Even More Cruisin, Boozin and Susan

(Readers: Thank you for continuing to support this story. This installment represents Day Three of Phil and Susan's four-day cruise on Royal Caribbean's Oasis of the Seas. Like prior installments, I've tried to make it as accurate as I can recall from a prior voyage on this ship. (Full disclosure: I never went into the spa!) Thanks, as always, for your attention to this series, your feedback, and your ratings!)

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Okay... fuck.

Now I can't sleep.

Fuck... fuck... fuck.

After some incredible sex I drifted off in post-coital bliss with Susan curled up in my arms. But now this happens. Now, I'm wide awake.

As I've gotten older I periodically experience a little insomnia. Since I live by myself, it's no big deal. I can get up and check Literotica, watch a movie, surf some porn, or do other things until I get back to sleep... or not.

Susan is breathing softly beside me and I almost feel trapped because I feel the need to move, but I don't want to disturb her slumber. She's as gorgeous asleep as she is awake, except I can't look into her phenomenal eyes.

Thankfully, Susan rolls to her opposite side with her back against me and I'm able to softly slide out of the open side of the bed.

As long as I can remember, I've always slept to my bed partner's right side. My late wife, Amanda, was left-handed so for our 29 years together -- on the rare occasions when she would get handsy with me -- it was to our mutual advantage for me to be on her right.

Now I move as quietly as I can to grab my phone and locate my gym shorts that I brought with me from my stateroom before Susan and I fucked last night.

I slip into Susan's bathroom to pee, swirl away my night-breath with a little toothpaste from my dop kit, then move to the sofa (where Susan and I fucked yesterday morning) and find a place to get comfortable. I put a pillow to my left, against the arm of the sofa.

I've gotten another text message from my oldest daughter, Paige. She's just checking in on me. My eyes dart to the upper corner of my phone to look at the current time; it's just after 3:00 AM wherever we are. I have no idea what time it is in South Carolina. Paige and her family live on Sullivan's Island, about fifteen minutes from my town house.

My two girls and I have a standing rule in our family. It's never too late to call. It's never too late to text. It might be inconvenient, but it's never not allowed.

Me: ["Are you up, sweetie?"]

After a long several seconds, Paige replies:

Paige: ["Hi, Daddy! Yes, Gabrielle woke me up wanting some water. She'll probably wet the bed now. Is everything okay??"]

Me: ["I'm great!] Then:

["Her name is Susan."]

Paige is confused. Because she knows that I know that her daughter is Gabrielle.. we call her Gabby.

Paige: ["Her... who...???] (there's a long pause and I see the little bouncing dots while Paige types her reply.)

["Oh... you've met someone?!?"]

Me: ["Met... and then some."]

Another long pause. Then:

Paige: ["Daddy!!"]

Me: ["It's kinda what you and Mandy (and me, I guess) were hoping for, right?"]

Paige: ["Well, yeah,......... How do you feel about her?"]

Me: ["I feel wonderful. She's beautiful! She's smart, she's successful, she's funny, she's talented...

["We met at check-in. We've hardly been apart for a minute since."]

There's another long pause, then the bouncing dots return.

Paige: ["Are you with Susan now??"]

I might as well come clean.

Me: ["I'm in her stateroom, Paige. She's sleeping. I was, too, for a little while. Then my insomnia kicked in."]

The reality of that statement isn't lost on my oldest girl.

Paige: ["DADDEEEEEEEEE!!!"]

Readers, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm having this kind of conversation with my daughter.

Paige has a doctorate in clinical psychology. She specializes in a category called "family care." She's an expert in trying to keep families together, or in facilitating them separating if there's no hope for resolution. In fact, Paige was actually, surprisingly, supportive of me pursuing a divorce from my late wife before Amanda got her cancer diagnosis.

Plus, Paige gets me. We've always been close and we've grown closer in the three years since Amanda died. I trust her judgement.

The dots return. And the clinical part of Paige enters the chat.

Paige: ["Daddy, why are you telling me this? What's wrong?"]

I'm always honest with my daughters.

Me: ["I'm not sure anything is wrong. It's all just moving really fast, that's all.

["That was my problem in college before I met your mother. I would go on one date with a girl and all the sudden I'd want to pick out china patterns and baby names.

["Then one summer I made a conscious choice to do a one-eighty on that behavior. And then - bam - I met this woman... named Amanda."]

Paige: ["Mom told me more than once that you were very hard to... convince."]

More dots bounce in the message panel.

Paige: ["So... you want to see Susan after the cruise..."]

It's a statement and not a question. It makes me pause and think about it. Paige finally sees dots bounce on her phone.

Me: ["Yeah, I do. I wouldn't mind seeing her every day for, like... forever."]

Paige doesn't answer. Clinical psychologists know when to shut up and not say anything. And so I continue:

Me: ["But Paige, that's my struggle.

["I met this woman what?... two days ago?... and now I'm thinking about FOREVER?!? That's crazy!!"]

The screen is still for a few long seconds. Then:

Paige: ["Daddy, hang on. I need to go get something from my office."]

A half minute goes by and the dots begin to bounce again.

Paige: ["Do you remember when I was struggling with a decision about leaving home for college or staying close because I thought I was in love with Jeremy Settles?"]

Me: ["Jeremy Settles! Jesus, I haven't thought of that kid in ages!

["What brings him up now?"]

Paige: ["This isn't about him. It's about something you told me back then. I wrote it in my diary and I went to find it just now."]

From almost the time she learned to write, Paige has always kept diaries... then journals. Her autobiography is probably already ninety-seven percent written.

Me: ["What the hell did I say way back then?"]

The dots bounce and bounce and bounce. Finally the message appears.

Paige: ["This is straight out of my journal:

'Daddy told me something tonight that I'm going to remember as long as I live. He said:

['Paige, try to not chase after forever. And then don't chase it away. Forever has a mind of its own. Let forever make its own choices. Just be open to whatever forever decides should happen to you.'

["Do you remember saying that, Daddy?"]

I don't and I relay that to Paige.

Paige: ["That's okay. But I've remembered the spirit of those words ever since. Bobby said something similar when we were dating. That's when I knew I was in love with him... because he reminded me of you like that."]

The white letters on the dark background of my phone all the sudden get a little swirly. As the dots continue to bounce I blink my eyes a few times to get the letters to settle down.

Paige: ["Whatever is going to happen, Daddy... just let it happen.

["Susan has a choice in this, too. You know that. But there's nothing wrong if forever makes its mind up in a hurry.

["Is there."] It's another statement and not a question.

The dots bounce as Paige continues to type into her phone.

["But Mandy and I would REALLY appreciate it if you'd wait until you get off the ship to get married! Don't ask the Captain to do it! (They actually can't anyway. That's kind of a myth.)

More dots bounce on my phone.

