The Thunderstorm
Story Codes: MF, Consensual,  Exhibitionism,

The Thunderstorm
by Helen Henley


I close the door behind her and drop the keys on the table. She stares round the room briefly lit by a
lightning flash. I help her unbutton and remove the wet black leather coat, dropping it, dripping, to the tiled
floor. It is joined by the wide-brimmed rain-hat releasing her dark hair.

As the thunder rolls over the roof I hand her a towel and she dabs her face rather than wiping it.

She is wearing the dark blue dress. She returns the towel, unbuckles the belt, reaches back and unbuttons
the dress, pulling it off her shoulders. A lacy black bra covers those beautiful white breasts framed by
tanned skin.

My wet coat joins hers on the floor and I unbutton my jacket. Beyond the door the storm is now a concert of
sound and light echoing along the hallway but I am more conscious of her excited breathing - and mine.

Her velvet blue eyes watch me carefully as she steps out of her dress and drops her slip.

My jacket, shirt and tie tossed aside, I drop my trousers. I step forward as she moves back, staring at me,
and sits on the chair.

"Let me," I say as I go down on my knees in front of her. I grasp an extended foot and pull off first one wet
leather boot and then the other. She leans back and slides down her tights then kicks them aside.

My face is in front of her panties. They are black too, silk, trimmed with lace. Everything she wears is
expensive. My fingers rise along the back of her legs, across to the top of the pants. I pull them down
slowly, easing the elastic. My gaze never leaves her crotch. Her mat of dark pubic hair is damp. I lean
forward and kiss it.

She gasps and reaches forward.

It's her turn now. She feels behind her and releases her bra revealing the breasts, firm and full with small
nipples. She goes to her knees and runs her fingernails along the back of my legs. She pulls my shorts off
and kisses the tip of my swollen penis. She kisses her way down to the junction and back up.

Her tongue licks the tip of my penis and it throbs in response. Her mouth opens and slides over the tip. She
sucks and then works her head up and down, her tongue rubbing the glans. Amazing! Where did she learn
this?

The thunder is further away now. It is still uncomfortably warm and there are small beads of sweat on her
neck and above her breasts. I can sense my sweat too and offer a small silent prayer that my body spray is
still living up to the promise on the tin.

I pull her up, press my lips to hers and feel the length of her damp body against mine. I scoop her up in my
arms and carry her into the bedroom.

I lay her on the bed and stand over her. Her round nipples are larger now and erect. She opens her legs
and I climb on the bed between them. I go down on her slowly and kiss my way down from her lips to her
breasts, sucking each nipple. I find myself sliding down the bed and kissing my way to her flat stomach and
down past her bush to her soft, inner thighs until my feet are back on the floor at the foot of the bed and
her smiling face seems a mile away.

She raises her knees, her legs wide and her gorgeous, pink cleft is open in front of my face. I know what
she wants. She even described it in a text message she sent me before the storm. I kiss each side and kiss
her soft, silky pubic hair. My tongue finds her clitoris. She lets out a little cry. I press my tongue against her
clitoris and rub it up and down and she draws in a long breath and moans.

She pushes her hips against my tongue. I reach up around her legs and find her breasts. I knead them as I
continue tonguing her clit. She gasps and cries out. She presses her hips harder against me and uses a
hand to push a pillow under her. I keep on licking until, with her hips now on the pillow, her thighs squeeze
against my head.

I pull my head free and start to lift myself forward up the bed kissing and mouthing. Her legs part. She pulls
me up and we are face to face . Her eyes are wide and wet with tears. She presses her mouth to mine and
says something in a hoarse whisper. A beautiful woman has no business saying things like that, erotica
should be my preserve.

She turns her face to the ceiling and I am looking at soft white neck which is there to be kissed and left with
a love bite. She says it again. Words like that don't sound right from a woman's lips. Which is perhaps why I
like her saying them as they go direct from ears to brain and send strong signals to my penis. I feel her
hand reach down to guide my inspired penis until it is pressing those labial lips. It follows the mental
instructions and works its way slowly in. She grunts and puffs and her breathing is now spaced.

I am thrusting my penis in her hot little tunnel. Her muscles tense in response. I begin to work her in long,
deep strokes, in and out, riding her until I feel it coming. I stop.

She pulls at me, working her vagina around my penis, but I hold still. When it subsides, I go back to the
thrusting, first short ones then some long and deep until I feel the tip against the cervix. I keep this up for
as long as I can, holding it back at the last moment. She opens her eyes wide and I can see the pupils
moving up under the eyelids leaving just ovals of white. It is the signal punctuated by another lightning flash.

She calls my name, and again, louder against the thunder's rumble.

I can hold it no longer and I gush in her in long, deep spurts. It is the most satisfying sensation in all the
world.

