The Storm Ch. 02 of 03

Imagine that, in short, make-up sex is a simple, direct way to convert negative emotional tension to positive sexual energy. You work it out of your system in a hard, strenuous, mutually enjoyable way.

Now picture the scene.

Sonya apologizing with sex.

Seriously.

As she finished crying in her fiance's comforting embrace (he really did give a great hug - and she loved the way he smelled right now - clean and deoderized - the way he stroked her hair and reassured her while her guilt seeped into his shirt); she turned positively animalistic. Her body wrapped around his in a sensual, almost reptilian way - she snaked around him.

Her mouth ascended to his - desperate, hungry. Her hands tangled up in his shaggy hair; she noticed some dandruff - ew - whatever. Her cheeks were still moist with tears as her kisses danced around her fiance's mouth.

I'm sorry, she said.

His mouth met hers, again and again. He tasted minty. Their tongues danced and intertwined. His hands roamed over her body before settling on her ass. It was always his favorite spot. He was rock hard - she was very aware of it. She gyrated against him - almost dancing in position - as she encouraged him onward.

She wanted him to take her - to punish her - to forgive her.

The bathrobe loosened and slipped, exposing her to him.

There was a quiet urgency to her actions. A desperation. A hunger.

Steve took the hint.

He lifted her up and gently lowered them to the ground, facing each other. The familiar carpet accepted her weight once more without complaint.

She deftly undid his pants and together they managed to get them off without a problem - she immediately went to work on his white, circumcised member, drawn to it, attacking it with her hands and mouth. Teasing,touching, tantalizing. Stroking, sucking, swallowing.

Moaning.

I'm sorry, she said.

She could feel when he was approaching his peak when she stopped and pushed him onto his back, aggressively. Deftly undoing her own bathrobe, she tossed it aside and straddled his chest, lowering herself onto him. Slowly. He slipped into her an inch at a time, filling her up. The warm light kissed their bodies.

"Condom?" he whispered.

She shook her head as she relaxed downwards and took him in, fully. She was focused on her breathing. Steve wasn't the biggest guy around - but he had enough girth. Their pelvises made contact as she slid them together. He bucked slightly. A twitch of pleasure. She winced, focusing on the feeling of him inside of her. How hard he was. How big he was. How it felt to have him in her.

It hurt, a little bit.

It felt good, a little more.

This was her apology.

He groaned under her. Fuck she was tight.

Undoing and dismissing the elastic in her hair, letting her hair down and throwing it into the pile her robe made, she started.

There's something to be said about completely focusing on pleasuring your partner - especially one you've been together with for some time - one that you're familiar and completely comfortable with. When you're less concerned about your own orgasm and more focused on theirs - you can concentrate on the rhythm of the act - the technique itself.

Sex, despite what you might think or believe, is really one of the simplest physical actions in the world - which is part of the reason why it's enjoyment transcends nations, ages, borders, time and cultures.

The orgasm itself is almost inevitable, if you have any idea of what you're doing.

How good that orgasm is, on the other hand, is a completely different matter.

Sonya began by riding her fiance. She focused intensely on that brief distance separating when just his tip remained inside of her, and when he was fully out of her - and she played with that distance, toyed with it. Danced along it. He fell out a few times - it was inevitable - but she was ready and waiting to reposition him, to get him back up and get herself back down.

She maintained a steady pace, regular - hard; digging the heels of her feet into his legs and riding up and down his full length in a tantalizing fashion - squeezing him, rubbing him, caressing him.

Sometimes she just took him all in and grinded. Damn, it felt good. She tried to stay focused, though.

She looked at his face, his eyes. They alternated between making contact with hers, running along her body and rolling back in his head.

Good.

She placed his hands on her perfect breasts as her hips gyrated against his. His groans were constant now - their intensity increasing. His hands were still cold, but fuck it, it only enhanced the feeling as his hands played with her nipples. Every sensation was piercing. Every touch electrifying. Her breathing was ragged. She felt him beginning to tense and heard him starting to swear more profusely.

She slowed, stopping.

His moan as his approaching climax dwindled was wrenching, heart-breaking.

She wasn't finished yet.

Lowering herself over him, her hair created a damp, tangled shroud around them, she took a moment to hover over him - to press her body against his - to kiss him delicately on the lips and taste him. Tenderly. Lovingly. He placed his hands on her lower back and they simply stared at each other for a moment, taking it all in.

Enjoying each other.

Then the moment, as they all do, passed.

Extracting herself with a little pop, she swung her toned, delicious leg over her fiance and placed herself on her hands and knees, invitingly, in front of him - so that she was completely exposed and open to him. Arching her back, thrusting out her brown, well-toned ass, she turned her head slightly to make eye-contact with him out of the corner of her eye. She invited him to join her with a smokey, seductive look.

She swatted her ass, gently, with one hand to make sure there was no uncertainty.

The message, the position of her body, was clear and unmistakeable.

Fuck me.

Wasting no time, Steve scrambled to his knees and entered her again after a little bit of angling. She twitched a little and closed her eyes as he filled her up in one hard thrust. Grunting, his hands grasping her hips roughly, slamming against her - again and again. Slapping, pounding, jiggling - you name it, it all happened.

After a few practice thrusts, one of his hands tangled in her hair and pulled her head back a little roughly.

It hurt.

She deserved it.

It felt good. Like a well-deserved penance.

They continued like that for a time. The wordless panting, grunting, moaning continued as Steve continued to assault his fiance on the carpet of her new living room floor. The swells and waves of their orgasms coming and going, ebbing and flowing. The pure sensation of the act almost overwhelming at times. It was good. Better than it had been for a long time.

Maybe ever.

His hands were alternating between playing with her aching breasts and rubbing her inexpertly between her legs when she turned her head to him and told him what to do.

He stared at her for a moment - in an almost disbelieving way - before mindless arousal again took reign of his brain, burning hotter then ever. If that's what she wanted - that's what she wanted.

He was close. So was she.

Pulling out of her, a little regretfully he might add, he shifted his aim slightly upwards - towards her puckered rosebud - and pressed against it.

For her part - Sonya focused on relaxing and breathing. They had done this before - usually on special occasions - but usually with far more preparation and foreplay. Alcohol was usually a prerequisite.

He pressed into her and it was actually... pretty good, all things considered. He wasn't a savage about it - just aggressive.

He was just following orders, after all.

Yes, it did hurt a little at first. Yes, it did make her feel a little bit sore afterwards - but there's something about anal sex that's so dirty, so naughty - so fun, once you become comfortable with it. There's a submission factor. A dominance factor. A trust factor. She urged him onwards, swearing and gasping and whimpering - focused on trying to enjoy the hard penetration as best she could. She toyed with herself as she did, bombarding herself with sensation.

It only took a minute or two of rhythmic thrusting before he was finished; emptying himself inside of her. She could feel him pulsing inside of her, and it almost pushed her over the edge - not quite, though. She did that on her own, pleasuring herself at a furious pace as Steve, her fiance, finished coming deep inside her ass.

Her body was overtaken with waves of pleasure and she felt herself clenching and spasming as it passed, milking him for everything he had.

I'm sorry, she said.

It was the best she could do for now.

He shrank and slipped out of her. They were both breathing heavily. Winded.

Enjoying the aftershocks.

"Wow", he said, after a minute had passed and they had (mostly) caught their breath.

Understatement of the year.

Wow, indeed.