Like most young men, I wasted years of my life obsessed with small waists and small asses.  It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I learned to appreciate a woman with curves. Unfortunately, the woman I appreciated was off the market.

Jennifer and I met online on a blogging site.  The idea seems absurd today, but this was 2004 and the whole world wasn’t on the internet yet.  It was easy for people in their twenties who shared interests to connect and develop a real relationship.

It was a shared sense of humor that drew us to one another initially.  She was younger than me, but we’d both been in high school in the nineties and our taste in music and movies overlapped enough to find common ground.  We had shared views on politics and enjoyed a lot of the same books, but all of that was secondary to the way we made each other smile and laugh.

We’d both grown up in blue-collar, suburban homes.  We were both the first in our family to go to college and didn’t feel like we always fit in with relatives or when we were at school.  Her parents had moved to the US from Jamaica before she was born. My family was a mix of poor southern farmers on one side and Eastern European working class city-dwellers on the other.  

Jennifer was a little bit naive, introverted, and unabashedly nerdy.  She wore glasses and dressed conservatively. She had natural curls and a pretty face, but she didn’t realize it because she was too insecure about not being slender like her sisters or the women on television.  Unlike me, she’d moved away to a small university town when she started college, where she’d studied literature and became an English teacher.  

The attraction to one another was undeniable. I would have fallen for her right away if it wasn’t for her husband.  Jennifer had married young. He was the first guy she’d ever loved and the one who took her virginity. He was a local guy that she’d met on a dating site when she’d gone away to college.  

Jennifer’s husband worked second shift in a factory.  She was a few hours away from her family and most of her college friends had moved away.  She was home alone most nights. That’s how we ended up chatting daily. Sometimes it would go on for hours.  It was flirty right from the start.  

I don’t remember ever feeling bad about it because I didn’t know her husband and it didn’t seem real.  I didn’t see myself as a bad person, even when my best friend’s fiance left him for a man she met chatting online.  I was single. Jennifer was lonely. We made each other feel good.  

We’d been chatting for months before I mentioned that I had some erotica published online.  We were flirting and she was teasing and using a lot of innuendoes. I mentioned that she’d be good at writing sexy stories.  Then I told her that I’d been writing for years. I was curious about how she’d react but confident she wouldn’t be offended. Plus, I just wanted someone to know about my secret hobby.  

I sent her a link to one of my stories and figured she’d read it later and give me some feedback. I assumed she’d find it silly but appreciate my dirty mind.  She pinged me within twenty minutes.

“I’m going to have to change my panties!” Jennifer wrote.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Sorry.  I know that’s too much information.  I’m just surprised by how much I liked it.  Is any of it real?”

I’d shared a story based on my first longterm relationship and told her that a lot of the emotion was real, although some of it was embellished.

“What about the sex?” she asked.

“We did all of those things,” I said.  “Maybe not at those exact times.”

“Wow,” she wrote.  “I’ve never done some of those things.  My husband has never even gone down on me!”

She paused a second before continuing.  

“Sorry!  Too much information again.  When did you start writing stories like that?  Why?”

“I started in college because I liked to read erotica but it was hard to find stuff I liked.  I preferred romantic stories and young love and a slow burn. Most stories are just porn plots.”

“So do you get excited writing stories?” she asked.

“Not when I’m writing it,” I told her.  “I get excited by the idea, sometimes. I get excited when people connect and react to it.”

“So it wasn’t too much information when I told you I have to change my panties?” she asked. 

“Ha!” I responded.  “Of course not! It was surprising coming from you, but not too much information.”

“Why surprising?  Because I’m a nerdy old married school teacher and not a hot chick?” she asked.

“I like that you’re nerdy,” I said.  “And that you’re a teacher. And you definitely are a hot chick.”

“STOP,” she said.  “I am not. I’ve got big boobs and I’m not hideous.  I’m not hot.”

“You’re hot,” I said again.  “And it’s hot that you were turned on by my writing.  That makes me hot.”

“It does not,” she said. “Remember, I’m a nerd. I know when I’m being teased.”

“You would definitely know if I was teasing you, Jennifer.  Because you’d be asking for more. And I’m very hot. I’m definitely going to think about you being turned on later when I touch myself.  What are you going to do about being hot?”

“STOP,” she said again.  “We can’t talk like this.”

“Why not?” I asked.  “It’s just harmless fun.”

“You know why not,” she answered.

