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Subject: RP: Pushing the Envelope, Chap 2 [mf]
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[Chapter 1 is in the assm archives and the rae archives. JS]

			  PUSHING THE ENVELOPE

			   Jordan Shelbourne

Copyright 1995 Jordan Shelbourne; please do not archive without
explicit permission -- send requests and comments to jordan@u36.com

		      CHAPTER TWO: Lost and Found

(Kim)

The night before we met for coffee, I dreamed about Gil.  I woke up with
my heart clattering against my ribs.   The dream was vivid but it faded
quickly.  I tried to hold onto it, but all I had was impressions: cold
porcelain and slick metal, breathing ragged as torn silk, the taste of
Kahlua, the sweet smell of sweat and exertion.  I couldn't hold onto it,
and lay there in bed, looking at the ceiling and listening to Paul's
soft snoring.

It was nearly six anyway so I got up, and when I swung my legs over the
edge of the bed, I discovered I was _very_ wet.

Paul still hadn't moved--when he sleeps, nothing short of Gabriel's
trumpet can wake him--and for a moment I thought about waking him up for
a quickie, to take the edge off.  And, I admit, as a bit of an apology
for last night's argument.  But he gets so grumpy when he doesn't make
the first move that it's usually not worth it.  I took a shower instead
and got dressed, making a little more noise than necessary.  It didn't
wake Paul.  I chose my yellow off-the-shoulder sundress which shows off
my cleavage and hides that distressing bulge around my middle.

I wasn't dressing to attract, you understand.  It was just that Gil had
looked so fit and trim that I suddenly felt old and dumpy.  That's
unreasonable, I know--I'm thirty-eight, I've had three children, and I
just can't expect to look the same as I did when I was eighteen.  I
shouldn't _have_ to; Paul doesn't look the same as when we met.  Like
Inez says, men have it easy.

To prove I wasn't dressing to attract, I didn't open fresh pantyhose; I
used an old pair with a hole on the inside of the right leg, just below
the crotch.

The boys were already arguing when I got downstairs, so I got them
quiet, fed, and off to the schoolbus on time.  Then I left to meet Gil.
Okay, I was fifteen minutes early.

His hotel was a six-story fake-adobe affair sprawled over a block on the
edge of town, and the coffee shop was mostly stucco and ferns, very
airy.  It didn't matter that I had an air conditioner blowing on my
neck, my palms were so sweaty I had to wipe them with Kleenex.  And he
showed up ten minutes early.  I waved him over.

"You're early," he said as he sat down.

"I'm always early.  It drives Paul crazy."  I  took off my hat and ran a
hand through my hair to fluff it.  I get hat-head something crazy.
"You're early too."

"I was already up.  I swim laps every morning."

I had to smile.  "Uh-huh," I told him.  "So neither of us was anxious
about this meeting?"

He grinned that grin, and suddenly I wasn't thirty-eight any more.  "Of
course not.  After all, it's been twenty years, what's another ten
minutes more or less?"

"You're right.  You're absolutely right."  We both grinned at each other
like idiots, and might have for hours except that the waitress came to
take our orders.

The waitress was seventeen and pert, with a perfect complexion and a
carelessly svelte figure; Gil, bless him, didn't look twice at her.  He
ordered the continental breakfast and I had already eaten with the boys.
She asked if we wanted coffee, and Gil and I looked at each other and
for no reason at all I was thinking about coffee breath.  I hadn't even
planned on kissing him.  He laughed and nodded, and I said, "Hell, yes.
Coffee.  Bring a whole pot, if you want."  She left and I shrugged and
asked, "So what's new?"

"You mean besides parting ways with Meyer and Betty and getting married
and divorced and selling envelopes to your husband?  Not much."

"The longer the time, the less there is to say about it." I sighed.
"Well.  No divorce, and we have three kids.  Currently fifteen,
thirteen, and nine, and obsessed with, um, girls, rollerblades, and
dinosaurs."

