The Red Dress

I expected her to roll off me and turn to go to sleep. She was rarely ever interested in a second tumble, no matter how intense the first one was, no matter how badly I made it clear I wanted it or needed it. And yes, whether or not I had cum yet -- she didn't leave me high and dry often, but she had, more than once. She would tell me later that her orgasms are so intense that she feels completely drained, that to her it feels more like passing out than choosing to go to sleep.

She surprised me -- she began rubbing herself across the length of my cock again. This time, though, it was just to be sure I was still hard. Yup, I definitely was. She released one of my upper arms as she lifted her hips off mine. She gave the palm of her hand a long, wet slurp and surrounded my dick with it, coating the head with saliva. She stroked me slowly, and positioned my tip at her entrance. I began to press up into her -- I desperately needed this -- but she whispered, "Stop." I stopped. "Me," she rasped, and returned her hand to constraining my bicep.

She took me in slower than I thought possible, never pausing, moving continually, but in miniscule amounts, eighth inch by eighth inch. It seemed like hours went by, and she still only surrounded half of my length. That half, though, was in ecstasy, confined by such all-encompassing tightness and warmth it felt like our union had achieved critical mass and gone nuclear. Bit by bit, moment by glacial moment, she lowered herself further, welcoming each fraction of an inch of my radioactive rod into her reactor core.

After a month, or maybe it was ninety seconds, she bottomed out. I've never felt my cock in such a perfect place as her quim that night. I mean, I knew that she and I fit together better than anyone I'd ever known, but that night was the ultimate. She seemed to feel it too. When she reached the bottom, she froze -- no motion of any sort, just luxuriating in how perfectly I filled her, how flawlessly her pussy enveloped my cock, and how they smoldered together.

Almost imperceptibly, she began rocking her hips forward and back. That motion does wonders for her, giving her clit pressure and release, but it doesn't do much for me -- what I need is the friction from actually sliding in and out, and this motion provides none of that. I've always been willing to indulge her, though, let her get started this way, as long as we end up with some actual fucking.

Aside -- we've argued several times about the meaning of the word "fucking." She says whenever a dick is inside a pussy, that's fucking. I say no, fucking is when the dick enters and exits the pussy repeatedly. A dick can be inside a pussy without any fucking at all.

This time, I didn't have to wonder or wait. On her own, she escalated her rocking into true thrusting, slipping deep onto me and pulling off. She drew all the way out to the tip, and slid all the way down to the base. She began picking up speed, her thighs making a sharp slapping sound against mine, providing the perfect percussive emphasis to the intensity of our coupling. "This... is... fucking," I moaned between huffs and puffs, "at... its... best."

"Unnnh hunnh," she semi-whispered, clinching her lower lip between her teeth. The view I had was amazing -- her tits hung down, swaying in time with her thrusting. Between them I could just make out my cock disappearing into her pussy, her smooth vulva pressing my short curly hair flat, then withdrawing and letting it spring back. When she'd pull off me, her inner lips grasped my cock and peeked out from between her labia, looking -- and feeling -- like they were sucking me as they released my length.

I leveraged my elbows away from my chest, and with her hands still firmly grasping my biceps, her arms widened also, lowering her upper body. I spread them as far as I could, and her nipples dragged lightly across my chest. She began moaning, deeply, softly, continuously, almost a feline growl.

Her thrusting reached a manic level. She raised up and repositioned her hands on my chest, giving her the leverage to thrust even harder. She tilted her head down, her chin almost touching her chest, her forehead almost touching my shoulder. Her hair, the only part of her not drenched in sweat, brushed my upper chest. It was a delicate touch to a union that was anything but delicate. Her jaw clenched, and she threw her head back and began cumming again, howling softly like nothing I'd ever heard before. Her orgasm was so powerful her pussy clamped down on my cock like a vise, then released, again and again, harder than I'd ever felt, trying to pinch my cock off at various points as it penetrated her and retreated.

She rode this one longer than I'd ever seen, willing it never to end, but eventually it did. She rolled off me, coiled into a fetal position, facing me, her howl reduced to a low, guttural hum, pulsing as she fought to regain her breath. Her hair was a stringy mess, and she was soaked in perspiration. Her arms and legs were splayed in random awkward angles, but in that instant she was about the most graceful, beautiful creature I'd ever seen. It was a perfect moment, with one tiny exception -- I still hadn't cum.

I was going to wait a few seconds, then pull her up on her knees and take her from behind, but she wasn't through driving, and she wasn't through surprising me.

She repositioned herself with her face at my waist, and as slowly as she'd taken me into her pussy, took me into her mouth. I was astounded -- she had always refused her mouth to me when I was covered in her honey. I never knew if it was the actual taste that repulsed her, or the idea of it. It doesn't matter, the result was the same. She would begrudgingly finish me orally, but only if I would get up and thoroughly wash. Even then she never let me cum in her mouth -- the taste again, I assumed. When she felt me getting close, she'd leave me covered in a thick coating of saliva and finish me with her fist. It was always very unsatisfying -- I mean, I'm a guy and it was release, so it was great, but her reluctance, her revulsion, always felt like rejection to me.

Whenever I gave her oral, it was always with enthusiasm -- I love eating her, but she had never returned any of that passion to me. Amazingly, this time she actually seemed to want me in her mouth. She slid down over me, and as I hit the back of her throat, she hummed with desire. She actually felt eager. She pulled off, all the way to the tip, still humming, and plunged back down over me. She took me in again, quickly, almost frantic, seeming to need to repay all the energy I had ever given her.

Her unexpected zeal finished me off. "I'm cumming," I warned. I desperately wanted to cum in her mouth this time, feel her accept my release, but I knew she wouldn't allow it. She hummed louder in response, "Mmm hmmm," but didn't pull off, just sucked harder, plunged faster. I tried to hold back, strained to avoid disgusting her, but I couldn't. I began to launch my load into her mouth, my cock throbbing, every muscle in my body tensing, every nerve overwhelmed with pleasure.

Amazingly, she didn't merely continue sucking, she sucked harder. She didn't simply continue plunging over me, she stroked faster. When I had no more jizz to give her, she hummed at a lower pitch, slowed her stroking, and concentrated on the tip, sucking steadily, swirling her tongue on the underside. I felt immortality in her lips, I felt eternity on her tongue. That moment, the moment she gave me, was the closest I ever came to experiencing heaven on earth.

I braced myself for her to spit into her hand, or maybe onto the sheet, or over the edge of the bed, or jump out of bed to spit into the sink or the toilet. I hate it when women do that, it reeks of rejection, it's a terrible way to end the magical moment of cumming. To my amazement, she stayed there, nibbling on the tip of my cock, giving it butterfly kisses, nipping it with her lips and the tip of her tongue as my hard-on melted away.

I assumed she held my gooch in her mouth, enduring the taste she had always avoided. The penny didn't drop until she slid up beside me, resting her head on the sad motel pillow, her mouth agape as she worked to catch her breath. I finally realized, dumbfounded, that she had swallowed, something I was sure she would never do.

It was too hot to cuddle or spoon -- we'd have to snuggle with our eyes. We settled facing each other, our bodies nearly touching. I caressed her waist, but for only a moment -- too hot. My toes lightly touched hers, and we gently intermingled our fingers -- that's all the closeness we could stand in the oppressive heat.

I heard her breathing deepen, and felt mine doing the same. As I drifted toward sleep, I thought of all the things she did tonight that she'd never done before: shaving so beautifully smooth, stripping for my arousal, taking me in her mouth with her nectar still on me, letting me cum in her mouth, swallowing. I felt the deepest tenderness for her I'd ever felt -- for her effort, for the personal hurdles she overcame, for showing me that she wanted us to get past our difficulties as much as I did, and for demonstrating that she'd meet me halfway to assure our future.

It was one magnificent make-up fuck. She sighed deeply and squeezed my hand. I lightly kissed her forehead. The last thing I heard as I drifted off to sleep was another, deeper sigh.

: : : : :

I awoke, and saw it was 7:15. It was already hot. I reached for her, but her place in the bed was empty. It wasn't even warm, it was cool -- the first hint of coolness I felt in that hell-hole.

She left while I slept... I remembered her final, deep sigh as I fell asleep, and a tsunami of dread washed over me as I realized that wasn't a makeup fuck, it was goodbye. I could feel it in my heart -- this time, she was truly gone.

At first it looked like she hadn't left a note of any sort, but when I looked a little more closely, I saw that she had -- it wasn't written, but it was a message that couldn't have been any clearer. Hanging on a cheap wire rack by the bathroom door that served as the room's 'closet,' there it was, on a single, lonely hanger -- her red dress. The one she knew was my favorite.

My first thought was, what did she wear when she left? She arrived with only the red dress and her shoes, not even a purse. But that was instantly pushed aside by the cold hard reality of what the act of leaving the dress meant: not merely it's over, but also don't call me, don't try to see me, don't try to find me. It's not just over, it's completely over. Finis. Taillights. AMF.

My mind spiraled into an infinitely deep abyss of gloom, my mood descending lower and lower at lightning speed, but then the hotel room door opened, and she stepped in, wearing a short denim skirt and a tank top, her purse over her shoulder, carrying a to-go carton from the diner next door with what looked like two coffees and two cherry danishes.