It was the elephant in the room that neither of us ever mentioned.  We both knew there was an attraction. We also both knew that she was a married woman.  Jennifer didn’t avoid talking about her husband. She regularly mentioned him in passing when she was talking about her life with me or on her blog. 

I knew he wasn’t a bad guy and that she cared for him. I also knew that she married the first guy that she fell for and they didn’t have much in common beyond an initial attraction.  She needed someone else in her life to discuss her interests.

She steered the conversation away from sex and I didn’t push it.  We chatted for a little while longer and then said goodnight. That night I went to bed thinking about Jennifer.  I’d only seen a few pictures of her, but they were enough to fuel my fantasies. For the first time, I stroked my cock thinking about her in my bed.

Jennifer and I didn’t chat for a few days after that night.  It wasn’t unusual for us to go a few days without chatting, but I couldn’t help fearing that I’d made her uncomfortable.  We still commented on one another’s blog posts and the banter was still playful. It may have gone on that way for weeks if jealousy hadn’t been a factor.

“That Tonya girl seems to have taken a real interest in you.  She comments on all your posts,” she messaged me one evening.  

“I guess,” I said.

“She seems very flirty.  She even mentioned chatting with you!”

“Yeah,” I responded.  “We’ve chatted on and off for a few months.  Nothing regular. We talked on the phone a couple of times, too.”

“On the phone?”  Jennifer asked.

“Yes.  Why not?  It’s basically the same as chatting.  Except there are fewer distractions and I don’t have to sit in front of the computer.”

“We’ve never talked on the phone,” she wrote.

I wanted to tell her it was because she wasn’t single and Tonya was.  I’d flirted with her and we’d contemplated meeting, even though she lived several states away.  Instead, I was polite.

“We can talk on the phone if you want,” I responded. 

“I don’t know,” she said.

I typed my phone number.

“Well now you have my cell phone number,” I said.  “Call now. Or some other time. Or leave a message if you want.”

“I am curious about your voice.”

“Call.”

“Ok,” she said.  “But just for a few minutes.”

A minute later my phone rang and I heard her voice for the first time. It was softer than I expected, but also confident and sweet.  I felt nervous talking to her.

“Your voice is much deeper than I expected,” she said.

“Is that a good thing.”

“I like it.  It’s very good,” she answered.

“Well at least I have something that appeals to the ladies, I guess.”

“Stop,” she said.  “You have lots of things ladies like.”

“Then why am I single?” I asked.

“You just haven’t met the right one.”

“That’s because all the good ones are taken,” I responded.  “Women like you are already married.”

She was quiet for a second.

“I married young,” she said.  “And I’m in a small town. There are more women in the city.  My sisters are both singles in the city and they’re as old as I was when I got married.”

“You should set me up with one of them!”

Jennifer laughed.

“No.  My middle sister is a train wreck who only dates losers and my baby sister is trying to be a model.”

“So I’m not good enough for a model?” I asked.

“You’re good enough.  But she’s too flighty for you. She’s never with anyone for longer than a month.  Plus, she’s the prettiest one. I’m jealous of her already. I couldn’t take it if she was bringing you around to holiday parties.”

It was my turn to be quiet for a second.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to take it?” I asked.

“Because you’re a great catch.  I’d be jealous!”

“But you’re married,” I responded.

Jennifer was quiet for a long second.

“Yes,” I am.  “But you know that I think you’re great.’

“Maybe I just want you to flirt with for myself,” she added playfully.  “You don’t get to date in my family.”

“Well maybe I’d just do it to get closer to you,” I said.

“Stop teasing me,” she said.

“I told you that you’ll know when I’m teasing you.”

“You’re pushing my buttons on purpose,” she said. Her voice had gotten slightly deeper and breathier.

“If I was teasing you, then I’d tell you that I got off to you the other night,” I said.

“You did not.”

“Yes, I did.  The last time we chatted.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said.  “I’m expecting a call from my mom in a little bit.  I have to go.”

“Ok, Jennifer.  Talk soon?”

“Definitely,” she said.

I got myself off again that night thinking of her.  I didn’t think about the fact that she was married. It was all just a fantasy for me.  Jennifer was pretty and had a great voice and she was unattainable. It wasn’t that different than half the women I’d fantasized about in my life.  

The next day I had a short email waiting in my inbox.  It just said that she really enjoyed talking and that we should do it again one night soon.  I responded that I looked forward to it.

