Hunter Wellington

By Betty Underground © 2008

She stood before me; white cotton panties with little cherries, a t-shirt, yellow rain slicker and her Hunter Wellingtons. Thighs red and chaffed from the wet jeans she had discarded in the mud-room. The rest of her, soaked.

Dead pan, she states, "It's raining." Then grins. Even when she states the obvious, her wit overcomes me. I let out a chuckle as she drips on the floor.

Six inches of mud, up to the calf of her boots. "Driveway flooded?" I ask the obvious. I'm not as funny to her and so she only smiles with one side of her mouth.

It was the worst storm in 6 years to hit Southern California. The house was mostly finished, the driveway left unpaved due to the weather. Now, buried under mud, neither of us were going anywhere. And that would be awkward.

She'd confessed to a fling with an ex-lover. I might have been more angry if it was a stranger, but this was a friend. One who had given her things when I could not. I owed him. Still, I wasn't willing to give her over to him. Even she was still conflicted.

And there we were; stuck in that mud.

___


She stepped out of her Wellies. Toe on the heel of one, her foot slides up and out. Then the other. Perfectly balanced on one leg, like a Ballerina. I stepped to her and unzipped her slicker, pulling it off her and reaching over her to hang it on the coat hook, next to mine.

She is uncertain about still being here, in my house. Being with me. I can offer her the world, but he has something else. Something ethereal. He creates laughter in her. I have seen it; heard it. A noise from her I can't evoke. It comes from somewhere deeper. From this man that is her one great love.

Still, I love her. She burns slow in my soul. Having her hurts. Giving her to him hurts. I needed to be sure he could give her what she deserved. Could he be the man she needed him to be, or would be let her down again.

I wasn't ready to let her go. One last time. I needed to feel her one last time. Knowing her thoughts would be filled with him as her touch is etched in mine. I didn't have the strength to care what would be on the other side of this storm. What would be left behind when the water receded.

___


I pulled her wet shirt up over her head, and starred into her eyes. Hair wet on her forehead, I brushed it aside, allowing my finger to draw down the side of her face. Down her neck where it curves to her shoulder and then dropping down to brush her nipples. She held her breath, maintaining contact with my eyes. She doesn't hide.

I look down the length of her body. She is wiggling her toes and pushing up on the balls of her feet to draw my hand closer to her sweetness. I run my finger around the inside of the lace trim of her panties. The soft peach fuzz hair in the small of her back standing at attention for me.

Her ass is warm,. "Sorry my hands are so cold."

"Just touch me. I don't mind the cold, just touch me." She was pleading. I pushed her panties down around her ankles. Bending to my knees before her. Taking the sweet warmth between her legs into my mouth. My tongue swirls in her wetness as her legs begin to shake. I grab the back of her thighs hold her against my face. Burrowing into her soft curls.

She braces herself. Her hands clutching the door frame on both sides. Fingers digging into the unfinished wood trim. Her head thrown back as her chest heaves for breathes. Each one harder to control and the sounds begin to escape her.

She bucks into me uncontrollably. Thrusting her pelvis at me, I rise and push her against the windowsill behind us. The mud-room is narrow; she pulls one leg up and pushes it against the opposite wall. Balanced, like a Ballerina.

I plunge my fingers into her and she pounds her foot against the wall. The sound echos in the small room. Her naked body pressed against the undressed window, in plain sight of the neighbors.

___


She doesn't care. She never has. Her comfort in her own skin surpasses societies modesty boundaries. It is just how she is. Most people come home from work and take off their shoes. She doesn't stop there, she takes off her pants and pulls her bra off through the sleeves of her t-shirt. Discarding them on the floor of the entrance. She prefers the freedom, and cares less about what others might think.

___


I am beneath her. Squaring myself under her wetness. Pulling her lips apart to expose all of her and taking her in with my eyes, then with my whole mouth. I pull my fingers out and she gasps. My tongue is strong and fierce in her, my wet fingers playing the rim of her anus like fingers on crystal. The hum, a vibrations on her clit.

Her legs give and she sits on the windowsill trying to catch her breath. I pull back and she again is fixated on my eyes. Her hand on the back of my head, grabbing a clump of hair and pushing my lips onto hers. She tastes herself on my lips. Licking her sweetness from around my mouth, like a mother cat cleaning her young.

My hands free I quickly relieve myself of my pants. Commando, my dick is immediately exposed. As hard as my will to keep her, I grind into her. Back and forth, up and down as deep in her as it would go. When I pulled my dick from her, she looked down at it glistening in the afternoon sun that flooded the room. Then I would slam back into her. Over and over again.

"Fuck me harder. I want the neighbors to hear me scream."

She demanded and I submitted. I grabbed her hips and held her solid on the ledge so that could thrust into her without her trying to pull back. She was so wet that we were both soaked in her sweetness.

I licked my thumb and placed it on her swollen clit. Rolling it under my thumb as I throbbed and pumped in her. Her legs trembled intensely and her screams louder and louder. Each breath a squeal and a gasp.

She was nearing orgasm and I pulled her onto me. Pushing my dick into her. Pulling her onto my dick. I froze. Pushed. She twitched and screamed and I gave her one last thrust. We exploded together. Then collapsed.

"I think the neighbors heard."

___


Later that night, I laid spooned behind her. Both my arms wrapping her tightly to my chest. Her breath quick and shallow, I rolled her over.

Salty tears streaming down her face, I kissed them away, but knew the storm had passed. Her thundering screams earlier was the sound of her letting me loose from her heart. She was no longer conflicted. Her decision made.

With my thumb, I pushed her tears away. She replaced them. Breathing hard. Willing them to stop but with every thought they came harder.

"It is okay." I whispered into her breath. "Honey, it's okay. I know. It is okay. This is how it's meant to be. Be happy for what you feel. Happy to be alive and feeling it."

I let go, accepting that these moments were our last. She exhaled. Pulled her knees to her chest and curled herself in the nook my body created for her. She pushed up against me as close as she could. One last crash of thunder, and the sky lit up. I tightened my arms trying to pull her inside me. Sharing one body, for one last night.

___


In the end, she was my only fear. Her independence. That she didn't need me, and that wanting me would be fleeting. He'd sustained the storms for nearly a decade. Wrung each other out. Waded through the mud to higher ground. Earning a place that I tried to build, but could never finish.

He will be worthy. And with her heart, shall he never be reckless.

Betty Underground is a writer from Northern California.