"Nice."

"Oh, don't take that tone with me.  Kids _can_ be nice, but they can
also be a royal pain in the butt." I paused.  "In the ass.  A _fucking_
pain in the _ass_."

"A fucking pain in the fucking ass," he laughed.  "Get it right." Our
coffee arrived with his breakfast.  When the waitress had left again, he
said, "I love imagining Mom sneaking out to swear."

"I don't get to swear at home.  Besides the kids, Paul doesn't like it.
It's not ladylike," I said.  "And it's not like I know more words than
they do.  I caught Trevor, our oldest boy, saying `felching' last month.
`Felching' is not in Webster's."

"I know what it is, but you don't want to hear before breakfast."

I set my elbows on the table and rested my chin on interlaced fingers.
"You can't shock me, fella.  I've been to Tupperware parties."

He sipped his coffee, primly dabbed at his lips with his napkin and then
said delicately, "To felch.  Verb, transitive.  To suck ejaculate from
someone's anus."

"Eccch," I said and shook my head.  "And I thought `fuck' was daring."

"Told you you didn't want to know."

"I don't think I'll use that one at the next Tupperware party.  But
`fuck,' `damn,' and `shit' are still delightfully wicked."

"I wondered what went on at Tupperware parties.  I always suspected they
were a seething sea of passions and perversions."

"Oh, please," I told him.  "Inez--my friend Inez--once threw a
Fuckerware party--"

"A what?"

"Fuckerware.  That's what Inez called it.  Basically it was a bunch of
women from the neighbourhood being terribly daring and modeling lingerie
for each other.  The sales representative also showed us different toys
and lotions."

"Interesting.  Did everyone enjoy themselves?"

"There was a lot of nervous giggling and double entendres.  But mostly
the party was dull.  And it made _sex_ dull.  Inez was so pissed off." I
had to smile.  She'd been hoping for some hot experience and she
got...suburbia.  She wanted cajun chicken and she got KFC.  "And Cloris
Mayhew, who's really kind of creepy, keeps calling Inez up to see when
the next party is.  _Cloris_ thought it was great, but next time, she
thinks, we ought to have games." Gil looked blankly at me.  "Tupperware
games.  Like for instance, whoever can make the most words out of the
letters in `Tupperware' gets a prize." I shook my head.  "We didn't have
games."

"I can't imagine Tupperware games helping.  What would you do -- see who
can name the most positions?"

"We know there are at least sixty-nine."

"Ninety-six--that would be lovers arguing."

I winced.  "Too close to home."

He said, "You could ask them how many words they can make out of the
letters in `felch.'" He smiled and tilted his head and suddenly I had
this flash of memory, a whole scene:

Betty's sweaty flesh stuck to the length of me, her tongue buried in me,
my breasts squeezed heavy against my sides and my face wet from her, the
taste of her something like watermelon and fresh-mown grass tight
against the back of my throat.  Gil was over my head, his nearly
hairless balls starting to relax and sag after his orgasm.  I could see
his cock softening and there was a ring of color around the base as it
withdrew from Betty's asshole, I could hear the sticky pulling sound as
it shrank away from her, I could smell the heady smell.  As he pulled
away, I tilted my head back to see his face tall above me.  He smiled
down at me, tilting his head just so.  A bulge of his come oozed out of
Betty's asshole and I licked the length of her pussy, finally catching
his come on my tongue.

"Oh, god," I said.  "I've _done_ it.  I've felched."

He nodded.  "I remember."

"I haven't thought of that for years." I made a face and then swallowed,
not sure if I liked the memories I had just evoked.  "--You remembered?"

He shrugged: _no big deal_.  And that was when I knew I could sleep with
Gil if I wanted to.  "You were...eager and apt," he said.  "You were
ready and willing to do anything."

"Jesus.  I was, wasn't I?" I giggled.  "And last month I turned down a
chance to chaperone the boys on a school trip, because Reg Lewis keeps
hitting on me and I was afraid it would look bad." I shook my head
again.  "What ever happened to that young woman?"

