Her face floats above me. The flickering candlelight provides the only illumination in the room, highlighting her beautiful pale skin and creating sharp contrasts with her dark red lips and flushed cheeks. The shadows of her curves compete with the sheen of light as it glistens from the thin film of sweat covering her delicious body.
She sits astride me as I lie flat on my back, with her hips undulating against mine. Her strong thighs grasp at my hips as we rock together in unison. I can feel myself throbbing inside her soft wetness, the lips of her cunt clutching around my rock-hard prick. I am not sliding in and out – our arousal is whetted by the rhythmic rocking of her pelvis against mine, punctuated by the pulsations of my penis and the periodic clutching of the inner walls of her vagina. This feels better even than orgasm. Oh so much better. We float together in an aroused state, spasming constantly as we each peak separately and together, just short of our final release. She draws me into her ecstasy, sweeping me into a blissful erotic trance where time has no meaning. This is the state that we have both yearned for – the feeling of total surrender, and ultimate arousal. I had no idea of how good it could be, until she showed me the way. We live separate lives, each with many obligations and commitments which place rigid demands and constraints on our time. But somehow we manage to carve out the time that we both have come to need so badly. We meet at the discreet, secluded hideaway – a comfortable rural unit with a sitting area, kitchenette and bedroom. There are a number of these facilities in the area – apparently it’s an entire “cottage” industry (pun intended) which has sprung up to fulfill the romantic needs of lovers who need a place where they can be alone together. We have tried several different locations, until we found one that we prefer. Under other circumstances it might seem cheap and tawdry, but it doesn’t matter to us – once I hold her in my arms, everything else seems to pale in insignificance. There’s nothing cheap about the way we love each other – it’s the most real emotion that I have experienced in a very, very long time. I arrive at the rendezvous with just myself. She arrives with plastic bags full of goodies. When we enter the room, I check out the bathrooms to make sure there are towels, and spread a fresh blanket on the bed. She is a hummingbird to my musk-ox; flitting here and there and pulling stuff out of her bags – lighting scented candles, putting fresh cakes and chocolate on a plate for later, when we are ready for a sweet interlude, and distributing bottles of oils and creams at strategic locations around the bedroom for future use. We talk together as we move around the room - about our days, about our jobs, about our children. And whenever we are in range, we brush fingers, slide our hands around each other, and exchange squeezes and sweet kisses before moving off on our respective tasks. It’s not a simple matter to disengage ourselves from all of the demands of the outside world – to accept that, for the next few hours at least, the only needs which matter are the ones which compel us to share the deep love that we have found with each other. I’ve learned that this bustle of activity is a way for her to adjust to the surroundings and the situation, to relax and enter into the spirit of the encounter. But more than that, she has the amazing ability to create the perfect setting with the addition of numerous small but significant touches – a timeless bubble of perfect solitude, created just for the two of us. The room is set. She wants to shower. Sometimes we do it together – the lure of her soft curves under the cascading water is often too much to resist. This time, however, I let her shower in peace (*smiling*), content to pull down the covers and undress slowly as I listen to the water falling and conjure up visions of her luscious body. I turn off the lights and lie back on the bed to await her entrance, the pear-scented candle that she lit providing the only illumination in the room. She enters the room, her hair slightly mussed, with a smile on her lips and a towel wrapped demurely around her torso. She glides onto the bed, dropping the towel in one smooth motion as her hands reach out to caress me. I reach up to pull her down to me, but she pushes me back down on the bed and tells me to turn over. She wants to massage me before we make love. She takes her massage quite seriously. She pours fragrant oil on her hands, and onto my back. I feel her small hands everywhere, probing insistently as they move up and down my legs, and then working their way up my back. It is blissful relief. I am not used to letting go like this and letting someone else do what they will with me. The result is hypnotic – I enter into a relaxed state, breathing slowly and deeply. Her hands move down to knead my asscheeks, and I realize that I am getting pleasantly aroused. My penis, trapped below me, is lengthening and hardening slowly as the feeling of loving and being loved washes over me. This is another – possibly the greatest – of the changes that she has wrought in me. I have lost control of my own penis. As a young man, achieving arousal was always effortless. Even later, I could get hard at will – all it took was the proper stimulus, or the selection of an appropriate fantasy to achieve the desired response. Now, though, it feels like all my sexual responses have somehow been rewired. Oh, I can still get hard – at least on occasion – when stimulated by fantasy. But most of the time, fantasy just doesn’t “do” it for me anymore. On the other hand, I find myself getting hard at the most unexpected times these days. And they are invariably the times when I am feeling how deeply I love this woman. This can be disconcerting at times – there have been occasions when she sucked my prick and I was unable to become fully hard. But then, only a few minutes later, when she is simply resting enfolded in my arms, I can feel my prick suddenly surge to life, becoming engorged and eager to penetrate her fleshy folds. It’s like my sexual equipment has been replaced with a new model, and I have not been given the instructions. I have to figure it out as I go along. However, I have learned not to question my responses – the “new me” is so much more fun and satisfying than the old one….. I roll over, and my now-rigid member springs up into the air. She laughs at me and lets her soft body caress me as she slides up and over me to bring her face to mine, teasing my prick with her fingertips. One hand of mine snakes around her waist to clutch one of her buttocks, while the other arm wraps behind her shoulder, my hand grasping at the soft hair where the base of her head meets her neck, pulling her lips to mine to engulf them in a deep searching kiss. The feel of her smooth, yielding skin with the soft curvature of her muscles just below the surface is intoxicating. No doubt about it – for me, at least, the skin is the most erotic organ in the body.