I awoke to the sound of thunder—a continuous crackling and rolling. Not loud though, as it was still far off in the distance. The room was warm and very dark. There was just a bit of a breeze twisting and turning the gauzy white curtains hanging before the open windows. In the darkness I could barely see them, almost ghostlike as they shimmered in the pale light from the far off lightning. In the pause between flashes they were invisible, reappearing only with the next flash, fluttering in the light breeze.
I pushed the sheet to the floor. It was much too warm. He had done the same on his side earlier, so now it was just a twisted heap at the foot of the bed, lost in the intense darkness. Even the baby doll nightie I had worn to bed felt oppressive in the moist heat of the night. I pulled it up and over my head, tossing it after the sheet, and lay naked on my back. Yes, a little better.
The lightning continued to flicker, growing closer now. In the regular flashes I could see him lying naked next to me, on his back, his belly flat, and his strong legs stretched out below. He was limp, flaccid after our earlier coupling. It lay to one side, but still, even in its softened state it looked large—not menacing as it did when it was erect, but still a tool to be reckoned with.
The thunder had not wakened him. I propped myself up on an elbow and just stared at him in the flashes of light flickering through the window. I stared for a long time as the storm slowly approached. So beautiful, I thought.
Then there was a bright flash and a loud crash almost immediately after. I threw myself across his chest and lay there, hiding from the storm. He awakened and put his strong arms around me, holding me safe. Now the wind was whipping past the curtain, holding it nearly straight out, and there was an almost continuous flicker of lightning, not close like the bolt that had driven me into his arms, but much closer than before and accompanied by a continuous crackle and roll of thunder.
I whimpered, and he said, "Sssh. It's only a storm and you're here with me. It's okay."
I climbed further up him so my head was nestled in the space between his neck and shoulders, my chest lying on his and our legs tangled below. I could feel his chest rising and falling beneath me with his breathing, slow, regular, calming.
The storm continued to crackle and rumble lighting the room like a strobe, as it moved off to the south. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here," I said. "I hate storms."
"It's okay," he repeated. "It's gone on past us."
I could still hear it crackling in the distance, quieter and more gently now. The curtains had returned to a gentle movement, and the lightning was now only occasionally illuminating the room. Mostly it was dark.
He took his hands from my back and used them to pull me up, so my face was even with his. Then he kissed me. I was holding myself up, my arms and knees spread on either side of him. My long hair formed a tent around our heads as we kissed.
The kiss was a long one, and I could feel myself becoming aroused. We had made love a few hours earlier, but my need was returning rapidly as we kissed.
Now it was completely dark, the storm gone, like a dream that had passed in the night, but we remained, kissing passionately in the dark. I was rubbing my chest against his as we kissed.
"You are insatiable, woman," he said.
"I know. It's what you love about me."
"Not the only thing."
"Good, but now, just now, in this dark room, it's the main thing, isn't it?" As I spoke I rose higher on my hands and knees, my hair still draped around his head. "Yes, I want you . . . now!" I said. I sat up, my hips parked on his lower belly and reached behind myself until I found him.
He was fully erect and hard. As I stroked him, I said, "Oh, it looks like I'm not the only one who is insatiable tonight."
Now his voice had an urgency that was missing before. "Oh god, that feels good."
"What?" I asked, knowing full well what he was talking about as I continued to stroke him.
"What you're doing with your hand," he said.
"I can tell. You're very hard."
All of this was going on in the dark, total darkness—like an old fashioned photographer's darkroom. It could have been anyone I was with. But it wasn't, it was him, with his chiseled, nearly hairless chest, his deep rumbling voice, and his stubbly beard. Yes, it was him.
He put his hands on my chest and began to caress me, and then to pinch and pull a bit—not real pain, but just enough to stimulate me. As if I wasn't aroused before, this really set me on a roller coaster.
"I want you inside me," I said.
"Now? So soon?"
"Yes! Now! I need you now!"
He pinched my nipples with both hands, and I groaned.
I rose to my knees and pushed myself back until I was positioned above him. I reached down, my hands before me now, and used one hand to position him for entry. My other hand was leaning on his chest. Then I just slid down on him, letting him fill the void in my core. He was so big. Somehow I never remembered how he stretched me when he first entered me. Some nights he would barely be able to get it in me, and when the head first pushed its way in, it hurt, but oh, such a good hurt. Tonight it went in a little easier because we had made love just a few hours earlier, and I was still stretched from that earlier session. Still, it wasn't an easy entry. Not like some lovers I had been with. Just the head was inside me, and I felt full just from that. But I knew there was more to come, much more, and I wanted it badly.
"Oh god, that feels so good." We both said it, not quite in harmony, but certainly over the top of each other.
I leaned forward so my chest was lying against the bottom of his rib cage, as I pushed back with my hips, forcing him slowly into me as far as possible. I just kept pushing back until I felt him hit bottom. Then we held that position, for a long time in silence and total darkness. It was so good. I was so full I couldn't conceive of how he could make it any better.
Of course, no one can hold that position forever. I mean forever without motion, that regular back and forth motion that leads to . . . And then there was another flash of lightning from the end of the storm, followed by a rumble of thunder a few miles away. It must have ruined his concentration, because I felt him flex inside me. Just a little motion, but such an important little motion, because I had to respond, and I did, just by flexing my muscles. Yes, those muscles, squeezing him the slightest bit.
He responded with a quiet groan and another twitch and this time a soft upward push of his hips, not hard, mind you, but definitely there. The dance had begun and we both knew it.
"Mmmm," I said. I raised my hips up—not much, barely half an inch, and then as I let them sink back down, I felt him push up with his hips to meet me. I also felt him swell inside me. He was so hard, like a steel rod. I hadn't thought I could get any fuller, but I was wrong. The dance had begun in earnest.
Then we repeated . . . . . . and repeated . . . . . and repeated . . . and repeated and repeated, and repeated, until we were really going at it. My upper body was erect now, no longer pressed against his ribs and my tits were swinging wildly, my hair doing the same.
"I'm not going to last long," I said.
"Me neither. I'm getting close."
Now the dance, which had started as a slow Latin Rumba, was a wild Dionysian African tribal dance, both of us working hard on the other. But we were still in synch. Me up and out and then down, with him rising to meet me, to fill me, to stretch me, always farther than I thought possible.
He had both hands on my hips now, and I was using my hands to rub my tits and pinch, as we continued to pump in and out of each other. My voice, my inner voice, a voice I never use except in this one situation, was garrulous and urgent, singing loudly of the passion about to overcome me. He was silent, as he always was just before the end. If I could have seen him in the dark, his face would have been in a grimace, a grimace of ecstasy, as he struggled for control, wanting to time his release to match mine.
