Lovers

This story is entirely fiction. It's intentionally short, with little character development; sort of an experiment for me, written in what I think of as an impressionistic style, a first foray into stroke stuff.

A very tiny, rather melancholy twist pops up at the end; hope you don't mind. Readers on another site complained about it.

*

I sat on the top step, in the shallow end of my pool. She sat on the next step down, her head leaning back onto my chest.

We had been skinny-dipping, shielded from curious eyes by a fence and a well-tended hedge. The sun was warm on our skin, late enough not to be much of a burn hazard, still early enough to be round and full and comforting. A steady breeze sang through the trees, keeping us cool.

I idly rubbed her shoulders, eliciting equally idle murmurs; from there, I moved down to scratch her back, just like she liked. She leaned forward to accommodate me.

After a moment, I slipped my arms under hers and moved my hands around to cup her breasts. I loved squeezing them, gently, feeling their supple resistance; solid thirty-six Cs they were, all natural, with nipples half an inch long when erect. They sagged a bit -- being past thirty will do that -- but they'd never swollen with milk, never deflated after weaning a child.

She leaned back into me while I massaged her lovely orbs, and said, "Feels nice."

"You sure do," I replied softly.

She turned her face to mine, and we shared a kiss.

When the kiss broke, she gazed into my eyes for a moment; then she said, "Eat me?"

I grinned. "How could I turn down a request like that?"

She smiled, then moved to my right, hoisting herself mostly out of the water, sitting on a towel, her legs still dangling in the water, spread wide for me.

I patted her clean-shaven mons with the edge of the towel, not wanting the taste of chlorine to hide the sweetness I knew so well. I placed little feather-soft kisses on her outer lips; I felt them swell in response, heard her breathing quicken.

I stuck my tongue into her folds, lightly, gently, feeling her petals begin to bloom fully, finding her hard little button that responded so eagerly to my efforts. I flicked it several times, caught it with my lips, and made 'mmm' sounds.

Her reaction told me how well I was doing.

I was past the preliminaries, tasting her juices flowing freely, and I pushed my tongue as deeply into her as I could, enjoying every second of this oral delight. I lapped at her delicate folds, firmly, tenderly; and right when I knew she would, she shuddered, hissing out her orgasm.

I stopped my efforts as I felt her hand on my head; pulling away, I moved up to lay half-prone beside her, keeping a respectful distance, watching her flush recede, hearing her breathing regulate itself.

At length, she turned half-focused eyes to me. I kissed her; she returned the kiss gently, laconically, without passion, as she always did after an orgasm.

"I love to taste me on your lips," she whispered.

I smiled, kissed her again.

We lay there for a few moments; she pushed me onto my back, and said, "Let's see what you have to offer down in these parts," as she placed her lips onto my glans.

She wasn't a deep-throat gal, a competent fellatrix but not a pro; she sucked me into hardness, using her tongue expertly, eliciting great, pleasurable groans from me.

After a couple of minutes of servicing me, she stretched out beside me again, and said, "Your turn."

I positioned myself between her opened legs, and slipped into her easily, her lubricants fully restored and ready for me. Her vaginal muscles, so strong, so well-trained, assisted my thrusts in coaxing my offering from me.

"Can't hold out," I muttered.

"Come inside me, baby," she said.

With that I erupted, filling her with me, wanting it to go on far longer than it would, savoring every second. We both moaned, low sounds against the insistent passing of the breeze through the hedge.

I supported myself for a moment, then reached down to kiss her once again. I slipped back to her side, spooning behind her, cupping her breast, both of us enjoying the warm glow of love, made; nuzzling her neck, I soon joined her in a light doze.

A scant half hour later we stirred. She was shivering a little; she slipped back into the warm water. I gazed at her and smiled; she returned the smile, then reached for her bathing suit, a lovely one-piece that accented her curves and retained some decorum.

She got out of the pool, reached down into a pile of her belongings, and looked at her watch.

"Four-thirty," she said simply.

I nodded, watched her gather her items.

"Frank will be home soon. I'll need to get a shower, so I'd best be trotting," she said.

I sat upright. She bent over to kiss me; as we kissed, I ran a hand over her left breast. She smiled at that; then, after a final peck, turned and slipped through the gate separating our homes.

I sat for another few moments, then gathered my trunks and the couple of towels we'd used, and went inside.