A week passed before we spoke again on the phone. We chatted briefly in between and I decided to not tease her too much.  I didn’t want to become predictable and I really did enjoy normal conversations with her. Although I was also young and horny and constantly thought about sex and wanted to bring it up.

Jennifer actually brought it up first.  The next time she called she mentioned reading more of my stories.

“What did you think?” I asked.

“Remember my review of the first one?”

“That you thought you’d have to change your panties?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Well. The review stands.”

“So you had to change your panties?”

“I haven’t yet.”

“You just read them tonight?” I asked

“Yes. Just before I called.”

“Did they make you touch yourself?”

She waited before responding.

“That’s not something I really talk about,” she said.

“You mean with me?”

“I mean ever,” she said. “I don’t talk like that with my friends or my sisters.”

“Or your husband?”

She laughed out loud.

“Oh no,” she said.  “Never. We don't... we have normal sex.”

“What’s normal sex?” 

“I don’t really want to get into this.  It’s just not really romantic or dirty. Normal sex at bedtime.”

“It’s never spontaneous?”

“Sometimes,” she said.  “He really likes my ass in some things.  He mentions that all the time.”

I’d never seen a good photo of her ass, but I could imagine it was nice and plump based on what I had seen.  

“So you won’t tell me if you touched yourself?”

“A little,” she answered.

“You’ll tell me a little?”

“You know what I mean. I touched myself a little.”

“Have you ever gotten off to me?  Or my stories?” I asked.

“Stop.  You can’t tease me.”

“You know I get off to you, Jennifer.  Twice now.”

“What did you think about?”

“Your pictures,” I said.  “And you being turned on by my stories.”

“I was turned on,” she said.

“Are you still turned on, Jennifer?”

“Yes.”

“And your panties are wet?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of panties are you wearing, Jennifer?”

“Nothing exciting.  Just black nylon panties.”

“You’re not lounging around in Victoria’s Secret or something sexy?” I asked.

“No,” she laughed. “I don’t buy much there.  Their cute stuff doesn’t usually come in a double-D.”

“What else do you have on, Jennifer?”

“I’m still dressed from school.  Black slacks and a black and white striped top.  White bra.”

“Do you touch your nipples when you’re excited, Jennifer?”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” she said.  “Let’s change the subject.”

“Come on,” I said.  “We’re just talking.  Do you like to touch your nipples?  Are they sensitive?”

“Yes,” she said.  “I touch them. I like to rub them.”

“Wil you touch them now?”

“No,” she said. “I’m dressed.  We should stop.”

“Will you send me a picture of your outfit?” 

“No,” she said.

“What will you do?” I asked.

“I won’t stop you if you touch yourself.”

“Well I know you won’t to that,” I said.  “You’re not here.”

“I won’t hang up on you either.”

“So if I tell you that I’m taking my cock out and touching it right now you won’t hand up?” I asked

“No.  I want to listen.”

“Will you touch yourself?” 

“No,” she said.  “Or maybe. Over my pants.  I don’t know. We can stop.  I’m teasing you now.”

“I don’t think I can stop now, Jennifer.  I’m so hard. And I’ve got my cock out.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”  

I moaned softly into the phone.  It wasn’t my first time talking dirty to a woman I’d met online.  I knew what most liked.

“I’m thinking about the way you talk.  The way you make my heart race, Jennifer.  I’m thinking about your body.”

“Men don’t like my body,” she said.

“You told me they like your ass.”

“Some do.  He’s a redneck married to a black nerd, though.  He’s weird.”

“And you’ve got that amazing smile.  That sexy, curly hair. Those great tits.”

“Those are great,” she admitted.

“I can almost feel you on me,” I told her.  “I want the weight of your body on my cock. Riding me.  Your curls bouncing. Your tits bouncing. Your hot pussy wrapped around my cock.”

“That’s hot,” she said.

“Where’s your hand?”

“Between my legs,” she admitted.  She whimpered softly into the phone.

“Will you touch your nipples?” 

“Not now,” she said.  “Later. Not on the phone.  I’m too self-conscious.”

“But you want me to cum?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You want me to cum for you, Jennifer?”

“Yes,” she said louder.

“I think about fucking you all the time, Jennifer.  I want you all the time.”

“Do you?” she whispered. She whimpered again.

My cock was aching.  Drops of cum ran down the head.  I could feel my body getting tense.

“I’m going to cum right now for you.  Do you want that?”

