The Written Word

Yes. My favorite word.

She finally said it to me. The redhead—the girl I've known for so long, and wanted since that first meeting. The big, luscious girl with the sound of laughter in her voice, with the pale, creamy skin.

I'd been asking. Propositioning. Ordering. Maybe I'd even begged. And the maybe was always there. We’re flirted outrageously, but kept it at maybe.

Maybe is a good word. It's almost yes. But it's not, not quite.

She's far away, my redhead. She lives to the north, far enough that it might be a different country. Too far for me to go, too far for her come, without a “yes” to buy a ticket, to forge a plan. So it's been years since we've been near each other, near enough that temptation was a factor, or that who might be cheating on whom was an issue. Not important, when it's still a maybe relationship.

But then - then, that changed.

Business.

Another funny word.

“Business,” she said. “I'm coming down there — nn Business.”

I didn't even ask what business. It didn't matter. I asked when. I asked where. I asked — and this one mattered — if she was traveling alone.

We talked about when, and where, and then just small talk about kids, and the weather. The important details left unsaid, but a date set, a hotel named. Dinner, or drinks, or maybe coffee. But something. Something.

I'd asked her where to meet, that day. “I can come by, say, 6:30 to pick you up, we could have dinner, or a drink.”

6:30 was fine. 6 was fine. “It doesn't matter, I'll be finished with business early, come whenever.”

I asked her where she'd like to meet.

“Room 203.”

Maybe?

Maybe.

• • •

It took a few of knocks on the door before I heard any motion inside.

Finally, I heard a mumbled hang on. The door opened onto a dark room, stopped with a rattle of safety chain.

Sleepy voice. A bit of face, in the shadows, wisps of red hair.

"Hmmm?"

“Honey? It's me.”

A sleepy mumble; “I fell 'sleep. What time's it? Oh wait, wait, I'm not quite dressed.” The door slammed shut with a rattle of chain, then opened.

“C'mon in,” she said. And I did.

The room was dark, blackout curtains drawn, with a single beam of light slicing the room, backlighting her in a silhouette. She shut the door behind me, did not turn on a light. I could smell her as she slid past me, honey and some light scent, like herbal soap.

We were in a small sitting area, another room beyond an arched doorway, which presumably held a rumpled bed still warm and smelling of sleepy girl.

She wasn't wearing much. In the dim light, I could see bare legs and masses of long hair. Some sort of shirt. Her back to me.

“I was sleeping. I'm sorry”. She looked at me, over her shoulder.

“Fine with me. I like you, barely awake. And I like you even better, barely dressed.”

“You like that?”

“I do. Very much.”

“I should get dressed.” She turned her head nervously, a bit shy and fidgety.

I took a couple of steps closer, and she backed a half step away. She was standing in the arched doorway, one hand on the doorframe, her posture speaking of indecision.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Or not,” I said.

I leaned in, my body not quite touching hers. I kissed her ear, through tousled hair; heard her snort, and her breath come heavy. The scent was stronger. I put one hand on her waist, and felt the silky fabric of her shirt, and the warm skin beneath. She shuddered at the touch, and exhaled sharply, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

She turned towards me slightly, her head turning first, showing me profile. She slid an arm partway around me and then froze, looking at me in the faint light.

“I should get dressed,” she said, droping her arm back to her side.

I could see her mouth, smiling faintly, nervousness and mischief blending with something that looked like desire. Most of her face was in shadow, but her eyes glittered.

It was one of those moments that seem to stretch out. Neither of us was moving or speaking, afraid to move, almost afraid to breath. I wondered if she could hear my heart beating.

I could feel all the years of longing, but a wrong move now might ruin things. I could tell how easy it would be to push her away from yes, towards no. The thought, the fear, of one negative word held me back. I longed to kiss her, feared than she might stop me. Feared almost more that she might not, might respond, might trust me to hold back, for the sake of our outside lives.

Slowly, slowly, she stepped back, the beam of light suddenly catching her. I could see the shirt, held closed by a single button, in the wrong buttonhole, fastened carelessly as she came to the door. Her full breasts pressed against the fabric, the shirt barely reaching to her thighs.

I found myself imagining undoing that single button, wondering if there was anything - at all — under it.

She stepped back, again into shadow.

“I should get dressed,” she whispered.

