Chapter 2

I found I almost stopped breathing when she took her jeans off. Out of politeness I tried not to stare, but I observed how she did her best to execute the move in a dignified way. Plain white cotton panties — very nice — obviously they too would be coming off.

They came off. She stepped out of them in the same calm, dignfiied way. I saw rather pale but nice thighs and a hell of a good show of arse-flesh, better even than I could have anticipated from its denim-packaged state. Then I saw our focal point for the job head — my guess had been correct: hairy. I had to consciously make myself breathe slow and easy. I had to remind myself not to enjoy it too much, at least not to show it. It was a service only, an agreement, albeit an unusual and risque one, between two sensible trusting adults.

All this went through my head while I too simultaneously stripped below the waist. Once free of my underwear my naked cock stood there, 6 or more inches up against my body, obvious and stiff, absolutely at its maximum already: this I could not hide. I didn't need to hide it, did I? — that's what I was here for. Surely it kind of betrayed my enthusiasm, though, I mused. Hopefully she regarded the sight as 'good news'.

"Ready?" she said quietly. She took up the aforesaid position on her back on the end of the bed.

I tried to read into how much, if any, genuine 'enthusiasm' she might be feeling by the way she opened her thighs. Well, it was good and wide, but not ridiculously gymnastically so.

"Yes," I said. My manhood ached.

I took up position. This entailed me leaning over her and perching my elbows to either side of her, leaving daylight between our torsos and seeking togetherness only at our groins. It felt so unatural not to kiss or embrace or caress in any way, but rules were rules and I better respect them. She actually smelled good — the usual female body perfumes or what not. I kind of hated her for that: why would the bitch make herself so nice if she didn't want intimacy? I wondered how lubricated she would be without foreplay, and whether I should ask or care about this.

"Will you be okay?" I said. "I mean, will you be ready — um, doing it like this?"

"Yes, don't worry." She knew what I meant well enough, and her response kind of closed the door on any chance to suggest fingering or licking her out. Maybe the bitch had been pleasuring herself for half an hour before I arrrived or, more likely perhaps, she'd smothered herself in some kind of oil down there. However, I liked to think that maybe she was naturally lubricated from the anticipation of the act.

I squared up my cock against the lower part of her hairy triangle (I was guessing it looked trimmed rather than totally au naturelle). It required the minimum of looking down there and using my hand for guidance. She assisted, not by using her hand, but by making little shufflles of her crotch when she felt I was close. I soon sensed my cock head coming into contact with warmth and damp, and I eased it forward.

"Okay?" I said softly, as I pushed on up her passage. She had closed her eyes and breathed in suddenly a little sharply.

"Yea," she said.

I proceeded, badly wanting to touch, kiss or at least hold her somewhere, but I kept the respectful separation between our chests and faces and I kept my forearms neutrally on the bed. I eased my weight into her groin and screwed her cunt steadily with my rock-rigid shaft. I reminded myself I did not have to feel any reservation about how well I did this — that in fact I was required to do it well.

I was pleased to sense how she countered my thrusts with her own, encouraging me deeper, but I had to assume she was only doing it out of functional purpose. She kept her eyes closed which was good, because I felt more free to stare and relish what I was doing. She did in fact feel quite lubricated, not tight but not slack either. Like any cunt, what it was was warm. I rolled my hips steadily but attempted not to cum too soon, for the sake of my own pleasure.

I couldn't help breathing harder and deeper, but I made sure I kept it 'respectable'. She herself was breathing deeper anyway, so I needn't feel guilty. Besides — how the hell can you totally divorce emotion from fucking, I thought, a little angrily. Before allowing myself to let go to my climax, I contemplated how much I might be able to get away with eroticism-wise. Making a grab for her tidy 34C (I was guessing) breasts or plunging down onto her to kiss her face was definitely a no-no, even though my feelings cried out for it.