Morning

Once again, our circumstances limited us to a daytime tryst in that special, sentimental hotel of ours.  I spent the night in happy anticipation, and woke to find an E-mail from Nimue.  “Leaving here, heading your way.  Should be there in about an hour or so.  Can’t wait.  Love you.”

I busily tidied the room in which I had lived the past three nights, packing clothes I didn’t need and putting out the toys I thought we might use.  Then I walked downstairs to take advantage of the hotel’s free breakfast.  Flipping through the newspaper as I ate my bowl of cereal, I found it increasingly difficult to focus on any of the articles.  Finishing, I placed my dishes in the sink for the housekeeping staff and wandered outside into the bright, warm sunshine.

Knowing the direction she would be coming from, I paced up and down the sidewalk, half-watching the other guests filter out of the hotel, luggage and children trailing behind.  One man, oblivious to my presence, carefully cleaned the windows of his car.  I scrutinized the traffic flowing past on the highway as carefully as he obliterated the specks and insects that obstructed his view.

Then I saw a familiar-looking vehicle.  Same make, model and color as Nimue’s.  Excitedly I walked toward it . . . only to see it turn the other way before I got there, disappearing into a shopping center.

What was that about?  Did she forget something?  She doesn’t need anything for what we planned to do, of course; she just had to bring herself.  Was she observed by someone she knew?  Though we were some distance from where she lived, that wasn’t impossible.  Was there some other problem I didn’t even want to know about?

All I could do was wait.

Fortunately, in a few minutes another car matching that description rounded the corner and headed for me.  I scrutinized the license plate.  Yes!  This one was Nimue’s.  That other car had to be someone else’s.

Nimue stopped as soon as she saw me.  I opened the passenger’s side door and climbed in.  “You shouldn’t pick up strange men,” I told her, but the second half of my attempt at humor was smothered by her hungry lips.  We kissed hard and long, cars swerving around to avoid us.  Finally, we moved on to the parking lot to continue our greetings until, with a smile that matched my emotions, she said “Take me up to the room.”

We cooled it as we walked past the still-crowded breakfast room, but when we reached the elevator and heard that familiar “ding” everything was right again.  Especially after the doors closed.

Vision

The hotel looks the same.  Same profile, same colors, same whoosh as I wheel my suitcase between the automatically opening doors.

The woman behind the front desk is an amalgam of every clerk I’ve seen here.  “How long will you be staying with us breakfast is from 6:30 to 9:30 may I have an imprint of your card please elevators are to your right.”  Efficient, unobtrusive, a human cypher providing the management-sanctioned degree of friendliness.

My suitcase makes the same noise it always makes on the stone floor.  The elevator announces its arrival with the same ding.  It dispatches me to my floor, opening its doors to a corridor I’ve seen before, leading past a room where I’ve stayed before.

It’s not the one I have tonight.  But as I open the door, I see that the layout of furniture is identical.

This is the hotel where I first met Nimue.  Everything around me reminds me of that epochal day and night when I first saw her, touched her, kissed her, entered her.  Down to the lingering scent of the disinfectant the housekeeping staff uses in the bathroom.

I remove my clothes and rest on the bed, against the pillows arranged diagonally on the headboard.  A wide-screen television on the opposite wall gapes at me, beckoning me to sample its vapid and multitudinous wares.  But my interest wanders elsewhere.

I look at the half-closed door to the bath and hear the running water of the shower, an occasional splash against the tiles.  The water stops, and the faint rustle of a towel being removed from its rack reaches my ears.  Then all is quiet for a brief moment, before the door opens.

Out steps Nimue, my love, as I have seen her many times before:  wet hair brushing her shoulders, towel draped loosely around her waist, breasts jutting in the dim yellow light.  And her eyes, her lively, piercing eyes.  Focused on me.  Advancing across the carpet, hand outstretched toward the bed . . .

No, not tonight.  Tonight I’m here on business.  But she will be joining me soon.

Dungeon

“There was one day, a few days ago, when I was having some D/s fantasies,” I typed.

Nimue and I were cyber-chatting at the end of a workday.  It had been somewhat frazzling for her, and we both needed to think about, and talk about, something more related to us than how our respective days went.

“Oh yes?” she exclaimed.  I could feel her interest perk up in the quickness of her response.  “Do tell.”

We’re in a dungeon, a dark, subterranean dungeon with torches dimly lighting the cold stone walls.  Steam escapes from grates on the floor.  I’m wearing a black leather vest and chaps, with my cock, balls and ass all hanging out, atop tall black biker boots.  And I have a long black whip in my hand.

Nimue has been lashed to a wooden rack.  A very special rack, one of my own design, with rather unique features.  Her head is upright, her legs spread wide, and she wears nothing except her bondage collar and the metal shackles of my fiendish apparatus.

I am punishing Nimue for some past slight.  She watches me carefully, terror reflected in her eyes.

“Do not make a sound,” I admonish her quietly but firmly.   From somewhere in the dank recesses of this cavern, the faint sound of trickling water echoes off the walls.

I turn the rack’s crank to stretch her.  Her face contorts with pain.  She whimpers softly.

Instantaneously, the crack of my whip fills the dungeon.  Nimue’s face convulses.  Bright red marks slash across her breasts.

“I told you to be quiet, bitch,” I say softly.  She nods mutely and complies.

I continue to stretch Nimue on the rack, one rachet click at a time.   Seeing that Nimue is obeying my orders despite the increasing tension on her spine, I set down the whip and begin stroking my cock with my other hand.  Soon it is thick and hard, the shadows of the flickering torches dancing across its shaft.

It is time, I think, for my slave to service me.  Letting go of the crank, I pull a lever on my sadistically innovative device.  Nimue now rotates freely on an axle behind her waist, like a pinwheel.

I stand in front of the rack, erection in hand, and pull her toward me until, with her nearly upside-down, my cock slides into her open, hungry mouth.

“Suck me,” I growl.

Eagerly my slave devours my organ, forgetting momentarily the pain of her stretching and the disorientation of her inversion.  Putting my hand on the back of her head, I rotate the rack to stuff my cock down her throat.  She gasps for breath as my flesh gags her passages.

“You are my fuck slave,” I snarl.  I pull my cock out of Nimue’s throat.  She rasps a few breaths, then answers “Yes, Master,” and returns to sucking.

I grab the whip again and hold the leather close to her face.  She understands the significance of the scent and sucks my cock with redoubled resolve.

Her tongue is eager, her suction divine.  But I am not satisfied.  I want her cunt.

Reaching again for the lever, I tilt the rack back nearly 180 degrees, leaving Nimue horizontal to the stone floor.  With foresight, I have designed the rack with space between the victim’s legs.  Space for me to step in and fuck.

Nimue’s cunt is dripping juices onto the floor.

I step into her and violently shove my throbbing cock up her rift.  A thin scream escapes her lips.  I cover her mouth with my hand.  “Silence,” I remind her.  Sex with me is my slave’s award for obedience, but she is not entitled to brag about it.

This fuck is all mine.  Nimue is immobilized by the traction of the rack.  She strains against her bonds to meet my thrusts, but cannot move.  I decide how deep, how long, how hard I penetrate her.

Rubbing my cockhead against her G-spot, I pinch her clitoral hood between thumb and forefinger.  Her pink dream pops out.  I squeeze it against my cock.  Nimue bites her lip in the pain of unexpressed pleasure.

Slamming my rigid length into Nimue, I tell her I am going to cum, but she cannot.  “When I tell you, you will cum. Not before.  You will not cum until I withdraw my cock and position myself to drink your cum,” I instruct her in my sternest voice.

The sensations are overwhelming, and still I fuck her, the unsteady light of the torches making grotesquely large shadows of my animated profile behind me.  She sees the crazed look in my eyes, the look of control, domination, ownership.  You are my flesh, my sinew, my spirit, mine to take, abuse and defile.

“Allow me?  Please?” Nimue cries.

I smack her across the face.  “Such insolence,” I snarled.  “I will cum when I am ready.”  Tears well in her eyes as she tries to control the contractions of orgasm.  But that act of wanton violence had pushed me close to the edge.

“Squeeze me, slave.  Squeeze my cock,” I order her, looking straight through her eyes, into her trancelike state of terror and joy.

“Squeezing!” she exclaims.

I throw my head back and, with a roar, erupt inside her, sweat dripping from my body onto hers.

Recovering from the  rush of climax, I close my eyes and open them to see Nimue clenching her fists in her shackles, desperately trying to obey my injunction not to cum until I pulled out.  I would not make this easy for her.

Inch by agonizing inch I withdraw my cock, Nimue’s entire body tightening in anticipation.  The corners of my mouth turn up in the slightest of smiles as I leave my glans inside her, motionless, for seconds that seem like years.  She can hold back no longer.  She begins to scream.

“Cum, woman,” I shout.  “CUM!  Fill my mouth!”

I drop to the floor and cover her cunt with my lips.  Just in time.  Her body, released, unleashes a gigantic torrent of steaming cum down my throat, which I eagerly and deeply drink.

Having sated my thirst, I release Nimue from her shackles and help her off the rack.  “Clean my cock, bitch,” I order her.  She drops to her knees, on the cold stone floor, and devours my spent organ.  I fasten her leash to her collar, then bury my hand in her matted, sweaty hair to force my cock back down her throat.

I lead Nimue by the leash through the dungeon, past other couples engaged in their own sexual diversions.  She proudly thrusts out her breasts to show off her marks through the cooling vapors.  I am just as proud of my slave, who obeyed my commands, pleased me and consumed my cum.

Nimue sighed at the end of my tale.  “Thank you, my love,” she wrote.  “I love to make you cum.”  Even though this was, and will remain, a fantasy.

Or will it?

Exhilarating

Chirps of birds announced the dawning sky, the cold gray light filtering through the window of our room.  Nimue’s features materialized from the darkness, stilled in her unconsciousness.  She claims, always, that she never sleeps better than when she’s in bed with me, even though she never sleeps for long.

In time she stirred, and I rolled atop her to insert my erection into her ever-ready vagina.  No permission was asked, and none was needed.  She is mine now, I am hers, and when we are together we sleep as one.  Nothing feels more natural than to slip myself into her, fully relaxed and rested, and to lower my lips to rest on hers during the earliest stage of the day.

Gently we fucked, rocking back and forth, her tight sleeve hugging my length.  Nimue’s kisses were interspersed with sleepy smiles, the pleasant sensation of fullness agreeably filling her foggy brain.  Her hands, at other times furiously clenched, roamed my back, softly caressing.

As the light brightened, our sex intensified.  Pumping more than rocking, I felt Nimue’s legs slide under mine for fuller, tighter penetration.  Our bodies undulated against each other, hungrily, Nimue moaning in hot release, until I shot my sperm into her and collapsed, gratefully, in her embrace.

The morning would be a short one, we knew.  Nimue’s cover for this trip was a business convention that would require her to leave me around eight.  We had little time to top off the night together with more sex to remember, to keep us warm and aroused with fresh memories of our love.

And so a blur of activity ensued after a short rest.  Kissing.  Caressing.  Tangling legs together.  Licking her feet.  Crawling on top of me and sucking my cock.  Dragging my tongue up her happy slit, just the way she loves it, until she cried in joy.

Fucking.  Always fucking.  In every position that felt good.

The clock ticked toward the hour when Nimue would need to get ready for her meeting.  My cock, lovingly stroked and wet by Nimue’s soft hands and eager tongue, pointed rigidly in the air.  Nimue, her hair askew from hours of sex and love, happily placed her hands on my chest and swung her leg over my prone body.

I absolutely love the moment when her palm encircles my straining cock and guides it into the swollen, juicy folds of her cunt.  This time was just as exciting as any previous insertion, if not more.  Fully illuminated by the cloudy-day light, Nimue’s nude body teetered on the tip of my glans, teasing me with the delicate ecstasy of her flesh, and then slowly, achingly inched down my shaft, her eyes fixed on mine, a sly smile of satisfaction on her lips. 

Then she started to fuck.

Bouncing up and down, my love steadied herself with her hands on my chest.  Her breasts shook with each downstroke, just out of reach of my tongue.  Quickly she transitioned to a lean-back, grabbing my arms for support, throwing her head back, enjoying the feeling of my hardness pressed against her G-spot.  It felt so . . . wonderful.

Impulsively I rose off the bed and transitioned her into a position we hadn’t tried before:  the “X.”  Holding her arms, I lowered her body to the mattress.  She straightened her legs and extended them on either side of my body, as I deployed mine around hers, leaning back.  Hands still locked, we rubbed against each other, my cock still bumping her G. 

Fun as the X was, it did not bring either of us to climax.  After a minute or two, I pulled Nimue back into the woman-on-top and began thrusting into her, savoring her incessant moans.  Slamming, ramming, cramming, her muscles locking onto my shaft, Nimue froze atop me and screamed, her arousal complete, her desire for orgasm fulfilled.

Yes, I regetted watching my love dress and primp for her upcoming meeting as I reclined, nude and sated, on our bed.  Yes, it was painful to kiss her good-bye in the doorway, watching her pull her suitcase down the hall before the inevitable click.  Yes, it was lonely in the room as I packed my things for the trip home.

But only one word describes how our short time together felt to me.

Exhilarating.

Penetrating

Was it Nimue’s movement that caused us to stir, or mine?  The question flashed in my mind, then faded like the last white dot of a turned-off television.  What did it matter?  We sleep so closely that any motion is likely to wake us both.   By desire, and by design.

I looked over my shoulder at the hotel alarm clock.  2:36 a.m., its green numerals glowed in the dark.

My erection pressed against Nimue’s warm backside.  I could have wriggled down against her body and slipped it into her vagina in the spooning position.  Or I could have lifted her leg, rolled her on her back and fucked her sideways.

Both satisfying wee-hour diversions, but both of which we’d done many times before.

Fueled by a random burst of energy, I whispered “Hand me the lube.  And get in the doggy position.”

Nimue obediently reached for the plastic bottle on the nightstand.  She’d brought this product, KamaSutra Love Liquid, for us to try, and we’d been pleased with it.

As my lover assumed the subordinate position, I opened the top of the bottle and poured the cold liquid down her crack.  She recoiled momentarily at the chill, then began to undulate her body when I worked the dribbling oil into her orifices with my fingers.

“I want your ass,” I growled.  She moaned in response to my lust, or perhaps my finger inserted deep in her rectum.

Placing one hand on Nimue’s neck, I grasped my cock with the other and guided it into her lubed-up, amazingly slick cunt.

Nimue never lacks for natural lubrication, but the combination of her juice and the lube was divine.  My length slid effortlessly in and out of her, the sounds of joy muffled in her pillow proving that the fucking felt as good to her as it did to me.

My engorged hard-on stretching my love wide open, I was ready for the main event.  Pulling out and hearing her gasp in response, I rubbed my head up and down her crack, searching for her nether hole.  Presently I found it, tightened my grip on her neck and began to thrust.

The anus is elastic, but consuming a hard rod of flesh approaching two inches wide is a challenge even for an experienced lover like Nimue.  She tells me often of the intense pain she endures as my cock stretches her wide, wider and wider still, coming to a momentary rest against her sphincter.  She squirmed at the sensation of fullness, then told me she was ready.

I felt the tightness in her body, the tension as her subconscious sensed and tried to repel this forceful invader.  Fucking gently for a few strokes to loosen her, I then thrust myself past this barrier, burying my cock in her.

Anal sex is so intense for both partners, perhaps even more so in a darkened room where the sensations of pain, tightness and fullness are undiminished by visual competition.  For me, a woman’s ass feels entirely different than her cunt:  tighter, more sensitive, more resistant.  There’s no clit or G-spot to stimulate.  The woman either will love the pure sensation of fullness, of being stretched, of being controlled and dominated, or she won’t.

Nimue loves it.  She says that, once she grows accustomed to the feeling of hard cock filling her ass, she has the most incredibly intense orgasms, even without stimulating her genitals.

Her quaking body, her loud squeals and cries, her back arching despite my firm grip all told me that my vigorous fucking would bring her to an astounding climax.  And, all too soon, her shuddering scream and desperate cry of “Merlin!” proved the passage of that moment. 

Nimue cried briefly in the pillow after I had withdrawn my cock from her and nestled her in my arms.  I stroked her hair and shoulders reassuringly, helping her come down from this sudden emotional and hormonal rush.

After a penetration that intense, I thought, I would leave Nimue alone to rest till morning.

Or would I?

Pouring

After I had led Nimue by her hand to our hotel room bed, after I had clamped her collar around her neck, after I had climbed on top of her and fucked her vigorously, after I had slid between her legs and licked her to orgasm after orgasm, after she had sucked my eager cock down to the balls . . .

. . . we wanted still more sex.

I pulled her up by the collar, turned her over and forced her into the doggy position.  Holding the glistening cock she had just sucked to perfection in my other hand, I slammed it into her tender pink slot.

“Give me your cunt, bitch!” I shouted.  Her face pushed into the mattress, Nimue could do no more than whimper her acquiescence into the sheets, but the thrust of her hips against me demonstrated just how hungry she was for another merciless fucking.

Whipping her ass with one hand, jerking alternately on her collar and her hair with the other, I rammed my lover full of cock again and again and again.  She cried out her shock, her pleasure, her obeisance to her master, the occasional “love you” and “fuck!” lost in a succession of incoherent moans and cries.

“Who is your master?”  I demanded loudly, tightening my grip on her leather restraint.

“You are!!” she screamed, her back arching under the strain of my grip, consuming every millimeter of my engorged length.

“Now listen carefully,” I instructed, grinding my cock into her tortured flesh.  “I am going to pull out of you, slowly.  And you are going to cum for me.  You are going to pour out your cum until I tell you to stop.”

Nimue nodded her head weakly.  I spanked her once more, hard. “This is what will happen if you fail to comply.”

I gave her a few more hard thrusts, then, at the verge of orgasm myself, I stopped.

Slowly, deliberately, I began to withdraw my length from her inflamed vagina.

“Nooooooo!” she cried.  Her defiance was met with another hard blow to the reddened skin of her cheek.  “Remember what I told you to do,” I said sternly, continuing to withdraw my cock from her tunnel.

Digging both hands into her ass, holding her motionless against her desperate efforts to keep me in her, I pulled out, bit by bit, until just my cockhead was inside her pulsing lips.  Her cunt began to contract, violently, and a shrill scream escaped her throat.

In one motion I yanked out my cock, flipped on my back and slid my head under her cunt.  “CUM!” I bellowed.

Another scream, and a flood of cum burst out of her, pouring over my face.  Quickly I sealed my lips around hers and drank the hot, tasty, satisfying flow, licking her up and down in sheer delight.

“Aaaaahhh!” she cried.  A second stream of juice shot down my throat.  I slapped both hands around her ass, pulled her torso toward me and sucked down every drop I could reach.

Tonguing her clit elicited a third orgasm, and my inexhaustible Nimue sprayed my face once more with her sweet bounty.  Her cum got in my eyes and ran down my chin, onto my chest, as I tried in vain to lick it all down.

“No . . . no . . . ” she protested, but to no avail; Nimue could not stop her quaking body from a fourth orgasm, which caught me by surprise.  Ministering to her clit at the moment of climax, I was in no position to catch the flow, which poured down the side of my head, soaking my hair, filling my ear.

After a few concluding licks, I bounced back up, erection in hand, and shoved it back into her quivering cunt.

“Look at me!” I commanded, grabbing her head by the hair and turning it backward as far as it would go.  “Look at my face, filled with your cum.”  She nodded and managed a weak smile.

“You have pleased me, my pretty one,” I told her.  “Here is your reward.”

I shot a tempestuous blast of my own hot cum deep into her cunt.

Tearing

The door closed with an audible click, our helpful if mildly sarcastic maid disappearing on the other side of it.  No matter.  Nimue and I were already deep into each other on the couch.

We could feel the pressure building–that exquisite urgency, that need to touch, to feel, to taste–as we ascended in the elevator, bodies and lips pressed together, tongues wrapped around each other.  The intrusion of the maid prevented us, momentarily, from going farther.  But now that she was gone, we needed our release.

Nimue’s hands slid under my knit shirt and up my back.  The weather was warm enough to dispense with an undershirt that morning, and the feel of her fingertips on my bare skin was enticing.  I reciprocated, slipping fingers under her buttoned-up cotton top, between soft fabric and softer skin.

Kissing open-mouthed, our tongues feverishly dancing, I pushed my lover deep into the cushions of the couch, desperate to free her body from its fabric restraints.  My free hand closed on her top button, fumbling madly with it, fighting the urge to rip the garment off.  Nimue pulled out one of her hands to assist, and we broke off our kiss long enough to focus, bemused, on the task of undoing her buttons, one by one.

