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I had met Ruth at a dinner party arranged by a mutual friend and had been instantly captivated. We sat together and talked together all evening at the end of which she had agreed to go to the theatre with me on the following evening. The night following that, we had a quiet dinner in a secluded restaurant and for the next few days we met on a number of other pretexts until the Thursday when she asked me to join her for the weekend on her visit to her family home in Norfolk.
We drove up and arrived late. There was no sign of her father but her mother made me very welcome, serving a delicious supper before bidding both of us good night. We finished the meal and the nightcaps and made our way to our separate rooms.
I was first down to breakfast and her father greeted me politely then folded his paper and offered it to me. I refused it, saying that I would rather leave the outside world behind for the weekend.
“I know what you mean, I don’t know why I read them really. They can be so depressing can’t they?”
We talked about the general state of things for several minutes and then Ruth joined us looking, I thought to myself, like a fashion model. She was dressed in designer blue denim jeans with an opalescent white blouse and wore a simple gold chain draped about her neck that added that extra ‘something’ to her ensemble.
She greeted everyone, leaving me until last and then treated me to a particularly mischievous smile. It did not go unnoticed by the others and they exchanged those ‘so that’s how it is?’ glances.
“I though that we would go sailing this morning if you fancy it, John?” she asked having declined a cooked breakfast in favour of coffee and toast.
“I’d love to. I haven’t been in a dinghy for years.”
This was indeed true, but what I did not say was that I had been besotted with the sport in my youth and when I last sailed, I had represented my university at quite a high competitive level. However, today that was irrelevant, as I would be sailing for the simple pleasure of a certain persons’ company.
If we had ordered the weather especially for the day then it could not have been more perfect. A pleasant and gentle force-three wind blew from the west to ripple the peat-darkened water of the broad. We rigged the boat together in the boathouse that had been designed with sufficient height to allow this, thus avoiding the tricky operation of rigging a floating dingy in a breeze.
The breeze filled the jib sail as soon the little boat poked its nose out from its safe harbour and drew it into the open channel. With the main sail full it picked up more speed and glided forward, myself at the helm and Ruth, the willing crew, leaning outboard against the rise of the hull.
We sailed down the channel and passed the spit of land that marked the extent of the Collinson estate before entering the open expanse of the main broad. As we hugged the far bank, close-in on its reeded fringe, I had time to steel admiring glances at my crew-member with her hair and blouse flapping restlessly in the wind, the latter being pressed flat against her body, emphasising her perfectly shaped breasts and taut athletic stomach.
The wind was stronger in the open water making the sailing even more exhilarating. The hull rose higher out of the water forcing Ruth to hang further over the side to maintain the boats’ equilibrium while I juggled with the main sheet and tiller to extract the absolute maximum advantage from the wind. I was in full control and Ruth now knew that I was, by no means, the in-experienced helmsman I had led her to believe.
“You’ve done this before I see?” she commented sarcastically then laughed out loud – a shrill laugh that could be heard above the hiss of the boat as it sliced through the surface of the water and the sighing of the wind trapped in the pocket of the main sail.
“Once or twice, ” I replied, grinning wickedly.
We reached the end of the run with the wind before coming about to tack back to our starting place. I yelled the instruction for this manoeuvre as if it had only been yesterday that I was last on the water instead of eight years ago. Responding to my tone of authority, Ruth obeyed without question, ducking and switching to the opposite side of the boat as the wind tipped it. The jib swung to collect the air moving in from a new direction and the game little boat surged forward again on its new course.
I changed places too and the smoothness with which we performed our respective movements would have been a source of mutual satisfaction to a crew who had been sailing together for years.
After an hour the wind dropped and we found ourselves moving along more lazily and, without the forward thrust of the wind, were finding it more difficult to avoid the many cabin cruisers that chugged this way and that across the open broad. Saturday was always a bad day for sailing on the broads because many holidaymakers were taking their first faltering steps in learning to drive the motor cruiser that almanbahis adres they had hired for the week.
Whilst in theory, power should give way to sail, the prudent yachtsman never put the rule to the test. Eventually we both agreed to abandon our efforts in favour of something less stressful.
