Amber in the Rain

Sara took several photos of me while I pulled my pajama shirt down over my shoulders. I dropped it behind me on the wet roof. I was wearing only my wet socks. She took more pictures, then handed me my camera.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, sliding her soaked robe off her shoulders and dropping it behind her much as I had. I adjusted my lens and snapped several quick shots. I wasn't ready to respond to her praise. I wasn't sure I believed it.

"Stretch for me," I said.

She lifted her arms and reached towards the sky, her hands together but not clasped. Elegant. Demure. I photographed the way her breasts stretched with her, the way one of her feet slid behind the other as she stood on her toes and arced her back, the way her thighs closed over her sex as if to hug it tightly. The rain was not heavy, but it washed down over her skin, magnifying every curve, every teasing glimpse of her nipples. I thought I might drool when she turned her back to me and I watched the rain stream down into the groove of her ass.

I said, "God, Sara, you look so fuckable." I wasn't even thinking. The words just poured out.

I was watching her through my lens, so I got her reaction on film. She had been watching her hands, but she lowered her head as she lowered her weight to her heels. Her face was down, low, almost angry, and she looked at me through her thin, arched brows. Her face darkened with a sultry hunger, her eyes fierce and bright, her lips parted to pant. I tweaked my lens and squeezed the shutter button on my camera, taking image after image as she tilted her head slightly, lowered her arms, and stepped towards me. Her feet moved like a cat's, picking her way across the rooftop with an agile grace I imagined resembled that of a dancer. I loved her feet, and I took more pictures of her arches and toes on the wet roof.

I lowered my camera when she came close. By then she was walking faster, her hips swaying, again as if in a dance. When she was close enough, she pushed my camera to the side with one hand, caught the back of my neck with the other hand, and pulled me into a kiss. Her lips were hot beneath the cool film of rain-water dousing her face. Hot and soft, and they parted, hungry, to let her tongue pass. Into my mouth she drove, and I into hers. Her insides scalded my tongue, seared me as if by flame, and she pushed me backwards with the force of her kiss. Pausing long enough to hang my camera from a bolt on the rooftop machinery, I returned to her arms and her kiss. She pulled me tighter, and my nipples grazed the tops of her breasts. When she pulled me even closer, her nipples slid beneath my breasts, teased the soft undersides of my mounds. One of her knees slipped between mine. One of her hands swept from my shoulder blades, down along my spine, to my buttocks, where she kneaded me with light, hungry strokes. My own hands drifted across her spine, from shoulder to her soft, very touchable ass. I was an athlete, so my body was firm, perhaps overly hard, but she was soft in all the right ways, soft and beautiful.

Sara broke the kiss, trailed her lips along my cheek, down the side of my neck. My breath came short, and I tilted my head back in enjoyment of the soft caress of her lips drifting to my shoulder. She guided me to a small component of the air conditioning unit, where she sat me on the cold metal. She guided my hips so that I sat on the edge of the machinery. I spread my legs for her as she knelt between me. Her face was at chest level, so I leaned down to kiss her more.

With one cupped hand, Sara held the back of my neck, pulling my lips to hers with gentle but determined force. Her hunger infected me, pulled at me. She wanted me, and so I wanted her more. Her lips drifted away from me again, sucking at the rainy wetness on my neck. She slurped her way down to my collarbone, then kissed to my left breast. I sucked in an urgent breath as her lips closed around my nipple. It was a small bite with her lips, at first, but then she sucked me into her, where she lashed her hot, wet tongue across the rain-cooled skin of my tit. I squirmed in agonizing ecstasy. My pussy surged with my own inner wetness. Had we not already been soaked, I think I would have left a puddle on the painted steel of the machinery where I sat.

She squeezed my other breast with her free hand, then pushed me into a reclining position so that she leaned over my groin. I felt her breath on my pussy just before her tongue slipped into my fur and lightly teased my clit. I was already so hot and wet, I couldn't feel the moisture on her tongue. Just hot, pressure, the gentle, urgent lavishing o f a woman's need. It was the sort of thing I'd never felt from any of my boyfriends in the past.

At first she simply touched the tip of my clit. I'm pointed, there, almost, and perky, like a tiny fin of sensitive flesh that, while smooth, is hardly even pink. My hips rocked of their own accord as she trailed her tongue down over my pussy lips. They're darker than my clit, more pink, but nothing like my insides. I felt her trace over them, as if she silhouetted a butterfly's wings. How much did she taste with that light touch? My lips had grown thick with my blood, swollen and hot, and surely it would take but the lightest penetration to taste my inner syrup. I squealed when her tongue came to rest at the back of my slit, where my lips are non-existent and I was basically an open hole, waiting for her to come inside. Waiting for her to swim inside...

But she didn't. Back up she went, back to my clit. Up and down across my point, up into the tufted curls of my pubic hair, down to the delicate split where my clit parted and became my lips. Up and down. And then she pushed a little harder. I moaned, heedless of the rain on my face. Her tongue dipped into the fold beside my clit, rode that furrow to my pubis, then down the other side. She repeated this for what seemed like an hour, just going in circles around my clit, sometimes with pressure, sometimes with such a light touch I wondered if she had stopped.

Then she kissed my pubic hair above my pussy. I thought she was done and ready for something more. Before I could lift myself up, she slammed her tongue down across my clit and stabbed into my pussy like a little cock. She pushed in so fast and so hard I could feel her teeth grazing me. My hips bucked, and I screamed. I tried to control myself, in case someone heard, but then she started driving her tongue in circles on my insides. She pushed against my pussy walls, sliding through my wetness with her darting tongue, before pulling back out. And that was her pattern. Soft, teasing of my clit until I was a mixture bored edginess and eager lust, then a dive-bomb into my pussy to fuck me with her tongue until I was squealing again and ready to cum. It took forever, but by the time my orgasm hit, I was shrieking and writhing on the rooftop like a madwoman. I suppose we were a little insane, having sex in broad daylight on the top of our dorm. At least it was raining and no one was likely to see or hear.

When I opened my eyes again, Sara was leaning over me, smiling as I panted in the aftermath of my orgasm. She teased one of my nipples as the falling drizzle of rain made cold splashes on my seared clit. I pulled her down to me, kissing her, and tasted my hot, frothy cum on her lips. It was great that we were in the rain. I was a mess anyway.

After she let me lick myself off her tongue, Sara rose up, straddling my leg. I could feel her thigh pressing against my pussy. Her own wet sex slid luxuriantly on the smooth skin of my upper thigh.

"Did you like that?" she whispered in my ear.

I nodded, still unable to speak.

"Would you like some more?"

Another nod.

"Good. When you make it to our room, I'll let you fuck me properly."

And then she was gone. I blinked, my brain far too gone to register what was happening. I sat up slowly, in time to see that she had gathered our clothes, without putting any of them on, and ran towards the door with them bundled in her arms. I watched her run across the roof, bemused by the wicked grin on her face, until I realized that she was going back to our room while still naked and that she had taken all our clothes with her, which would force me to do the same. I started to laugh, then got onto shaky feet, grabbed my camera, and followed at a slower pace. I had wanted to avoid being seen by anyone but Sara. Now, it was the luck of the draw. How many people would be in our hallway and stairwell this late in the afternoon?