Message-ID: <6788eli$9803101714@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Bookman Archives <readebks@wolfenet.COM> Subject: RP: End of the Day MF, rom Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: readebks@wolfenet.COM Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35031DD8.6ACC@wolfenet.com> (Note: I am not the author, only the archivist. The author's name has come detached from this story. If you are the author, please contact me. I like to see writers get credit for their work. This story deals with themes of explicit sex. If you're too young to be here, you're too young to read it. Scram.) End of the Day God, what a day. I shove the door shut behind me. For a moment I stand there in a fog, then I remove my glasses, placing them on the shelf inside the door. My purse starts to slide off my shoulder as I lean back against the door, eyes shut. My arms hang straight down, purse in one hand, two programmer's reference books in the other. Gravity pulls my hands open, dropping the bag and books on the floor. Sigh. Somehow I sense that someone's looking at me. No. A friend is looking at me. No, not even that. Dave is looking at me. My eyes open to see him smiling at me over a book from my favorite chair - large, sturdy enough to plop on and comfy enough to make plopping worth it. "You ok?" "Grrr. Tired." Can't frown at him. I start a smile. "I'm glad you're here. " He smiles. Because I'm glad he's here. "How are things with you?" I ask. Because I want to know. "Hmmm." Now I'm grinning. He always does that - like it requires thought, doing a quick checksum of the day before replying. "All right." "Good." I drop down my purse, take off the coat, throw it on the couch. I stand on one foot and then the other to take off my heels. Nice. Back on solid ground. They're nice shoes, though, so I set them carefully on the floor before stretching. The tension's leaving, taking some of the tiredness with it. I wander across the room to him and lean over, bracing myself on the arms of the chair looking directly in his eyes. I don't want to throw my back out. He looks up from his book again. "Yes?" "I miss you when I'm gone." His smile is deeper now. He puts the book down. "I miss you, too." He leans forward and gives me a quick kiss. "I started dinner. Want some now? I just need to finish up a few things." I start kissing him on the temples, by his eyes, on his cheek. Nah." "Mmm," he says. My back won't go out in one second. I let go of the chair and pull up my skirt to mid-thigh so that I can kneel on top of him, my legs on either side. "Yes?" he asks, a bemused smile on his face. "Do you mind?" Wide smile now. His hand moves to my cheek. "No." "Okay." I kiss him, quickly, then pull back and giggle. He's giggling, too. I lean forward again and we begin kissing. No rush. How many different ways could we enjoy a kiss? Our hands start exploring, lightly, then strengthening into a tight hug. It's so nice to feel comfortable like this. His hands on my back slip under my sweater, rubbing my back, moving up. His hands move around to the front, feeling my breasts through my bra. I unbutton his shirt, stroking and kissing his chest. Peeking up, I see his eyes are closed and I feel that he's breathing faster. My hand is stroking one nipple, my mouth is playing with the other. His hands move to cup my rear, stroking. I move to the other nipple, pressing my full breasts against him. "Oh..." He cups my face in his hands, stroking my cheek, my hair. "Hey," he says, gently pushing me back, "my turn." He lifts up my sweater and throws it on the floor. I arch my back and smile at him, feeling free. One hand lifts to stroke the side of a breast, the other my side, moving down my leg. He licks and kisses my nipple through the thin bra. His hand cups my other breast, flicking the tight nipple with his thumb. I lean into him, wanting him. The bra cup turns transparent with wetness, clinging to me. He blows on it, making me gasp. His other hand slips under my skirt, moving up my leg toward my hips. I hold onto his shoulders, vaguely stroking. He reaches the stocking top. The sudden intake of breath shows his surprise. "You like?" I ask lazily. I know he does. He kisses me between my breasts in response, playing with the lace strap of the garter holding up the stocking. He begins to kiss the dry breast. One hand on each of my legs, caressing my thighs. I'm too busy feeling to do much, but I won't let go of him either, my hands stroking his back and shoulders. His hands move higher. His fingers on my bare vulva. "Oh." Oh god. I can't breathe. I can't control this. He's tense, too. His hand moves further, touching my wetness, slipping some fingers inside. "That makes me crazy...." He pulls my head to his and kisses me. His thumb stroking me outside, his fingers moving inside me. I rest my head against his shoulder. I'm panting. Nearly.... His hand moves to my hips as he moves hips forward against me. His hands on my buttocks hold me firmly against his erection through his jeans. "I want you." I move myself against him. His jeans feel rough on the insides of my thighs and vulva. "Yes," is all I can say, all that's needed. Want to feel more of him. I take off my bra, pressing my breasts against the hairyness of his chest. We kiss, holding each other, trying to become one. Finally we stop to breathe. I unzip his jeans, pulling them and his shorts out of the way. "Speak now if you want to move," he says. I smile and move over his lap, brushing his chest with my breasts, his penis with my vulva. His eyes are closed with concentration. He pulls me down slowly, filling me. I'm barely breathing. His hand moves to my clitoris, stroking back and forth. I start to move, continuing the rhythm we had earlier, feeling it build. He arches back, pushing further into me. I start to delibrately clench and unclench my vagina, gripping him tighter, then relaxing. He moves under me, up and down. In and out. So full. So hot. I start to pulse, losing control. "Oh..oh." "Yes," he says, pulling me tighter. I hear his breath in my ear, feel him moving under me. "Orgasm" is such a pale word for what we experience. But "come" is worse. Afterward he moves over a little, so I sit beside him. I don't want to move. I don't want him to move. Unless, of course, it's to start over.... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |