A Decade Is Nothing (And Everything) — Part Three

Start here. Part two here

We made our way to the kitchen, him in boxers and me in a sheer black slip and rummaged until we found a nice cabernet. He uncorked it while I set out glasses, casting awed glances his way. It didn’t seem possible that we were in the same room together, so relaxed after so many years.

In unspoken agreement we walked together to the patio door, went outside and made ourselves comfortable on the teak outdoor furniture. I curled up in a chair, knees to breasts with one arm wrapped around them, and listened to him talk. It was as if no one had slowed down to listen to him for a very long time and once he started, the stories poured. I sipped, asked questions, sipped and listened some more. But when he returned to the kitchen to refill our glasses, I move from the chair to a low bench and sat, waiting.

He walked up to me smiling, his eyes fixed on my nipples which he could see though the gauzy fabric. I took my freshened glass from his hand and set it beside me. Then I touched his cock through the soft cotton of his boxers. He gave a low moan and bent to kiss me. I stopped him, preferring my mouth to occupy itself a little lower. He helped me pull his now hard shaft out of the confining fabric and watched me kiss the tip, gently, before opening my mouth and sliding him inside. I flicked my tongue in circles around the swollen head over and over until he pulled away.

“My turn,” he whispered in my ear, “It’s high time you learned to really let go. I know you have it in you.”

With that warning he pressed me back along the bench and thrust one, then two fingers inside my very moist core. I’m still not sure what or how he does what he does. But, oh. My. Goodness.

I sat up, unable to take the ecstasy lying down. He grinned like the devil and just drove his fingers deeper and then bit my nipples through my slip. The wind sounded like a freight train as it blew through the giant live oak tree overhead, drowning out my guttural moan that started low and crescendoed as his fingers brought me to climax, once, twice, then a third time, while I showered the flagstone at our feet with each rush of pleasure.

“That’s a girl,” he coaxed, “I knew you had it in you.”

I wanted to reply with something smart, confident and witty but I couldn’t capture enough oxygen to talk and continue the gushing he kept initiating. I kept thinking I would run dry, that the next melting of loins would be my last, but no… Finally I put my hand on his chest and whispered, “Time out,” as my voice cracked.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, making it sound like a threat and a promise at the same time, and then helped me to my feet because I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me.

We walked back into the kitchen with his arm around me, each of us holding our neglected wine. I braced myself against the granite counter, touched the glass to my lips and took a long swallow. Then another. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, enjoying the amused smirk he wore.

The next thing I knew he was beside me again, one arm wrapped around me pinning me against him, the other reaching below. Again, he dipped his quick and agile fingers in my well and again I melted.

“The floor,” I gasped, “I’m making a mess on the floor.”

He didn’t let me go, instead he bent my will to his own so we were united in our goal to see if I was indeed satiable. My knees buckled causing him to lose his grip on my waist and mound. I skittered across the kitchen, away from his grasp.

“Fine,” he said, “I bet you’ll squirt without me laying a finger on you.”

I gripped the counter and just looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Come,” he commanded, “Come NOW!”

And damn it all to hell, I did. My body gave a giant tremor from head to toe obeying him against my will. I gushed again, standing three feet away from him.  We both looked at the floor beneath my feet, but with different reactions. He laughed in shock and pride. My eyes narrowed in anger. How dare my body obey him instead of me! I was supposed to be the one in control. Sure, I let him take the lead, but always, I was in control. I turned on my heel and stalked to the bathroom to clean up, leaving him with his laughter and the mess to take care of in the kitchen.

I stood at the bathroom sink and looked at myself in the mirror, my green eyes snapping with fury. My skin was flushed, my mouth swollen, my hair a mess, my dignity hiding. He was waiting for me when I returned.

“You’re mad!” he laughed.

“Well yes I’m mad!”

“You can’t stand not being in control.”

“Fuck you,” I said before striding toward him and pulling him against me and grabbing him by the cock.

I led him by his hard dick to the couch and climbed up so that I was sitting on the back of it and he was on his knees in front of me. I shoved his thick solidity inside my soaked fissure and drove my heels into his ass. We pushed against each other violently, neither willing to surrender until I felt him shudder. He pulled out and with one hand pushed me beneath him and came on my bare, flushed breasts.

A little while later, when he walked me to my car I asked him, “How is the thirty year old me different from the twenty year old me?”

He pulled me close and kissed me gently, first on the forehead and then on the lips.

“Darling,” he said, “You know who you are now, and that is everything and nothing.”

34 thoughts on “A Decade Is Nothing (And Everything) — Part Three

  1. I can make myself cum like that, but I’ve yet to be commanded to do so. The Neighbor often makes me squirt beyond my control and I just lament at whatever piece of furniture I’ve just ruined.

    Great ending, sweetie. Delish. xx

  2. Thanks for the memories. I was in a longish relationship once with a woman (hmmm, roughly your age) who discovered the ability to ejaculate with me. She’d never done it before but quickly was unable NOT to. It was just as you describe, multiple multiples. And I could get her to the point where I could get it with a touch of a finger (after a good 40 minutes or so). Never had a squirting partner since, so I know it wasn’t me, per se.

    Side note: I love that one of your tags is “teak outdoor furniture.” I imagine an innocent someone redesigning their patio and coming upon (so to speak) this.


  4. Pingback: A Decade Is Nothing (And Everything) — Part Two | Creative Noodling

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