author: Uther Pendragon
title: The Longest Minute
keywords: MF wl

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

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

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental. 
 
                       #  #   #  #   #  #   
 
                       The Longest Minute 
                       by Uther Pendragon 
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

He *wouldn't* last if he thought about that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Theirs, theirs, ... theirs! 


     The End
     The Longest Minute
     Uther Pendragon
     nogardneprethu@gmail.com
     1999
     2000/09/10
     2001/08/11
     2002/05/20
     2003/06/11
     2004/05/13


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

This story is indexed in the subdirectory: 
wl.txt 
Wedded Lust  

The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm