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r_scribblesJUST SEX HERE and Oh God, I apologise, porn is not my forte. Lots of awkwardness, lots of me them using humour as a defence mechanism. Jeremy Paxman. You know - the usual. We're close to the end now, too! I think one more chapter and we're done.
Part 7
Eight
-x-
And this time it was he who leaned in and kissed her. Little dips of the tongue between her lips, the way she’d done with him, earlier – nothing rammed down her throat. It was nice. It was very nice and, he dared to admit, he was rather proud of the way that he kissed her that time. He seemed to have done quite well.
She moved the kisses away from his mouth, along his jaw, towards his ear.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ she whispered. Not the most alluring pillow talk in the world, admittedly, but her concern only made him feel fonder, and the way she breathed the –albeit practical – words into his ear sent a tickle down his back and brought goosebumps up on his arms.
He nodded against her skin. He really was “up for it”, in the most crassly literal sense. Ever since that thing she’d said about the sleepover. He wondered whether he should make an attempt to hide the rather glaring proof of how this kissing and teasing was affecting him, but then decided that, considering the situation, there wasn’t much point. Surely she’d want him to be hard. At some point. He hoped. Maybe not this soon – he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was. He resolved that the best course of action would be not to draw particular attention to it, but to let her discover it when she had the inclination.
Without removing her mouth from its spot nuzzling Martin’s ear, Molly groped for the remote and switched off the telly. Helena Bonham Carter’s frozen face blinked away into a blank screen.
‘Not in front of Her Majesty,’ murmured Molly.
‘Gawd Bless yer, Ma’am,’ added Martin, making them both giggle, quietly.
He let her play her lips over his ear and down the side of his neck for a while longer, enjoying the little shivery shocks that certain spots sent down his body. He was, however, growing increasingly aware that he should start reciprocating. But what to do – what to do? Molly’s hands were under his T Shirt now – he had to do something.
‘Ooh!’ Molly’s hands found his chest. ‘Somebody works out!’
‘Um,’ said Martin, feeling a hot prickle on his cheeks again. He certainly wouldn’t describe himself as having an amazing physique. He was too skinny for that. But, hauling heavy items to pay the rent for the last couple of years had helped him tone up a little, had turned flabby bits into modest muscles. In a way, he actually rather resented the muscles. He was starting to acquire the physique of a manual labourer, rather than an airline Captain. He saw it as his body’s reminder that, despite the stripes on his sleeve, he was still a man who lugged other peoples’ things around for a living. Molly seemed to like the end result, but he was adamant he wasn’t going to tell her how he’d got it. Even if it didn’t kill the mood for her, it would certainly do so for him.
‘I lift weights,’ he told her hurriedly. Well – it was technically the truth.
Molly pulled her hands away, with a frown. ‘I’m sorry. Am I going too fast? I’m going too fast, aren’t I?’
‘No, no…’
‘It’s just that I really, really want to have sex with you. Only, me and Jim, we didn’t… thank God, we didn’t. And before that, there had been a bit of a dry patch, so it’s been a while…. Oh God, now I sound desperate.’
‘It’s all right.’ Martin breathed a little sigh of relief. ‘It’s been a while for me, too.’
Molly smiled, relief visible in her expression as well. ‘Maybe if you tell me what you like, it’ll be easier than me stumbling around.’
‘Good idea. Really brilliant idea. If you could do the same, I’d appreciate it… less stumbling all round is the best thing, I think.’
‘OK.’ Molly sat back, chewing the corner of her lip. ‘Could you take your T Shirt off then, please?’
Martin did so. ‘And could you do the same with your… is that a blouse, or a shirt?’
‘I always call it a blouse.’ Molly started undoing the buttons. ‘I don’t suppose it matters, really.’ She shrugged it off her shoulders. Beneath it was a white lace bra, cradling two pale, pert breasts.
Oh, God, breasts. It suddenly came back to Martin in a rush quite how much he liked breasts, and these particular breasts were just lovely. The bra had tantalising little windows to them in the holes in its lace – glimpses of soft, creamy skin and pink nipples. They were like soft, sexy little targets – like buttons that you knew you were only supposed to press if you had a jolly good reason – there was something hardwired into Martin that made him home in on nipples.
‘Could I…?’ He reached out and ran his fingers over the lacy cups, shifting his hands around until his palms cradled the underside curve, a thumb gently brushing each nipple. This was good. His hands were as happy here as they were holding Gertie’s yoke - and since Crieff hands with a yoke in them were happy hands indeed, that was really saying something.
Molly’s hands were less content to stay in one place. They ran tickle-lines up his sides, over chest, nipples, collarbones, shoulders, biceps, elbows and hips. Martin didn’t have the chance to worry about his naked torso being inspected so thoroughly – all his brain was able to communicate to the rest of him at that point was breasts breasts breasts lovely breasts. He only moved his hands away when Molly unclasped her bra and pulled it away.
Blimey.
His hands returned to the warm, naked skin, feeling her nipples change from their original surprising softness to erect little nubs under the stimulation of his thumbs.
Speaking of erect, Molly’s old tracksuit bottoms hadn’t had that much give around the crotch to start with, and now that he was stripped to the waist, face to face with her, there was no way that she could have failed to notice how affected Martin already was. It was rather glaring. She moved a hand down slowly, and brushed it over the straining fabric. He twitched involuntarily a little at the sensation.
‘Is this OK?’ she murmured.
Martin nodded.
She teased her hand up and down the bulge a couple of times, before slipping the tips of her fingers under the waistband of the trousers. She paused, looking up at him for permission.
‘Yes, please,’ he whispered.
Her hand dipped under the elasticated band, and disappeared into the jogging bottoms. He felt her skin on his, warm fingers tracing down his length, hesitantly – exploring his reaction to being touched as much as they explored… well… his penis. From her reaction, she didn’t seem disappointed by the size or feel of it. From what he could tell, it was fairly average and in proportion, as far as those things went. It didn’t bend or do anything strange like that, and apart from the clutch of hair as russet as those that graced the rest of his body, wasn’t a peculiar colour.
Molly gripped a little firmer, giving it a long stroke right up to the head and down again.
‘Oh, yes. Like that again. Please.’
Molly smiled. ‘I like all these pleases and thank you’s. Didn’t know courtesy could sound so sexy.’
Martin finally managed to coax one of his hands away from those gorgeous breasts, and slid it down to brush over the crotch of Molly’s jeans, causing her to let out a happy little squeak.
‘There’s always time for courtesy.’
‘Then…’ Molly pulled down her zip with her free hand and popped open the button of her fly. ‘Would you mind ripping my knickers off? Please?’
It seemed a shame – they were nice knickers – the same teasing white lace showing tantalising little glimpses of the tight brown curls beneath. And in the end, he didn’t really “rip them off” so much as tug down at her jeans ineffectually because she was sitting on them, wait for her to angle her hips up into the air, tug again, get them stuck somewhere around her knees, give up on that as she wrangled to push them off the rest of the way with her feet, return to the knickers, start pulling them down but get distracted by the damp spot, stop, kiss her again while thumbing the little moist patch as she finally freed herself from her jeans and then, eventually, slowly pull them down.
Molly had had to pull her hand back out of his jogging bottoms in order to play her part in the needlessly complicated manoeuvre – frankly, Martin was rather relieved about that. This was all getting very, very arousing for him, terribly fast, and he didn’t want it to be all over too soon. By the time Molly was naked, Martin was kneeling on the floor in front of her as she sat on the settee, her knees slightly parted. He gently shifted them further apart, and watched as the dark pink opening between her legs revealed itself.
Another secret little part of a woman that, once seen, Martin’s body decided to automatically steer him towards. He reached out and ran two fingers down the edges of the lips – where the hairs ended and the silky, slippery pink skin began – opening her up a bit further, taking in the sight, thinking of ways to touch her.
He rubbed a fingertip over her clitoris, and she sucked in through her teeth. He looked up at her.
‘Is that OK?’
‘Bit dry, still. Not very comfortable. Maybe in…’
Without really thinking about it, he shifted forwards and gave the spot a light kiss.
‘Oooh!’
He frowned. ‘Too much?’
‘No! Unexpected, but… ooh, goodness, yes. More of that, pretty please.’
‘Tell me,’ he muttered, ‘what you…’ he trailed off, intimately kissing her again.
She let out appreciative hums as he continued to kiss, just using his lips at first, then giving an experimental lick, the way he’d done when kissing her on the mouth.
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘More.’
