NSFW

I swear this is and will be the most nervous I have felt in my life.

“T-30. All systems are good.” Launch Centre signalled.

“T-10.” I heard the sound of ratcheting clank of the hoses separating from the external fuel tank of the shuttle, hoses which had just finished pumping in liquid oxygen to supply the oxidiser for the main engine burn. The main engines themselves were ignited a moment later, shuddering our compartment. The main engines would not actually be fired until launch of course but the shudder was the final sign of imminent blast-off. It suddenly dawned upon me that this mission is very dangerous – so dangerous that it could potentially end my life if a single mistake was to happen. We were really going up this time.

Two previous delays had scrubbed the launch of SS Warrior. One, due to weather, which had kept us from even entering the crew compartment. We'd never even donned our bulky spacesuits. The second had occurred fifty-three minutes before launch when a two-dollar fuse (for which the government had probably paid more than a thousand bucks) that regulated power to the crew escape hatch burnt out, scrubbing us. This launch signified our last chance to hit our window this month. It looked like it we were finally going to leave the pad this time.

I braced myself in my strapped-on chair as the countdown reached zero. I braced myself even though I was as strapped in tight as a man could possibly be. My shoulder and waist restraints were cinched tight enough to break a clavicle or a pelvis had I not been adorned with the forty-kilo space suit. A space suit which, I might add, the ill-fated Challenger crew had found pretty much useless. I had no illusions. If something went wrong, it was my ass. I only hoped it would be quick; so quick I wouldn't even notice it.

"Ignition." I heard in my headset. A moment later the solid rocket boosters were ignited, the main engines were throttled up, and the shuttle leapt off of the pad.

Vibration and incredible noise filled the crew compartment and I was pushed back forcefully in my seat under the effects of three times the force of normal gravity. The acceleration was very obviously less than I'd endured in training in the centrifuge. I'd made it all the way to nine G's before passing out, but it was different all the same – more intense. I knew that this pressure on my body meant I was being blasted off of the surface of Earth and into space. It meant that the launch had gone forward. The main engines could be shut down at any time but solid rocket boosters are like fireworks; hell, they are fireworks when you come right down to it. Once they are lit, there is no turning them off. They would burn, pushing our little vehicle upward, until they were out of fuel. We were committed.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the mixture of oxygen and nitrogen that came through the breathing system. I closed my eyes, enduring the uncomfortable sensation of acceleration, waiting for it to be over. This was the most dangerous part of a space mission; the part most likely to produce a catastrophic result; the orbital burn. More than a million individual parts had to work perfectly in sync with each other. If one little widget decided to say 'fuck it', we were toast.

I did not even have the luxury of monitoring what was going on as we ascended. I was not a pilot; I was a payload specialist, sitting two seats behind the mission commander. I heard his transmissions in my earpiece but I did not have access to his telemetry. If my ass was about to be obliterated, the last thing I would hope to hear would be 'Houston, I'm reading a failure on... '.

I heard the report of our transitional roll to orbital inclination. I felt the shudder of separation as the solid rocket boosters burnt out and were ejected. I was particularly nervous during this period. It was about here when the Challenger had gone up.

This all went off without a hitch however. The main engines burnt for a few more minutes and then shut off. The acceleration ended, literally lifting a great weight from us, and we were in zero-G. We were in orbit. My lifelong dream had been achieved. I was safely in space, moving at nearly eighteen thousand kilometres an hour.

"All right guys." Commander Buxely told us over the intercom. He'd flown in space four times before and was therefore a veteran. "Let's get these space suits off."

This was, as I may or may not have mentioned or implied, my first space mission. I'd been an "astronaut" for more than two years but the highest I'd flown before had been my flights on the so-called "vomit-comet", a KC-135 that had been converted for zero gravity training. It was a pathetic simulation of what zero-G was really like I was quickly discovering.