“May I,” I started, faltered, started again. One last chance to stop. I hesitated for a moment, and then took a deep breath. “May I come in?”

I could hear her breathing, over the beating of my own heart, roaring in my ears. “Yes.” She whispered.

Like a lightening strike, a clap of thunder inside my head-heart-stomach-balls.

I never thought—until later—about what, exactly, she was saying yes to. I stopped thinking.

I stepped though the arch, took her in my arms, found her face, there in the dark. First with my fingers, stroking her cheek. Then with my mouth, my left hand holding the back of her head, my right arm sliding around her waist over the smooth fabric, the warm skin, pulling her against me.

We kissed. She was tentative, at first, her lips together, then her mouth opened, and the tip of her tongue gently met mine. Strong arms but light, flicking kisses. Then it deepened. Our tongues searching, and her arms under mine, reaching up, gripping my shoulders. I could feel her breasts against me, the thin silky fabric sliding between us.

I kissed her cheek, her neck, pulled her body harder against me, took a small, gentle bite of her neck. Heard a sharp intake of breath.

She whispered my name, breathlessly, into my shoulder.

I moved my right hand down, over her full hip, and found the hem of her shirt. There was nothing under it.

She shuddered, then pulled away. “I,” she whispered, “Should get dressed."

“No,” I said. “I don't think that's a good idea”.

She leaned back, looking at me. I wasn’t going to let her go. I could see that she didn’t want me to. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned forward and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. With her teeth.

“Yes I should,” she said, as she kissed down my chest releasing buttons deftly. My shirt slid from my shoulders. “I should find my pants." She started on my belt.

“I'm sure my panties are over there...”

The button on my jeans seemed to be giving her trouble. She stood back up, and gave the fly a practiced tug, unbuttoning all but the bottom button with one motion.

She pushed me back, until my legs hit the bed.

“Really, I need my clothes.”

She shoved me back, onto the bed. Wrenched one boot off, then the other.

“I brought special clothes, just for you,” she said, as she climbed on top of me.

I pulled her face to mine.

“Shut up,” I said, and kissed her. She kissed back, her indecision released into lust.

I pulled her down onto me, then rolled her onto her back. I found that single button, tried to open it with one hand, and then tore it off as I kissed neck, shoulder, chest. I buried my face between her breasts, breathing in the musky scent, then took a nipple into my mouth.

I could feel her nails dig into my shoulder. She gasped for breath, then sighed as my fingers slid between her thighs.

She was wet, all down her thighs. I stroked the soft hair on her lips; her thighs spread, then clenched, hard, pinning my hand in place.

“Not yet,” she said.

She shoved me back. I could feel the bed shift, her hands searching for something on the bedside; a dim light spread over the room as she found the switch. “I want to watch,” she said, and turned her attention back to the single button on my jeans, slowly undoing it. “So tight,” she said; “I think we need a little more room in here.” She slid my jeans and boxers down.

And then she didn't say anything. And I just gasped.

She took my cock into her mouth, and I felt I might explode right then, her fingers stroking my balls, her lips and tongue doing things I've never felt. My entire body was about to be engulfed. I'd never been truly, completely deep-throated before, but I knew from our long history that she was a master, or mistress, of that skill.

“Oh, god — Don't ever stop,” I moaned. I was ready to come already. I felt her swallow around me, felt her exhale through her nostrils into my crotch. Then she pulled back, and ate me again. And again.

As if she knew exactly when enough became too much, she let me go and turned her attention to my balls, sucking and licking, biting, almost hard enough to hurt; I could feel her tugging at my jeans, so I lifted my hips to help.

She flung my jeans across the room. I could hear wallet, coins, keys, bouncing across the room and striking something.

Then she was back, taking my cock between her lips, and I felt a finger slide between my cheeks.

I stopped her. “Your turn,” I said. “On the bed. Face down.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at me with amusement and questions in her eyes. Slowly, she turned over, breaking eye contact last, and settling herself into the pillows. “What now?”

I stood above her for a moment, looking at her; wide hips, full, round ass, the muscular thighs of a lifetime horse rider. Her face was buried in a pillow, on her shoulders and back was a tangled mass of long, red hair. I looked, and breathed in the big-hot-girl smell of her. My cock throbbed.

