Feel Us Shaking: Part II

Sometimes you forget to breathe.  Because you are stricken.  Because you are overtaken by something outside of you.  These are the moments when the universe is speaking to you.

As we walked out of the museum, Andrea and I laced ourselves together, arm-in-arm.  Alternating currents we were with her leaning into me, and I leaning into her.

The scent of she whistled into my olfactories and then perched softly and wistfully behind my eyes.  Once red and dry from the alcohol, my eyes suddenly moistened.  More than naming her scent of pears and lilies, I finally allowed myself a moment of complete immersion and drank her in.

We were walking so close together that when we would pause in-step, I could feel us trembling.  Shaking.  Ever so slightly.

I wasn’t sure what was coursing through her, but for me this was the grandstand of eroticism.  This was eroticism, defined.

In a blur, and about ten minutes later, and we had somehow made our way into the building adjacent from the art museum – the library.

+

Our arms slipped from its knot and our hands casually brushed up against the other as we walked and talked some more.  She spoke of her first love.  Her first lover.  Her most memorable kiss.  From the main foyer we took the stairs to the top floor.  We curled into the rows of books.  We looked out onto the city from the walls of windows.

We paced slowly up and down rows of dusty books, taking-in each other’s own unwritten, unpublished, unfiltered stories.

Walking in front of her in the sounds of silence, I heard a soft word. 

Hey, she whispered.

I turned around.

She dipped her chin into her shoulder and looked up at me sideways.

I stepped toward her, dropping my cheek to her askew sense of level.

Then, like a cat, she playfully lunged toward me.  Her lips kneading into mine.  Without shame, without apprehension.

Immediately my hands flew-up to slowly stroke her face as we pecked and played, slipping our tongues mischievously in and out of our open mouths.

We pulled away.

Then,

We leapt into each other.

Our bodies pressed together.  Her fingers once again finding my belt loops and squeezing.  Our hips ground around on the others.  My cock, now throbbing and vertical, slid up and down on her pubic bone.  I even bent down as she stood on her toes, inviting me further inside.  Up and into her soft, warm place.

As my hands raced around her midsection unsure as to where they wanted to land, she was the first to use words.  She said, I want you.

Now.

Her hot, breathy words said, I need this.

Now.

+

When that erotic adrenaline begins to surge like a power piped-in as a collective, universal pulse of energy – I do not remember things very clearly.  And, I do strange things like grab the girl’s hand and take her somewhere – to places that, are as of that moment, undetermined.  Unknown.  This when we were the only two beings in the entire universe standing in that row of books.

But for some reason I did.  I took her by the hand, both of us breathing hard, and I found the first corner I could.  And, unlike our pace up until that point, I threw her down and into the corner.  Onto the floor.

Looking up at me she bit her lip coyly.  Ravenous her eyes were.

I slid-in next to her and cupped her cheeks with my hands and curled into her. 

Immediately her hands went for my midsection.  Then my thighs.  And coming back up again, she crept inside – cupping my entire crotch, unabashedly searching for my cock.

Running her fingers the whole length of it, she took her time as we devoured the other’s face and neck and ear lobes – sucking gently with smacking sounds ringing in our ears as the music of eroticism made manifest.

Roughly now, her hand released its grip of my cock through my pants and dove up and over my belt.  Down and into my pants.  When she slid over my throbbing cock, I could hear her sigh of approval as our cheeks kneaded into the others.

Kissing me furiously, she slithered down to my neck.

That’s when I noticed a figure standing behind the row of books above us.  Peeking through, the person was.

Watching us, she was.

+

When Andrea came back up from nibbling on my neck, I whispered to her.

I said, somebody is watching us. From behind the bookcase. Through some books.

Playfully and buried in my neck fully, she asked if it was a boy or a girl.

I said it is a girl.

That’s when Andrea used both of her hands to undo my belt and unzip me, freeing my cock.

Stroking me out and in the open, with her hand bending and twisting me – and curling up and over the head of my cock, she asked me in the girl was still watching.

I looked up and saw that the girl was still there.  Moreover, she seemed to have moved even closer to the bookcase.  She was watching more intently.  I don’t remember the girl’s face, as all I could really identify were her wide eyes.

I said yes, she’s still there.  And she’s watching.  Definitely watching.

Immediately Andrea dove down, plunging my cock into her mouth.  Using her hand as an extension of her mouth, she stroked me with a fluid grace.  Up and down.  Twisting and bending me back and forth, taking me completely into her mouth as if this was much more about being alive than it was about sex.