I have a doctorate in orbital dynamics. Although I am assigned to NASA, my actual job is to oversee the development and deployment of infrared detecting geosynchronous spy satellites. SS Warrior was tasked, among other things, to launch such a satellite whose purpose was to hover above the Indian Ocean, replacing an outdated satellite that had been there since the late 1980s. The satellite in question could detect the launch of something so small as a SCUD missile by its infrared plume anywhere in the Eastern Hemisphere of Earth. I'd worked out the proper positioning for the thing in our limited slot of geo orbits and was tasked to oversee its deployment. I'd worked the last twelve years of my life for the moment I was finally shot into orbit around the Earth via highly explosive elements.

I was but one member of a crew of seven aboard SS Warrior. The spy satellite launch was but one of our tasks. We were also studying solar flares from the Sun, the development of chicken embryos in zero gravity, and, as always, the effects of zero-G on the human body.

Of the seven of us astronauts, only two of us had never been in space before. They were Heather Xu and myself. Heather was not really an astronaut. She was not employed by NASA but was a research specialist; a biologist at Harvard. She'd received a few months of NASA training in preparation to being launched with her experiment; which she'd worked six years upon. Heather was in charge of the chicken embryos. She was the authority, not just on chickens, but on any kind of poultry you could possibly imagine. She had a Ph.D. in poultry. The chicken doctor, we called her, good naturedly of course; and she'd always taken this well. By the time of launch we were all calling her this. From her I'd learnt more about the life cycle, breeding cycle, and death cycle of chickens than I'd ever hoped to know. She was an accepted, though minor member of our crew. She'd trained with us in the simulators, had gone up with us in the vomit comet, had participated in the pre-launch flight in the F-16s, even taking the stick for a short time in the back seat of the specially modified trainer that Commander Buxely flew. She'd proved to us all that she had a set of balls.

She was my age, thirty-one, and in exquisite shape; a NASA requirement. She was an attractive woman of oriental descent; her family having come to America in the post-World War II era. She was childless and twice divorced. As the two "virgin" members of the crew, Heather and I had bonded during training. On the rare occasions when we, the crew, had time to go out to a bar for a few drinks, Heather and I used to sit together and talk, sharing our experiences in life. I learnt that she had incredible trouble maintaining relationships with men. The problem was that she was almost eerily intelligent; her IQ was nicely above what was considered to be genius. Apparently, most men were intimidated by that simple fact. Men don't like women who are smarter than they are.

My own IQ, while up there on the scale, was nowhere near hers. But she never intimidated me. On the contrary, I found conversation with her stimulating and thought provoking (when she wasn't talking about chickens, that is). Her points of view on every issue from the Trump’s travel ban controversy to past events like the crisis in Kosovo were well thought-out and well-spoken, full of insight. As the weeks prior to launch went by I found myself infatuated with her.

Like her I was divorced and childless, though I could only claim a single previous spouse. My wife had been a paediatrician that I'd met in graduate school. An attractive woman and a wonderful wife that had simply been unable to adapt to the amount of time I had to spend away from her at Jet Propulsion Laboratory, my previous employer before joining NASA. By the time I'd been picked up as a future astronaut our marriage had been teetering on the brink. The additional time away from home that NASA required had been the final push. My story is not unusual in the ranks of astronauts.

As our training progressed, Heather and I fell in love with each other. That is when we began our dating phase. Of course, because of our work at NASA, we have many common working hours and schedules so that worked perfectly for us to arrange our dates. Slowly but surely, I had taken her as my girlfriend and I want to made it known - I asked her out on a date one night. That evening, I restrained myself from leaving the house early. It would have screwed up the schedule I'd carefully planned. Finally I made one last check of my possessions to make sure I had everything I needed. I fingered the ring in the box as I headed out the door, climbing into my faithful Datsun and heading off to Heather's house.

 "You look very nice," I told her, standing up and giving her a hug and kiss. I took a quick look at her left ring finger, which was bare at that moment but would hopefully be adorned with my ring later that evening. "New dress?"