He continued, feeling increasingly pleased with himself, and only wishing that could develop quite such a good learning curve with regard to aviation as it seemed he had in the bedroom... well… in the living room, at least.
‘Could you…’ she gasped, ‘your fingers, as well? Please?’
He sucked a middle finger briefly and then pushed it down between her legs, tracing a wet little line up her perineum before dipping it in to the very inviting opening.
‘Oooh, God!’
He pushed harder with tongue and finger, his free hand reaching up to find a breast again as her praises grew louder.
‘Oh! Stop, stop!’
He pulled back, straight away. ‘Are you OK? Was that not good?’
Molly shook her head, controlling her breaths. ‘Too good. I don’t want this to be over quite yet.’ She giggled a little. ‘I haven’t even got you out of those trousers. Here.’
She pulled him up to lie on the sofa, and wriggled down until she was straddling his legs. She hooked her index fingers around the waistband and pulled down, carefully lifting it over his erection. Pushing the trousers down to his knees, she gazed down at his naked crotch, running a light finger up his hard shaft.
‘That,’ she announced, ‘is lovely.’
‘That,’ he reminded her, ‘is ginger’.
‘I can see that. They’re not mutually exclusive you know, Martin. It’s perfect.’ She dipped her head and gave it a long, slow lick along the length, from base to tip.
‘Oh, trousers,’ Martin blurted, barely stopping to wonder what on earth he was saying.
She grinned at him, then lowered her head again, pushing her hair aside so that he could see as she flicked her tongue over the damp slit.
‘Oh, cress.’
She bent down further, welcoming the head into her mouth, her eyes still smiling as her lips slid down to take as much of him in as she could.
He clutched at a scatter cushion, instinctively. ‘Oh, crikey Christmas!’
It was warm, and it was wet, and it was intimate – that was the best part. The physical sensation was amazing, but what was really fantastic was the flattery of the gesture. She wanted to kiss it, lick it, suck it…
Molly played her tongue over the head again while it was still in her mouth, and Martin almost lost it there and then. He desperately searched for a deeply unsexy thought with which he could distract himself. Gertie’s broken fuel control valve… too worrying. Gertie’s fuel control valve getting fixed… too exciting. Carolyn flossing… too disturbing. Suddenly, the theme to University Challenge started ringing around his ears and he mentally congratulated himself on finding something that was just the right level of off-putting for the occasion.
And then he realised that the theme tune wasn’t in his mind at all, but playing rather loudly, directly above him.
He gazed up. ‘What…?’
Molly stopped her delightful administrations suddenly, and looked up at her ceiling in frustration. ‘Oh, no!’
‘What on Earth is it?’
‘It’s Mrs Buttons, the old lady upstairs,’ groaned Molly, apologetically. ‘Deaf as a post, loves quiz shows. I think she records them and then watches them all in one go. This could go on for hours, now. I’ve tried banging on the ceiling in the past, nothing works.’ She gritted her teeth in irritation, then got up. ‘I’ll go and put some music on – try to drown out the Paxo a bit.’
For some reason, the concept of Jeremy Paxman barking questions over the strains of Classical Chillout 3 didn’t appeal any more to Martin than him doing so a-cappella.
I can’t have sex to University Challenge, he told himself, I just can’t.
But then, a little voice inside his head - and thinking about it later, he could have sworn that the voice was Douglas’ – said: I bet you can.
‘Molly,’ he said, catching her arm before she was able to move out of reach. He pulled her back and she tumbled with a giggle and a squeak onto the sofa on top of him.
‘You can’t be serious,’ she told him, as Paxman announced that this week they had the team from Keele going head to head against the team from Aberystwyth.
‘I’m game if you are.’
Molly flashed him another grin. ‘Fine. I’ve started so I’ll finish, I suppose.’
Martin kissed her. ‘That’s Mastermind,’ he whispered.
Molly narrowed her eyes ‘All right then, know-it-all. Here’s your starter for ten.’ She kissed him hard, took his spit-slicked penis in her hand and squeezed, sliding a tight grip up and down its length.
‘Bzzt,’ replied Martin, with difficulty, ‘Bracknell & Wokingham College – Crieff.’ He returned his finger to her warm, wet opening, and lavished one of her soft breasts with lips and tongue.
‘Good answer,’ Molly gasped.
