Rhodesia by Nick Carter

times. She sighed and put her lips to his. Hmmm. She was falling deliciously through space, but with the ability to fly when she wanted to just by putting out a hand like a wing. She closed her eyes tightly and did a slow loop that jumbled the warmth in her stomach the way the looping machine did at the Santone amusement park. His mouth was so pliable — should you say that a man had wonderfully kissable lips?
    Her blouse was off and her skirt unzipped. She raised her hips to make it easier for him and finished unbuttoning his while shirt. She pulled up his undershirt and found the soft fluff of hair on his chest with her fingers, smoothing it this way and that the way you would groom a dog's tufts. He smelled so entrancingly
male.
His nipples reacted to her tongue and she giggled inwardly, pleased that she wasn't the only one to be stimulated by the right touch. Once his spine arched and he breathed a pleased, humming sound. She sucked the hardened cones of flesh slowly, capturing them again instantly as they popped from her lips, delighted at the way his shoulders squared with reflexive pleasure at each loss and recapture. Her bra was gone. Let him discover that she was better built than Ruth.
    She felt positively
burning —
with delight, not pain. No, not burning, vibration. Warm vibration, that was it, as if one of those throbby massage machines was all over her body at once.
    She felt his mouth descend to her breasts, kissing her with narrowing circles of damp warmth. Ooh! a very good man. She felt him ease her garter belt down and unfasten the tabs from one stocking. Then they were rolled down — gone. She extended her long legs, feeling the tension leave her muscles to be replaced by a delicious relaxed warmth. Oh yes, she thought — in for a penny in for a pound, is that what they would say in Rhodesia?
    The back of her hand brushed his belt buckle and almost without thought she turned her hand over and unbuckled him. A soft thud — she supposed that was his pants and shorts hitting the floor. She opened her eyes to the half-light. True. Ah — She swallowed and felt deliciously smothered as he kissed her and rubbed her back and rump.
    She blended herself against him and tried to lengthen her breaths, they were so short and gusty it was embarrassing. He would know she was actually
panting
for him. His fingertips caressed her thighs and she gasped and her self-criticism flew away. Her spine was a column of warm, sweet oil and her mind a pressure boiler of assent. After all, when two people really enjoyed and cared...
    She kissed his body, responding to a forward tug and push of her libido that broke her last cords of conditioned restraint It's perfectly all right, I
need
it, this is so — good. A perfect contact made her tense. She stiffened for an instant, then relaxed like an opening flower in a slow-motion nature film. Oh-h. The column of warm oil came to a near-boil in her belly, churned and throbbed deliciously around her heart, flowed through her flexing lungs until they felt hotly awash. She swallowed again. Shivery shafts like glowing pellets of neon arced from her loins to her scalp. She imagined her golden hair standing straight out and up, flooded with static electricity. Of course it
wasn't,
it just felt that way.
    He left her for an instant and turned her. She remained utterly pliant, only the quick rise and fall of her generous breasts and the quick beat of her breath showing she was alive. He's going to take me, she thought, as he should. A girl likes — in the last analysis — to be taken. Oh-h. A gasp and a sigh. A long breath and a murmur, "Oh yes."
    She felt herself receive deliciously, not once, but over and over. Layer after layer of warm depth spread and welcome and fall away and make room for the next advance. She felt as though she were built like an artichoke with delicate leaves inside and every one was possessed and taken. She writhed and worked with him to speed the harvest Her cheek