Meeting Cat

"Oh Cat," I breathed as I lowered my head to your neck and began to kiss there forcefully, "I just want you so fucking badly," was all I could say.

"I know sweetie, I feel it too," you told me, your own hands ranging over my body and under my jumper and shirt. You too were seeking the intimacy of contact on skin. "Don't wait darling," you urged, "I'm ready for you, you make Mummy so wet."

With a sweep of each hand I flicked the thin straps from your shoulders and the dress hissed to the concrete floor. Your nipples were erect, hard and pointed by the cold like ruby tips emerging from slightly shrunken and puckered areolae. It was bloody freezing, but somehow we were warmed by a combination of food, wine and, most of all, the raging lust that threatened to consume us. I felt like we might burn up as we touched each other, despite flakes of snow falling in our hair.

I dropped my belt and trousers to the floor and turned you around, placing my palm over the back of your wrists, pinning you to the black railings of the balcony. My hard cock slapped aimlessly against the pale orb of your arse cheek as we adapted to our new positions. I then reached down and grasped my cock and moved it towards your open, glistening pussy.

As it touched your lips, you growled at me over your shoulder, your eyes afire. "Fucking do it, Tom, put it in...Now!" I didn't hesitate and pushed my cock home, watching in joy as your cunt swallowed my cock easily. As I withdrew and then thrust forward again, I could see that my cock was already slathered in your pussy juices, knowing how wet I and this situation had made you sent a shaft of fierce joy through my heart.

I admired your beautiful arse as my cock pistoned in and out of your pussy and my hips slapped against your cheeks. Your delightful orbs were pale and almost luminous, dusted with tiny moles, especially the left cheek and upper thigh, each and every one of which I adored and which only made you more real, more wonderful, more mine.

The sounds of our coupling, the firm smack of flesh on flesh, our guttural outpourings, the metallic ting of your long earrings against the railing with each thrust all floated out from our balcony into the London night and down towards the London streets. Our balcony looked south and there before us lay the City, the River and its people and we lay before them in our raw, naked sexuality.

"Do you like this Cat?" I asked rhetorically, "like being fucked for the whole of London to hear if they so choose?" Your reply didn't constitute words, just sounds that couldn't be taken as anything other than approbation. I could see your knuckles turning white as your gripped the black metal railing. "I thought so, you're such a naughty Mummy, aren't you?" Again, no words, just sounds indicating assent as your back arched in a manner that showed off your arse in a most pleasing way. I drew my right hand back and brought it down, stingingly, against the side of your right bottom cheek. The flesh rippled slightly, delightfully, and the aftershocks seemed to loosen your tongue.

"Oh fuck, yesssss!" you hissed, looking back at me, your beautiful face alive with lust, your nose flared slightly, your eyes a little wild. "Fuck me nice and hard you naughty boy. We're so very bad, Tom, and I fucking love it!" You told me and I smashed into your wonderful pussy, your amazing cunt, as firmly as I could whilst still maintaining some semblance of control.

I didn't wish to abandon myself totally. Sometimes sex is like that, where you just lose yourself in it and in each other completely. Not this time, though. This was one of those experiences which you want to remember for ever, to be able to play back in your mind whenever you close your eyes. An experience you could still recount on your deathbed to prove that, while you hadn't lived your life right always, you'd certainly lived. I wanted to remember this as much as anything is ever done, the day we'd had, your wonderful body and mind -- I knew it had to stay with me always.

My hands on your hips, my name on your lips, I took you, Catherine, and felt you give yourself to me, opening your legs wider, pushing back as far as you could as you cried you orgasm out over the streets of London.

It's a joyous moment to have a woman cum when you are inside her, the tightness and pulsing of her muscles around you provided the ultimate marker of a man's primeval masculinity. I grasped your breast, feeling the bullet-hardness of your nipples contrasted with the luscious softness of your tit-flesh. Sensing my own orgasm coming a lean forward, resting my body on your back as I sought to position myself to cum.