He shrugged.  "She got married, had kids.  She grew up.  Every choice
remade her until she was something she couldn't have imagined."

I snorted.  "She certainly didn't imagine _this._" I gestured at myself.

"You don't have to tell me.  I sell envelopes for a living."

"Poor Kim," I told him.  "She lied about who she was.  She pretended to
be someone else, and while she was pretending, she grew old."

"You're not old."

"Thanks." I shrugged, suddenly depressed.  "I feel like one of Robert's
fossils.  All the living stuff has been replaced with rock, leaving
something that _looks_ like Kim but isn't really." I ran my fingertip
around the smooth rim of my coffee mug, smearing the lipstick that had
come off.  I looked at the red stain on my finger.  "And why?  So Paul
could marry a virgin."

"It didn't matter to you, it did to him.  That's what you said."

"I know what I said," I told him as I scrubbed my fingertip clean with a
tissue.  "Except...except I think it does matter." I inspected my
finger.  It was fine.  Unblemished.  Born-again virginal.  I looked past
it, up at Gil.  Awareness of him, of how _male_ he was, hit me like
leaving a cool building for the summer sun.  "I don't know what to
think, Gil.  What do you think?"

"Kim," he said carefully, "I want to fuck you."

My blood was roaring in my ears, I wasn't sure I had heard him
correctly.  "You said--"

He nodded.  "I know what I said.  That doesn't change what I want.  I
may not be able to have it.  I can live with that.  It may be a mistake.
I can live with that, too." He gave me a sudden smile.  "It's not the
most romantic proposition I've ever made, but it's the truest."

It's funny how much stuff can go through your mind at a moment like
that.  I suppose I ought to have been indignant or flattered or just one
emotion, but instead I was all of those and more: aware of the posturing
so I would always be the _correct_ person Paul married, aware of the
marriage-bed juggling (_too_tired_tonight_but_he_did_last_week_
when_I_wanted_and_next_week's_my_period_), proud Gil asked me, worried
it was wrong, scared I'd forgotten how to _be_ anyone else, to be _with_
anyone else, and most of all I was desperately overwhelmingly horny!
And I knew I'd said yes, even though I hadn't opened my mouth.

Gil threw money onto the table and held his hand out for me to take.
His hand was warm and his grip strong: he kept firm pressure on my arm
as I stood up.  I was glad, because my knees were shaking.

Gil grabbed my hat and contrived to brush my breasts with the brim as he
swept it to my head; it was so sudden, so unexpected, my nipples
suddenly pressed against my bra.  "Gil?" I said in a low voice.

He stopped.  "Yes?"

"I'm going to wear you out."

"I hope so," he said, and we started to the door.

We didn't speak.  Once we were in the elevator, alone for a moment, he
ran his fingers from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine, and I
shivered.  I stepped in front of him and pressed myself against his
body, making small circles with my hips, feeling the contours of his
trapped cock slide across one cheek, between them, across the other and
back again.  The elevator stopped on the floor before his and a maid got
on; I stopped moving and we stood there, his cock straining against the
base of my spine.  It felt huge and delightful.  I'm sure I was grinning
like a mad thing.

As soon as the elevator stopped, I walked into the corridor without
looking back.  As I heard the elevator hum off to its next destination,
I felt the feather touch of a breeze as Gil came up behind me and then a
wash of cool air as he unzipped my dress, laying my back bare to the
world.  I felt tremendously naked as I spun to face him.  "You'd better
tell me where your room is."

He already had his key out.  "Right here." While he put the key in the
lock, I paid him back by reaching down and unzipping his pants, pulling
the fabric away from the lump of his cock.  I giggled, it was such a
silly giddy thing to do.  I could see the white of his shorts, a
sideways eye in his cream slacks.

