I’m here. My heart and clit pound as one as I approach the door, a familiar feeling in an alien setting, a new set of rooms to in which to explore new sexual territory. Already, I can see your outline and the anticipation starts to bubble over; I’m slick with it.

Your strength as you shove me against the door catches me almost off-guard, but seems to spark something in me, and as I catch my breath reluctantly between the savage unbridled lust of our kissing I succumb to the need to tear your shirt off and bite you. Sinking my teeth affectionately into the base of your neck (ah! Young blood!), the smooth caramel skin yields at my touch.

I tease you with my lips, kissing up the side of your neck as you do to me, moving in again for slower, softer kisses, but kisses that scorch my still-tender lips; tender from the last time, or the memory, I’m not sure which.

("Hello")

Another rude shock, and a jolt from somewhere inside. You’re pressing me against the wall and I can already hear your faint moans, provoking the same in me. You breathe into my ear that you’ve been waiting two months to hear that.

I’m trailing my fingers lightly over your chest, scratching gently, much as your hands are all over my arse, doing it to make sure it’s really you. You’re whispering more filth in my ear, telling me how sexy I look and feel as you unbutton me to my waist, telling me you want to feel my wet cunt enclosing you, watch while I take your cock between my swollen lips.

I can just manage a reply, my voice strained with lust. The pounding in my clit is an ache now, and it’s spreading, and I know I’ve come already, soaked the flimsy excuse for a black lace thong I was wearing (you know the one I mean…) You ease it off me, and gasp when you feel its wetness.

Your jeans feel harsh on fishnet legs, but I press tighter against you, more reassurance as I close in on your cock, fingers snaking under waistband and curling round your rapidly hardening length. I feel myself contract – already! - as you unhook my breasts, fuller than usual in the oppressive August heat.

Your hands are on me, kneading, stroking, pleasure-pain principle coming into play with every too-forceful touch of my hardening nipples, every squeeze at the base of your shaft makes you pinch harder ‘til I cry out in pain and you ease off.

Your hands are at my waist now, tender but still firm in their touch. Mine are round your neck, stroking, stroking your hair, finding it just damp enough from your post-gym shower to wrap sleek dark tendrils of it round my fingers and pull you closer. Our tongues dance over each other’s lips, not wanting to pull away completely. I'm revelling in the feel of your face pressed to mine, slight friction from stubble exciting me further.

You lead me, eyes closed, reeling with the mingled pleasure / anticipation, to the kitchen...