She brushed her lips across mine, traced the tip of her tongue across them. Then our lips locked and her tongue ran back and forth along my teeth, fenced with my tongue and circled my lips again. My toes curled.

She pulled back. "Happy now?" she asked.

I nodded.

"So, can you wait here for a moment?" she asked. "I want to show you something."

I nodded again. She continued down the path and then suddenly stepped off it into the vegetation.

There was a shrill scream. Alarmed, I dropped the towels I was carrying and sprinted down the path, calling, my bare feet pounding into the dirt. I skidded to a stop where she had left the path, only to find her peering out from behind some bushes, almost killing herself with laughter.

"What the hell?" I panted.

"Oh," she grinned and reached out to gently slap my waving organ, "I just wanted to watch Mister Happy here do some bouncing."

Busted!

She started to laugh out loud and I had to join in. How can you get angry at a girl not only smart enough to catch you in an adolescent fantasy, but who loves you enough to play along with it and give you the prime-time show your inner 13-year-old was dreaming of?

We wound up in each other's arms, convulsed with laughter. How I loved this woman! We'd settle down, almost recover, then one or other of us would start giggling and we'd both break out into full laughter again.

We walked the rest of the way to the beach, hand in hand. We crossed the short stretch of white sand and waded into the perfectly clear water. The water grew deeper and we started swimming. It was a wonderful day for it - sunny and warm with calm water inside the bay.

We swam leisurely side by side across the bay and back. When we emerged, we laid out our beach towels into the shade of the nearby palm trees. It was cooler there, a sweet breeze moderating the heat of the tropical sun on the sand. Lying side by side, we held hands, watched the few clouds passing by and talked about this and that.

I rolled over towards her, my head on my arm. "Thanks for today," I said. "And for yesterday and for tomorrow. I love you."

"I know," she murmured, half dozing. "You, too."

My gaze swept slowly over her sleek form, a body made for love. Model pretty, model tall, but with a distinctly non-model figure - firm, rounded breasts, a happy navel (don't ever underestimate navels!), womanly hips and a smooth mound of Venus decorated with just a thin landing strip. Perfect.

My cock, softened during the swim, reawakened. The underside brushed against her side.

Her eyes flickered open and she caught me staring. She smiled.

"Like what you see?" she asked, waving her hand down and up along her form, stopping at her breasts. Her nipples were as perfect as the rest; her areolae medium-brown, the size of silver dollars. Perfect.

I couldn't resist. I leaned over and licked first one, then the other. I could taste salt from the ocean. They hardened under my tongue. I felt her hand move along my side to grasp my manhood. In her position, she couldn't really do anything but grip it. I didn't object.

I switched from breast to breast, licking, nibbling and sucking. Her nipples were hard and prominent.

She suddenly sat up, keeping her hold on my member. Kneeling beside me, she started running her hands lightly over it, from one end to the other and then back. My woody got 'woodier'.

Seeing that I had a good thing going, I continued to play with her fabulous boobs, kneading them softly with my hands.

She took a firmer grip, halfway up the shaft and started to pump slowly. I sucked in my breath, closed my eyes and continued to worship those heavenly breasts. I gently thumbed her nipples.

She moaned, lowly. Her pumping speed increased. I could feel my balls lifting, swelling, tightening.

Suddenly she moved to kneel between my legs and I could feel hot breath on my cock. Her tongue ran up and down its length and swirled around and around its head. I tried to shift, but she pressed me back down onto the sand.

"Mine!" she growled. Under the circumstances, I forgave her for talking with her mouth full. All I could do was stroke her bobbing head.

I have what I guess I'd call a guy-pride issue. I loved what she was doing to me - and she was very, very good at it. Sometimes I wondered where she'd learned it, then put it aside as unimportant.

Her mouth sucking and her tongue flickering like a snake's, she began pumping my rigid shaft. I could feel my nuts, heavy, eager.

I loved every minute, but here's the thing. I always feel a bit guilty about taking that level of pleasure without giving the same back. Playing is one thing, but making love (as opposed to, say, mere fucking), implies mutuality. I figure I should be reciprocating.

Her pumping sped up. I could feel a hot weight building up inside me.

I'd tried to discuss this with her. She'd waved it off, saying in effect, firstly, she really enjoyed turning me on (plausible and - I hoped - true) and second, that I had had her in the same situation many times before and would again (true and hopefully true) and thirdly that it was about expressing love, not keeping score (OK, true) and that, lastly, shut up, I'm busy down here (hard to argue with).

I was losing a debate to a blowjob. Hell of a thing. I tried to just lie back and enjoy. I was pretty close.

Rapidly pumping, her tongue all over my engorged head, her free hand started massaging behind my bag, pressing up against my prostate. That was all I needed; I came like a rocket. I could feel her push her head down over me and felt her swallowing as she continued to milk me, then a coolness as she removed me from her mouth.

The afterglow of a magnificent orgasm. It was like drifting down a quiet stream, peaceful and utterly content. Her gentle hands stroked my cock as I lay there, then stroked my cheek. "I love you," she said softly.

I tried to say something lucid, but failed completely. She giggled and remarked, "Well, I'll that that as approval."