"Cat!" Was all I could gasp, all I had left as I bit your shoulder and poured myself into you.

I held myself there on top of your back until I was spent and we listened to each other's ragged breaths.

"Fucking hell!" You broke the silence between us. "I'm freezing my tits off here, let's get inside." I pulled you back into the room and slammed the door behind you. We looked at each other, covered in sweat, snow and almost blue with cold and we burst out laughing and fell into each other's arms.

We sank down onto the bed and scrambled under the covers, hugging each other close, rubbing our hands and legs over each other to try to warm up. We lay there, clinched together, contact unbroken until I slipped into sleep.

* * * * *

One of the consequences of having young children, of course, is that one gets conditioned to waking up early. Mine tends to wake up between 5.30 and 6.30, so most mornings, even when I'm away from home, I wake around this time as a matter of habit. The morning after the night before was no exception. I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at the digital clock by the side of the bed. 5.47, it read and I sighed, wishing my body had given me a break. Then I heard your breathing next to me and I remembered where I was and what had happened. Did I feel bad about what we had done? Not as bad as I should have done were I the sort of person I, and others, tend to think I am. Truth be told, it was hard to feel guilty when I could admire your sleeping form. The time for guilt would come later -- in the words of St Augustine, God could make me pure, but not yet!

As so often seems to happen, we had started the night holding each other close but, without any conscious memory, had ended it sleeping close but not touching. I raised myself onto my elbow to look at you. In our rush to get into bed and warm up, I had neglected to close the curtains and therefore, though it was still mid-winter dark outside, the street lights offered enough illumination to admire you in your significant glory. The duvet had slipped down your back and now rested a little way north of your arse, the curve of your back. You lay on your front, with your arms up under your pillow, your breasts squashed against the mattress and your face turned sideways towards me. Your blonde hair was splayed over your shoulders and I reached over to play with a few loose tendrils, allowing them to run through my fingers. I watched as your shoulders rose and fell in time with your breathing and your nose flared ever so slightly with each breath.

I lay there, drinking you in, wondering at my good fortune as my fingers wandered gently across your delicate skin. Not wanting to wake you, I withdrew my hand and restrained myself. Instead, I content myself with a living, breathing version of the photos you had sent me, albeit with worse lighting!

Despite my restraint, you seemed to sense that my eyes were on you and, slowly, wonderfully, you began to stir as I was able to watch you wake, your features come to life in front of me.

Eventually those blue eyes opened and, rather blearily and sweetly, focused on me. You looked puzzled for a moment, then recognition flashed across your face and a sleek, satisfied smile emerged. You knew who I was and what we'd done.

"Good morning," you said, "been awake along?"

"Long enough," I replied.

"Long enough for what?" you asked quizzically.

"To know I'm the luckiest man in London," I said with a smirk and you stuck out your tongue.

"Flatterer! But flattery will get you everywhere." You said and rolled onto your side, revealing those superb breasts and stretching out your arms. I slipped my hands under your warm body and pulled you towards me. I kissed you on your cheekbone and we snuggled into each other, re-familiarising ourselves with our bodies. My cock hardened against your leg and you gave a contended sigh as you reached for it and pressed it into the smooth flesh of your inner thigh before trapping it there with you other leg.

"Isn't that thing tired after yesterday's exertions?" You teased and I grinned in response.

"You seem to have amazing restorative properties my dear -- you should market them and make a fortune." You stroked my cheek and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

"You do say the nicest things, Tom," you told me and then gave a slight grimace. "I only wish my own body was as quick to recover. I want you inside me again but I'm pretty sore after yesterday. You must promise to be gentle, can you do that for me?"

