We don’t talk about it, but clearly these sessions must end at some point before he leaves. We are taking more frequent intimate breaks as the end approaches.
Our first session after the start of fall is the last agreed naked training session, which seems as natural a stopping point as any. We have been getting along well since the last massage 🙂 so hopefully we will transition to a more suitable relationship on a positive (and high) note. bK comes in, strips and lays his folded clothes on the arm of the couch as usual. I also strip and lay my (unfolded) clothes on the coffee table before I head to the treadmill. The routine that we have been following for almost a year feels different on this last day. Each action is tinted with tacit acknowledgement that our dalliance is coming to an end (as we knew it would).
We move back into the living room after I warm-up. I get through the first two exercises before we seamlessly progress, mid-conversation, to touching one another. We are having a good conversation, but I don’t know what about. My mind has already wandered to what we will be doing afterwards. When I am not thinking about that, I am reflecting on the feel of his skin as I caress his body while he demonstrates proper form, the contours of his chest as my hands splay out across it while he shows me the next exercise. I have trouble focusing on the workout with bK playing with my nipples and taking advantage of my exposed frame arched over the exercise ball. Crunches are tough to do with his hands drifting further and further south. The pressure starts to build inside me, together with the familiar strains of an internal battle about to be lost.
Soon bK is massaging the mound of my p-ssy, occasionally letting one or two fingers slip in, a glance here, an exploratory squeeze there, teasing of what’s to come. Conversation slows. We delay moving to the next exercise — neither of us is ready to break the physical connection. When we do finally switch to the next part of the workout, I make him repeatedly demonstrate it so I have time to trace along his back, measure his broad shoulders, sweep down his stomach and finally let my hands come to rest on his balls. Those tender orbs. Such simple pleasure to hold those tender orbs in my hand and let my fingers roll slowly over his tender skin. Even more enjoyable to watch and feel bK’s response to it. He can’t control it which makes me even hotter. Given the trauma that I caused his nuts in the past, it feels nice to give them a little TLC one last time…
It’s a pleasant struggle to work out while so aroused and with bK at full attention besides me, but I manage and finally get through the last exercise. As usual, somehow by the end of that set he has put a condom on (French letter ninja). We sink down to the beach towel. On his knees, bK nestles between thighs already dotted with goose bumps that display an anticipation I’m too proud to voice. He pauses as he lifts my legs to his shoulders and we make eye contact: “last time” he says; “last time”, I agree. I close my eyes as he slips inside me. I plan to savor each stroke, touch and sound that marks the end of this surreal journey. bK leans forward and I wrap my arms around him, running my hands up and down his back as we begin to move together. Our bodies are sealed together and we start with a leisurely grind, letting the intensity build with each rotation.
After a few minutes the relaxed grinding is not enough to slake our hunger. I need him further inside me asap and bK complies with deep forays that have the head of his dick perfectly stroking my cervix. Mmmmm. Even our moans, of encouragement, of pleasure, are in sync as we move in rhythm towards climax. My hands slide down to settle where they usually do – cupping his solid ass and urging bK along each thrust. He stops supporting himself and lets his chest fall on me as we increase the pace and scale the heights. He doesn’t feel heavy in the midst of this frantic haze of carnal delight; his body is a comfortable weight as we reach a fiery release that radiates down to my toes. A suitable ending.
But then my first thought as we lay there afterwards with him still inside me — what harm is a couple more weeks? How to say let’s continue activities we don’t discuss until closer to an event we barely acknowledge…