He started to speak as he opened the door but I swept in after him,
plastering myself against the length of his body, searching for his
mouth, kissing his jaw, cheek, chin.  No aftershave, just clean man and
a faint reminder of soap.  He fumbled for a moment (removing the key,
shutting the door) and then his attention was fully on me, like I was
something new and different, like I was special and wanted and
surprising.

Strong hands sliding up the backs of my legs, cupping my ass, smoothing
the muscles of my back, clutching my hair.  He pulled away from a
moment, just to look, and I liked it.  He slid his hands down me again,
the front this time: collarbones and breasts and nipples and stomach and
hips.  His hands had a touch of roughness to them--old callouses, maybe.

"Pantyhose," he said, and made a face.

"I didn't know," I told him.  "Next time." I kicked off my shoes and
knelt.  I wanted to memorize his cock, I wanted to possess it.  I wanted
him in my hands, my mouth, my pussy, my ass.  I undid his belt and let
him step out of his trousers.  His cock was sturdy in his pale jockeys,
strapped to his belly by the elastic.  I pulled his shorts down to free
it; his cock toppled until it was pointing just above horizontal, the
head an inch from my mouth.  His wonderful masculine odor filled my
nostrils and I kissed the head once lightly, just as a prelude.  His
cock twitched once and bobbed.  The only hint of his foreskin was a
slight fleshiness along the shaft.

A stranger's cock.  I took it in my mouth, sliding my lips over the
soft-hard head, letting my teeth rest just behind the ridge of it.  He
was mine now.  I had him locked in my mouth.  I ran my tongue over and
around the smooth skin, tasting it, relishing it like the first plum of
summer, reluctant to finish it off.  It was hot and smooth.  I drew my
head back, dragging my teeth along it, steadied the hot hard shaft in my
hand and leaned forward, surrounding his cock with my mouth, my tongue,
my throat.  Then again, deeper.

There was a sudden roiling in my stomach: too far.  I hadn't done this
for too many years.  I pulled my head back and looked at his cock, still
connected to me by a line of saliva.  I squeezed the shaft and pulled,
watching the foreskin suddenly appear.  He was so hard and tight I could
only just roll skin up to the base of the head.  I jacked him again,
fascinated by it, and again.

"Kim," Gil said in a low voice.  I looked up.  His face was drawn.  "Do
you want me to come on your face?"

"Not yet," I told him.  He'd peeled off his shirt while I was sucking
his cock.  Nice chest.  His nipples were puckered brown pebbles.

"Then you should stop.  Just for a moment."

I felt cheated and excited.  I hadn't done anything, really, and he was
threatening to come.  None of the cues were the same as with Paul--it
was all new, all exciting.  I could do anything with Gil.

He pulled gently on my arm and as I stood up, he slipped me free of one
shoulder of the dress and one bra strap.  Peeling the cup from my
breast, he stroked my breast then pinched the nipple roughly.  With his
other hand, he hoisted my skirt around my waist and began to fondle my
ass, finding the run on the inside of the pantyhose leg.  One clever
finger slipped through the leg of my panties and traced a wet path from
cunt to asshole.  I couldn't remember the last time my nipples had been
so hard, and I was so conscious of my cunt, the heavy electric feeling
of it...

I felt delicious.  I wanted to _see_ myself as a sexual animal, I wanted
to see my breasts sway as this man fucked me from behind, see the lust
on our faces.  I started moving towards the bathroom, he followed me,
leaving his pants behind.

The bathroom was cool and white in counterpoint to us.  My hair was
mussed, my breasts were bare and bulging from the twisted cups of my
bra, and I had a naked man behind me.  I leaned my elbows on the cool
countertop, my nipples brushing my forearms.  He rested his hands on my
hips and our gazes met in the mirror.  I gave him my sexiest smile--he
smiled back and hoisted my skirt to my waist.  I heard a low growling
but I didn't know which of us it was.  I tossed my head and twitched my
hips.  I hadn't wanted anybody this much in _years_.