"Mom helped me pick it out," she affirmed. "You look very nice too. So where are we going?" The anticipation was killing her.

"You'll see," I said. "I think you'll like it."

We said our good-byes to the elder Xus. We went out the door. I held the car door open for Heather and then stepped around to my side, strapping in and firing up the little four-cylinder engine. I pulled away from the curb and headed for the freeway.We made idle chitchat until I hit the highway.

We drove along the major arteries and into downtown Houston. We cruised between large high-rises, catching occasional glimpses of the silvery Morgan Chase Tower. We saw the distinctive outline of the ancient Chapel of Saint Basil poking up into the sky far to our north. We watched the occupants of cars around us and pedestrians on the downtown streets. One hand on the steering wheel, I held her hand with my free hand and leaned against each other, feeling closeness, feeling love. My doubts about the outcome of the evening began to drift away.The Houston City Hall, where Space Tex Hotel is located, is a thirty-five story building about six blocks from the waterfront, right in the heart of downtown. I manuveured my Dutsons it into the turnaround near the front lobby entrance. There were several other limos already there. I quickly hopped out and rushed around to open the door for Heather. Heather stepped out as a valet emerged from the lobby to help us park our vehicle. He nodded politely and wished us a nice day.

The lobby alone was enough to make Heather and I, both obviously new to such ambience, feel slightly out of our element. It was spacious and seemed to ooze class. Well-dressed men and women walked to and fro amid well-dressed hotel staff. We moved quickly to the elevators.

We rode up to the thirty-fifth floor and stepped out, following the signs to Spaces. The maitre d' was almost a stereotype of what you see in bad movies. He had it all, the balding head, the snooty French accent, the little mustache. I found myself wondering if it was all an act because that was what people expected to see when coming to such a place. Maybe he went home each night and ripped off the little mustache and then talked to his wife in a Texas accent or something. He eyed the two of doubtfully as we approached his little table. 

"May I help you?" he asked, politely. 

"Yes you may," I told him. "We have reservations for two for Raymond at seven o'clock." 

"Well let's check into that," he told me, giving a smile. He perused his book for a moment. "Oh yes, Mr. Raymond." He tapped it with his pencil. Without even bothering to check his seating chart he said, "Of course, Mr. Stevens," he told me, picking up two menus. "If you and your guest would follow me please?"

We were placed at a secluded table next to the large picture window. The riverside was plainly visible, as was the sinking sun. Sailboats, motorboats, and a large freighter could be seen moving across the surface of the water. The table was covered with a tasteful white cloth. Two candles burned near the center next to a complimentary plate of goose-liver pate and crackers. Our seats were held out for us and we sat down. We were assured that our waiter would be right with us.

As predicted, the waiter arrived promptly and was so polite it was almost sickening. He read off the house specialties to us and named the market price for such things as the lobster or Alaskan king crab. He asked us if there was anything he could get for us while we perused the menu.

"Yes," I told him, nodding. "We'd like a bottle of Stovington Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon."

"Thank you, sir, everything appears to be in order."

The dinner was excellent. I decided to go for broke and had the live Maine lobster. Heather, after several reassurances not to worry about the price, went with that also. We sipped our Cabernet throughout, putting a respectable dent in the bottle. We talked between bites about anything and everything; the ease of conversation had always been the strong point between Heather and I. Just after the dinner dishes were removed I stood up and excused myself, telling Heather I needed to use the facilities. 

It took me less than a minute to find our waiter. He had just carried someone's MasterCard to the cashier and was waiting for it to go through.

"Excuse me," I said to him. 

He looked up at me questioningly. "Is everything all right, sir?" 

"Perfect," I assured him. "But I was wondering if you could do me a little favour?" 

We talked for a moment and I handed him Heather's ring along with another twenty-dollar bill. He agreed to do as I asked.