Her top loosened, revealing a lacy, pale green bra, I focused on my next target, the belt around her waist.  Soon that was unfastened, and I pulled her capris off as she elevated her body momentarily.  Able to stand my own bonds no longer, I stood up, tearing my clothes off under her wide-eyed gaze.  I had planned to ask her to tease my cock out of my black silk boxers, but to hell with that, now.  I was far too excited.  The boxers joined my jeans and shirt on the carpet.

My beautiful love torn open for me to enjoy, expectantly waiting with one leg hooked over the back of the couch, I took my stiffening cock in my right hand while pulling aside the crotch of her matching panties with my left.  Kneeling between her spread legs, I stuffed myself in, past the lace, past her swollen lips, deep into the sopping joy of her ever-hungry vagina.

We fucked wildly, reveling in the suddenness of our freedom, freedom from clothes, freedom from spouses, freedom from everything except pleasing each other.

And after I had exploded inside her, I tore off her panties and licked her cunt until she cried with joy.

Still ravenous for my woman, I sat next to her on the couch, cock straining to the sky, and watched her climb onto it, still wearing her open top and her bra.  Her shirttails swaying in the air, she bounced happily up and down on my lap, holding my hands, arching her back, filling herself with my flesh, until she tore loose and screamed, flooding my thighs with her hot, sweet cum.

Last Year, This Year

Our first tryst ended in my car, in the parking lot of the hotel, after we had checked out, after we had eaten lunch.  The weather was cool and cloudy, the venue was rather public, we had our clothes on, but we were kissing in the front seat, arms and legs tangled in knots, tongues intertwining, not really caring who saw us.

We didn’t want our first meeting to end.  I was certain I would see Nimue again, but I didn’t know where or when, no date had been set, no place agreed upon.  So neither of us knew how long it would be before we once again could feel our lips touching, our hands exploring, my cock entering her cunt.  The uncertainty hung over us like the clouds overhead.

————————————

One year later, this past week, I drove into another hotel parking lot and spotted Nimue in her car, some distance from the lobby, plenty of empty space all around.  I pulled up next to it, we both got out and immediately we embraced and kissed.  Repeatedly.

So much has happened for us in the past year, and you’ve been able to read and even see a lot of it in this blog.  The trysts.  The travel.  The adventure. The sex.  And the love.  Always the overarching, all-consuming love and desire for each other.

But now there’s no doubt, no uncertainty.  We are both established parts of each other’s lives, even though we cannot reveal that to the other people we see every day.  We know we will be together regularly, seeing each other about once a month, continuing to push back each other’s sexual frontier.  When we part, there is sadness but not sorrow; when we reunite, there is confidence, not relief.

Nimue extricated her suitcase from her car, and I opened the trunk to get mine.  Hand in hand, our cases rolling obediently behind us, we walked into this ultramodern hostelry, the thoughtful decor of which might entice further exploration under different circumstances.  But not now.

“I have you down for one night, Mr. Rockwell.  And that will be two adults?” the desk clerk asked, eyebrows raised, no doubt seeing on her computer screen that I had reserved for only one. 

“Yes,” I answered nonchalantly, signing the registration form. 

“And may I have the license plate number of your car?” she continued. 

“Actually, we have two cars,” I replied, cementing in her mind, I’m sure, the conclusion she’d already formed that we’re not just another married couple.  But we were able to make her sleuthing a bit more difficult by refraining from displaying our affection until the elevator doors had closed.

Opening the door to the suite, we found it was cold, freezing cold, too cold to undress.  Which, it turned out, was a good thing.  As I fiddled with the thermostat in the bedroom, there was a knock on the door. 

“Turn-down service,” said the cheery young maid who appeared, bedtime chocolates in hand, as I opened the latch.  “I’m here to turn down your bed for the night.”  Her rote recitation was interrupted when she spotted Nimue sitting on the couch and she realized how timely her visit was.

I told her the room was far too cold, and she dispatched herself into the bedroom to adjust the heating.  When she returned, she found me sitting next to Nimue, who had kicked off her sandals, rubbing her feet in my lap.

“We intend to warm it up in here,” I remarked casually, smiling.

“I’m sure you do,” she responded, hustling out the door.

Bathing

We had to use it.  I had changed hotel rooms just to get it, so we could enjoy it.  It sat there in the corner, patiently waiting for us, its silver fixtures glistening, its tan marble panels opulently shining in the sun.