I dozed for a bit. When I opened my eyes, I saw her sweet face smiling down on me. "Thank you," I said. "That was wonderful."

She gave me that same brilliant smile that won my heart the first time I saw it. "My pleasure, sweetie. But now that you've had a nap, we need to wake up Mr Happy again." She rolled my limp dick around her fingers.

I know some men who have nicknames for their bits, but I ask you, can you imagine a dude coming up with 'Mr Happy'?

She turned around to kneel facing my feet; her lips and tongue again started tantalizing Mr Ecstatic. Soft as I was, she didn't have much to play which, but given her talents, it was just a matter of time.

Her lower lips gleamed with moisture in the sunlight. I stroked them with a fingertip, then slid two stiff fingers into her opening and gently twisted them. She moaned in her appreciation.

I twisted underneath her spread legs and wound up face-to-clit, a favourite position of mine. Her bare sex was just inches above me. Her rich, musky scent filled my nose; I drank in its fragrance, admired the view.

Women's pretty parts are always somewhat of a mystery to men. So many folds, so many hidden places, so many sensitive bits, so many things a man will never understand.

I mean, a man's sex is all on the shelves, so to speak. Meat-and-veg, served hot or cold. The only complication is a) up or b) down. Pretty straight-forward -- no pun intended. Women's bodies are far harder to understand. There are times I wish I could be a woman for a day, just to experience the difference.

The tip of my tongue gave a slow, light lick the length of her sweet pussy lips. I could hear her breath suck in and her tongue stopped. Her hand clenched lightly on my nut-sack.

I repeated the stroke, a little harder and she restarted, too. Broader now, my tongue travelled up the outside of her bare labia, and then down the other side, I reversed direction. Her hips wiggled over me. More. Yes.

She was licking my now-expanding length like a candy-cane. The million-dollar tongue on the gal risked distracting me from giving what she needed and deserved.

I grasped her hips more firmly and pressed my lips over her entrance. My tongue darted in and out, as deep as it could. She gave another low moan and I felt a flood of woman-dew on my face. I swirled its tip around and around her slit, moving in time to her tonguing my head. Sucking firmly, she started pumping my shaft again, quickly.

Given that I'd just cum, I didn't think she'd ring my gong again anytime soon, but it felt phenomenal. I tried to move a hand in for more stimulation, but our bodies didn't give the space.

I turned my tongue to her clit. At first, I just lightly flicked it with the tip of my tongue. Silent, she quivered. I kept it up for another half minute and then started swirling my tongue tip around and around it, now protruding out from its hood.

She gasped. Her stroking my cock slowed, sped up, slowed again.

Reaching out a leg, I got the leverage I wanted and flipped us both over. Lying on her back, she was panting. Perspiration glittered on her forehead and breasts.

I swiveled around and got my head between her legs. She moaned a small protest, but didn't seem willing to arm-wrestle me for it.

I wrapped my arms around her legs, my biceps under her smooth thighs and my hands holding her legs spread apart. I recommenced slow licks up her labia, giving a little wiggle when my tongue passed over her love button.

She gasped and pulled my head firmly into her crotch. Must be doing OK, I thought to myself. I could hear her soft cries of pleasure.

Her hips started bucking. "I want you in me, now," she hissed. Instead, I grasped her clit in my lips, sucked it into my lips and started flicking it for all I was worth with my tongue.

Her moans turned to roars. Her hands pulled me in so tight that I could barely breathe. Her sleek thighs crushed against my ears; her hips jumped and rolled frantically. She gave two great cries and then slumped back, panting hard.

I grinned to myself -- foreplay, check! I loved making her that happy.

Wriggling my arms free from under her legs, I brought my cock head up to her pussy. No subtlety now, no playing around. I drove myself balls-deep into her. She gave a deep groan and locked me in place with strong legs, pumping her hips. Her nails dug into my back. I could feel the hair of her landing strip on my bare crotch. Her hips rolled in time to mine. Her eyes were closed in concentration, a focused smile on her lips. I could see a flush building on her forehead.

Boy vs Girl Olympics - details at 11.

I slid in and out as quickly as I could, slamming hard into her each time, her cries getting louder and harsher with each stroke. Her hips suddenly bucked into mine and she screamed, then collapsed back, panting.

I continued hammering her, close to my own climax. Her body quivered and I could feel her soft breasts squashed against my chest, moving back and forth as I thrust.

A growing tingling heat built in my cockhead and then burst forth, filling her with liquid fire. Rigid in my pleasure, I could see her sweet smile beneath me. Then, spent, I lay on top of her, my head on her shoulder, trying to keep the weight of my torso on my elbows. I could feel her contractions still massaging my manhood. She gave a last pump of her hips, and then lay silent.

A lifetime later, I rolled off her. There was a low moan of protest from beside me. "No - not yet."

I stroked her hip, feeling like I could slip away into infinite, empty space by just closing my eyes.

"Love you, babe, but there's a limit to what a man can do."

She rolled her face towards mine and smiled sweetly, her eyes heavy-lidded but full of promise. Her soft fingers drifted languidly down my stomach.

"You never give yourself enough credit," she whispered softly.

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