I returned to the table where Heather was watching the sunglow against the offshore clouds. She commented on how pretty it was.

"Yes," I told her, reaching across and taking her hand, "it's nice this time of year here. Of course we're probably going to hate it during the winter, spring, and fall."

"Maybe," she said, going back to her examination of the water and the sky. 

The waiter came a moment later carrying a dark green bottle and two glasses. He set the glasses down before us and then showed me the bottle he had. It was Dom Perignon and it would add sixty-eight dollars to the bill. I nodded. 

"What's this?" Heather asked as the waiter made a show of putting the bottle down and popping open the cork. 

"I thought a little champagne would be nice," I explained.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked brightly, letting me know that she wasn't adverse to that if that was my intention. 

"Something like that," I said.

He poured a dab of the champagne in my glass and then stood by, waiting for me to complete the ritual of tasting it. Where did this ritual start anyway? Had anyone ever tasted the wine or whatever and then said, "This swill tastes like shit. Take it away"? I was sure that somewhere, someone had done that. I picked up the glass, actually quite curious as to how Dom Perignon would taste since I'd never had it before. To my disappointment it tasted only slightly better than Brut, which sold for ten bucks a bottle. Oh well, the champagne wasn't there to taste good. I nodded my approval of it and he picked up my glass to pour it full. 

After setting my glass of bubbling champagne down he picked up Heather's. He had obviously done such a thing before. He was so smooth about it that even I didn't see him slip the ring into the glass before he poured. For a moment I actually thought he was ripping me off, that he'd look puzzled when I asked him where the ring was. Ring? What ring? You didn't give me a ring. But when he set the glass down before her, there it was, sitting on the bottom, little bubbles clinging to the gold band and the diamond. Heather didn't notice it. 

The waiter put the bottle into an ice bucket and then beat a hasty retreat, giving me a "good luck" look as he went. Heather grabbed her glass, holding it by the stem, her thumb and forefinger hiding the ring from her view. Perfect.

"Shouldn't we toast?" she asked me, gazing at my face. "That's what you're supposed to do with this, right?"

"By all means," I said, picking up my own glass. I gazed back at her, knowing the moment of truth had come, knowing it was too late to back out. "To a long life together," I said, "filled with love and understanding."

She smiled. "That's sweet, Raymond," she said. We clinked our glasses. 

She put hers to her lips preparing to sip out of it. Her eyes widened as she got a look at what was sitting on the bottom of the glass. She stopped, just staring, the glass hovering against her face.

"Raymond," she said slowly, without moving, "there's a ring in my glass." 

"What do you know about that?" I said softly. "It kind of looks like a diamond ring, doesn't it?"

She finally lowered the glass, her face suddenly nervous, her eyes searching mine. "Did... did you put that in there?" 

"Not personally," I told her. "But I arranged for it." I leaned forward. "Will you be my girlfriend, Heather?"

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She looked from my face to the ring to my face again. She started to say something and then stopped. Her hands began to tremble, making the champagne bubble more, obscuring the ring. The tension in the air was very thick, at least from my vantage point. I momentarily lost track of time. How long did she sit there, not speaking, not answering, leaving me hanging? How long? A minute? Thirty seconds? An hour? Would she say yes? Would she throw the glass of liquid at my face and tell me I was some kind of madman if I thought she would marry me? Would she say she'd love to but that we were too young?

"Heather?" I finally spoke, breaking the silence. Had she even heard my question?

"It's just too surreal for me," she asked breathlessly. "You're really asking me that? This ring is really for me?"

"Yes, Heather," I said, "to everything. I want you to be my girlfriend."

Christ, she was killing me with anticipation.

I took a deep breath. "Now I don't want to rush you or anything and if you're not sure right now just tell me, but..."

"Oh God, Raymond," she said, her face breaking out into a huge, happy smile, "what do you mean 'if I'm not sure right now'? Of course I'm sure. Of course I'll be your girlfriend. Do you know how many times I've fantasized about this day? How many times I've lain awake wondering if you were ever going to ask? How you would ask if you did?"