Again, the tension was building rather too fast for Martin, although Paxman asking brusque questions about Soviet cinema helped slow things down slightly.
‘Second question for 20 points,’ said Molly, breathily, ‘when are you going to shag my brains out?’
Martin nuzzled at her breast. ‘Can I confer?’
‘You may. Your team mate thinks the answer is “as soon as possible”.’
He smiled into the flesh. ‘OK, let me… just…’ He sat bolt upright, horror hitting him like a thunderclap. ‘Oh no!’
‘What?’
He clutched at his temples. ‘No, no, no. The condoms were in my jacket pocket…’
Molly wordlessly got up and left the living room.
‘Not that I want you to think I was being presumptuous,’ Martin continued, panicking. ‘I wasn’t. Douglas gave them to me. Now, Douglas – Douglas is presumptuous. That is…’
‘If that was presumptuous,’ replied Molly, returning with a bright cardboard carton, ‘Then I don’t know what you’d think of me buying all these yesterday.’ She sat down next to him, opening the carton. ‘Went with a selection box, in the end. Like sweets!’ She got a few different little foil wrappers out. ‘I prefer featherlite. What about you?’
Martin opened his mouth, closed it again, then replied; ‘Ladies’ choice.’
‘Correct,’ Molly smiled, tearing open a red wrapper.
They shuffled around again, once Molly had rolled the condom onto him, so that she was lying on her back on the sofa, and he was on top of her. Unfortunately, this was when two things happened at the same time – the Keele team were given a series of questions on Runway Surface Type Codes, and Martin found himself completely incapable of the simple act of angling his hips and pushing in to Molly. He had no doubt in his mind that the former was fuelling the latter. He tried once, and it just hurt. He tried a second time, but pulled out quickly when Molly sucked through her teeth in pain. All the while, seething because those idiots from Keele didn’t even know that GVL was ‘Gravel’. GVL, for pity’s sake! The word was right there – even Arthur could have got that one!
He tried again. It didn’t even go in properly, that time – it slipped back out again, and how could Keele not know that SNO was snow? All you had to do was add the W, which was generally a surplus letter, anyway. Phonetically, all one needed to spell out the word ‘snow’ was the S, the N and the O. SNOW! It was SNOW! How were they unable to get that?
‘Come on,’ snapped Paxman from upstairs, ‘come on!’ Oh God, that was just making this worse. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t…
Molly took his shoulders. ‘Awkward position,’ she said, moving him around so that he was the one underneath. ‘Let’s try it this way.’
She straddled him, angled herself and lowered herself down.
And, Oh. There it was. Keele’s last Surface Type Code was CON for concrete. They answered “convex”, which didn’t even make sense, but suddenly, Martin didn’t care any more. This was amazing. This was warm and slow and caring and lovely. He guided her breasts towards his mouth again as she wriggled out a rhythm in his lap.
‘Mm,’ she muttered. ‘I like that.’
He began to lick out the pulse that she was setting on him onto one of her nipples, stroking the other with a thumb.
‘Ooh, yes,’ she gasped. ‘More, please?’ She reached behind herself and grabbed one of his buttocks, puling him harder into her.
Paxman started asking a series of questions about the French Revolution just as Molly gripped at Martin’s arm and backside hard and drooped her head, beginning to shudder.
‘Robespierre,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘How don’t they know that…? Ah, God!’ She was bucking helplessly against him now, rhythmic little moans issuing from her lips with every breath. Martin licked and stroked her through it, right at the crest of the breaking wave, himself.
‘God, Martin!’
That was it. Not even Paxman berating some clueless teenager for not knowing who Jean-Paul Marat was could take Martin’s attention away from a beautiful woman calling out his name during sex, and his intense orgasm that directly followed. He bit down hard on his lip, in case some embarrassing grunting noises might mar his enjoyment of this perfect moment.
A few seconds of absolute physical pleasure… and then the afterglow. He so rarely got to stick around to enjoy the afterglow. She pulled out of him, carefully, and he made a mental note to do something about the now rather sloppy condom, still on him as he softened.
In a minute. He’d do it in a minute. For now, he just wanted to lie with her as she answered all the questions about common toxins correctly.
Which was exactly what he did. And then they got up, and she dressed, and he showered, during which time his Uniform and overnight bag were brought to the flat, meaning that he was able to shave and brush his teeth. Then they had a late lunch and lazed around, answering the questions on Fifteen To One.