“Yes. Cum for me, please.”

I groaned loudly.  My cock spasmed and released.

“Oh fuck, Jennifer.  Oh fuck, that feels good.  I’m cumming for you.”

“That sounded so hot.  I’ve never done anything like this.  I’ve never had a man cum just from thinking about me.”

“I do it all the time,” I told her.

“I believe you,” she said.

We talked a little bit longer before saying goodbye.  I went to bed and slept like a baby. Jennifer’s email the next day didn’t mention if she’d ended up touching herself later, but she was very happy with the call and eager to talk again soon.

Things only escalated going forward.  We chatted almost every day. We didn’t always talk about sex, but the intimacy between us had grown.  Instead of talking around our feeling for one another, they slipped into our conversation. We were affectionate and flirtatious.  

On the phone, we’d sometimes talk for hours about nothing except music or entertainment or how the week was going. Every time Jennifer mentioned coming to the city, I would joke that we should get coffee or drinks or she should just come by.  If the conversation turned sexual, I’d touch my cock while she listened. I couldn’t persuade her to join in, but she’d write me long emails the next day about massaging her tits and touching her pussy while she thought of me.

Gradually, I started asking for more.  I wasn’t pushy or mean, but I was determined.  We’d been talking on the phone for months the first time I got Jennifer to take pictures just for me.  She would take a few clothed photos with her digital camera and share them in a private album online. Then I’d tell her exactly how I would undress her while we both moaned into the phone until I came.

Still, I pushed for more.

“I want to see your tits,” I told her.

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“What about your bra and cleavage?”

She resisted the first few times.  Then I’d feel bad for asking up until the next time that I was rock hard and getting ready to cum for her.

“What if I cum with you instead?” she asked one night.  

“What if you did both?”

“You’re so pushy,” she said.

“I know.  I shouldn’t be.  But I want you, and I’ll never have you.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

“I want you, too,” she said.  “I know it’s not fair. I’m being selfish.  I get what I want and you’re alone.”

“It’s not like that,” I said.  “You’re not forcing me to be here.  I enjoy it. Even if I can’t have you.”

“Will you touch your cock if I send you the picture you want?” she asked.

Months earlier she hadn’t even been able to say the word “cock” out loud.  Now she’d graduate to dirty talk.

“I’ll call you back in a little bit,” she said.

I waited patiently for her to call again.  I was half certain she would change her mind.  I sat in front of my computer waiting. Finally, I got an email with a link to an album.  I opened it a picture slowly loaded over my 2003 cable modem connection. Jennifer’s photo showed the bottom of her glasses, her plump lips, and her unmistakable body. She was wearing a white t-shirt and pink shorts.

“Do you like the first photo?” she said nervously when she called.

“Of course,” I told her.  

She sent a second photo. In it, her shorts were unbuttoned and pulled slightly open.  Her lips were smiling mischievously. I could see the pale pink lace of her panties.

“I got really excited taking these,” she said.  “I would have never guessed that would happen.”

The third photo had her shorts fully opened and pulled down on her hips.  

“You’re so sexy,” I whispered.

“I’m not,” she protested.

“I’m so hard looking at you, Jennifer.”  I need you.

“Two more,” she said.

She sent the last two photos together.  In the next one, her t-shirt was pulled up.  Her beautiful, big tits were straining in a lacy white bra.  In the last photo, the shirt was still being held up by one hand, but the other was inside her panties.

“Fuck me,” I said when I saw it.

“I wish I could,” she said.

“Will you touch yourself?” I asked.

“You saw the picture.  I have been for fifteen minutes.”

“I want you in my bed, Jennifer,” I moaned.  

I tugged on my cock and moaned loudly.

“I want to be there,” she said.

“Then maybe you should just come,” I told her.

“I’m going to cum,” she said. “I’m going to cum with you.”

“No,” I panted.  “Come here. For real. Be in my bed.”

“I want that,” she moaned.  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just see what happens.”

I couldn’t believe I had asked, much less that she had agreed.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never imagined,“ I told her.  

“I know you will,” she panted.  

I”d never heard Jennifer climax, but I could tell she was close.  We got louder.

“I can’t wait to be in your pussy,” I told her.

“I want it,” she said.  “I need it.”

She came hard.  Her squeals pierced my eardrum.  I followed my moaning her name. My cock ached for a second and then released.  My hot cum ran down my hand.