"So that's a yes then?" I said, pretty sure it was, but wanting to confirm it.

"Of course it's a yes!" she said, leaning forward and kissing my lips, my nose, my cheek. Tears were now running from her eyes. "Do you have any idea of how happy you've just made me?"

A great sense of relief flooded me at her words, at her actions. At the tables around us I could see that some of the other diners had gleamed what was going on and most were giving us looks of happy approval. "About as happy as you've made me," I told her.

We broke apart and she looked in her glass again, eyeing the ring. "How do I get this thing out of there?" she wanted to know.

"The only way to do it without violating etiquette is to drink the champagne down and then reach in."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, the twinkle in her eye becoming mischievous.

"Yeah."

With a smile she put the glass to her lips and upended it. The champagne poured into her mouth and was swallowed in less than two seconds. Her eyes began to water profusely from the effects of the carbonation but she reached in and pulled out the ring. She held it triumphantly before her.

"Would you like to put it on me?" she asked, handing it across. 

I took it and she offered me her left hand. I slid the damp ring onto her third finger, seating it in place. The fit wasn't perfect, it would have to be resized, but it looked at home there.

We drank the rest of the bottle of champagne, sipping at it while we discussed what we'd just agreed to do. Now that the question was out and answered favorably I became almost giddy, feeling elation like I'd never felt before. She was going to marry me! Heather too was blushing and giggly. Part of that was the wine and the champagne we'd consumed, but a good part of it was simple happiness and excitement. 

The waiter came by once to offer coffee or desert. We declined. He also offered his congratulations to us as he spied the ring on Heather's finger.

"I promised your mom that we wouldn't elope," I told her. "I also plan to marry you someday." And of course I knew why.

"But when?" she wanted to know. "When can we do it?" She giggled a little. "Get married that is."

"Let's take it slow, Heather" I told her. "We wouldn't want to rush things now, would we? There are certainly more things that we need to try, explore and experience before we tie the knot."

She pouted a little.

I paid the bill and left a generous tip for the waiter. We walked arm and arm back to the elevator and, when it arrived, found ourselves alone in it. As it began plunging downward we shared a kiss, a very deep kiss that involved a brief dance of tongues. When our lips parted she looked into my eyes.

"You know what would make this night absolutely perfect?" she asked.

"What's that?"

"Making love," she answered.

I took a glance at my watch, seeing that it was five minutes after eight. Right on schedule. "Funny you should mention that," I told her.

"Oh?" Definite interest showed upon her face. "Have you made other arrangements?"

"It just so happens," I told her, "that I have a reservation for a suite in this very hotel. All I have to do is check in at the front desk, pay my money, collect my key. I hear the rooms are very nice."

Another look of astonishment. "You reserved a room here? At this place?"

"I hope you don't think that too forward of me," I said.

"But we have to be out of here at ten," she said. "You want to pay God knows how much for a room that you're only going to use for two hours? Raymond, that's insane!"

"Isn't it? So what do you say? Care to join me for a bit in the executive suite?"

The elevator ground to a halt at the fifteenth floor. The doors slid open and a middle-aged couple dressed for a night on the town stepped in. We moved back to give them room. They eyed us carefully for a moment, as if trying to decide if we were dangerous, and then turned their backs to us. The doors slid shut and we began descending once again.

Heather and I looked at each other. She whispered, "Go get the key."

We rode to the lobby and less than ten minutes later we were riding back up to the thirtieth floor, key in hand, three hundred and seventy-five dollars lighter. I considered it money well spent.

Even though I'd been to many hotels, I was still impressed by the executive suite. My idea of a nice hotel room had always been a single bed in a small room with something of a view. I considered it classy if the bedspread actually matched the carpet.

