The Longest Minute
by Uther Pendragon
[email protected]

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 1999, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

The Longest Minute
by Uther Pendragon
[email protected]

He pressed into her until their hair tangled, then rubbed back and forth against her. He was careful to draw himself across the top edge of her portal as he eased back. Karen was close, he could tell that she was close; but he feared that he was closer.

"Every time that it happens, it is likelier to happen the next time," the doctor had said. "Habit is habit, after all."

Well, she'd come while he was within her at the end of their Saturday picnic; but that was the second time that day, and he had been wearing a condom. Second times might well be faster for her; they were certainly slower for him. And she clearly had been turned on by the alfresco setting.

Now he had more than two days of built-up lust. He could feel her tightness all around his unsheathed shaft as it came back inside, could feel every exquisite millimeter of her slick warmth as his sensitive head passed through it. He couldn't last; he had to last.

He wouldn't last if he thought about that.

Quick! How long had it been? Two days is forty-eight hours. Call it 4:30 then, the clock says 9:42 now. Fifty-three hours and twelve minutes, to a ridiculous level of precision. Thirty- one eighty plus twelve minutes. Thirty-one ninety-two. What went into that? Twelve, certainly. What would that give you? Two; seventy-nine; six; another seventy-two. Two sixty-six, then.

He rubbed his chest across her swollen nipples, but he couldn't think about that sensation. Half two sixty-six is one thirty-three. Was that prime? Two? no; three? no; not five; seven? Yes. Twenty less one is nineteen. Two cubed times three times seven times nineteen. He needed another distraction.

She whimpered; her face was tightening into a rictus. So close. If only he could keep this up. But he couldn't change the rhythm; that would set her back more than him. Out again, careful to keep pressing upwards as he withdrew. So close! Oh, if he could only hold out as he had on Saturday.

Karen always looked delightful when she was responding to his hand. She curled her belly to offer her sensitivity to his stroke, arched the other way to shudder with clenching hips nearly off the bed, slammed her legs tightly together. And then he could see the ripples crossing her abdomen until she collapsed beside him.

But he could also see her disappointment when she had recovered her breath. Sexy as she might seem in his eyes, she was failing sexually in her own. And, of course, one of them needed to perform after satiation.

Less had been visible when she'd given herself there on the picnic blanket, but the thrust of her vulva had engulfed him. When she had arched, as she was arching now on the soft bed, their centers had pressed together more sexily than any hug they had ever shared. What was the sight of muscles rippling across her abdomen compared to the feel of muscles clenching around his shaft? And the kisses afterwards had been sweetened by her joyous acceptance that all their pleasure had been an expression of love. The memory of the end of the picnic was delightfully sensual -- a memory sexier than some actual experiences had been.

The memory was too much! He could sense the anticipatory swelling of his shaft. Some animal in his hindbrain overcame his will and drove his hips harder and faster. She tightened her legs to slow him down, but the driving force couldn't be reined. She would blame herself, though the failure was his. If only he could tell her that now.

"I love you," he said as the juice rose up his shaft. And he did love her as he abandoned his distractions to fully appreciate the lithe body under him, the clasping warmth around him, and the loving encouragement signaled by her hands stroking up and down his arms.

As his juice reached the tip, she clutched around him. He could feel her belly rippling against his. She sobbed once. The first spasm was his, but the second was hers; and then...

Theirs, theirs, ... theirs!

     The End
     The Longest Minute
     Uther Pendragon
     1999
     2000/09/10
     2001/08/11
     2002/05/20
     2003/06/11


For another story about a husband seeking his 
wife's orgasm, see:
 "Forest"  

This story is indexed in the subdirectory: 
 Wedded Lust  

The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website