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LONGEST men compared the feel
"The Longest Minute" {Pendragon} (MF wl)
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.
This material is Copyright, 1999, Uther Pendragon. All
rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long
as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous
permission.
All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly
coincidental.
# # # #
The Longest Minute
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
He pressed into her until their hair tangled, then rubbed back
and forth against her. He was careful to draw himself across the
top edge of her portal as he eased back. Karen was close, he
could tell that she was close; but he feared that he was closer.
"Every time that it happens, it is likelier to happen the next
time," the doctor had said. "Habit is habit, after all."
Well, she'd come while he was within her at the end of their
Saturday picnic; but that was the second time that day, and he
had been wearing a condom. Second times might well be faster for
her; they were certainly slower for him. And she clearly had
been turned on by the alfresco setting.
Now he had more than two days of built-up lust. He could feel
her tightness all around his unsheathed shaft as it came back
inside, could feel every exquisite millimeter of her slick warmth
as his sensitive head passed through it. He couldn't last; he
had to last.
He *wouldn't* last if he thought about that.
Quick! How long had it been? Two days is forty-eight hours.
Call it 4:30 then, the clock says 9:42 now. Fifty-three hours
and twelve minutes, to a ridiculous level of precision. Thirty-
one eighty plus twelve minutes. Thirty-one ninety-two. What
went into that? Twelve, certainly. What would that give you?
Two; seventy-nine; six; another seventy-two. Two sixty-six,
then.
He rubbed his chest across her swollen nipples, but he couldn't
think about that sensation. Half two sixty-six is one thirty-
three. Was that prime? Two? no; three? no; not five; seven?
Yes. Twenty less one is nineteen. Two cubed times three times
seven times nineteen. He needed another distraction.
She whimpered; her face was tightening into a rictus. So close.
If only he could keep this up. But he couldn't change the
rhythm; that would set her back more than him. Out again,
careful to keep pressing upwards as he withdrew. So close! Oh,
if he could only hold out as he had on Saturday.
Karen always looked delightful when she was responding to his
hand. She curled her belly to offer her sensitivity to his
stroke, arched the other way to shudder with clenching hips
nearly off the bed, slammed her legs tightly together. And then
he could see the ripples crossing her abdomen until she collapsed
beside him.
But he could also see her disappointment when she had recovered
her breath. Sexy as she might seem in his eyes, she was failing
sexually in her own. And, of course, one of them needed to
perform after satiation.
Less had been visible when she'd given herself there on the
picnic blanket, but the thrust of her vulva had engulfed him.
When she had arched, as she was arching now on the soft bed,
their centers had pressed together more sexily than any hug they
had ever shared. What was the sight of muscles rippling across
her abdomen compared to the feel of muscles clenching around his
shaft? And the kisses afterwards had been sweetened by her
joyous acceptance that all their pleasure had been an expression
of love. The memory of the end of the picnic was delightfully
sensual -- a memory sexier than some actual experiences had been.
The memory was too much! He could sense the anticipatory
swelling of his shaft. Some in his hindbrain overcame his
will and drove his hips harder and faster. She tightened her
legs to slow him down, but the driving force couldn't be reined.
She would blame herself, though the failure was his. If only he
could tell her that now.
"I love you," he said as the juice rose up his shaft. And he did
love her as he abandoned his distractions to fully appreciate the
lithe body under him, the clasping warmth around him, and the
loving encouragement signaled by her hands stroking up and down
his arms.
As his juice reached the tip, she clutched around him. He could
feel that rippling against his belly. She sobbed once. The
first spasm was his, but the second was hers; and then...
Theirs, theirs, ... theirs!
The End
THE LONGEST MINUTE
Uther Pendragon
1999
2000/09/10
2001/08/11
For another about a husband seeking his wife's
orgasm, see:
forest.txt
"Forest"
This is indexed in the subdirectory:
wl.txt
Wedded Lust
The directory to all my can be found at:
index.txt