The sheer amount of square footage in the room was staggering. There was a sitting room with plush furniture and a bar. There was the bedroom that was nearly four times the size of mine at home and featured a king-sized bed with frilly covers and a twenty-seven inch TV. The remote control was not even bolted to the nightstand. The bathroom had a huge shower, a separate bath, and a sunken Jacuzzi big enough to hold six people. The water was roiling and steaming in it and a small sign assured us that the water was fresh for our visit. The window did not face the riverside unfortunately but did look out to the north, giving an impressive view of the high-rises and the Chapel in the distance. A complimentary bottle of Chardonnay sat in a bucket of ice.

"Wow," Heather muttered, taking in all of the opulence, wandering from here to there, looking at this and that. She stared for the longest time out the window.

 "You like it?" I asked, coming up behind her and encircling her waist with my arms. She leaned back into me.

"This has been the most incredible night of my life, Raymond," she told me. "I'll remember it forever."

"That was the plan," I said, squeezing her to me. 

She craned her face upward, resting the back of her head on my shoulder. Her left hand, the one with her new ring on it, reached up to caress my face. "Give me some more memories," she told me.

Our lips came together in a kiss; a hot, passionate exchange of tongues. She squirmed her body around so that she was facing me, her breasts pushing into me, her arms around my neck. By the time it broke I was erect, knowing that nothing could stop us now, that this was finally the hour. No one knew where we were. For obvious reasons I had briefed no one in on this particular part of my plans for the evening. There would be no phones ringing to stop us. For the next ninety minutes we were in splendid solitude. Not an eternity, but at the same time, it was.

Heather reached up and pulled the knot out of my tie, loosening it. She pulled it off my neck and tried to let it drop to the floor. We both laughed as it hung stubbornly to my chest, suspended by the tie tack. I disconnected it and tossed the tie, tack and all, into the corner. I shrugged off my suit jacket and let it fall to the carpet.

Heather kicked off her high heels and then stepped back into my arms. "Undress me," she said. "Undress me and make love to me. Make me yours, Raymond."

I led her by the hand over to the bed and we stopped there, her facing it, me standing behind her. I slid my fingers over the material of her dress to her neck, touching the skin for an instant before grabbing the small zipper. Slowly I slid it downward and the dress parted, showing me the skin of her back, the straps of her bra. I leaned forward and kissed the back of her shoulders while my hands pulled the dress off of her arms. Gravity did the rest, letting it fall to her feet. She stepped out of it and turned into me once more, her chest bare except for her bra, her silky white slip hanging to mid-thigh on her pantyhose covered legs.

I kissed her again, letting my hands touch the slip, feel the soft material. I gently pulled on it and it came free, dropping, as the dress had, to her feet. Again, she stepped out of it, this time kicking it away from us. My hands travelled across her back, across her butt, pausing to give a quick squeeze through the panty portion before continuing down to the back of her thighs. I stroked her through the nylon, pulling her tighter against me, inhaling her perfume as our tongues continued to dance.

I reached upward and found the clasp on her bra, undoing it, releasing her breasts from their confinement. I stepped back, breaking our kiss, my eyes devouring her as I pulled the bra free and tossed it to the floor. Her nipples were turgid, standing out like sentinels, begging for my mouth to kiss them, my hands to touch them. I didn't resist their call. I leaned forward and took one between my lips. Heather cooed as I sucked first one and then the other.

I let my fingertips slide into the elastic waist of her pantyhose, right against her hips. Slowly, I dropped to my knees before her, so her crotch was less than six inches from my face. The material of the panty portion was semi-transparent, allowing me to see the darkness of her pubic hair contrasting with the whiteness of her skin. I could see the dampness across her lips outlining their shape. I could smell the aroma of her juices mixing with the nylon, creating a powerful scent that made my mouth water, my penis pulsated.

"Take them off, Raymond," Heather panted from above me.