I loved the lack of words.  I loved the obvious arousal on his face, in
his movements, in the heavy wagging of his big cock.

His cock felt like hot iron against my ass cheeks.  He moved expertly
with a minimum of fumbling and then the head of his cock was waiting at
the entrance to my cunt.  I inched backward just a bit, to feel it
inside me, but his hands held me where I was.  His cock rested there
like a promise.

I wanted him inside me.  I wanted to fuck.  I wanted to come.  My hips
twitched again without my willing it.  I shivered though the room was
not cold.  Wherever he touched me was like fire: hands burning on hips,
cock burning on cunt.

"Fuck me," I whispered.

"You're beautiful," he said and thrust forward.  Like fire taking paper,
like water quenching a thirst, he entered me.  It took two more thrusts
before his hips slapped against my ass and I was full.  Full of cock,
full of excitement, full of life.

And even as I thought that, I also thought, God, you can tell I was an
English major, can't you?

And then there were no more words to describe.  There was just the
old-new simple-complex business of fucking and feeling good.  I don't
know how many times I came; I just wasn't aware.  Not earth-shaking
orgasms, just tiny ones that rippled through me.  I watched us in the
mirror, un-self-conscious and lusty and noisy and sweaty.

I slammed my ass back against his hips and moved it in small circles,
feeling him deep inside me.  He leaned over me and gruffly handled my
breasts and pinched and stroked my swollen nipples.  It hurt
delightfully.

I stood up straight; he was just enough taller that he had to bend his
legs, and his cock popped out.  He knelt, spun me around and peeled off
my hose and panties, then gave me a quick kiss on my clit.  I leaned
back, certain he was going to eat me now but instead he stood up, lifted
me and set me on his cock.  I slid down and felt sparks as we ground
together.

I wrapped my legs around his waist.  In the mirror, my skirt had fallen
down again, but I got the occasional glimpse of bare thigh, hip, and a
shadowy view of cock in cunt.

That couldn't be prim Kim Murdock, with that strange man's cock in her.
I laughed again and wrapped my arms tight around Gil's neck, striving
for orgasm, pumping until I caught fire again, shuddering and weak.  Gil
felt it, and set me on the counter.  He stood still for a moment.

"Come in me," I told him after I don't know how long and he began to
move again, slowly and picking up speed, just a third of his cock
sliding in and out of me, until finally all his muscles clenched and his
back arched, stiffened, and I felt his cock throb in my cunt.  He thrust
a couple of more times and then shivered.

I scoonched backward and pulled myself off his semihard cock.  A big gob
of come began to leak from me.  He reached down and caught it on his
hand.  I grabbed his hand and we touched palms, spreading his sticky
warm come all over our hands.  I held my hand to his mouth and he licked
my palm, then sucked each finger clean.  I did the same for him.

We looked at each other for a moment.  Then I saw myself in the mirror
and giggled.  "What a slut." I peeled off the rest of my clothes and
hugged him.

"What a joy."

There was one awkward topic to mention.  I stepped back and said, "I
suppose I ought to tell you that I'm, uh, receptive.  Since we didn't
use, uh--"

He picked me up and carried me over to the bed without putting me down.
"I suppose I ought to tell you," he said gravely, "I've had a
vasectomy."

I laughed because nothing could go wrong today--and then shrieked as he
dropped me onto the bed.

I giggled.  My stomach muscles and my thighs were quivering jelly.  Gil
lay down beside me and began to rub my legs.  I lay there, enjoying his
touch.

"I haven't done that for a long time," I told him.  "Just fucked.  Total
animals."

"How do you feel?"

"Great.  Oh, you mean about cheating?" I thought about it.  "Not
terrible, surprisingly.  Inez has been after me for years to have an
affair.  Says it would do me a world of good." I stretched and tousled
his hair.  "I guess she was right."

After a while Gil finished rubbing my legs and tummy and stretched out
beside me.  I kissed him, teasing him with my tongue.  "You know what I
liked?" I asked him.

