The doorstep
He climbed the steps effortlessly, two by two, and stopped directly in front of her.
His bag dropped to the wooden deck with a thud, and he stood, staring at her. Her red hair billowed in the night breeze, glowing with warmth, unexpected in the harsh street lighting. It was a warm summer evening, and she was dressed for it. A short, thin cotton skirt, swaying with the wind, and a summer blouse, almost lime green in the light, nearly transparent it was so thin, unbuttoned enough to hint at breasts, encased delightfully in her laciest bra.
Her hair, as noted, was entrancing. Her smile was a delight, and her eyes glittered with happiness. And need.
She wasn't the only one. As his hands reached for hers, he knew the two of them would never make it inside.
She pulled him close, her back against the cool stone wall, her arms around his waist, her hands flat against the small of his back. Her head was tipped back, her eyes deep and desperate.
He looked down at her, feeling her lips on his, her breasts pressing against his shirt, her hands on his back, and his hands moved of their own accord, lifting the blouse to slide his fingers up her ribs, exploring her skin until he could feel the strap of her bra. She pulled herself away from the wall slightly, giving mute approval, and he unsnapped it, releasing her breasts from their confinement. Sliding his hands around to her chest, under the straps, he took both breasts into his hands, remembering the pale freckled skin, and the large dark nipples that he could feel hardening under his fingertips.
A groan escaped her throat then, and she lifted her hands higher on his back, and pulled him toward her, hard, delighting in the feel of him crushing his own hands against her breasts, of the impact of his hard bulge against her navel.
Their tongues both escaped at the same time, twirling in the shared space of their joined mouths, pulling and sliding across each other, tasting each other, delighting in the texture, the feel, the slight friction of tongue on tongue.
After eliciting another groan, he slid the palms of his hands slowly down the front of her breasts, knowing how she both loved and hated the friction of it, the raw feel of skin on skin. She didn't pull away though, continuing to crush him against herself, her hands pulling at his skin, scraping her fingernails up to his shoulders and down his spine again.
As his hands cleared the bottom of her breasts, he had a little more space, and slid them as delicately as he could down over her stomach and navel, until he reached the hem of her skirt. He paused for a moment to decide on the best course of action, and then bent his legs a little, sliding his hands down the outside of the short skirt, until he felt her skin again, on her upper legs.
She wriggled with delight as he touched her then, goosebumps appearing briefly on her skin, only to disappear as they pulled each other close again. His hands slid, staying on her skin, and lifting the loose skirt up her legs, her thighs. He stopped again for a moment, searching for her eyes in the dim light, and she blinked approvingly, so he continued. Lifting his hands further, he could feel the thin band of her panties now, and his hands slid around over her butt, pulling her out from the wall just a little again, and sliding his hands carefully over her small cheeks, caressing happily the tightly delightful mounds of skin, sliding his hands up past the top of her panties, and back again, over the mounds, his fingers sliding delicately down the crease between them, down between her legs, and under, until she jumped, and he could feel the dampness on his fingers, along with the heat.
He held still there for a moment again, listening to her breathe, and feeling her move, just a little, against his fingers, encouraging more pressure, more exploration. He had other plans though, and moved his hands back, much the way they had come, skimming lightly over her puckered ass, enjoying the shiver that resulted. His hands eventually fondled her bum again, applying just the right kind of pressure to the silky smooth covering, and slid back to her hips, thumbs hooked in the waistband, and he pushed the panties down, off her thighs, and her ass, off her soaked mound, and down her legs. He dropped them as soon as they were down enough to fall of their own accord, and they wriggled down to rest at her ankles. But not for long.
His hands returned to her butt now, partly retracing the path he'd taken before, revelling in the direct feel of her skin on his, the difference between this and the silky panties.
She was almost incoherent, feeling his hands crawling over her, and she had to remove her mouth from his, just to get enough air. She could feel his fingers on her ass cheeks, feel as he tickled her rosebud again, but so much more directly. She could feel as his hands cleared her buttocks, and came to rest on her upper legs.
She struggled then, realising what needed to happen, to remove her hands from his back, pushed him away from her a little, smiling to ensure that he knew it was temporary, and carefully unzipped the bulge in the front of his trousers, reached in and pushed the front of his briefs down to release his erection from its prison. She smiled again as it sprang forward, and gave it a friendly stroke before straightening up again, signalling her readiness.
He pulled himself close again then, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and lifted. She bent her legs, to help as much as she could, and he slid her back up the cool wall, spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips. Her sandals and panties remained on the floor, in front of his feet, no longer needed.
As her legs wrapped around him, she could feel she'd given over a degree of control, and allowed him to position both of them, hanging on to him with her hands, and waiting. Desperately.
With her body off the ground, he was able to position her carefully where he wanted her, and as he moved a little closer, he could feel the tip of his cock nestling between her legs, between her spread lips, between the walls of her hot vagina, and he could tell just how quiveringly eager she was.
She couldn't do much but wait, and take in the sensations, while her hands rubbed on his back, and her back rubbed on the wall. He didn't take long though, and his cock was in position. She moved herself over it, feeling her slick moisture rubbing on it, the softness of it sliding over her clit, the hardness of it entering her. With all the muscles she could manage, she pulled him hard towards her. Harder, deeper, hotter within her. She felt the stretching, the sliding, the fullness of it, the feel of his trousers against her, his hands on her legs, his breath hot against her ear.
He pushed himself inside, not that there was any resistance, and pulled her ass in close, impaling himself deep in her, delighting in the slippery skin covering him, in the heat, and the power.
She tried to move, and couldn't, until he did.
He pulled himself almost out again, and stopped, just for a moment.
She thrust at him, pulling him back.
He relaxed, and sank back into her.
She pushed then, wanting more movement.
He lifted her a little, moving against the weight and the pressure.
She relaxed, and hauled him back in.
They slowly got a rhythm going, her body against the wall, his in free space.
The smooth, slippery friction got hotter. He got harder. She got wetter.
They pumped now, a single machine, with one aim. They slid apart and together, in and out, up and down.
He dragged himself to the very edge, and her with him. She felt how close he was, and knew she was too. He could tell, when her movements changed, that she was as close as he was.
Her groan was all he could take. Her release was instantaneous, irresistible. He fell over the edge, and as her muscles contracted around him, his muscles pumped inside her, a wonderful feedback loop of brute force and fluids. He spurted, she clamped. He panted, she groaned. He pushed, hard, and she squeezed her legs. They both quivered, and shook, and struggled not to collapse. Her head fell down in front of his shoulder, his body fell forward on to hers.
Her smile and his matched, their levels of excitement and exhaustion even. He kissed her shoulder, and pulled himself out, bending his legs to remove his still hard cock from within her. She shuddered again, and again smiled.
He gently lowered her to the floor, her feet falling to her sandals again. He released her, and she bent down, with great effort, and pulled her panties back on, flattening her wrinkled skirt over them now. She helped him tuck his shrinking member back into his trousers, liking the feel of his coated cock, and of the still substantial bulge.
He looked her in the eye, and spoke. "So, gorgeous, is hubby home?"
He already knew the answer, knew that she wouldn't have enjoyed this nearly so much without the risk. "Yeah, of course he is." She picked up his bag from the deck, and reached for the door. "Why don't you come inside?"
" I already did."
"Nothing wrong with repeating a good thing." She swung the door open. "Hey Bruce, he's here! Come and say hi."