And, around about teatime, they invented Sex Countdown.
Part 9
Part 7
Eight
-x-
And this time it was he who leaned in and kissed her. Little dips of the tongue between her lips, the way she’d done with him, earlier – nothing rammed down her throat. It was nice. It was very nice and, he dared to admit, he was rather proud of the way that he kissed her that time. He seemed to have done quite well.
She moved the kisses away from his mouth, along his jaw, towards his ear.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ she whispered. Not the most alluring pillow talk in the world, admittedly, but her concern only made him feel fonder, and the way she breathed the –albeit practical – words into his ear sent a tickle down his back and brought goosebumps up on his arms.
He nodded against her skin. He really was “up for it”, in the most crassly literal sense. Ever since that thing she’d said about the sleepover. He wondered whether he should make an attempt to hide the rather glaring proof of how this kissing and teasing was affecting him, but then decided that, considering the situation, there wasn’t much point. Surely she’d want him to be hard. At some point. He hoped. Maybe not this soon – he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was. He resolved that the best course of action would be not to draw particular attention to it, but to let her discover it when she had the inclination.
Without removing her mouth from its spot nuzzling Martin’s ear, Molly groped for the remote and switched off the telly. Helena Bonham Carter’s frozen face blinked away into a blank screen.
‘Not in front of Her Majesty,’ murmured Molly.
‘Gawd Bless yer, Ma’am,’ added Martin, making them both giggle, quietly.
He let her play her lips over his ear and down the side of his neck for a while longer, enjoying the little shivery shocks that certain spots sent down his body. He was, however, growing increasingly aware that he should start reciprocating. But what to do – what to do? Molly’s hands were under his T Shirt now – he had to do something.
‘Ooh!’ Molly’s hands found his chest. ‘Somebody works out!’
‘Um,’ said Martin, feeling a hot prickle on his cheeks again. He certainly wouldn’t describe himself as having an amazing physique. He was too skinny for that. But, hauling heavy items to pay the rent for the last couple of years had helped him tone up a little, had turned flabby bits into modest muscles. In a way, he actually rather resented the muscles. He was starting to acquire the physique of a manual labourer, rather than an airline Captain. He saw it as his body’s reminder that, despite the stripes on his sleeve, he was still a man who lugged other peoples’ things around for a living. Molly seemed to like the end result, but he was adamant he wasn’t going to tell her how he’d got it. Even if it didn’t kill the mood for her, it would certainly do so for him.
‘I lift weights,’ he told her hurriedly. Well – it was technically the truth.
Molly pulled her hands away, with a frown. ‘I’m sorry. Am I going too fast? I’m going too fast, aren’t I?’
‘No, no…’
‘It’s just that I really, really want to have sex with you. Only, me and Jim, we didn’t… thank God, we didn’t. And before that, there had been a bit of a dry patch, so it’s been a while…. Oh God, now I sound desperate.’
‘It’s all right.’ Martin breathed a little sigh of relief. ‘It’s been a while for me, too.’
Molly smiled, relief visible in her expression as well. ‘Maybe if you tell me what you like, it’ll be easier than me stumbling around.’
‘Good idea. Really brilliant idea. If you could do the same, I’d appreciate it… less stumbling all round is the best thing, I think.’
‘OK.’ Molly sat back, chewing the corner of her lip. ‘Could you take your T Shirt off then, please?’
Martin did so. ‘And could you do the same with your… is that a blouse, or a shirt?’
‘I always call it a blouse.’ Molly started undoing the buttons. ‘I don’t suppose it matters, really.’ She shrugged it off her shoulders. Beneath it was a white lace bra, cradling two pale, pert breasts.
Oh, God, breasts. It suddenly came back to Martin in a rush quite how much he liked breasts, and these particular breasts were just lovely. The bra had tantalising little windows to them in the holes in its lace – glimpses of soft, creamy skin and pink nipples. They were like soft, sexy little targets – like buttons that you knew you were only supposed to press if you had a jolly good reason – there was something hardwired into Martin that made him home in on nipples.
‘Could I…?’ He reached out and ran his fingers over the lacy cups, shifting his hands around until his palms cradled the underside curve, a thumb gently brushing each nipple. This was good. His hands were as happy here as they were holding Gertie’s yoke - and since Crieff hands with a yoke in them were happy hands indeed, that was really saying something.