We both praised one another after and talked about how good we felt.  I went to bed that night smiling. I didn’t really expect her to meet, but I thought there might be a small chance.  Either way, the fantasy was fun.

I didn’t know where things would go the next day, but I wasn’t expecting Jennifer’s response.  She just sent me a quick note.

“Last night was fun,” she wrote.  “I don’t regret it. I want you to know that.  I don’t feel guilty. I don’t know what’s happening, though.  I’m scared of where this is leading. Please don’t be mad at me.  I couldn’t take that. We just need to back off. I’m married and I need to think about things.”

I was flabbergasted.  I couldn’t really be angry because I knew the situation going in.  I didn’t think she was going to cheat on her husband, even if I had considered the possibility. On some level, deep down, I believed there was a chance that two people are meant for one another and maybe Jennifer was the one for me, but I wasn’t prepared to destroy someone’s life to make that happen.

Jennifer didn’t disappear.  We still interacted online. She’d sent emails and even chat sometimes.  She wasn’t cold to me, but it was obvious she’d decided to put up a wall.  Sometimes the flirty part of her personality would slip through, but it was rare. I tried not to be disappointed, even though I missed her.

Eventually, I started flirting with Tonya again.  I wasn’t drawn to her the way I was with Jennifer, but she was single and curvy and sexually aggressive.  I flew across the country to meet her and we slept together the first night. I wrote about it on my blog, not to make Jennifer jealous, but to make Tonya happy.

It had been months since my last call with Jennifer when my phone rang unexpectedly one night.

“I’m jealous,” she said.  “I shouldn’t be, but I’m jealous.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” I told her.  “Even if you are, I”m not the one who has to be your shoulder to cry on.”

“You know I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I responded.  “I let myself get hurt because I fell for someone who wasn’t available.”

“You fell for me?”

“Yes.  I fell for you.  I didn’t mean to, but it happened.  And I thought you fell for me, too.”

“I did fall for you.”

“Bullshit,” I said.  “If you did, you wouldn’t have just disappeared.  You would have thought of a way to let me down easier.”

“I didn’t disappear!” she protested.  “I still write to you. We still chat.”

“You know it’s not the same,” I said. “You’re distant.”

“I have to be distant,” she shouted.  “Do you know how hard this is for me? I’m married.  I made a promise to someone I don’t want to hurt. I’m confused.  I don’t know if I’m happy. And every time I come to the city to see my sister I want to come to your home and meet you.  I even looked up your address. And I don’t do it because I don’t know that I can control myself. And I don’t know what happens after.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” I told her.  “I didn’t know it was that hard on you.”

“I meant what I said that last time we talked,” she said.  “I want you. I can’t go on like this anymore. Either we can’t talk at all, or we have to meet.  I get too jealous knowing you’re with someone else and I wonder if I’m making a mistake.”

“Then let’s meet,” I said.

“No promised about anything,” she responded.

“Of course.”

We coordinated things by email. Jennifer told her husband she was coming into the city to visit her sisters for the day.  She actually did meet them for lunch. Then she met up with me. She was dressed casually in a skirt and pullover top. I chose a cafe near a park.  After an initial moment of awkwardness, things clicked between us, just like they had online and on the phone. 

We took a long walk on a secluded trail by the lake at sunset.  Everything had the feel of a first date. We flirted openly but didn’t push things too far. When we sat together on a bench, Jennifer moved close to me. We touched hands.  I put an arm around her. It felt natural. I wanted more, but I also didn’t want to push her away. We didn’t kiss for the first time until I walked her to her car. A gentle kiss on the lips.

“Are we going to see each other again?” I asked her.

“I think we have to,” she responded.

We exchanged a longer kiss.  I placed a hand on her hip and slid it beneath her ass.  I pulled her close to me. Her lips parted and my tongue slid into her mouth.  

“Wow,” was all she could say afterward.

Our second date was at my house.  Jennifer drove the ninety minutes from her house right after work.  She knew her husband would just be starting his shift and wouldn’t be home until after midnight.

She showed up wearing her glasses, a gray cardigan over an untucked white cotton buttondown, and a black wool skirt that came halfway down her calf.  Her curly hair was pinned up.

“Do I look like a nerdy teacher?” she asked.  “Do you want to send me away?

“I want you to send you to my bedroom and spank you,” I responded.

I’d cooked a light dinner.  We ate and flirted and laughed.  She’d brought a couple of her favorite movies to watch.  They were both old romantic comedies from the sixties. Snuggled on my couch, we didn’t make it very long.

