Chapter 16

Her eyes flashed open.

I didn’t remove my finger, nor did I push in more than the tip. I did start rotating it just a bit.

Her eyes glazed over, once again closed, and her breathing got a little more erratic.

“Lil’ ... dee ... per,” she whispered. I could see that her nipples had fully hardened and extended.

I sunk my finger in an inch, heard her grunt, and I stopped, as she slowed movement atop me. When she picked up speed once more, I slowly began moving my finger back and forth in a half-inch movement. I also pulled myself up and sucked in a nipple, catching it lightly between my teeth.

“Oh gawd yes,” whispering again, and I felt her body start to shake and vibrate. Her ass muscles clamped down on my finger, and her hand that had wrapped around my head crushed me closer, flattening her breast and my lips.

But most of all, her pussy seemed to have a mind of its own, clamping down and releasing as she rode me up and down. She was almost crying lightly now, the sensations just overwhelming her body and mind.

I took notice and released my hold on my orgasm, and as those sensations all hit their pitch, I added to it by pumping warm cum inside of her, bathing her insides, and feeling it squeezed out and onto my balls along with her wetness.

As the orgasm train slowed down at the station, she collapsed on me, out of breath, sapped of energy. It was a dozen or so minutes later before we started to engage in conversation.

I stayed over one night when we got back to Pennsylvania, and the following morning Rich suggested we hit a local diner for some grub before I hit the road.

“Wait until you see ... the waitress.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I responded, and off we went.

It was a throwback diner, you know, one of those aluminum-clad beasts that looked almost out of place in today’s streamlined world. Still, it had charm.

Rich guided us over to a table near a window, and a couple of minutes later a petite young brunette came over, two menus in hand and a smile on her face.

“Hello again, Mr. Rich,” she said, “did you bring a friend with you?” She had a name tag that said Catherine on it, and then in smaller print, “Trainee”, below her name.

Rich introduced me and he made enough small talk with her that I surmised he’d been here at least a few times before with her as his waitress.

When it was my turn to order, I told her I wasn’t much into breakfast and asked her for a recommendation. She thought for a moment, smiled, and leaned closer as if to keep others from hearing.

“Well, the truth is, we have the best apple pie in the area,” her voice a bit hushed. “Now, if you don’t want a sweet, then--” and I cut her off.

“No, apple pie will be fine, Catherine.”

She nodded her head as she wrote it down on her order pad, then looked at me and smiled. “You can call me Cat,” she said, turning to walk away, “Mr. Rich does,” and with that, she spun and went toward the kitchen, her ponytail moving back and forth like a clock’s pendulum.

I looked over at him.

“Mr. Rich does,” I said in a voice that tried to mimic hers.

“Don’t start,” grumbled Rich, and then he grinned a bit.

When the apple pie came, I knew I’d made the right choice; the first bite was pure heaven.

After the third, I looked at Rich, and with a more serious tone, asked him a question that’d been brewing ever since we got on the plane to fly back home.

“What’s next?”

He looked at me, eyes-a-twinklin’, almost as if he had been waiting for the question.

“So ... what do you know about Mt. Kilimanjaro?”

1 The reference is to Santiago, the protagonist in Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.