Molly’s hands were less content to stay in one place. They ran tickle-lines up his sides, over chest, nipples, collarbones, shoulders, biceps, elbows and hips. Martin didn’t have the chance to worry about his naked torso being inspected so thoroughly – all his brain was able to communicate to the rest of him at that point was breasts breasts breasts lovely breasts. He only moved his hands away when Molly unclasped her bra and pulled it away.
Blimey.
His hands returned to the warm, naked skin, feeling her nipples change from their original surprising softness to erect little nubs under the stimulation of his thumbs.
Speaking of erect, Molly’s old tracksuit bottoms hadn’t had that much give around the crotch to start with, and now that he was stripped to the waist, face to face with her, there was no way that she could have failed to notice how affected Martin already was. It was rather glaring. She moved a hand down slowly, and brushed it over the straining fabric. He twitched involuntarily a little at the sensation.
‘Is this OK?’ she murmured.
Martin nodded.
She teased her hand up and down the bulge a couple of times, before slipping the tips of her fingers under the waistband of the trousers. She paused, looking up at him for permission.
‘Yes, please,’ he whispered.
Her hand dipped under the elasticated band, and disappeared into the jogging bottoms. He felt her skin on his, warm fingers tracing down his length, hesitantly – exploring his reaction to being touched as much as they explored… well… his penis. From her reaction, she didn’t seem disappointed by the size or feel of it. From what he could tell, it was fairly average and in proportion, as far as those things went. It didn’t bend or do anything strange like that, and apart from the clutch of hair as russet as those that graced the rest of his body, wasn’t a peculiar colour.
Molly gripped a little firmer, giving it a long stroke right up to the head and down again.
‘Oh, yes. Like that again. Please.’
Molly smiled. ‘I like all these pleases and thank you’s. Didn’t know courtesy could sound so sexy.’
Martin finally managed to coax one of his hands away from those gorgeous breasts, and slid it down to brush over the crotch of Molly’s jeans, causing her to let out a happy little squeak.
‘There’s always time for courtesy.’
‘Then…’ Molly pulled down her zip with her free hand and popped open the button of her fly. ‘Would you mind ripping my knickers off? Please?’
It seemed a shame – they were nice knickers – the same teasing white lace showing tantalising little glimpses of the tight brown curls beneath. And in the end, he didn’t really “rip them off” so much as tug down at her jeans ineffectually because she was sitting on them, wait for her to angle her hips up into the air, tug again, get them stuck somewhere around her knees, give up on that as she wrangled to push them off the rest of the way with her feet, return to the knickers, start pulling them down but get distracted by the damp spot, stop, kiss her again while thumbing the little moist patch as she finally freed herself from her jeans and then, eventually, slowly pull them down.
Molly had had to pull her hand back out of his jogging bottoms in order to play her part in the needlessly complicated manoeuvre – frankly, Martin was rather relieved about that. This was all getting very, very arousing for him, terribly fast, and he didn’t want it to be all over too soon. By the time Molly was naked, Martin was kneeling on the floor in front of her as she sat on the settee, her knees slightly parted. He gently shifted them further apart, and watched as the dark pink opening between her legs revealed itself.
Another secret little part of a woman that, once seen, Martin’s body decided to automatically steer him towards. He reached out and ran two fingers down the edges of the lips – where the hairs ended and the silky, slippery pink skin began – opening her up a bit further, taking in the sight, thinking of ways to touch her.
He rubbed a fingertip over her clitoris, and she sucked in through her teeth. He looked up at her.
‘Is that OK?’
‘Bit dry, still. Not very comfortable. Maybe in…’
Without really thinking about it, he shifted forwards and gave the spot a light kiss.
‘Oooh!’
He frowned. ‘Too much?’
‘No! Unexpected, but… ooh, goodness, yes. More of that, pretty please.’
‘Tell me,’ he muttered, ‘what you…’ he trailed off, intimately kissing her again.
She let out appreciative hums as he continued to kiss, just using his lips at first, then giving an experimental lick, the way he’d done when kissing her on the mouth.
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘More.’
He continued, feeling increasingly pleased with himself, and only wishing that could develop quite such a good learning curve with regard to aviation as it seemed he had in the bedroom... well… in the living room, at least.
‘Could you…’ she gasped, ‘your fingers, as well? Please?’
He sucked a middle finger briefly and then pushed it down between her legs, tracing a wet little line up her perineum before dipping it in to the very inviting opening.
‘Oooh, God!’
He pushed harder with tongue and finger, his free hand reaching up to find a breast again as her praises grew louder.
‘Oh! Stop, stop!’
He pulled back, straight away. ‘Are you OK? Was that not good?’
Molly shook her head, controlling her breaths. ‘Too good. I don’t want this to be over quite yet.’ She giggled a little. ‘I haven’t even got you out of those trousers. Here.’
She pulled him up to lie on the sofa, and wriggled down until she was straddling his legs. She hooked her index fingers around the waistband and pulled down, carefully lifting it over his erection. Pushing the trousers down to his knees, she gazed down at his naked crotch, running a light finger up his hard shaft.
‘That,’ she announced, ‘is lovely.’
‘That,’ he reminded her, ‘is ginger’.
‘I can see that. They’re not mutually exclusive you know, Martin. It’s perfect.’ She dipped her head and gave it a long, slow lick along the length, from base to tip.
‘Oh, trousers,’ Martin blurted, barely stopping to wonder what on earth he was saying.
She grinned at him, then lowered her head again, pushing her hair aside so that he could see as she flicked her tongue over the damp slit.
‘Oh, cress.’
She bent down further, welcoming the head into her mouth, her eyes still smiling as her lips slid down to take as much of him in as she could.
He clutched at a scatter cushion, instinctively. ‘Oh, crikey Christmas!’
It was warm, and it was wet, and it was intimate – that was the best part. The physical sensation was amazing, but what was really fantastic was the flattery of the gesture. She wanted to kiss it, lick it, suck it…
Molly played her tongue over the head again while it was still in her mouth, and Martin almost lost it there and then. He desperately searched for a deeply unsexy thought with which he could distract himself. Gertie’s broken fuel control valve… too worrying. Gertie’s fuel control valve getting fixed… too exciting. Carolyn flossing… too disturbing. Suddenly, the theme to University Challenge started ringing around his ears and he mentally congratulated himself on finding something that was just the right level of off-putting for the occasion.
And then he realised that the theme tune wasn’t in his mind at all, but playing rather loudly, directly above him.
He gazed up. ‘What…?’
Molly stopped her delightful administrations suddenly, and looked up at her ceiling in frustration. ‘Oh, no!’
‘What on Earth is it?’
‘It’s Mrs Buttons, the old lady upstairs,’ groaned Molly, apologetically. ‘Deaf as a post, loves quiz shows. I think she records them and then watches them all in one go. This could go on for hours, now. I’ve tried banging on the ceiling in the past, nothing works.’ She gritted her teeth in irritation, then got up. ‘I’ll go and put some music on – try to drown out the Paxo a bit.’
For some reason, the concept of Jeremy Paxman barking questions over the strains of Classical Chillout 3 didn’t appeal any more to Martin than him doing so a-cappella.
I can’t have sex to University Challenge, he told himself, I just can’t.
But then, a little voice inside his head - and thinking about it later, he could have sworn that the voice was Douglas’ – said: I bet you can.
‘Molly,’ he said, catching her arm before she was able to move out of reach. He pulled her back and she tumbled with a giggle and a squeak onto the sofa on top of him.
‘You can’t be serious,’ she told him, as Paxman announced that this week they had the team from Keele going head to head against the team from Aberystwyth.
‘I’m game if you are.’
Molly flashed him another grin. ‘Fine. I’ve started so I’ll finish, I suppose.’
Martin kissed her. ‘That’s Mastermind,’ he whispered.
Molly narrowed her eyes ‘All right then, know-it-all. Here’s your starter for ten.’ She kissed him hard, took his spit-slicked penis in her hand and squeezed, sliding a tight grip up and down its length.
‘Bzzt,’ replied Martin, with difficulty, ‘Bracknell & Wokingham College – Crieff.’ He returned his finger to her warm, wet opening, and lavished one of her soft breasts with lips and tongue.
‘Good answer,’ Molly gasped.
Again, the tension was building rather too fast for Martin, although Paxman asking brusque questions about Soviet cinema helped slow things down slightly.