["Bobby is starting to grumble at me. I'll tell Mandy you're having a wonderful time. You can tell her about Susan yourself.

["Love you, Daddy!!"]

Me: ["Love you too, Baby Girl."]

And I click my phone to darken the display. I sit in the dark and blink away the tears in my eyes.

There's a stirring from Susan's side of the bed. She rolls onto her back and her right arm sort of sweeps across the bedding like she's looking for something.... or someone... or me.

Not finding me beside her, Susan sort of pushes herself up from the mattress. She looks my direction in the stateroom and sees me sitting on the sofa.

"Hey," she says softly with a sleepy smile. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," I whisper back. "Just couldn't sleep."

Susan throws back the duvet and does a cat-like stretch on the bed. Her back arches and the dim moonlight from the balcony illuminates her pert boobs as they rise up from her chest. My cock twitches a little at the sight.

Susan gets to her feet on the far side of the bed. She ruffles her hands through her hair as she sleepy-walks, naked, to the bathroom.

I can't take my eyes off of her. Jesus, this woman has an amazing ass!!

After a minute or three Susan comes back out wearing a white robe from the cruise line. She's carrying what looks like a white wash cloth. Even in the robe, even in the dim light of the stateroom, Susan's stunning figure is, well... stunning.

"Sorry if I woke you up," Susan says with a quiet laugh. "My girls say sometimes I snore. I hope I didn't tonight."

I explain my periodic insomnia. I decide to keep my conversation with Paige about Susan to myself.

"I've been catching up on texts and emails," I reply.

"It's funny," I continue, "sometimes they go through slowly and other times they're quick."

Susan replies as she takes a seat to my right on the sofa: "Must be because we're approaching Nassau." She sets the wash cloth on the coffee table.

"That's our port of call for tomorrow," Susan says as she beams brightly into my eyes. Then, her face turns into something of a scowl.

"I hate Nassau," she announces. "Every ship I've ever sailed has stopped in Nassau. There's nothing to do after you've done all there is to do."

I'm puzzled, and ask: "Why do all of the ships stop here, then?" I lean forward and set my phone face down on the coffee table.

"It's money for the local economy," Susan replies. "And that's important, don't get me wrong.

"But I also read that it's part of the deals that the cruise lines have made with the government of the Bahamas so they can have their private islands here and there.

"Royal Caribbean has Coco Cay -- we'll be there tomorrow -- Disney has Castaway Key and some other place.

"And Royal is building a place in Nassau that's supposed to be really cool... it's just not ready yet."

I'm in the dark in this stateroom, sitting on this sofa with my feet resting on the coffee table in front of it, listening to one of the most gorgeous women I've ever met chatter like a songbird about cruise ships and the like.

My cock is twitching inside my gym shorts. And I have a beaming smile on my face.

Susan suddenly stops and looks directly into my eyes.

"Why are we talking about this?" Susan asks with a faux-accusatory tone.

I give her the pursed-lip, shrugged-shoulder international reply that says, silently, "how should I know."

Susan's tone turns downright sultry, and she whisper-growls: "I should be kissing you right now."

I repeat the same gesture, and Susan gives me a snarky glare.

Even so, she stands up from her seated position and puts her left knee, then her right knee on the surface of the sofa. Her hands are in front of her and she sort of tiger crawls towards me. The front of the robe droops down from its own weight and I can barely make out Susan's beautiful breasts softly swaying from side to side as she crawls toward me... over me.

It only takes a second or two for Susan's face to come up against mine. As she approaches, I maneuver the pillow resting against the sofa and lay back against it. I pull my legs off of the coffee table and over to the sofa. Without even looking, Susan adjusts her legs to intertwine and allow room for mine.

And then Susan leans forward and our lips meet. And then our lips part. And then Susan's tongue slides softly over mine, and she wraps me in another one of her amazing kisses.

Her lips are warm and tingly. Her skin smells warm and vibrant. Her tongue is hot and wet and soft. Her soft moans purr into my ears.

The kiss breaks and we both catch our breath. Susan pushes herself up on her arms and, with her right hand, loosens the fabric tie holding the robe closed.

I push the robe off her shoulders and pull it down her back and off into the floor.

Susan must have donned some panties when she went into the bathroom. But we're both topless and as she re-engages in another kiss, she intentionally grinds her breasts into my chest. I'm skin-to-skin with this gorgeous woman. It feels fantastic.

My arms are trailing up and down Susan's back. At her ass, I squeeze her butt cheeks firmly in both hands, pulling her crotch into mine. Susan moans her approval.

This kiss breaks and Susan pushes her arms out and sort of arches her back. This brings her boobs off my chest and up a little. I dip my head and I'm able to suck her right nipple into my mouth. My hands come to join the party and I fondle and squeeze both boobs as I keep suckling her right tit. My tongue twiddles against it and Susan's back arches even more.

"Mmmmm... shit," Susan whispers. "I knew I shouldn't have let you do that..."

Then Susan relaxes her arms and her mouth re-engages with mine in a manic kiss. My cock is fully erect and I'm sure Susan can feel it pushing against her thigh or her mound or her pussy or whatever part of her body is in contact with it.

Of all the activities I can engage in when insomnia kicks in, this is the one I'll choose every time!

The mania of Susan's kiss slows down and we end up forehead-to-forehead on the sofa, Susan is laying softly on top of me. She is looking intently into my eyes.

She says softly, "Phil... you know what?"

I don't answer because I don't know where this is going.

Susan continues with a sultry whisper: "I checked the time while I was in the bathroom.

"It's a little after three in the morning.

"And there is something that I said I'll do for you... in the morning."

Susan's talking about oral sex. Fellatio. A blowjob. My erect cock twitches in anticipation.

In all my fifty-seven years, I have never known a woman with this type of sexual appetite.

I do a quick calculation in my head (hey... I'm an accountant!) and realize that Susan and I have known each other for somewhere around forty hours. In that span of time, we have fucked each other three times and we're getting ready to have a fourth sexual encounter that will lead who knows where.

That's an average of one full-on sex act every ten hours or so.

I think back to my college girlfriends. I think back to Amanda when we were first married, and before the babies came. There's simply no comparison. And there's no relevant experience I can call on for being with a woman who wants sex as much as Susan does.

But... what? I'm going to complain? I'm going to suggest that we maybe slow down a little? I'm going to blame it on my lack of stamina?... of interest??... of desire???

I'm on a fucking vacation, for chrissakes! And I'm lucky as I can be that this fucking vacation is fucking full of... fucking!! With a gorgeous near-stranger who apparently wants to spend all of her time... with me... fucking!!!

Susan has a jaunty little grin on her lips. Her eyes are twinkling into mine. One eyebrow is cocked upward in a way that can only be interpreted as "Well??...".

I reply with a question: "Am I in the right place for you?"

Susan's eyebrow drops to its normal position. Her eyes move from a twinkle to a burn. And her sultry voice burns into my ear:

"Let's find out."

And Susan smothers my mouth in another sultry, smokey, sloppy, sexy kiss.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

The kiss is essentially to re-start the engines. Although for me, having a drop-dead gorgeous MILF, topless and nearly bottom-less, writhing her boobs against my naked chest while she subtly grinds her pelvis against my ragingly erect cock, is entirely superfluous. My engine is more than appropriately revved.

Susan's kiss leaves my mouth and travels over to my left ear. She breathes a soft moan "Mmmmmmmm" into my ear. Then she kisses, then licks, then lightly nibbles my ear lobe.

I'm running my hands lightly across Susan's back.

Now Susan's mouth moves from my ear to my neck, and from my neck to my chest. She's alternating between a series of soft, slurpy kisses and tiny but soft bites, interspersed with hot exhales of her breath all along her path.

As Susan moves down my torso, my hands move up through her hair, then off her head.

I resolve to the fact that this is Susan's show. I fold my arms above my head and wait for the next thing to happen.

Susan is now kissing across my stomach. She comes to the place at my waist line where my gym shorts rest against my hips.

On her transit, Susan has moved her legs down to the end of the sofa. She's now resting on her knees, with one leg in between the two of mine and her other on the opposite side of my right leg against the back of the sofa.

This positions allows Susan to raise up on her knees a bit and use her hands to grip the waistband of my shorts. She pulls the front out to clear my erection and I push against my feet to lift my butt an inch or so off the couch. There's a slight kerfuffle with legs and fabric and feet. Susan and I softly giggle our way through it.

I drop my butt back down to the surface of the sofa. Susan moves her head down across my groin and inhales.

Then she stops and smiles up at me. "Just a second," she whispers.

I didn't realize it earlier, probably because we're in the dark, but Susan slides a hair band off her left wrist. With her right hand, she gathers her hair behind her head, then wraps the elastic around the bunched-up hair a time or two.

My cock twitches in anticipation.

Then Susan reaches for the wash cloth on the coffee table and begins to wipe down my cock and my groin. The cloth is warm, and not hot. That and the surprise causes my erection begins to diminish a little.

It's unexpected, although Susan did bring the wash cloth with her out of the bathroom.

"Susan," I mutter, "I'm... sorry... I should have..."

Susan smiles again as she runs the wash cloth over my scrotum.

"Phil," she begins, "you've probably noticed that when we make love, I'm very..." (she searches for the right word) "... productive." She finishes her task and returns the wash cloth to the coffee table.

"I don't want to taste me. I want to taste you... just you."

My cock begins to re-stiffen with those words. I don't have much chance to react. Because Susan still has my cock in her hand.

"Oh, and I remember something," Susan continues. "I did have your cock in my mouth during our first encounter on Sunday night."

I'm not sure how to respond to that either so I mumble a soft "Oh... yeah, that's...."

"I know," Susan continues, "... that episode is kind of a blur for me, too.

"And you stopped me. You said you wanted it to last longer."

Even in the dark room, Susan's eyes burn into mine. Then:

"Phil, there will be no stopping me this time."

More sexual lightning surges through me.

And Susan starts to go to work.

Without ceremony, without provocation, without anything from me, Susan drops her mouth softly over my ragingly erect meat pole.

Susan's tongue, soft and warm and wet and velvety, swirls around the head of my penis. Then she trails her tongue down one side of my shaft where she stops, moves her tongue to the other side, and moves slowly back up to the head again.

Susan slowly swirls her tongue around the head of my cock again, and repeats a similar pattern.

There's no hurry to her movements. She's not just "doing it" to make me happy. And it doesn't seem to be leading up to anything else. Susan is just willingly, studiously, provocatively sucking my cock in the near-dark of her stateroom.

One of the girls I had sex with on the regular in college seemed to enjoy giving head more than the others. And certainly more than Amanda.

Before her cancer, Amanda and I would have sex once a week. That was it. And if a vacation or house guests or some other reason collided with that one day, our sex would wait until the next week.

Oral sex was even more rare than that. And, oh, Amanda had her reasons: "It makes my jaw hurt." Or 'I'm just not in the mood right now." Or "We don't have to do that every time, do we??"

None of that exists in this moment with Susan right now. Her meaningful ministrations over my member make me feel like I'm in heaven. Her soft mews and murmurs blend with mine.

Susan pauses and looks up at me, partly, I think, to catch her breath and partly to assess my reaction. She smiles softly at me and drops her head for another series of laps and licks and suckles of adoration over my cock.

A groan escapes my throat as my head drops back onto the arm of the sofa. Susan continues to lavish my cock with her lips, mouth, and tongue.

Y'all, this is what I've wanted. This is what I've waited for. This is what I've needed. Not a blow job, per se, but a woman who is unafraid to enjoy the phenomenal feelings of straight-on sexual contact. And Susan is so willingly giving me this. All of this.

I told Susan that, in the Jazz Club, the first night we met. And something in my mind is questioning if this is how Susan gives a blowjob on the regular, or is she ministrating over my member like this because I told her that's the kind of oral lover I want to have.

Something in my moans must signify a change in Susan's point of view. She stops again and whispers up to me:

"Phil, you okay?"

I chuckle softly. Then: "I don't know how I could be any better.

"This feels fantastic."

Susan emits her own chuckle. She shifts her position against me a little. I look down as she looks up into my eyes.

"I've never been with someone who enjoys this like you do," I comment softly.

Susan's gaze doesn't leave mine. She licks softly up the entire length of my cock.

"I love the way your cock feels in my mouth," Susan whispers in reply. "It's a perfect fit."

And to accent that jolt of sexual lightning, Susan drops her eyes back down to my cock and takes me back into her mouth for another series of licks, slathers, and sucks.

It should come as no surprise to anyone, but I'm not going to last much longer. Susan seems to sense that and, after a few more slathers, she pulls her mouth off my member and whispers up at me quietly.

"Phil," Susan says as she twists and pistons her hand over my cock, "I'm not in any kind of hurry. No hurry at all.

"But you can cum whenever you want to."

My response is a combination of a groan and a murmur.

"Where?" I ask quietly.

Susan is smiling into my eyes.

"Cum in my mouth, silly," she replies.

And then Susan drops her head back down over my cock. Her hand stays engaged and she is softly, slowly twisting my meat stick in one direction while her mouth and tongue move in the opposite direction. And then she reverses direction with both her hand and her mouth.

And that's about all I can bear. Almost before I realize it I feel my orgasm is erupting like a freight train in the narrow space behind my cock.

"Urrrggg... Mmmmm... Suze...." I'm able to emote before I start to feel the pulses racing through my groin.

Susan feels them, too. Her hand ceases the twisting and she pushes her mouth further over the length of my penis. The cum that erupts from me seems to go straight down her throat.

"Aaahhh, Aaahhh, Aaahhh," I moan-cry as my cock jolts its load into Susan's waiting mouth. Susan mews her own reaction to my orgasm, "Mmmmm... Mmmmm... Mmmmm....," keeping her lips tightly encircled until she feels the pulses diminish.

Then she releases her lips from my cock, swallows my load, then licks and slathers my cum and her saliva from my quickly-softening shaft.

"Mmmmm," Susan moans softly, then erupts into a soft, deep, throaty giggle. "That was fun!"

Susan seems to be catching her breath, similar to how I need to do the same after I've brought a partner to orgasm with cunnilingus.

"That wasn't just fun... that was amazing," I whisper softly, my eyes still closed.

I look down to see Susan looking up at me. I reach for her and pull her up into my arms. She kisses me softly and I can taste the slightly-salty stew of my jizz and her spittle on her tongue.

"You're amazingly good at that," I say softly after the kiss breaks. "Have you always been that good... at that??"

Susan smiles and lays her head softly on my chest.

"I think you inspire me to bring out my best," she whispers in reply.

"May I reciprocate?" I ask softly. "Anything I can do to return the favor?"

"Oh, I know you know what you're capable of," Susan says through a warm smile. "You proved that the first time we were together."

"Not right now," she says and then she closes her eyes with a sigh.

We lay together softly for a few minutes.

The silence is broken by a soft growl coming from my stomach.

Susan giggles. "Hungry for something?" she asks playfully.

"Just more of you," I answer softly. "I want as much of you as I can possible have."

"Careful, mister," Susan replies as she kisses my shoulder softly. "Talk like that might really get you someplace."

"Like where?" I ask.

Susan replies by getting to her knees and then stepping off of the sofa. She extends her hand for me to come with her.

"Well," Susan replies softly, "I might put you in my suitcase and take you back to Louisville with me." She's now back to the bed and crawls in from my side, skootching over to hers.

"Well," I reply, as I follow this vixen under the sheets, "what if I want to put you in my suitcase and take you back to Charleston with me?"

Susan wraps herself in my arms and cuddles into me.

"Hmm," she says softly. "I guess we'll have to talk about that over breakfast."

And Susan kisses my right hand, cuddles into me and we drop into a soft slumber.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

We choose to have breakfast -- coffees and quiche -- at the Park Cafe along the Central Park promenade on Deck Eight.

"So," I say to my beautiful table-mate, "you say you hate Nassau. What are your plans for today?"

I catch Susan putting a bite of quiche in her mouth but she recovers quickly.

"Mmm," she comments as she chews and swallows her food. "Something special, that my girls told me about.

"We're taking a behind-the-scenes ship tour. Well, I am... for now... we have to get you signed up for it as well."

"That doesn't sound like something they would have extra space for," I reply.

"The girls say that somebody almost always cancels at the last minute," Susan replies. Then:

"Besides," and she gives me a ridiculous wink, "I can be very persuasive."

Sure enough, Susan and I leave the Guest Services desk with an additional spot in this morning's ship tour.

Long pants and closed-toed shoes are required for safety reasons and so Susan and I have to retire to our staterooms to change out of our swimwear that we chose for breakfast.

The ship tour is fascinating. We see the gallies where meals are prepared. We see the laundry where guest and crew bedding, towels, and other things are washed on the daily. We see the main control room where literally every system on the ship is managed. We even see the bridge where the captain and his team navigate and steer this massive vessel.

The tour was made more exhilarating by Susan's suggestion as we left the gathering area for our first destination.

"Phil," Susan whispers as she pulls my right ear to her marvelous mouth, "let's play a game.

"Let's find the best and most outlandish place on this ship where we could... you know... do it.

"The one who finds the best place, wins!"

I look into Susan's twinkling eyes, laughing.

"Seriously??" I exclaim through my own whisper, barely. "You'd actually want to do that?"

"Depends on which place we find," Susan replies, giggling, through a sideways hug.

The giggles extend through the tour.

The challenge becomes one of us showing the other the location we've chosen without other tour guests -- there are about twenty of us all together -- seeing what we are giggling about.

This is another aspect of Susan's personality that I find incredibly appealing. It seems like she's always trying to have fun... to try something new... or to find a fun new way to experience something she's experienced before.

She doesn't seem to be afraid to step over a line... to ignore someone else's limits on something.

Every minute spent with her is fresh. And full. And fantastic.

And I feel like I'm the luckiest man on the planet that she wants to spend those minutes -- her minutes -- with me.

The tour is over and we say our "goodbyes" and "thank yous" to the crew members who have guided us around the ship.

It occurs to me that this stop is the only "real" destination on the cruise where I could get location-specific souvenirs for my daughters and their kids... my grandkids.

I mention that to Susan as we're walking along one of the upper decks; the ship's tour ended on the bridge.

Susan points to the Nassau side of the ship.

"See over there on the right," she remarks, "... past the Straw Market. See the 'Señor Frogs' sign?"

It's hard to miss, and I say so.

"Don't go into the bar," Susan cautions, then gives me a snarky grin, "... unless you just want to.

"But they have a nice merchandise shop right there and you can find all kinds of things in there that say 'Nassau.'"

I move face-to-face with Susan. I snake my arms around her waist and pull her close to me.

"You want to come with?" I ask, hoping she'll say yes.

"I'll stay here," Susan replies. "If only so I can say that I didn't get off the ship in Nassau.

"Did I mention that I hate Nassau?"

I pull Susan's frame a little tighter.

"I recall hearing that," I reply, "... this morning.

"Quite early... this morning."

My cock begins to swell from my own recollection.

Susan isn't having any of it.

"The ship sails at four," Susan cautions. "Don't make me leave without you."

"You'd really do that?" I ask softly, with false incredulity.

Susan brings her face directly to mine. "With... intense... regret," Susan purrs, followed by a short soft kiss.

"Now, get going!!"

Because Nassau is the port that it is, there is almost never only one ship in port. At least that's what my girls tell me. Today, there are four. And, even though it's not first thing in the morning, there's a steady stream of passengers from every ship flowing through the port's terminal building.

The Straw Market at Nassau is everything that is good and everything that is bad about international cruise ports, all rolled into one. The building itself is mostly modern; my girls tell me it used to have a much more of a primative, flea-market feel. And then the whole thing burned to the ground in 2001.

I peel away from as much of the touristy street-market hub-bub as I can as I head towards the Señor Frogs location. Susan is right; the restaurant and bar is a raucous cacophony of tourists from the multiple cruise ships in Nassau's port today. Definitely not my jam... particularly solo. But alongside the restaurant entrance is a merchandise shop that's much calmer.

I find enough T-shirts, keychains, and other Caribbean-themed gee-gaws to satisfy my family after I get home.

But as I'm paying for my Caribbean tchotchke, there's a strange... reality... that I'm experiencing as I make this little jaunt by myself into Nassau. Something is missing. More than missing, something has been pulled away. Not in a violent manner, but pulled away... separated... apart from me... missing... nonetheless.

It's almost like I'm not whole. It's like there should be something here... or there... or maybe there. And then it occurs to me that there should be someONE here... or there... or maybe there.

I realize it should be Susan.

For nearly the first minutes since I began this trip, I'm not with her... with Susan. I'm absent from her aura. I can't feel the vibrance that emanates from her, just being near me. I suddenly feel alone. Isolated. Desperate.

And I don't want to stay here. It's not a panic or anything like that. But there's this massive bustle of people around me, everybody doing their own shopping or their own cavorting around this Caribbean destination... and I'm alone. I'm completely alone. I'm not where I really want to be. I want to be with Susan.

The reality of that thought hits me like a thunderbolt. The noise and the jostling of people on Nassau's Bay Street seems to diminish into the background, like I'm in some kind of kinetic coma as I move with, and sometimes through, the crowd to find my way back to the ship.

And then I smell her. Susan!!... I smell her. Holy shit... I SMELL her!!!

Susan's skin. Susan's hair. Susan's breath as she breaks our last passionate kiss this morning, panting, and she moans softly into my mouth. I smell THAT!!!

A trio of women just passed me on the sidewalk. Was Susan maybe with them?? I thought she was staying on the ship... she didn't want to come into Nassau... Susan hates Nassau... did she change her mind??

I whip around to follow, and I can see the trio long enough, before they disappear into the throng. None of them are, indeed, the lover I left behind on the Oasis.

So why did I just experience this aromatic reminder? Is it witchcraft? Is Susan somehow responsible??

I look around for other clues, and find none. My mind sort of snaps out of this reverie. The noise returns. The bustle is more apparent.

And I make a bee-line back in the direction of the port terminal entrance, back onto the Oasis.

And back to Susan.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘

Returning to my stateroom, I find a note tucked under the door magnet that alerts my room steward to service the room, or to not disturb the occupants at this time. I smile at the realization that I've hardly been in this room the past three days.

The note is in a woman's handwriting: "I'm at Serenity Spa, Deck Six Forward."

And then, parenthetically:

"Wear as little as possible."

And there's a simple initial below: "S," followed by a little heart.

The door barely closes behind me and I'm stripping out of my long pants and closed-toed shoes. I can't walk through the ship next-to-naked, so I find another pair of gym shorts and another T-shirt. I put my SeaPass card in my pocket and I'm back out the door in probably less than a minute and a half.

I check in at the Serenity Spa front desk. An elegant and exotic-looking attendant named Uri glances at her computer and then directs me to Suite Eight. She points into the spa's interior.

"Juss ziss way, then to zee left," Uri says in an incredibly deep voice and with a remarkably unique accent. "First hall to yoor right, at zee end."

I thank Uri and move as she directs into the spa.

Every step down the hallway becomes more and more of a different experience. The sounds behind me dampen. The air seems to thicken and freshen at the same time. The lighting subdues. An aroma in the air intensifies. A soft thrum of exotic music replaces the murmur of voices behind me.

There is a door at the end of the hallway with a single, simple numeral on it... Eight.

I push open the door to reveal a tiny antechamber, probably not even ten feet square.

The room is a foyer of Suite Eight. There are soft chairs, a short small table, soft music and lighting, and a lovely eucalyptus aroma.

Susan is sitting in sort of a yoga pose on an ottoman. Her eyes are closed, like she's meditating. Susan is in a bikini, beneath the crocheted cover-up she's worn for me twice before.

Susan opens her eyes on my entry, and gives me a soft smile. She drops her hands but otherwise stays in her yoga pose.

"Hi," Susan says softly.

"Have you been waiting long?" I inquire.

"Not long at all," Susan replies. "I watched for you until I saw you coming up the gangway. Then I came here."

I'm amazed at this news. "You watched for me to come back?" I ask, not hiding the surprise in my voice. "Susan, there are hundreds... thousands of people coming down that gangway!"

Susan smiles up at me. "It's not so hard," she says in a sexy purr, "... when you know what you're looking for.

"When you know what you want."

My cock twitches more than just a little bit.

"It looks like you're in the middle of something," I comment, sort of as a diversion. "Am I interrupting?"

Susan uncrosses her legs and stands up from the ottoman. "I invited you, silly," she coos as she steps to the foyer door and throws the deadbolt to lock it from outside intruders.

"Isn't that why you're here?

"I'm just... connecting... with you."

I'm reminded of my feelings of separation from Susan. My want... my determination... to get back to her. Maybe to never leave her again.

And then... that I smelled her.

Was she creating this? Was it something magical? Spiritual? More than physical?

Was it some undefined and misunderstood (to me) kind of psychic voodoo that made me want to stay connected to Susan?

And, was it created by her??

And, if it wasn't, what can I do to keep it going... because I don't want our connection to end.

And now Susanhas moved to wrap her arms around my neck. She's looking lovingly into my eyes.

I choose to change the subject.

"So," I begin, "... this is the spa??"

"Just a part of it," Susan replies. "My girls thought I would like it.

"I thought a shower might be nice."

The stupid-male accountant in me kicks in: "We couldn't shower in our staterooms?"

Susan smiles as she grasps my hand and moves toward a door in one wall of the foyer. "Our staterooms don't have a shower like this one," she purrs as she pulls the handle and the door swings outward.

"Kick your sandals off, and come with me."

I comply, and Susan leads me into the next area, which is essentially a giant (as cruise ships go, I guess) wet room.

Tile covers the floor. Marble covers the walls. One wall is some sort of window made of textured glass. Natural light comes through it, but I don't have any idea of the source.

Recessed lighting in the high ceiling adds to the daylight to create a warm, comforting atmosphere. The music and the aroma from the foyer permeate this space as well.

In the front corner of the room, to the left of the entry door, is a tall wooden rack. The top two shelves are filled with thick, rolled-up towels. Other shelves are taken up with a selection of bottles of various colors and sizes. A bottom shelf is filled with small bottles of water.

To the left of the rack is a small back-lit panel recessed into the marble. Susan taps on the panel for a few seconds, and it "bloops" back in response. A small ottoman-like stool sits beside the rack. Susan sets a small bag on the ottoman.

"They tell me this room is voice-activated," Susan says. "I guess we'll see..."

My eyes go to the floor in the center of the room. There is an elongated oval-shaped teak wood panel in the floor. There's a slight gap around the edge of the teak panel; I assume it's some sort of drain, because in the ceiling above it is a row of squares with nozzles arrayed evenly throughout them.

Susan said this is a shower, but it's unlike any I've ever seen.

This observation has taken seconds, during which time Susan has moved the small ottoman nearer to the center of the room, a few feet away from the teak panel in the floor. Her bag remains on it.

Susan grasps both of my hands with both of hers and she pulls me into her spectacular body. My hands naturally rest on her hips. Then I drop them for what Susan does next.

Crossing her arms and putting her hands at the bottom of the material, Susan strips off her cover-up and tosses it toward the stool.

The bikini Susan is wearing fits her like a glove. Her gorgeous boobs are pushed tightly together so her cleavage is amplified. Her flat stomach leads to a delightfully-small triangle of fabric that covers her hootch... barely.

Now, with a sultry, snarky grin, Susan's arms go around my neck again. And she smothers me in a soft, alluring, fantastic kiss.

The kiss breaks. Susan untwines her arms from around me and, with one hand, reaches behind the middle of her back. Her other hand remains on my shoulder. She locates and pulls the string that loosens her bikini top. Her breasts fall free from the fabric. Then Susan reaches behind her neck and pulls loose the bow holding her top up. The fabric falls away from Susan's body and she tosses the bikini top in the same direction as the cover-up.

Her free arm comes back to my opposite shoulder.

Susan purrs into my eyes: "There's a bow on each side down below... just for you."

I divert my gaze from Susan's beautiful face, past her amazing breasts, and down to her hips. I locate the strings that hold the bikini bottom over her mound and her ass. I carefully pull one -- and then the other -- and, with a wriggle of her hips, Susan's bikini bottoms fall free from her body. I toss the bottoms in the direction of her other garments.

Now Susan is naked... and I'm not.

Without a word, and without breaking eye contact, Susan grasps the bottom of my T-shirt and pulls it upward, and over my head.

Tossing it on the pile of her clothes, Susan's hands move to my gym shorts. After clearing my erection, she disposes of them quickly in a similar manner. Then she stands before me and puts her arms around my neck again.

My cock is twitching against her pelvis and stomach.

"Phil," Susan coos as she stares into my eyes, "have you ever fucked in a rain shower?"

"I... um... have not," I reply, trying not to sound too dorky... or accountant-y. "But that sounds... appealing."

Susan laughs softly through her nose then turns her head to her left and calls out into the room.

"Ricci... activate... medium rain shower," Susan commands.

A soft whooshing sound emanates from above my head, followed immediately by a soft cascade of delightfully... perfectly... warm water.

The shower heads above the teak panel create a blissfully peaceful waterfall directly down to the floor.

Still, the suddenness of the cascade catches me a little by surprise.

"Ahhh!" I exclaim, "Ahhh-haaa!!"

In a millisecond, I'm soaked. Drenched. But the water feels fantastic; it's not a torrential stream like a normal shower. Rather, it's a perfectly soft cascade that's somehow comforting... like sort of a liquid cocoon.

And it's not like a regular shower where the water takes a while to get to the proper temperature; this water is perfectly warm from the jump.

I raise my head and use my hands to push my hair back out of my eyes.

When I lower my head again, Susan is standing before me. Naked. Staring at me with a beautiful grin on her lips.

The water droplets are rolling off her body... off her boobs. Her hair is also drenched but falling softly over her right shoulder.

Without a word, Susan again wraps her arms around my neck and envelopes me in another fantastic kiss. The warm wetness of the shower is running over the both of us.

The hot wetness of Susan's mouth and tongue dancing with mine seems to be amplified by our surroundings.

And then Susan reaches down with her right hand and grasps my throbbing erection.

Breaking the kiss, Susan pivots to her left and pushes her ass against my groin.

In one smooth motion, Susan turns her head to her left as her left hand grasps the back of my neck and she re-engages in another smoking-hot kiss. Her right hand slides my cock between her ass cheeks, then moves to grip my right hand and place it over her right boob. My left hand matches my right.

Susan and I are now standing back-to-front, making out like teenagers in an incredible shower of rain water emanating from the ceiling above us.

Susan's tongue is aggressively wrestling with mine as she wriggles her ass against my raging cock. Her nipples are erect from the water and from my hands. She's moaning into my mouth as I softly fondle her boob flesh and pinch her nipples as she writhes her body softly against me.

I've never felt anything like this in my life. And my own moans give that away.

Susan reacts with a throaty giggle into my mouth.

"You're liking this?" she asks in a sultry, giggly whisper, just before she sucks my tongue back into her mouth.

"Mmmmmm..." I reply as I deepen my kiss and grip Susan's boobs harder while I try to push my cock more firmly into her butt-crack.

"What's not to like?" I murmur as I move my mouth down to Susan's neck. Her back arches as I find her sensitive spot.

"Mmmmmm, yourself," Susan says as she breaks free from my grasp. She's clearly intends to move on to something else... something new.

"Step off of the wood for a second," Susan instructs.

I do as Susan asks. Then Susan turns her head toward the I-Pad panel and calls out:

"Ricci, raise platform."

Immediately, the teak oval begins to silently rise up out of the floor. Some sort of hydraulic apparatus is pushing two steel posts underneath the teak wood upward, each about a foot or so from either end of the oval. In the void now visible beneath the panel, a series of drains are clearly pulling the falling water away.

Susan is standing on one side of the oval as it rises. I'm standing on the other. She allows it to come up to a level just below her knees.

"Ricci, stop platform," Susan commands. And the platform stops it motion.

Susan then moves to the wooden rack by the door and selects two rolled-up towels from the shelf.

She places the two towels on one end of the elevated oval. They are immediately soaked by the shower but they maintain their rolled-up orientation.

"This will have to do as your pillow," Susan says, turning to me.

"Sit here. And lay back." And she pats a space roughly in the middle of the teak oval.

Then she commands the tablet one more time: "Ricci, mist shower."

Immediately, the water from above becomes more of a heavy downward-falling mist.

I'm suddenly aware that this encounter is probably going to be a panoply of sexual surprises from Susan's imagination, combined with the inside knowledge of this ship garnered from her daughters, or even from her past experiences on other ships.

I can't describe the surge of sexual energy that's running through me right now. My cock has been ragingly-erect for I don't know how long... at least since Susan and I were making out a minute or three ago.

But Susan is in charge of this encounter. Hell, I never knew this rain-forest paradise even existed... much less that we might turn it into a private, rain-drenched fuck-fest.

My linear accountant-mind has trouble letting go of things needing to be *just so.* But... what the fuck... I have a beautiful, sexy, naked, soaking-wet vixen running this show.

"Why do they call her Ricci?" I ask as I place my butt on the teak oval -- that's now a bench -- approximately where Susan instructed.

"I think," Susan replies, "it comes from RCI -- Royal Caribbean International."

"Ah," I reply.

And I lay back to make the rolled-up towels my pillow... as instructed. I have to adjust a little to fit just where Susan directed. My feet remain on the floor, so my knees are a little elevated over the teak oval.

During these moments Susan has retrieved something from the small bag she brought into the wet room with her.

Turning her attention to me she adjusts my legs to go straight out the teak panel. She flips the top of a small bottle and drizzles a copious amount of a creamy lubricant over my erect cock.

Then she drops to her knees on the floor to my right side. Susan's right hand is softly slathering the lubricant over every inch of my already-erect member. She smothers me in a long, luscious kiss.

"Phil," Susan whispers as the kiss breaks, "for this fuck I don't want your cock in my pussy.

"I want your cock in my ass. Would that be okay with you?"

There's a surge of sexual lightning -- which I'm actually getting used to and enjoying immensely -- but there's also a twinge of panic.

In all my years I've never experienced full-on anal sex with anyone. Amanda and I tried it... once... shortly after we were married. She immediately burst into tears. And we never tried it again.

And now Susan wants me to fuck her... like I've never fucked anyone before.

"Susan," I stammer, "I can't... I don't... I've nev..."

Susan understands immediately. She shushes me with another kiss.

"Then let me drive," she whispers as the kiss breaks. "Sit back... and enjoy the ride."

Susan is still massaging my meat pole with her right hand. She adds even more lubricant until it seems my cock can't hold on to any more.

"Lots of lube is important," Susan says quietly as she squirts more into her hand and then moves her hand behind her ass. I'm certain she's lubing her asshole.

"This is made with coconut oil," she declares. "The water-based stuff would wash away too quickly in here.

"The added advantage is that it's edible... and it tastes good."

With that, Susan sets the lube on the stool beside her bag and our clothes. Then she rises to her feet and with her left leg steps over my body lying on the teak oval.

Susan crab-walks herself forward until her pussy is directly over my mouth. I can immediately smell her wet, musky, heavenly scent, and I realize it's been a long minute -- too many long minutes, actually -- since I last experienced it.

My cock twitches its approval and my hands come up to Susan's hips. Susan's hands come to rest on either side of my head.

Susan has adjusted the teak oval to the perfect height for this activity.

She is able to flex her knees just slightly to bring her pussy into contact with my tongue and my mouth. Susan can also control the amount of contact -- the amount of stimulation -- that my mouth, lips, and tongue can generate across her vulva.

All I have to do is twiddle and suck on whatever part of her snatch that Susan offers me. It's actually an enormous sexual rush for me, and my moans give that away.

"Jesus," Susan moans down into my ears. "Why are you so good at this?"

I answer my raising my left hand up to capture Susan's right boob. I fondle the soft flesh and softly roll her erect nipple between my index and middle finger.

"Mmmmmm... Fuck, Phil," Susan moans, "... you are so unfair."

Susan writhes against my mouth a few more seconds, then she shifts her position forward a bit, while tilting her hips backward. This puts her ass more aligned with my mouth and tongue.

She moves one hand behind my head and the other to my chest to steady herself. I move my hands to her butt cheeks and softly spread them apart.

Susan is right. The lube *is* edible. And I spend a few seconds licking and lapping Susan's anus. I'm surprised at two things: One, that I am actually enjoying this, and Two, that Susan seems to be really enjoying it as well.

"Ohhhhh, fuck...." Susan purrs. "Mmmmmmm... oh goddddd...."

Susan clearly isn't shy about anal play. I lick and lap a little more while I trace my right index finger across my cock to collect a little of the lube Susan slathered there. On my hand's transit back I rub the pad of my thumb against my finger to get it slippery as well.

Moving my right hand back to Susan's ass, I slowly but firmly press my thumb into the pucker of her butt hole. There's a slight shudder from Susan's legs but she doesn't pull away.

I trace lazy circles around Susan's asshole, and she moans her approval. And then I feel the pucker relax a little.

Now I replace my thumb with my lubed finger. I push very slowly forward and Susan's sphincter relaxes even more, allowing my finger access to the inside of her ass.

"Mmmmmm.... Ohhhhhh, yessssss..." Susan purrs as her hips roll in a quiet circle over my head.

My index finger is inside Susan's ass only up to about the first knuckle. I push a little further and listen for Susan's reaction.

There's an initial sharp inhale, followed by a soft mewing moan.

"Oooohhhh... that's... yes... keep..." Susan whisper-moans into the room.

Now I move my left hand around to the front of Susan's pelvis. I softly place my hand over Susan's cunt and wriggle my fingers carefully against her vulva.

Her reaction is immediate.

Another sharp inhale, followed by more mews of approval.

"Mmmmmm... Jesus... Phil... you know just what.... Mmmmmmm..."

My finger inside Susan's ass begins to piston very slowly, while my fingers caressing her pussy are softly finding their way across her outer and inner labia.

Somehow I find space to add my tongue to the party, flickering softly against Susan's anus as my finger moves in and out of her. I also notice that the tightness of Susan's sphincter seems to have lessened a little.

"I thought you'd never done this before..." Susan moans into the room. I respond with a soft laugh and a quicker twiddle of her butthole with my tongue.

Susan moans a little more, then sort of laughs herself. She extends her legs to pull her crotch away from me. I slip my hands away from her delicate areas as Susan dismounts from her face-sitting position to my right on the teak oval.

She collects the lube and re-slathers my cock, then squeezes a little onto her fingers and reapplies it to her butt.

Then Susan bends down to kiss me. I'm a little surprised at her willingness to do that, considering I've just had my tongue twiddling her asshole. But, no matter... her tongue slickers over mine for a few seconds, then the kiss breaks.

"I need you inside me now," Susan whispers as she pulls away from the kiss.

Susan steps down to about my hip level, then swings her left leg over and remounts my body on the oval, this time facing away from me.

With her right hand, Susan reaches behind her and locates my raging erection. Adjusting her legs downward she puts the head of my cock against the pucker of her anus.

The foreplay was helpful; with only a little resistance, the head of my cock pops into Susan's gorgeous ass.

"SSSSssssss...." Susan hisses into the room. Her hand is still holding the shaft of my cock, but she begins to flex her legs downward and upward, allowing more and more of my cock to slip inside her.

I slip my hands under Susan's butt cheeks to support her.

"You okay?" I whisper softly to my lover.

"Mm-hmmm," Susan replies. "It stings a little at first, then everything gets very warm...

"And very wonderful..."

Susan releases my cock from her fingers and puts both her hands against my shins for leverage. Then she begins to slowly pump her thighs up and down, pistoning my cock further inside her asshole.

And now I'm beginning to feel the difference between fucking Susan's twat and fucking her ass. The tightness of her anus against my penis is astonishing.

It's a different sensation because Susan's ass doesn't generate its own moisture like her pussy does... copiously. That's why the lube is important. But Susan must have the formula right. My cock is sliding in and out of her asshole, and I'm getting one hell of a view!

I've read that the entrance to a person's ass has one of the densest collection of nerve endings in their whole body. So deep penetration isn't really necessary or even an advantage, like it might be in vaginal sex.. There is a thing called the "p-spot" and even the "a-spot" further up the rectal canal.