I couldn't quite make sense out of what I was seeing. For the second time this morning, I didn't quite trust my eyes that it was really her and not my imagination -- that was twice in the last twenty-four hours I thought I'd never see her again. I tried to speak, and my voice cracked, from lack of use, lack of sleep, and the roller-coaster of emotions I was riding. I had about a dozen obvious questions tumbling through my mind, but I couldn't quite unscramble my thoughts enough to formulate anything coherent to say. Realizing that I ought to say something, I managed to squeeze out of my mouth, "Aaah, you bought coffee." Brilliant -- that's the kind of empathy that will keep the girl!

She nodded and said, "There's a free pot in the lobby, but it's disgusting. Bitter brown water, mystery white powder for creamer, and little Styrofoam cups." She handed me my diner to-go cup and said, "This is a gourmet treat by comparison."

She stretched out beside me on the bed, pulled a pillow behind her back, and handed me a danish and a napkin. We each took bites, and I managed to squawk, "We need to talk." This was no time to laugh, but I chuckled inside at the look of pure dread that flashed across her face in response to those words, which have struck such deep fear into the hearts of so many men.

She nodded and said, "I have no idea where to start."

I couldn't help noticing that her skirt had ridden up, showing that she was still commando, exposing her delightfully shiny smooth mound. She followed my gaze and said, "That's as good a place as any. Um, it itches."

"I love how it looks."

She didn't respond. I said, "Would you do it for me?"

"I did a lot for you last night."

I grinned. "You did. I noticed. You swallowed."

She nodded. "It wasn't near as bad as I expected. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. I could do it again. Shaving, though, I don't know if I can stand it..."

I nodded and said, "If I back off about shaving, would you swallow regularly?"

She thought about it for about two seconds. "Deal."

We each took a bite of our danishes. She ignored my lecherous staring, wrinkled her brow and said, "Why haven't we ever compromised that easily before?"

I glanced down at my hardening dick, but still was struggling to pull coherent speech from the sludge that rapid-cycling emotions had made of my brain. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but she must have recognized from the look on my face that nothing productive was forming, because she cut me off with her finger across my lips and said, "This is important. We can't keep fighting. We can't. I don't like you when we fight, and I hate myself when we fight. Do you think we can break our habit of arguing, and learn to solve things calmly?"

I paused. "It's going to be difficult... for both of us... but we just did it once, I think we can do it again. We're worth the effort, don't you think?" She nodded.

I said, "I didn't see your car. Or your purse. Or a change of clothes."

She began to explain. "When you left, and didn't come right back, I panicked. I didn't know what to do. Or even what to think. I called Margo, she's as level-headed as anyone I know, and she likes you -- I didn't want to talk to anyone who would just blindly agree with everything I said. We talked for a LONG time. She insisted that not all our troubles are your fault -- she was fairly brutal about my side of things."

She gestured at a gym bag on the floor beside the dresser. "I grabbed a few things, put on your favorite dress, and we drove around looking for your car -- it took us over an hour to find it. She dropped me off, and we agreed she'd be back at 7:00 if she didn't hear from me. I should have called her, but, duh, I left my stuff in her car, including my phone. She would have taken me home if things weren't okay here, but they were, so I got my bag and she left."

I saw her steal a glance at my growing hard-on. She hadn't pulled her skirt down, and it looked like her slit had acquired a glistening sheen that wasn't there a minute ago. I reached behind her to pull her tank top off, but she brushed my hand away and stood. "Wouldn't you rather consummate 'the new improved us' in our bed? In our AIR-CONDITIONED bedroom?"

Well, duh, yeah. I quickly dressed, and returned the room key and the fan to the office. We got in my car -- my AIR-CON-FUCKING-DITIONED car. She said, "I was afraid I might never see you again."

I said, "I was too," and took her hand in mine. She squeezed it hard.

We both called in sick. 'The new improved us' spent the entire day in bed.

My eyes were in heaven, feasting on those breasts, that tummy, that waist, that ass, that pussy. That beautiful, shiny smooth pussy -- I was determined to burn it into my long-term memory, since it was apparently a one-time phenomenon.

My cock was in heaven, making multiple visits to both her molten pussy and her equally hot mouth. True to her word, she swallowed.

My mouth was in heaven, having her luscious facial lips kiss it passionately, and having her divine nether lips cum on it, again and again. And again.

"Mmmm," she sighed, slumped on her pillow after she rode my tongue to a particularly intense climax. "Wow. If that's what it feels like shaved, I may have to reconsider."

She spread her legs as wide as they would go and purred, "Any chance I could get you to do that again?"

: : : : :