As she took me in her mouth, she reached down, under my balls, kneading at my thighs and my ass.

My hips bucked and I closed my eyes.

+

The way Andrea clutched my hand on the way out of the library that afternoon told me that indeed, she needed this more than she wanted it.  As if it were raining, we walked with intent.

And through the heat of not only our uncultivated sex, but of the summer, we raced. 

The only words fully articulated were hers: She demanded that we go to my apartment.

She didn’t say anything more, but with her hand in mine – I did not feel guilt.  Just paranoia that somebody would see us.  Her husband.  Our boss.

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Once inside and we tore off our clothes unceremoniously.  She was deliberate in her undressing.  But as I took off mine, I watched her. With the afternoon sunlight pouring in the windows, I watched as she slipped off her blouse, revealing a bra and her gorgeously-toned stomach.

Then, what I had been waiting for: She unfastened her pants and let them drop.

My mouth began to water as I registered what my vision presented: She wasn’t wearing any panties.

And she was completely shaven.  Or, for that matter, waxed.  There was no sign of hair, or bumps or ingrown hairs at all below her belt.  In this she was perfect.  Angelic.

As she leaned-down to undo her shoes, I walked up behind her and pressed my cock into her ass – sliding my hands around her hips and over her mound.  Splaying my fingers, I ran the circumference of her cunt, teasing her hot slit.

Kicking away her shoes, she reached back for me as I pressed harder into her.  She slid her hand under my balls to my ass and then, with both hands behind her, she grabbed my ass, feeling my hips – thrusting me up and into her.

My cock slid up and down her slit, from her ass to her clit.

Then, she reached between her legs and mine and slipped-on a condom as she leaned forward, into the couch.  Then sliding my cock inside her with an exaggerated concentration, I pushed myself in – to the hilt and then all the way back out.  A couple more strokes and we began, in unison, fucking with animalistic fervor.  We flipped each other over again and again.  And once, with her ass in the air, I grabbed her hips and elevated her even further upward, burying my face into ass and soaking-wet cunt.

Flipping her over and putting her legs on my shoulders, I kissed all of her ankles – biting and sucking as I pounded relentlessly at her cunt. 

My whole head became soaking wet with sweat.  I was dripping all over her.

Wiping my forehead, she clutched my hand and said, no.  Let it drip all over me.  I love the way you taste.  Your skin.  Your cum.  Your sweat.  Your lips.

Pausing on her words, she bucked and ground her hips into mine as I was completely inside her.  At the hilt we grinded and gyrated.

Then, without warning, she squealed in one long and pronounced musical breath.  I slowed my pace down and then finally stopped as she pulsed and shivered and shook.  One hand on the back of my neck kept grasping then, when a shockwave would come – she would release, gripping the next time even tighter, as though she was slipping away, into an ecstasy undefined.  Unexplored.

For this was something more.

+

Slowly we dressed, each of us watching the other as though this were the beginning of an intense love affair.  And I believe that we both felt the same things, to some degree.  However,

I never saw Andrea outside of work again.

When we did speak, it was only of duties and tasks and projects.  I never was granted the space to query her about her home, her love, her life.  I never got the chance to ask her if she felt what I did on that afternoon.

When passing in the halls, we smiled sheepishly at one another.  Sometimes devilishly.

But never were any more words spoken about our literary afternoon.

Because as was the case on that sunny afternoon, our eyes said more.  Our eyes spoke of longing and wanting.  Of everything forlorn and of getting what we need, in the small doses that make everything else tolerable in a burdened world.

~ by The Provocateur on June 15, 2007.

5 Responses to “Feel Us Shaking: Part II”

  1. pure erotic!!!

  2. That was wonderful. The final line spoke to me… “…getting what we need, in the small doses that make everything else tolerable in a burdened world.” Well done.

  3. i had to remind myself to breathe.

    P, you write so fucking brilliantly.

    you make me ache.

  4. I really shouldn’t read anything you write when I’m at work.
    It makes for a very uncomfortable, anxious day.

    Absolutely beautiful erotic writing.
    You have a true gift.

  5. There are so many facets to this story, the longing and need, the exhibitionism, the lust. And they all work together. I also love that you, or your protagonist, doesn’t come in this story. She does, but he doesn’t, or we aren’t told about it. It isn’t the focus. That’s rare. And a little mysterious.

    Eve

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