It was the weekend again. Nathan had just finished tucking in his shirt and fastening his belt while the mid-morning sunshine filtered through the eastern-facing glass block window in my bathroom. Still in my lace-trimmed black nighty, I was knee-deep in my rat’s nest of a closet, digging for my Saturday jeans. In the process I unearthed the bra I planned to wear for the day. I straightened and had just slipped the straps of my nightgown over my shoulders so I could don said bra when I heard Nathan mumble something I didn’t quite make out.
“What darling?” I asked, stepping to the edge of the closet, bra in hand, nighty resting on my hips.
“I think we should go to that little place downtown for lunch,” Nathan said, his back to me.
“Which one?” I asked, “The old place that does the oven roasted pizzas, or the new one with the blue crab dip?”
“The new one,” Nathan said, turning around.
“What are these doing out?” he asked, clearing the short distance between us and cupping both breasts in his warm hands.
He lifted the left one to his lips first, dipping his head to suckle. He tongue danced across the nipple, quickly bringing it to a sharp point. I felt a thumb graze the right nipple, drawing slow deliberate circles around it. I moaned and braced my hands against the door jam of my closet.
Back and forth he went, teasing them each in turn, firing darts of pleasure through my nervous system. One hand left the creamy mounds and caressed my thigh, moving slowly up its outer curve toward my hip, lifting the hem of the gown.
“Mmmmm. No panties,” he said smiling.
The hand cupped my buttocks lightly and then, with just his fingertips, he drew on my flesh, leaving a line of fire in their wake as they journeyed up and around my waist before traveling down my abdomen, lower and lower. As they grazed across the velvet texture of my freshly shaven lips, I spread my legs, giving his adventorous fingers access to my moist channel. In and out they went, gently, but with insistence, until the moisture was slick and ready.
Full of desire and on the edge of release, I grabbed his waistband and freed his cock. Sprung from its prison, the full length of it speared toward me. My hand encircled the shaft and began strumming the helmeted head against my dripping clit. Nathan bent his knees, purpose clear, driving towards the prize.
I let go of his cock and held onto the door opening with both hands. Lifting my right leg like a dancer I propped the heel of a pointed foot on the door jam close to my hand. Nathan wrapped his arms around my back and proceed to drive his hard rod up and into me. The shock of pleasure lifted me so that I was then balanced on the toes of my right foot.
Like an amateur Cirque du Soleil duo we fucked in the doorway, hips meeting, then separating over and over and over. The gentle persistence Nathan had begun with morphed into a furiously intense coupling. My mind drifted a bit above the frenzy, wondering how we must look, me splayed open, him close and rutting. As I climaxed, I would have sworn that I actually levitated. But perhaps it was just the added pressure of my arms against the door framework that caused my one foot that still touched the ground to leave it momentarily. Even as Nathan came, he remained my anchor this spinning vortex of ecstasy we had created.
Both finished, we untangled with proud grins. (You see, in my relationship with Nathan, our sex tends to be more of the horizontal-in-bed variety.) He fondly popped me on the ass before saying, “Get some clothes on woman. That blue crab dip is waiting.”