"What?"

"It was unrehearsed."

"Good, I always get stage fright."

"Not that, silly.  Paul--does it bother you to talk about Paul?"

Gil shrugged.  "You're a married woman.  It bugs me a little but that's
because I want you all to myself."

I nodded.  I wouldn't want to talk about another woman he was fucking.
"Anyway, Paul was a virgin, and I was _supposed_ to be a virgin, but it
wasn't like he hadn't _read_ anything.  So he was very careful to be a
full and tender lover, you know--tried to make sure I came once or twice
or three times--except he's _always_ like that.  Even when I want to
_fuck_.  And then it becomes kind of...mechanical.  Like, when we have
sex, there's some kissing, and then some caressing, and then some
general body licking and touching and then he goes down on me and then
we fuck."

"You don't--?" He lifted his eyebrows.  "I didn't notice your technique
was rusty."

"It is kind of unfair of me, isn't it?  No, we fell out of the habit.  I
guess for the first year he just put me off because he wanted to fuck
instead of coming in my mouth.  And Paul's got a bit of control freak in
him.  Going down on someone involves controlling them, and Paul's not
really one to give up that control."

He nodded and reached out to touch my cheek.  "It's tough to give up
control."

"You'd come in my mouth."

He chuckled.  "I'd come anywhere you wanted.  I'd felch you if you
asked."

"Mmmm.  Next time I want you to fuck me in the ass.  I haven't been
fucked in the ass for a long time."

"Sure."

"With a dildo," I said.  "I used to like that stuffed feeling, a
butt-plug in my ass and a cock in my cunt."

"I don't actually have one with me.  I could buy one, though."

I made a pillow of my arms, remembering things I used to do.  "I could
tie you up, that would be a control thing."

He lazily stroked one breast.  My nipple hardened.  "I can see I'm going
to have to make a list," he said.

"No," I said, "I'll make it." I went to the writing table where a box of
Gil's business cards sat.  I picked one up and looked at it, then took
his pen and scribbled on the back of it: _Fuck_my_ ass_.  I set it aside
and picked up another one and wrote, _Butt-plug_ and set that one aside.
_On an overnight train_ was next, then _Let_me_tie_you_up_, then
_You_and_me_and_a_ girlfriend_.  Ideas and situations tumbled into my
mind and I sat down and started writing.  On a couple of them, the
business card wasn't big enough, so I wrote the description on a piece
of letter paper, frantic to get it all down.

Maybe Gil spoke to me, maybe he didn't--I wasn't listening to anything
but my torrent of fantasies.  Eventually I stopped.  There was a stack
of cards and papers, maybe forty of them.

Gil touched the top one with his forefinger.  "You want to do all of
these?" I nodded.  "I'm only in town for a month." He picked up the
stack and started to read them--I covered them with my hand.

"Not in front of me.  Please."

"If we're going to do these--" I squirmed while he read through them.
Finally he set them down.  "I can see I should finally take that back
vacation." He sat on the edge of the desk.  I noticed his cockhead was
completely shrouded in foreskin.  None of my fantasies had turned him
on.

"Kim, we're having an affair.  I haven't had an affair in years but I
remember the rules."

"Rules?"

Gil nodded.  "I am not to assume you are going to leave your husband for
me.  We leave the rest of our lives outside that door.  Our time
together is precious, and stolen.  We don't squander it.  I don't take
sides in arguments you have with your husband.  You don't invite me to
family functions so we can have a quickie while your husband is around.
And last and hardest, when it's over, it's over."

I nodded.  "Doesn't seem very romantic."

"It's not." He shrugged.  "In some ways, I'm not a very romantic guy.
Sorry."

I pointed at the pile of cards.  "Did you want to do any of those?"

"I want to do all of them, Kim, plus a couple you didn't write down.
But we only have a month.  Pick your top dozen.  Or we'll each pick six.
We can do three a week.  Can you arrange to meet me three times a week?"