Like all the Broads this one had been carved from the peat-rich flatlands of Norfolk in primeval times by toiling hands over a very long period of time and had finally filled with water to give one of the most unique waterway systems in Europe. The shape and extent of the ancient diggings was governed by the lie of the peat and often a broad would develop ‘fingers’ as the diggers followed the outline of a peat deposit which was surrounded by clay or gravel. These clay outcrops now lay slightly higher than the surrounding ground and had become covered in grass and vegetation whilst the dikes had filled with the silt over the centuries until they were little more that narrow reed beds accessible only to boats without a propellers.
Ruth guided us to such a dyke, one that she had explored as a girl and suggested that we take the dinghy some way up the channel by lowering our sails on entering the dike and raising the dagger board. Then, using only small paddles to propel us slowly forward, we made our way up the narrow creek until we reached a point some two hundred yards in where the dense reeds prohibited any further penetration. Paradoxically, while the reeds had stopped us progressing further up the dike, we had reached a small break in the vegetation on our right that allowed us to row right up to the bank and moor. Here we left the boat to gently bob up and down with the water as it flowed in and out of the creek in response to power launches passing by its entrance.
Because access to the channel was so overgrown, the flat area on which we now stood provided a quiet haven for anyone who was prepare to venture into it and which is why it had been a secret hideaway of Ruth’s since she was a young girl.
The narrow fertile belt of land stretched along each side of the dike and was covered in that lush green grass, which only grows in May. The land rose gently away from the water, to merge into a thick screen of trees and shrubs some thirty or so yards inland.
We walked together, away from the boat, to the top of the rise. There, Ruth sat down in the cool shadows created by a copse of mature willow trees.
“Goodness knows why I left this place for London, ” she sighed, looking out over the shining expanse of water before them.
“It is because you spend time in the city that you appreciate this so much more….it’s the contrast,”
“You’re right, of course. I often spend a couple of weeks at a time here in the summer and then I can’t wait to get back to the fumes and smell and bustle. I suppose I like the excitement that only a big city like London provides.”
“Is your life exciting then?” I quizzed her with a smiling eye and a raised eyebrow.
She turned to face me, tilting her head from side to side in a ‘so-so’ sort of way.
“I’d always thought so.”
She held my gaze and the look on both our faces became serious. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against the side of her face as her eyes closed. I kissed the side of her neck and her head tilted backwards allowing my mouth to plant tiny sparks of pleasure on the soft whiteness that lay between the top of her blouse and the underside of her chin. She lay back on the cool grass and let her head come forward as her eyes opened. I closed them again with two gentle kisses and then cupped her face in my hands before saying, “You have no idea how long I have wanted to kiss you.”
“Oh, but I think I do,” she replied, placing her arm around my neck and pulling my face down to hers.
Her scent filled my nostrils and I became aroused, but was unsure as to how far to follow my baser instincts – the last thing I wanted was to spoil a relationship that was fast becoming the most important thing in my life. I kissed her neck again and then delved down into the Vee of her blouse – a Vee that only dipped as far as was ‘nice’ for ‘well bred young ladies’.
I could hear her breathing become faster as witnessed by the rising and falling of her breasts only inches from my face. If this wasn’t what she wanted then she might never forgive me, so I pulled back. It was what she wanted. She opened her eyes and saw the shyness in my face and, fixing my eyes with her own, sat up and very slowly unbuttoned her blouse from the top, a button at a time. When it fell free she unclipped her bra and gave me a long and very naughty smile before lying back down.
I needed no further encouragement, I first nuzzled her cleft and then pressed my moist lips on the taut nipple of her right breast before rolling it around with my tongue. Her excitement of moments earlier returned quickly and her hands groped excitedly to undo the buttons of my shirt and slide her hand inside.
With the almanbahis yeni giriş green light now showing brightly I let a probing tongue follow a line from the tip of her breast into the musty valley between and back to the tip of the other breast and then, down across her stomach to her navel. My fingers fumbled with the top fastener of her jeans, which finally capitulated and allowed me to undo the zip fastener below it. This, I drew down tantalisingly slowly – too slowly – she arched her body allowing me to remove her jeans completely.
