The story that follows was written by Meursault6, who read my stories "Film At Eleven," and took up my suggestion to write something in response. His email address is Meursault6@aol.com, and he would like to get feedback from you. It really turns me on to know that my fantasies strike such a responsive chord in other people. If you would like to write something about your dreams of you and me, I'd love it. I would love to enlarge on this "With Sue" series of stories.

NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only-so don't read it if you don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNH@AOL.com... but I can't promise to return your emails... I do have some other things to do in my real life!

Waiting For Late Night (sequel to Sue's Film at Eleven)

by Meursault6@aol.com

It was one of those awkward moments. The intensity of the orgasm left my mind blank, spent. My whole body was weak as I lay on the ottoman, afraid that I might just flow of it into a puddle on the heart pine floor. I open my eyes and see Nina's back, lightly tan, and the twin orbs of her paler buttocks, mechanically, automatically, rising and falling over my softening cock. An automaton in cold physical reaction to the orgasm so warmly reached before. While I am spent.

There is Sue. Sue who filmed this, who took this coitus to another level. She is putting down the handcorder on the table, still walking on with her bent knees. The crotch of her white leotard has bunched between the lips of her vagina, and her wetness has stained through to darken the fabric of her clothing. She is a fine looking women, her blonde hair cascading down her back, her long legs muscular and tanned. She told Nina and me earlier of her trip to the Caribbean, and the sensuousness of the beach and the sun. I'm so spent that I cannot speak.

My cock softens so that the head drops out of the grasp of Nina's labia and thuds against my stomach. It is oiled with our fluids, gleaming in the light of the fire that burns next to us. Nina's rhythmic motion is so subtle now I can only discern it from the contractions of her shoulders, I cannot detect the small rise and fall of her body. She still straddles me, and beneath the cleft of her buttocks I can see the stringy droplets resulting from our friction spilling from her and sticking to the dewy hair on my upper thighs. Her right hand reaches behind her, between her parted thighs, and I feel Nina's fingers curl around my limp prick. I can feel their tips adhere to the goo that mists my member, and the tightness of the bond when she pulls her hand away.

Nina unstraddles from over my torso, swinging her leg over me and the ottoman. I can see her thighs gleam from our spill. She walks over to the chair were the towel lies spread, our pubic hair scattered and stuck to the threads by the shaving lubricant we used earlier. From her silhouette projected on the wall I watch as Nina wipes herself clean. I look around the shadowy room with the flicking flames casting a varied depth of light, but cannot see Sue. Nina leaves, after finding the towel was soiled, to wash herself. I lie naked on my back and close my eyes.

I remember.

I can feel the walls of Nina's vagina engulf me, slipping over my erection like a soft suede glove flexes and grips my fingers. And the way her the muscles of her vagina rippled over the length of cock once it was fully embedded in her. At that moment I was lost, clenching and unclenching my scrotum and feeling the vibrations pulse along my length. My eyes closed. Nina pulsing my cock. I don't know where I was, somewhere in the agony before the ecstasy. Another universe. And then I felt the alien touch, the cool finger pushing up the underside of my cock, toward the head. Nina's lips parted to let the tip into the intimate union we shared. Where two there was three. Nina's cunt massaged me, the finger massaged us, the nail at its end scratching against the underside of my cock head, its tear muted by the wetness of Nina's secretions. It was so weird. I just lay there, trying to control my eruption. Then Nina spasmodically rose and dropped hard onto my prick; I knew she was coming. The finger pressed against my cock with Nina's rhythm, and I opened my eyes, looked at Sue's face hovering above Nina's thigh, Sue's eyes intent as she massaged me and Nina, Nina hovering above my mushroom head, and I came.

Somehow Sue was the keystone to that moment.

I am back now. Reliving that orgasm, each sensation is some catharsis to reenter the real world. My brain is here. The room is dark, and only red embers glow from the fire place. The wood is damp and the room smoky, it reminds me of the wet Appalachian apple orchards of the harvest times of my youth. Naked I throw some more logs on the coals and stoke the fire. The little light from the fireplace emits a gauzy reflection off the window panes, but I see a white ghost beyond them on the screen porch. The flames behind me warm my back and backside, but my chest feels cold. I can feel the damp coldness wash over from the lake and through the open door.