But since this is the first time my cock has been this deep in any woman's ass, I think finding such targets would be more luck than anything else.

Still, Susan seems to be enjoying herself as she continues to pump her ass up and down on my shaft. She's softly moaning and uttering "ooohs" and "mmmms" as her hips continue to gyrate over mine. And that's helping me relax as well.

Susan initially had my legs stretched straight out in front of me on the teak oval. Now that we're a little more comfortable, I lower my legs to the floor to give myself leverage of my own.

I begin to meet Susan's downward thrusts with gentle upward thrusts. And even a little more of my cock slips inside Susan's butthole.

My hands have moved to Susan's hips. Now that we've established a rhythm is this position, I slide my right hand down between Susan's thighs and re-engage her dripping pussy.

"Oh, fuuucckk... yyyeesssss..." Susan moans. Her hands move from my legs to each side of the teak oval. Then she leans back to where she's completely laying across my body.

I'm now sandwiched between the bench below and Susan's naked, writhing body above me. I could never imagine such a scenario as this, that Susan has presented me. Another surge of sexual energy races through me.

For balance, Susan moves her left foot up from the floor to come alongside my left thigh.

The result of that maneuver is that her twat is even more exposed to my probing fingers.

I make sort of a "hook 'em horns" figure with my right hand. My middle and ring fingers slip inside Susan's pussy. My thumb rests softly against her clitoris.

"Ohhhh, fuuucckk," Susan moans through panting breath, now into my ear. "How... how did I know you'd be...

"MMMmmmmmm...."

I finger-fucked Susan the first night we met. So she knows that I know what I'm doing with my hands in relation to her pussy.

But now my cock is also at play. I'm surprised that I can actually feel my cock moving inside Susan's ass, against my fingers parked inside Susan's pussy.

Susan's body is writhing against mine as she lays on top of me.

"So good. Mmmmmm... fuck... you're so good... why are you so... Mmmmmmm..." Susan purrs into my right ear.

I move my left hand to capture Susan's left breast and squeeze it tightly against her.

Susan's husky voice raises to a mid-level squeal.

Another few thrusts.

Susan issues another command to her digital partner: "Ricci... medium rain shower."

And the heavy mist changes immediately to a similar deluge as before.

Now warm raindrops are falling on Susan's body layered over mine. My cock is in her ass. My fingers are in her pussy. And the rain is falling over both of us. It's an incredible combination of tactile and aural stimulation.

We're fucking -- as promised -- in a rain shower... and then some!!

Susan's position laying on me has her head lolling over my right shoulder. We turn our heads toward each other and engage in a mutual, electric, incredible, rain- dropped kiss.

Tongues wrestle with each other. Lips squelch together. Breaths pound out of one and into the other.

And my cock is pistoning into and out of Susan asshole, while my fingers and thumb are dancing in her pussy and over her clit.

Susan's moans are giving her away. Her body essentially goes slack, open to the ravages my cock and my hands.

The pace of my thrusting increases, not because I intend it to, but because my orgasm is blooming inside me.

It triggers an elevated change in Susan as well.

"Yes!!" she cries. "Yesss!! Yesss!!

"Fuck!!! Mmfff!! Mmfff!!!

"Don't... Yesss!!!... Ohhhh!!!..."

And then, Susan's back arches over me. And she freezes.

A beat. Another beat. And I'm still pumping into her ass.

And... she releases.

Susan's whole lower body begins to quiver... to vibrate... to spasm, even.

Both of her feet fly to the floor.

Susan's hands begin to fly... everywhere. To my hand in her pussy. Around the back of my head. Across her own body, then wildly trying to find something to contact on mine.

"Urrrggghhh!!" Susan cries. "Ohhhh, fuck... Ohhhh, fuck me... Mmmmm Phil... Don't... Don't stop... I'm gonna... I'm....

Maybe instinctively, my free hand wraps tightly around Susan's waist to hold her against me.

"Fuck me... fuuccckkk... Cum in my ass, Phil... Cum in my aaassssssss!!"

She doesn't have to encourage me, much. My orgasm has been impending pretty much since our last kiss.

And so, cum in Susan's ass, I do.

I issue my own "Urrrrgggghhhh!!" as the orgasmic fury in my loins rockets out of me through my cock. Unlike masturbation, or a blow job, or coming in Susan's mouth or her pussy, the strictures of Susan's anal canal seem to intensify my orgasm's ability to blossom... for my cum to fire out of my cock as it usually does.

"Uuuummffff... Uuuummfff... Uuuummffff..." I moan as my pulses pound and flex my cock within Susan's asshole.

Being my first time, it is a truly alien experience for me. At the same time, it feels wonderful. And Susan's own orgasm -- compared to the others I've experienced with her -- seem particularly intense.

Her body is quaking... and quaking... and quaking... over mine. Her cries are echoing off the shower walls for a longer period of time.

Too soon... but also finally... Susan's pulses diminish. My arm around her waist feels the vibrations of her groin lessen and diminish. My hand on her pussy feels the same.

"Mmmmmmm," Susan moans through a long exhale. Then her head lolls back against mine and she engages in a long, languorous, post-coital kiss.

The kiss breaks and Susan commands: "Ricci, stop shower."

The rainwater ceases to fall from the ceiling.

Susan then commands: "Ricci, lower platform."

And the bench Susan and I are laying on softly recedes to floor level. We both instinctively move our feet away from the edge of the teak panel as it drops into its storage cavity.

Still laying on my body, Susan laughs through her nose, then:

"I think we were supposed to be off of it before I did that."

My cock slips out of Susan's anus. And she rolls off of me to lay beside me on the floor.

"Ricci, mist shower," Susan calls out from her face-down supine position next to me. The intensity of the water immediately resumes again to a heavy, warm mist.

And now, Susan is all over me. I am smothered with the most passionate, most intense kisses I think I've felt -- yet -- from this incredible woman. One series of kisses commences, then breaks. Followed immediately by a second series. Then by a third.

Susan and I are laying on the floor of this shower, making out like teenagers who snuck away from everybody else during the campfire at a church camp. Except we're naked. And we're wet. And I just fucked Susan's ass. And it was amazing!

Susan's third assault on my lips and face and body ends. And she sort of collapses with her head laying on my shoulder. We both pant for a long minute, catching our breath.

"Thank you," Susan whispers eventually. "That was amazing." She follows with a long soft sigh.

We lay together for another few seconds.

"I've never experienced anything like this in my life," I offer softly, stroking Susan's back and shoulders as she lays over me.

"This place," I continue. "This room. This technology.

"... You."

I pause because I don't really know what else to say.

Susan picks her head up from my chest and looks at me.

I say the first thing that comes to mind:

"Can we do it again??"

And Susan and I collapse into a soft, post-coital giggle as the mist softly continues to fall over our naked selves, lying beneath it.

⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘•⫘