My fingers were still in the waistband and it was only a matter of applying downward tugs. Slowly the top of her pubic hair came into view, then her glistening lips, then the tops of her thighs. I leaned forward and slid my tongue between those lips, licking her while my hands continued the work of removing the pantyhose. She cried out softly, pushing her crotch into my face, her knees wobbling. Her hands dropped down to my head, partly for balance, partly to pull me harder into her.

When the pantyhose was completely off and she was naked, I pushed backwards on her, forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed. Her legs opened up, giving me better access to her slit, her legs went around my shoulders, her body lay back onto the bed.

I slid my hands up and down her thighs for a moment as I licked her lips and teased around her hardened clit. But this was not my main goal, just the warm-up. I pulled my hands free and, keeping my mouth on target, began to undo the buttons on my shirt. I had to tug it out of my pants in order to get the bottom ones but finally I was able to shrug the dress shirt off. I then tugged upward on my T-shirt, having to remove my face from Heather's slit in order to do so.

She looked up at me from her position on the bed, her eyes glazed with lust and a little fear. "I'm ready, Raymond," she said. "Very ready."

"Me too," I told her, standing up.

She watched me while I unbuckled my belt and unsnapped my pants. I kicked off my own dress shoes and then let the pants drop to the floor, leaving me standing only in a pair of socks and a tented pair of undergarment. Two quick kicks with my feet and the socks were gone.

"Come on," she panted, spreading her legs wider, opening herself to me.

I pushed my underwear down and off, letting my erection free. Heather looked at it and shivered a little as if she was fully realizing that it would soon be inside of her body, thrusting within her. I climbed onto the bed, positioning myself with my head near the pillows. Heather scooted up until she was next to me.

I took her in my arms so that we were both lying on our sides, facing each other. We kissed while our bare chests, our bare legs slid flesh to flesh. My erection was pushing into her upper thigh. My hands felt her nakedness, sliding up and down her body, over her butt, down her thighs, back up to her back and shoulders. Her hands did the same, paying particular attention to my ass, which she seemed rather fond of.

I rolled her onto her back and then slowly positioned myself atop her. Our faces were inches apart, her nipples barely grazing my chest, her inner thighs touching my outer thighs, my hard cock resting in her wet pubic hair. Her eyes were locked onto mine, so close I could see the individual flecks that made up the colour of them, that I could see the minute contraction and retraction of her dilated pupils. Her hand was suddenly grasping me, squeezing deliciously, pulling me towards the center of her.

"Do it, Raymond," she whispered. "Put it in me. I want to feel it."

"It'll hurt a little," I said softly, kissing her eyelid.

"I know. But do it anyway."

I replaced her hand with my own and then gently put the head against the moist wetness of her velvet lips. She gasped a little just at that contact, her body twitching. I slid up and down through her slit, wetting the head and feeling the warmth of her. I slid the shaft through her groove, wetting it. Thanks to my tongue and her fevered excitement, she was quite saturated with wetness. Gently, ever so gently, I put the head against her opening.

"Yes," she moaned, pulling at my ass with her hands. "Oh yes."

I pushed forward slowly, feeling her tight lips spread apart, accepting the head and a small amount of the shaft before fetching up against her hymen. She jumped a little as I touched it. I paused for a second.

"C'mon!" she cried, nipping at my neck with her teeth, her hands pulling on my ass, her body trembling all over with excitement and fear. "Do it, Raymond, do it!"

I pushed forward, firmly but slowly. At first, I didn't think it was going to work. I felt my dick trying to bend, felt the first warning pangs of pain moving upward as receptors in my nether regions tried to warn me that I was about to break something. But finally, I broke through with absurd ease. There was no noise, no ripping sound, no flurry of trumpets, only a sensation of something giving way. Heather let out a soft cry of pain, wincing, and suddenly, instead of only having the head in, I was inside of her well past half-shaft. I could feel her tightness around me, gripping me. I stopped, not wanting to hurt her anymore.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

She was panting, her face flushed and sweaty. She nodded rapidly. "It wasn't that bad," she said. "Just a little burning. It's gone now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said, kissing me. "You're inside of me now, Raymond. You're making love to me. You're finally making love to me after all this time."