Sue does not turn when I come out to the porch, but stares at the ice dark lake water, or perhaps the fast-moving cumulus clouds that are the silver lining of a starry sky. For the first time I hear the wind whistling. I watch as my hands grasp the upper arms of Sue. She does not flinch, she knows I am there. I want to press my body against her back, but for some reason I know there should be a space there. Sue has witnessed. The intimacy between us. Sue has shared it, but not been an integrated actor in our play. Sue has been there with Nina and me, but in a cameo role. I can understand the indignant flexing of her back, and the way her shoulders melt into my palms. I ask Sue if she would like to come back inside, now that the fire is roaring. It is cold out here.

We sit beside one another, separated by a duenna's palm width of propriety, she in her gleaming leotard while I am naked. I watch as the light from the burning logs flicker over her face. There are almost-freckles on her cheeks that almost glow as the tongues of flame lick outward in the fireplace. I can feel Sue's flush rise from the warmth of the blaze before us. I long to feel the heat rise from her flesh, but feel it is inappropriate. We stare at the depth of the fire, apart, together.

Nina comes into the room. She bears a tray with a bottle of wine and three glasses and sets it down on the table in front of the overstuffed couch catty corner to the Ottoman where I sit beside Sue. Nina is wearing a silk wrap around gown that barely reaches to the top of her thighs and that is translucent in the roar of the fire. Nina's light brown hair drops over this fine material and seems to be organic, pulsing in the light of the flames. She tells me to clean myself, and I realize that our outpourings have gelled on my lower body. I leave, as instructed and wash my genitals in the sink of white tiled bathroom. The warm water from the faucet flows over my nether parts, the bar of soap cleaning with its bubbling lather. In the bedroom I find a pair of grey cotton drawstring pants and a black T- shirt and put these on.

Five minutes have passed when I return to the room. From the top of the varnished stairs I can see the fire has ebbed, and that Nina and Sue sit close together on the couch. Their bodies are white, but the luminescence of Nina's gown glares over the whiteness of Sue's body suit. Their arms and heads are dull shadows, Sue's blonde head a nightlight, Nina's light brown hair a texture in the penumbra. I walk down the stairs behind the couch. For a moment I think that Sue is crying. Her head is almost buried into the crotch of Nina's armpit, and Nina is caressing Sue's back. My bare feet let me move silently across the hardwood floor and I catch Nina's glance and its message.

Slowly Nina's caresses pull the straps of Sue's leotard off her shoulders. I place my hands on Sue's neck, my fingers dwelling over its nape, tracing over the shape of the vertebrae. I help push the straps down Sue's upper arms and palm the corner of each shoulder with each hand, as I held her earlier on the porch. Again I want to press my body against her back. Nina nuzzles Sue's cheek and neck. I watch as Nina slowly works the top of Sue's leotard down. I can see from my vantage point, behind the couch, the warm swells of her breasts emerge to the light. Sue's nipples are distended, almost like grub worms, in their erectness. I long to pinch them, or at least cup her breasts like I do her shoulders, but instead I watch as Nina's nose and mouth trace a line of kisses and pressure to the cleavage between Sue's breasts.

For a moment I am entranced. I know Sue is older than us, but I admire the tendons that stretch from the outer underside of her breasts. She is so in shape. This slight bow to gravity only enhances her beauty, a mote that makes her perfect. I feel drawn to her, so I kneel on the floor. I press my face under her hair and kiss the space against her neck that Nina just recently vacated. I can feel Sue's breath expelling downwards on to my face, with its aromas of Shiraz, apple and Nina. I close my eyes and bury my face behind Sue's left ear, drowning in the sea of her silky hair. Blinded, my left hand explores on its own. I sense it tracing down Sue's forearm and can see in my mind's eye it forays over Sue's speckled tanned skin. Instinctively I know that Nina has moved on. As I kiss Sue's hair line behind her ear, my hand bridges that gap between her ulna and ribs and my fingers feel the crease where her left breast meets her chest. My fingers reach upwards over the spherical incline until I feel her knotty nipple between the cleft of my middle and index finger. I squeeze my digits, clasping her breast and pinching Sue's nipple warmly, not tightly.