When I kissed her full on the mouth again our tongues frolicked together while my hand caressed her slim thigh – first along it’s outside and then, as her legs parted, the warmer, smoother, gossamer inner flanks.
Her slim body was moving rhythmically to the touch of my fingertips as I led her inch by slow inch down a sublime path of pleasure. Each stroke of my hand brought my urgent fingers closer to her sexual cauldron which flared and unfurled like a crimson flower beneath microns of moist cotton in the spring sunlight until it was visibly throbbing in time with each beat of her heart.
After what must have seemed to be a millennium to Ruth, my finger pushed the fabric to one side and slipped smoothly along her glistening crevice, just grazing her jutting pillar. She inhaled sharply and arched her body. It had been a long time since she had been touched so lovingly, so intimately, by another human being.
My finger ploughed her furrow again and again until her whole body was silently screaming, “Make love to me! Fill me!”
She tugged desperately at my belt buckle before finally releasing it in a passionate plea for my complete attention, leaving me in no doubt of what was now required of me.
As I slipped out of my own denim jeans she pulled off her panties and grabbed my male stem wantonly, pulling it towards her.
I rolled over onto my elbows and knees and, poised myself above her and placed a kiss on her forehead. In this position my erect penis hung low and hovered at the salivating entrance of her vagina.
She reached down and, using her own fingers, spread her engorged lips to let me enter her. This I did only a little at first to tease her and further heighten her arousal, but then I made a deliberate thrust to embed myself deeply inside her. Her body opened up, liquid and longing, until my penis was completely inside her. It then closed moistly around me, gripping me and forbidding my exit.
Her head rolled backwards and her lips parted as she let free a long low moan of satisfaction. I withdrew my penis despite the wet grip of her vaginal muscles and thrust back forcibly into her. I did this again and again, building up a rhythm that was accompanied by the noises of lovemaking – those slapping and slurping noises that are so indicative of mutual enjoyment.
I knew what was expected of me and I desperately wanted to ensure Ruth experienced her own orgasm before I came. At last I felt the spasms around my penis from her vaginal contractions and her long low groan that indicated my task had been completed. In fact it was her second orgasm – her first had occurred as I entered her but I now needed my own release.
Although the excitement I felt had been building for so long, when the end came, it came suddenly. Seconds after a sharp cry had loosed itself from Ruth’s lips to be followed by a satisfied sigh that drained her body of movement, I also came. I was almost too late. Not knowing whether she was on birth control, I withdrew and shot burst after burst of life giving juices onto her stomach and chest. Each one propelled with a throb like the recoil of a field gun.
When spent I rolled over and closed my eyes, letting the midday sun dry the beads of perspiration from my face and body.
I lay for almost five minutes, my mind far away, before being brought back to the present by a kiss planted, lovingly, on my damp chest.
“Thank you John. I so needed that.”
I opened my eyes to see a grinning, impish face surrounded by a waterfall of dark dishevelled hair. She was on her side, propped up on one elbow with her blouse hanging open framing her nakedness below.
“God! You are beautiful,” was all I could think to say and she smiled and raised an eyebrow, “So are you.”
She planted a wet, still wanting kiss on my partially open mouth and sent her tongue on a journey of discovery, first inside my mouth, then around my ears and throat and finally down to my nipples. They tingled as she tugged on them with her sharp little teeth and my sleeping dragon stirred and, almost like its mythical namesake rose up, twisted and fell back down again against my other thigh. That raven head ducked lower, breathing warm air across my stomach and onto my still matted, pubic patch before I felt it on my semi-flacid penis. She blew a hot jet along its sleeping length and it twitched and stretched like a slumbering giant disturbed in its sleep. Encouraged by the reaction, almanbahis she extended her pointed tongue and lifted the bulk of my penis as if it were a jumbo sausage on a barbecue grill, off my thigh, only to let it fall back onto my other thigh. I looked down. The scene was like that of someone trying to waken someone else who was pretending to be asleep – it was almost farcical and this ridiculous image allowed me to remain none erect for much longer than the situation would normally have allowed me to do.