"Yeah," I said, feeling her tight walls gripping at me again.

"So finish the job," she said, pulling at my ass once more. "I want to feel you come in me. I want to feel it."

I began to move in her, slowly at first as I concentrated on just getting myself all the way in. It took quite a few strokes before her tight, virginal hole adjusted to having something inside of it. I stroked in and out, pushing further with each thrust until her wetness coated me, easing the passage and at last I was able to push forward until our pubic hairs met.

"That feels sooooo good," Heather sighed, pulling me against her. "Faster now."

I let my hips rise and fall, pistoning my cock in and out of her, sliding along on the lubrication of her juices, feeling her grip at me, feeling her hips begin to rise slowly to meet each of my thrusts. We kissed each other as we moved, switching from mouths to necks to ears. I dipped down and took one of her nipples between my lips for an instant.

"Yess!" she cried. "This feels so good. Keep fucking me."

"Yeah!" I agreed, picking up the pace, hearing the wet squish of our union, smelling the thick odour of our combined juices rising into the air around us. Her legs wrapped around my butt, her calves sliding up and down. Her fingernails scratched and dug at my back. Sweat formed on my face and dripped down on to hers. It formed on our bodies, giving a sensual film of slipperiness between us.

Never had an act of sexuality seemed so perfect, so right to me. This was more than just physical pleasure, much more. This was an emotional giving, a sharing of mind and soul. It was as if we were two halves that had wandered aimlessly all of our lives, not realizing we weren't complete until we'd found each other and joined. There was a rightness to this act that I'd never felt before, a feeling that transcended anything else, that made even the best sex I'd ever had seem like nothing more than a quick jerk-off in a bathroom, a quick release of a biological build-up. I felt every inch of her body against mine, every nerve ending aware and I felt her soul, her essence against mine. It was at that moment in that hotel room, albeit we weren’t married yet, that Heather and I became man and wife. We wedded each other in spirit, in mind, if not in legality, as I thrust within her and she thrust back at me, as I filled her body and she accepted me.

Time seemed to slow. I didn't have any idea how long our act of love continued, how long I slid in and out of her tightness, how long we sweated and groaned, joined at the crotch. At one point she moaned and bucked uncontrollably beneath me, her legs tightening, her fingers scratching, her voice becoming the high-pitched whine. I continued to buck against her until her orgasm passed, her body relaxed and then I felt my own impending release coming on strong.

"Heather," I groaned against her sweaty neck, her damp hair.

"Yesss!" she encouraged, thrusting back harder against me. She already knew the signs to look for. "Come for me, Raymond, come in me."

It hit me like a freight train, starting in my pubic area and exploding outward like seismic waves from an epicenter. Pure pleasure assaulted me, had its way with me. My hips began to pound more forcefully, with less control. My mouth opened, my head arched backward. And suddenly I was pouring myself into her, feeling spurt after spurt of my hot seed blasting from my body and into hers. It went on and on, much longer than what I considered to be normal. But at last I dropped atop her, spent, exhausted, feeling the cooling wetness our juices, feeling the sharp cold of excited sweat beginning to dry on my flesh.

We kissed softly, just touching tongues, playful kisses. We held each other tightly, my softening cock still nestled in her warmth. Heather looked at me.

"I never knew it could be like that," she said.

"Me neither," I answered. "Me neither."

Heather pulled me tight to her and kissed me. "I love you so much, Raymond," she said, tears from her eyes wetting my face.

"I know Heather," I said, tears of happiness coming from my own eyes. "And I love you too."

We ended the night cuddling each other in our arms. It was the perfect night.

Chapter 2: http://telegra.ph/NSFW-2-07-02