At first, Jennifer was too my side.  I put my arm around her and she leaned close to me.  We started a movie with the lights down low. I rubbed her shoulder and arm sensually. 

“That feels good,” she told me.

She turned her pretty face to mine and we stared at one another.  

“Take off your glasses,” I told her.

“Why? Because I look like a nerd?”

“Because I want to kiss you,” I said.

“You can kiss me with my glasses on.”

“Not the way I want to,” I responded.

She handed me her glasses to sit aside.  I kissed her full lips slowly. My hand went to her hip.  I squeezed it and rubbed her ass. Within minutes, we were lying next to one another on the couch.  We were both breathing heavily. My cock was rock hard. I guided her hand to it and she rubbed me instinctively before pulling away.

We barely spoke.  I kissed her neck.  I rubbed her ass.

“There is more room in my bed,” I told her.

She nodded.

“On top of the covers only,” she said.  “And we don’t undress.”

We quickly moved to the bedroom.  

“I miss just making out,” she said.

Jennifer laid on her back and let me kiss her neck and lips.  She moaned softly. I guided her hand back to my cock.  

“You’re so hard,” she whispered.

“You can take it out.”

She shook her head.

I put my hand to the top button on her blouse.

“May I?”  I asked. “Just a peek?”

She nodded.  I opened the top two buttons on her blouse.  Her tits were so big that it looked like they could hold a pencil between them.  She wore a lacy cream-colored bra that contrasted sharply with her dark skin. I kissed her cleavage.  I cupped her tit and squeezed. She moaned in response.

I rolled onto my back and pulled her on top of me.  Jennifer tried to straddle me, but her long skirt made it impossible.

“Take it off,” I told her.  

She shook her head.  

“You can leave your panties on.”

I rubbed my hand on her ass and found the zipper.  When I pulled it down, she didn’t protest. She stood up long enough to wiggle out of the skirt.  Her lacy panties matched her bra. I assumed that was planned, just in case. I unzipped my pants and slid them down quickly.

Jennifer straddled me in the bed.  I opened the remaining buttons on her blouse and let it hang open. The sexy contrast of her dark skin and the cream-colored lingerie turned me on even more.  She started grinding against my dick.  

We kissed passionately and dry-humped.  

“I want you, Jennifer.”

“We can’t.”

She moved her hips faster. I moaned My cock was aching.

“Can you cum like this?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I might need more stimulation.”

“Will you touch yourself?”

She shook her head.  She moved slowly up and down my shaft and I groaned loudly.

“What about your tits?  Can I touch them?”

She shook her head again.

“I don’t think you should,” she said

I pulled her closer to me and kissed her cleavage. I pushed the cups of her bra down to get closer to her nipples.  My lips followed. She didn’t stop me.

Her big, brown nipples were beautiful and hard.  I sucked and licked each of them.  

“Ride my cock,” I told her.

She sat back up and rubbed my dick with her pussy.  I could feel how wet she was through two layers of clothing.  I twisted and teased her wet nipples with my fingertips.  

“That feels so good,” she said. “They’re so sensitive.”

We moved faster.  Jennifer bit her bottom lip and moaned.  She closed her pretty eyes. She put her hands on my chest for leverage and dry-humped my cock.  I lost it. I came hard into my underwear. Jennifer didn’t slow down. She kept riding my dick. I squeezed her nipple.

“Oh,” she moaned.  “Oh. I’m cumming.”

Her beautiful body trembled and she tossed her head back.  Afterward, she laid on top of me with her tits still out. I rubbed her ass and back.  We kissed and didn’t talk much.

“You’re only the second man to make me cum,” she said.

“You did most of the work,” I admitted.

She smiled and laughed.

“You know what I mean.”

“How many men have you made cum?” I asked.  

“Only four, as of today.  I gave a couple of handjobs before I met my husband.”

“When do I get a handjob?” I asked.

She rubbed my cock as a tease. 

“Soon, I think,” she admitted.

We stayed in bed for as long as we could.  We kissed one another and talked. Eventually, she got dressed and straightened up.  Jennifer wanted to be home and in bed, before her husband arrived. We kissed one another at the door and had a hard time letting go.

“He has a fishing trip coming up,” she told me.  “I didn’t want to mention it before because I wasn’t sure.  It would be easy for me to spend the night if you’d like that.”

“Of course I would,” I told her.