"For a chance to be with you again Cat?" I said solemnly, "anything," I smiled and rolled you softly onto your back. Your legs opened wide and I slipped between them. I knew you wouldn't be ready for me yet, so slowly, gently I began to kiss your face and upper body, while stroking the insides of your thighs. Knowing the morning sensitivity that you might be feeling, coupled with the soreness, I took care not to be too rough but equally not to be lazy in my attentions. 'Grazing' wasn't good enough, my kisses and strokes needed to have meaning and feeling behind them but not to be too urgent.

Slowly, surely, I felt your body respond to my ministrations. Your breathing grew more rapid and more ragged, you gave little moans of encouragement when I touched the right places in the right way and you moved rhythmically with me, as if we each had magnets inside us that drew us together and dictated our movements. I settled on your breasts, kissing, nibbling, paying attention with my lips, my nose, even my eyelashes, to each part of them, slowly making my way towards the top, the prize that was worth the winning. By the time I reached your nipple, it was erect and aching to be suckled. Your back was arched, pushing your breast and nipple towards me as it they were a sacrificial offering. I greedily accepted, closing my lips around the long nipple, tasting it, letting that unique flavour explode in my mouth before supping at it with my tongue and teeth. I teased it, gently scrapping my teeth over its wonderfully puckered texture. God, it was wonderful. You pushed my head down onto it, your nails digging into the back of my skull and then down my back and around to find me, to grasp me, to guide me to your entrance.

You were wet again, I could feel your juices lubricating the head of my cock, preparing it for entry. My eyes flicked up to meet yours as I continued to suckle at your breast and as my cock slowly made its way back inside you. A flash of pain crossed your face and then your eyes softened and your lips turned upwards in a happy smile, the most beautiful I'd seen of all the ones you'd given me. My cock slid home easily and at an adagio pace we began to make love.

I say that advisedly, maybe it wasn't 'making love' for you, but I think it was. What we had done yesterday was amazing and we had certainly given ourselves to each other utterly but we were perhaps too excited, too urgent, too new to each other to be making love. Now, though, with the experience of yesterday and of having slept in the same bed, this was different. Whatever else this was, whatever it had been and whatever it might become in the future, in that moment, in that bed it wasn't playing, not an incestuous fantasy, not even an affair, it was just two people making love - silent, wordless, beautiful love. We rocked together, totally in sync, completely absorbed in each other, feeling every tiny movement our senses heightened as wrapped in each other's arms, our bodies joined at every erogenous zone, for what could have been five minutes or five hours, I had no idea and nor did I care.

The orgasms when they came were not violent but gentle. They crept up on us almost unnoticed but no less welcome for their unexpectedness. With long, low sighs we came, kissing each other, not minding about the morning taste, and then just lay there in each other's arms, my stroking your hair, your fingers buried in my chest hair.

I was so tired, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was barely aware of you slipping out of bed. I heard the shower going as I drifted in and out of sleep. I rolled over and gave a contented sigh when you came out but then slid back to sleep. I felt a kiss on my head and lips at one point but it felt part of my dream.

When I opened my eyes finally, I looked over at the clock again - 8.45. I looked around the room but you were gone, like a will-o-the-wisp that vanishes with the morning mist. All that remained was your scent and, on the pillow beside me, two pairs of knickers. The black ones you had worn yesterday, which I immediately pressed happily to my nose, and a pair of pink cotton briefs. It took my confused brain a moment to work out the significance of the second pair but then it hit me and I smiled a happy, wicked smile. They meant that you were going home without any knickers on, what a marvellous hussy you were, I thought, as I imagined you on the train, those gorgeous legs being admired, the men not knowing that your well-fucked pussy was breathing in the air. I laughed. What a woman!

* * * * *

Christmas Day, four days later. A lovely family day, of course, but my mind kept returning to you. In a lazy moment, my wife asleep on the sofa our baby playing happily with her toys, our dog asleep by the fire, I checked the private browser on my iPhone and there it was 'New email' from Catherine Moore.

"Fancy a rematch?" Was what it read. I smiled at my best Christmas present and started to type my reply.