I hadn't thought of an affair as something to be _planned_.  "I guess."
He looked stern.  "Yes," I said.  "How can you be so calculating about
this?"

"Two reasons." He held up a finger.  "First: it was a poorly handled
affair that finally broke up my marriage." Another finger.  "Second: I'm
crazy about you, Kim.  I mean crazy in the teen-age sense--I'd sit on
the curb across from your house for six hours just to see you taking out
the garbage.  You need those rules to keep me from trying to take up all
of your time.  I need those rules for the same reason."

"That's kind of scary," I said.

He nodded.  "And it's the most alive I've felt in years."

"Me too," I said.  His cock was starting to lengthen again, the head now
a third uncovered like a cautious turtle.  I touched the velvety skin
with my forefinger.

He groaned.  "A month," he said.  "We have a month of this kind of
living."

"So make love to me now," I told him.

He pulled the other chair next to me and kissed me tenderly and deeply.
I closed my eyes.  Nothing touched except our lips and tongues, but I
could feel the heat of his body.  I knew his hand was on the back of my
chair, beside my shoulder.  I pushed my tongue into his mouth, still
surprised by how he tasted.

After a while, he pulled away and I felt his kiss on my right nipple.  I
sagged back in the chair and let him touch me.  He stayed there for a
long time, caressing and teasing it, gradually working away from the
nipple so he was also kissing and touching the rest of my breast.  It
tingled.  He kissed his way to the other breast, this time working his
way in to the nipple.  The wet neglected right nipple was cool and hard.
I reached up and played with it, something I'd never done with Paul.

He touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes.  His cock was fully hard
now, and level with my eyes.  I stroked it with one hand, and then
opened my mouth for it.  He slowly moved the head in and out of my
mouth, letting me fondle it with my tongue.  Finally he said, "Let me
share," and led me over to the bed.  We lay on our sides, his cock by my
mouth, his face between my legs.

I felt a sudden surge of electricity when he licked my asshole, and I
had to stop licking his balls when he slid a finger into my cunt.  His
tongue moved rapidly over my clit, strummed it almost, and he slid in
another finger and then another.  I felt so _full_.  I lay there, one
leg cocked so he could get at me, feeling a delightful orgasm build
while he moved his fingers in and out.  Then his thumb rested on my
asshole and pressed and I came suddenly, flopping onto my back.

Gil held me until it subsided and then he clambered around and kissed me
again.  I could taste myself, the heavy flavor I have when I'm fertile,
and I kissed his face clean.

Somehow during that he slipped his cock into me and I gasped as he
filled me.  We fucked gently: long slow strokes, his body on mine, our
mouths glued together.  I was full of his cock and his pelvis was a soft
pressure on my clit.

Eventually I couldn't wait any more and I told him so.  "Harder." He
picked up the pace.  His hips slapped against mine and every thrust
squeezed me so I grunted--"Uh.  Uh.  Uh!  Uh!  Uh uh uh UH!"--as I came,
a wonderful floaty orgasm that suspended me in warm time.

While I was still floating, Gil whispered, "Now," and his body clenched
so he pulled on my shoulders while pushing himself into me, like I was a
bowstring and he was the bow.  His cock twitched several times and he
sighed, almost hissing, as he relaxed.

His cock was still hard, so he continued to slide in and out of me for a
few minutes until it softened.  I held him tightly and we kissed some
more.

We lay there together for a while and then I looked at the clock--our
breakfast meeting had lasted three and a half hours!

"I have to get dressed," I told Gil.

"I know," he said, but he didn't stop kissing me.  I giggled and pushed
him away.  There was no awkwardness about parting, just the desire to
meet again.  I left him naked at the door.

I felt so good, so sexual, I didn't mind the hassles that went with
having sex with Paul.  If he wanted sex tonight, I was willing.

After all, it would keep me ready for next Monday.

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