However it was not to remain so for long. She invoked plan ‘B’ and took most of my reproductive equipment into her wet mouth and sucked. I grew an inch. She sucked again and I grew again and not realising that I was watching her, she smirked in satisfaction at her success.
When she had me fully extended and was able to hold me in both hands like a silver trophy, she looked up triumphantly into my eyes and, grinning naughtily, rolled on top of me and straddled my stomach. I expected her to slide down and reap the benefit of her efforts but she slipped up onto my chest and neck and lowered herself onto my face.
“Please kiss me down there, John,” she breathed, as I tasted her very core for the first time.
She was enflamed and her distended lips seeped sexual honey. I looked up to see the drying remains of our last coital union in her pubic hair, on her stomach and across her breasts – the latter protruding proudly from her lean body. I reached up and cupped each precious orb with my hands and with a circular motion massaged the lingering semen into them. Whilst doing this I plunged my outstretched tongue deep into her vagina. She knew where she needed stimulating and moved accordingly, first to have my tongue lash that no man’s land between her anus and vulva and then, as her excitement increased, her clitoris.
Deep and rapid breathing signalled her renewed arousal, as did the uncontrolled movement of her body against my face until she stopped, pressed herself hard onto my mouth and throbbed for what seemed minutes, but was probably only seconds. Her upper body fell forwards onto my hands but soon she slid back down my body, streaking my chest with her sexual secretions, until her tender lower lips engaged the end of my straining penis. Our union was faultless. Her body enveloped me slowly, wetly, hotly and completely until we were one, joined at the pubic bone.
She lay still against me and eventually her breathing slowed until she felt sufficiently recovered to push herself up into a sitting position on my cock and say jokingly,
“Ok, Seconds out- round two!” and started to pump herself up and down on my vertical pole. Poor thing; it was used to quite long rests between rounds but, it seemed, it would have to get accustomed to rapid turnarounds.
I have always liked round two, it hasn’t that driven intensity of round one. When they first make love, men are under a lot of pressure and either go for bust and pump to obtain a quick release without regard for the women’s pleasure or they hold back desperately, agonisingly, until their partners have their own release before allowing themselves to cum.
In round two the man can enjoy the whole experience, like a gourmet meal when you are not ravenous and I was certainly enjoying this gourmet dish. As she rose, her vagina clenched around me like a clenched fist, refusing to let me exit. As she fell she opened up and sank squelchingly onto my pubic bone. I was lying back like a Sultan enjoying the pleasure of this, not really close to cumming when her rhythm increased and she started to grunt uncharacteristically. I could feel the pressure on her clitoris of each downward stroke as she leaned forward to further enhance her contact with my penis and then she came again – in three long drawn-out strokes that seemed to exhaust her and she fell across my moist torso to recuperate.
It appears that it is not only men that pump until they satisfied. After about a minute she realised that my cock was still rigid and embedded deep within her.
She lifted her head and looked at me, ” I got a bit carried away then, didn’t I? What about you?”
“I am only here to please,” I replied sarcastically, “But if you are feeling terribly guilty then you can indulge me..”
“What do you want of me?” came the feigned plaintiff reply.
“I afraid it will entail some time on your hands and knees.”
“You kinky devil,” was her laughed reply, but she rolled over and assumed the required position.
If there is something that confirms human males as animals then it is the desire felt when a female offers herself for sex – doggy style. I am ashamed to say that I am no different in that regard and positioned myself behind her, wand in hand, to dispense my own kind of magic.
I stroked the head of my penis up and down the slippery gorge that hung tumescent below her tight globes, savouring the teasing, but she was impatient.
“Please put it in, John…Please…”
I thrust forward, as if administering a hypodermic shot, fearful that a slow entry would be painful. I need not have worried judging by the long, “Ahhhhh, Yesssss!” response it provoked. I withdrew and thrust forward again. I was enjoying this and, from the noises coming from Ruth, so was she.
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