‘Second question for 20 points,’ said Molly, breathily, ‘when are you going to shag my brains out?’
Martin nuzzled at her breast. ‘Can I confer?’
‘You may. Your team mate thinks the answer is “as soon as possible”.’
He smiled into the flesh. ‘OK, let me… just…’ He sat bolt upright, horror hitting him like a thunderclap. ‘Oh no!’
‘What?’
He clutched at his temples. ‘No, no, no. The condoms were in my jacket pocket…’
Molly wordlessly got up and left the living room.
‘Not that I want you to think I was being presumptuous,’ Martin continued, panicking. ‘I wasn’t. Douglas gave them to me. Now, Douglas – Douglas is presumptuous. That is…’
‘If that was presumptuous,’ replied Molly, returning with a bright cardboard carton, ‘Then I don’t know what you’d think of me buying all these yesterday.’ She sat down next to him, opening the carton. ‘Went with a selection box, in the end. Like sweets!’ She got a few different little foil wrappers out. ‘I prefer featherlite. What about you?’
Martin opened his mouth, closed it again, then replied; ‘Ladies’ choice.’
‘Correct,’ Molly smiled, tearing open a red wrapper.
They shuffled around again, once Molly had rolled the condom onto him, so that she was lying on her back on the sofa, and he was on top of her. Unfortunately, this was when two things happened at the same time – the Keele team were given a series of questions on Runway Surface Type Codes, and Martin found himself completely incapable of the simple act of angling his hips and pushing in to Molly. He had no doubt in his mind that the former was fuelling the latter. He tried once, and it just hurt. He tried a second time, but pulled out quickly when Molly sucked through her teeth in pain. All the while, seething because those idiots from Keele didn’t even know that GVL was ‘Gravel’. GVL, for pity’s sake! The word was right there – even Arthur could have got that one!
He tried again. It didn’t even go in properly, that time – it slipped back out again, and how could Keele not know that SNO was snow? All you had to do was add the W, which was generally a surplus letter, anyway. Phonetically, all one needed to spell out the word ‘snow’ was the S, the N and the O. SNOW! It was SNOW! How were they unable to get that?
‘Come on,’ snapped Paxman from upstairs, ‘come on!’ Oh God, that was just making this worse. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t…
Molly took his shoulders. ‘Awkward position,’ she said, moving him around so that he was the one underneath. ‘Let’s try it this way.’
She straddled him, angled herself and lowered herself down.
And, Oh. There it was. Keele’s last Surface Type Code was CON for concrete. They answered “convex”, which didn’t even make sense, but suddenly, Martin didn’t care any more. This was amazing. This was warm and slow and caring and lovely. He guided her breasts towards his mouth again as she wriggled out a rhythm in his lap.
‘Mm,’ she muttered. ‘I like that.’
He began to lick out the pulse that she was setting on him onto one of her nipples, stroking the other with a thumb.
‘Ooh, yes,’ she gasped. ‘More, please?’ She reached behind herself and grabbed one of his buttocks, puling him harder into her.
Paxman started asking a series of questions about the French Revolution just as Molly gripped at Martin’s arm and backside hard and drooped her head, beginning to shudder.
‘Robespierre,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘How don’t they know that…? Ah, God!’ She was bucking helplessly against him now, rhythmic little moans issuing from her lips with every breath. Martin licked and stroked her through it, right at the crest of the breaking wave, himself.
‘God, Martin!’
That was it. Not even Paxman berating some clueless teenager for not knowing who Jean-Paul Marat was could take Martin’s attention away from a beautiful woman calling out his name during sex, and his intense orgasm that directly followed. He bit down hard on his lip, in case some embarrassing grunting noises might mar his enjoyment of this perfect moment.
A few seconds of absolute physical pleasure… and then the afterglow. He so rarely got to stick around to enjoy the afterglow. She pulled out of him, carefully, and he made a mental note to do something about the now rather sloppy condom, still on him as he softened.
In a minute. He’d do it in a minute. For now, he just wanted to lie with her as she answered all the questions about common toxins correctly.
Which was exactly what he did. And then they got up, and she dressed, and he showered, during which time his Uniform and overnight bag were brought to the flat, meaning that he was able to shave and brush his teeth. Then they had a late lunch and lazed around, answering the questions on Fifteen To One.
And, around about teatime, they invented Sex Countdown.
Part 9