Rolling off, I scoop her in my arms and she kisses my face repeatedly, then snuggles against me. It takes
awhile for my breathing to return to normal. Pressed against me, she raises a hand and gently rubs my
chest and I see sweat easing between her fingers. Her fingers eventually work their way to my pubic hair.
Smiling now, she tickles my flaccid penis with her fingernails.

I break away, stand up and cross the floor to the doors onto the terrace. I open the doors wide and cool air
sweeps in. It has almost stopped raining and the thunder is fainter and now distant.

She joins me and we smell the washed air together. She puts an arm across my shoulders. "You didn't use
anything."

"I didn't think you wanted me too."

"I did and then I didn't. It is just that I am frightened."

I teased her. "You? Frightened? But I suppose that's understandable. Any woman would be. But I was told
that after the first, the second and third and fourth are easy."

She used her other hand to punch me. Quite hard. It hurt.

"Bastard. You won't care when you see me throwing up, waddling about, all fat and breathless. And
frightened. "

"Think of it this way. Nine months without the curse and a prize at the end."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? The prize. " She makes it sound like a criticism.

I pretended to think about it. " Hmm. I expect I would. I'd get used to it I expect."

She moved round in the doorway put her arms round my neck and kissed me. "Let's get married.
Tomorrow."

"Great idea." I kissed her back. "Remind me. What did you say your name was?"

I was punched again. Hard. It hurt.

I am not too sure about the next bit. I am on the lounger on the roof terrace and the rain puddles trapped
on the plastic seat would be soaking into my back except my raincoat has been spread under me. Through
the open doors I can hear the CD that she calls 'screwing music' - Ravel's Bolero. She bends over me
allowing me to stroke that gorgeous arse. She kisses me carefully and strokes my penis. I am just grateful
the roof terrace is seven floors up and not overlooked except by passengers in a 547 on the approach to
the airport.

I'm not really ready, but my penis, which seems to operate under her control, gets hard between her
fingers. She watches as the foreskin folds back then climbs on the lounger, straddles me and rubs her cleft
against my penis bending it forward. She bends with it and I can reach up and grab her breasts. I squeeze
them and crane my neck uncomfortably up to suck each nipple as she rubs her cleft slowly and deliberately
up and down the length of my now hard penis. She lifts herself, reaches down and guides the tip into her
then goes down.

Wow! I feel it going up parting her labia and it is deliciously painful. Then she rides me. We are two naked
figures on a roof in the middle of the city and I am staring up at white rinsed clouds lit by an evening sun
and loving every plunge. "Come on," she gasps. "Screw me. Really screw me you oversexed bastard! That
storm has turned me on. Give it to me." I want to tell her that's what I think I'm doing, or she is doing, but
why spoil the delicate mood?

The second time always takes longer but is always worthwhile. I would go as far to say even better than the
first.

She comes again, shrieking, pressing hard down on me, just before I come. Her lovely face stares down at
me reaching for the pleasure. There is nothing to compare to this - screwing a beautiful woman and seeing
all the pleasure I'm giving her.

I inject into her again. Not quite so much this time but she seems to appreciate it. She gives a shriek.
Anyone living down there three streets away gets a chance to hear the way she shouts, "Oh, darling, oh,
that's so lovely."

She sits there on me, holding her breasts. She is gasping, looking down at me and there are tears sitting
like jewels in her eyelashes. God, but she is beautiful. I'm in love.

Afterwards we sit indoors on the bed, cuddling, The air after the storm is soothing.

"I've just remembered something." I say. "That proposal of marriage."

She kisses my neck. "Yes"

"I'm already married."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I am the woman who was standing next to you at the church thirteen weeks and two days ago. The
one dressed all in white, remember: the one that married you."

"That's alright then. So why did you rush me back to the apartment in the middle of a thunderstorm in the
pouring rain when we could have waited until it had passed? There's me thinking we needed to hurry
before your husband got home."

"I thought even some one as dumb as you about my sex might have guessed."

"Not a clue."

She bent her head to me and whispered. "This afternoon was a good time for me to begin to find out what I
shall be frightened about."

I used to be a firm believer that it is the husband who should initiate sexual intercourse. The woman should
be the hugger and kisser; the genital areas under the jurisdiction of the male. I keep meaning to raise the
subject and explain my views but there never seems to be the right moment. So best, maybe, to leave
things as they are. Her mind, now we are married, seems occupied with other thoughts.

© 2011 Helen Henley




Helen Henley describes writing erotica as being the best way to have real fun without risking pregnancy  or
a prison sentence.  Twenty-five years ago she wrote what she claims to be the first honest account of
deviation and fetishism from the female viewpoint.  Enter With Trumpets went into two editions and became
an early ebook after critics described it as ‘an assault on female sensibility’ and ‘an endorsement of sexual
aberration’.   She tries to inject humor, parody and satire into her stories with varying degrees of success
evinced by the growing pile of rejections.  She lives in rural England where she continues to write short
stories, articles, rude letters to politicians, prune her roses and polish her boots.  This is her first
submission to barebackmag.


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