“It,” of course, was the whirlpool tub for two that made our suite special.   The morning after our first night together, after luxuriating in continual, exuberant sex, we walked hand in hand to the tub, turned on the hot water, adjusted the temperature, and watched it fill.

There’s something quite elegant about slipping into a warm tub with a lover, turning on the whirlpool jets and sinking into the steaming water.   Initial uncertainty over how we would position ourselves was resolved quickly.  I rested against one end, while Nimue settled in front of me, leaning her back against my chest and reclining her head on my shoulder.

The jets bubbled and perked, sending the water swirling around our nude bodies.  My arms closed around Nimue’s midsection, and I felt every muscle in her body relax.  It felt as though she were melting into me, becoming one with me.  Eyelids drooping, I slid into a pleasant state of semi-consciousness, aware of my lover’s presence through her warmth, her scent and her moistening hair brushing against my face.

In time, though, I felt myself becoming uncomfortably warm.  Sweat dripped off my temples, and Nimue’s skin felt hot.  We had been too aggressive with the temperature, and I was concerned one of us would faint.

I woke Nimue and told her I needed to get out.  She nodded “yes” silently.  Steadying myself on the side of the tub, I established my footing on the floor and helped Nimue extricate herself from the swirling cauldron.  After turning off the jets and draining the tub, we lied on the floor, hand in hand, cooling off.

Though this was not quite the auspicious start we had hoped for, there were no ill effects.  We felt fine, invigorated even, once our body temperatures returned to normal.  Our mistake was simply rectified, and since then we’ve enjoyed many baths together, in whirlpools small and large, with cooler water.  Bathing together is a relaxing, loving experience which we hope to repeat again and again.

Discovery

Lying next to Nimue on the bed for the very first time, I subconsciously began sorting out the details that transformed her from a cybersex mental image to a living, breathing, loving woman I could watch, feel and enjoy.

Her skin, for example.  Soft and luminous in the afternoon light, it invited my touch.  Running my fingertips over her breasts, her stomach, her back, her legs taught me a first course in loving her physically, revealing the places she enjoyed light pressure and those where she wanted something more, a scratch, a pinch, a push.   The lingering smell of the scented soap she loves drew me ever closer.

Her hair, thick and rich, falling in grand cascades across her eyes, her ears and her neck.  How she loved it as I ran her strands through my fingers and twisted them in my fists.  As I grabbed handfuls, moving them out of the way to kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

Her eyes, dark and deep, were even stronger than I had expected from the photos she had shared.   The intensity of their gaze, the need for loving they revealed, could never be captured by any camera.  We spent minutes locking eyes with each other, nary a blink to betray the hungry desire they conveyed.

Her hands, small but nimble, with slim, feminine fingers that wrapped eagerly around mine.  Her touch was light but purposeful, leaving no doubt she wanted to be here, this minute, with me.  Her palms were like satin, luxuriantly wrapping my cock in their silky smoothness. 

Likewise her diminutive feet, toenails decorated with red polish, endearing in the way she arched them as I licked her soles and sucked each toe in turn, sinking my teeth into her flesh until she cried in joy.  Her supple legs, wrapping around mine in inextricable knots as we cuddled after our first experience with sex.

Her breasts, round, full and eager.  Jutting proudly, defiantly from her chest.  Eager to be stroked, held, squeezed, sucked.  To be loved.  Her large areolas and brown nipples, pointing dangerously outward, the textured skin demanding attention, slavish, gluttonous attention.

The look and feel of her beautiful vagina.  Shaved along the smooth lips, topped by a balcony of trimmed hair, the gateway to her sexual garden beckoned from the moment I slipped her panties down her legs.  Lying between her thighs, extending my tongue for my first taste of her sweetness, was the ultimate thrill.

The movements she made as she became more aroused.  The tossing of her head.  The deep, irregular gasps of breath.  The heaving of her chest.  The pressure of her legs wrapped around my torso, drawing me in, deeper, deeper, with no avenue of escape.  The pounding of her fists on my back.  The way her eyes rolled up, her mouth opened, her lungs screamed, her juices gushed at the moment of orgasm.

And the way her heart pounded against mine as I held her in my arms, kissing her, gathering strength to discover her all over again.