I threw myself at the bed, catching myself on all fours with a grunt, hovering just above her. I started kissing at her shoulders, her neck, her back, exploring her shoulder blades. I tried to be slow, but every time my cock brushed her skin, I wanted to explode.

I kissed the small of her back, ran my tongue down; her thighs spread willingly, and her hips arched up. I slid one hand under her, stroked her belly, my fingers moving toward her clit from in front while my tongue slid down toward it from behind. She was making small, strangled noises into the pillow; animal sounds.

I suddenly felt one foot reach up and start playing with my cock and balls. I gasped, and she giggled.

I pulled back and parted her cheeks; kissed each, then between them. Her hips rose up to meet me as I slide my tongue, gently, around the tight pucker of her anus, gently in, then down, into her cunt. Slowly. Savoring every wrinkle and fold, searching down and forward with my tongue, not quite reaching her goal.

Then I pulled back.

“Ahhh!” Muffled by the pillow, it was still half scream. “DON'T! YOU! STOP!”

“I need to be inside you now.”

“Oh,” she moaned. “Mmmm.” She rolled over, legs stretching into the air, crossing them at the ankle as if to keep me out. “Is that so?” Her fingers dug into the sheets, eyes beaming up at me, breath hissing between her teeth. “Maybe we should get dressed now.”

I grasped her ankles, spread her legs.

She resisted. A little.

I bent her knees, leaned in; put her feet on my shoulders. Her eyes grew wide, but she pushed against me, brought her hips up.

I could smell her wetness, and still taste it.

I slipped the head of my cock between her lips, down, flirted with going in, but then pulled up, pressing its hardness against her clit, stroked back and forth, balls pressing into her, wetness dripping between us.

One last chance to stop.

“Yes — ” hissed between her clenched teeth; “Please.”

I slipped into her. I tried to be slow, not to hurt her. But my control was gone, the instant I felt my cock head enter her. I thrust, ounce, again, deep.

Her grunt was both pain, and desire; mine was pure animal need.

Several deep, hard thrusts, her body now moving with mine, then slower, long, out, almost all the way, then slowly, slowly in.

We found a rhythm, together, her rising to meet me, clenching her strong pelvic muscles, almost crushing me at the deepest part of each stroke, then pulling back against her straining, until we almost parted. Faster, by the smallest rise in tempo with each cycle, until one of us falters. Then lying still, panting, sweating for a moment, and it starts again, building.

She came, finally, moaning, clawing at my shoulders and arms, face red, eyes rolled back. I could feel her juices dripping down my legs, her ass and thighs slick. Her body shuddered, then relaxed, arms dropping to her sides, spread. Her breathing became a pant, then deep, relaxed. A smile broke slowly across her face.

But I wasn't finished. My cock still hard, I needed more.

“No!” she started, as I pulled out; but I stayed with her, her feet still against my shoulders, her sex still open to me. My cock slid against the slickness, up to her clit, then down, between her cheeks, pressed into her, sliding in her wetness.

She pressed herself against me, welcoming, then clenched, resisting.

“No?” she whispered, a request, not a denial.

“Yes.” My turn to say it. Firmly. “Yes.”

Her body relaxed, gave in, opened itself to me. My cock head pressed the tight ring of her anus, wet, lubricated with her own moisture and sweat; I entered her, just with the tip, oh so slowly, feeling her tense, relax, adjusting to the penetration. I could hear her, vocalizing wordlessly, communicating with both sound and body. My entry guided by her, until most of length was inside, and I began to thrust.

As I pushed into her, withdrew, and thrust again, slowly, then less slowly, her sounds changed; fewer grunts and winces, more moans of pleasure.

She was so tight, and felt so good, I knew this wouldn't take long.

“Harder,” she said. “Yes."

That was all it took. I thrust in, deep, felt her stretching, felt myself fill her, then felt orgasm build, from my balls; liquid fire, my mind went gray and my ears filled with white noise, eyes rolling back in my head. I screamed her name, growling it. Felt her clench as my cock swelled with orgasm, wetness as my come filled her, her coming again with me, crying out once, a long, strangled sound, fading to nothing.

My strokes slowed, stopped. I collapsed onto her, supporting my weight with one arm as I slid my softening cock out of her, releasing her legs to lie on top of her, found her mouth, kissed her, held her.

Held her.

I felt her heart beat against me; tasted her on my lips, smelled our mixed sweat and sex.