Taking It Slow at the Hill House [MF] [long]

Throwaway account because of the usual reasons. Go to “X-X-X-X” to get to the part you’re probably here for anyway, but I do hope you read my story completely. This is obviously a fond reminisce. Some time ago.

I had known Sarah (not her real name) since high school. I had admired her from afar, perhaps, but we most definitely ran in different circles. She was more Dolce & Gabbana; I was more Dungeons & Dragons. Her: Stylish. Popular, though never obnoxiously so. Me: Borderline obese. Bad skin. Attitude and self-esteem to match.

As one might expect, a lot of things change in a decade-plus. When we had both returned to our hometown, she grew more down-to-earth and her chosen uniform went from DKNY to Doc Martens and sundresses. (A kind of new trademark for her.) Her body — winner of our high school yearbook’s “Best Physique” category, which I’m not sure one could get away with in these politically correct times — had only become more desirable over the years. Shapely, curvy and strong, particularly her long legs newly toned from years enjoying a relatively new hobby, hiking. Radiant, medium-length, sorrel brown hair. She had a confidence that now came from *within*, rather than relying on what *others* thought of her.

Meanwhile, during college and early professional life, I came to recognize the value of taking care of myself, going from 250lbs to 195lbs at 6’0″. I could say I’m athletic, but not particularly ripped. After trying a number of workouts, boxing classes appeared to do the trick. The weight stayed off, I took it easy with the Pop Tarts, and I started to seek out intimacy and have it find me.

She returned from the midwest after a dismal, abusive marriage; I returned from the east coast burned out from the world of high finance in high tech, frustrated by the inherent hollowness of making money by making money.

Now in our early thirties, we had a chance meeting at the local cafe in our hometown. You know how it is: “Do I recognize her? Do I say hello? Is it *creepy* that I still recognize her?” The years of focusing on my health and fitness paid off — she couldn’t stop mentioning how much I had changed. Long story short, we ended up hitting it off as if we never stopped being best friends, even though we never *were* close… at all. There was this sense, though, that we were precisely what each other needed at the time.

Over time, we got closer. I grew to appreciate her love of art and nature. She (over a longer period of time, I suppose) grew to enjoy my nerdier pursuits of comics and cult films. Eventually, we became a couple.

But no sex. Not much more than relatively chaste kissing.

Sarah’s brief marriage, in many ways, damaged her. Her ex-husband liked to humiliate her sexually, both in word and in deed. Some people might be into that kind of thing but, if you aren’t, it makes for a horrible relationship. She made it clear when we first had “the talk” about what we wanted in a relationship: She didn’t want to feel pressured into physical intimacy and I had to be fine with that.

The promise of enjoying her gorgeous body — round D-cup breasts, smooth tanned skin, taut thighs, waist that curved just right at the hips, a midriff with *just* the right amount of chub, an ass that looked *amazing* when she was sitting and minding her posture, a neckline and collarbone usually thought to belong to aristocratic royalty in fine art — was thus ripped away. I initially reacted as, well, *any* thirtysomething male might. (And, if that attitude continued, I wouldn’t have this story to tell.) I quickly realized, though, that if “flogging the bishop” were to serve as my sole mode of release after nights of lying next to her in bed and hiding my raging hard-on, it would be a price I’d pay gladly. She was incredible and the ugly fat kid that still held residence in my psyche knew how fortunate he was.

After several months of emotional joy and physical aching, Sarah had decided that it was time that I really met her friend group. Not the one-off drinks, coffees, dinners with one or two of them, but honest-to-God extended quality time *en masse*. Her family had a vacation home in the forested hills about two hours away. We’d all take the Friday before Memorial Day off from our jobs, head up there Thursday night, and enjoy a long weekend.

I was nervous as hell. I would never tell her this, but I felt I was, essentially, auditioning for a role I thought I *already* had.

Further, taking Friday off from work meant that Thursday was a *bear*. I got off late, exhausted and not looking forward to the 90-mile drive at dusk even if the destination was the one person I wanted to be with in all the world. Just as I started to get underway, Sarah called: She was already at the house and forgot some ingredients for a crock-pot dish that she wanted to make in-bulk that night for us, so that we could feast on throughout the weekend. After the detour at the supermarket, roadwork. After that roadwork, rain.

I eventually made it. The stunning sight of her at the door of the vacation home nearly made me drop my bag of groceries: a light yellow sundress and the Docs, backlit by the room behind her, lightly silhouetting the shape of her legs just enough. Like a James Bond poster featuring the most goth-hippie Bond girl ever. The bust of the dress was maybe a stitch too tight, but it flattered her immensely. The neckline of the dress wasn’t scooped, but she didn’t need to show a lot of skin. We kissed, she took the bag, and ushered me inside.

Immediately, she put me to work putting groceries away and preparing ingredients. To my pleasant surprise, the other friends wouldn’t come until the following day. “Tonight is about *us*,” she said, uncorking a red wine and pouring me a generous glass. We talked, we drank, we prepared the house for the weekend.

Reflecting the hellish day I had rather than the person I was with (and maybe combined with the wine), Sarah saw me stifle a yawn. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You must be exhausted after that drive and here I am putting you to work.”

“No, it’s fine. I can just…”

“Bullshit. Hit the showers, bucko, and then we can curl up on the couch and Netflix whatever girl-repellent nerd-drivel you were into in high school.”

Falling into what had become a playful routine, I countered with “I’m just glad you overcame your teenage ‘Mean Girl’ shallowness to truly appreciate David Cronenberg’s genius.”

“Thinking about some of those movies, I think *I’m* the one who needs the shower now.”

I relented. She pointed me to the master bathroom. She started the water running (“Getting hot water takes a while here”) before heading back to the kitchen. When the door closed, I stared at myself in the mirror a long time before taking my clothes off. “So close, yet so far,” I whispered to myself. Picturing the image of her at the door caused a stirring down below.

X-X-X-X

It was inevitable. Medically necessary, even. In short, there was no way I was going to curl up on the couch for a movie night with this woman without “pre-gaming” some release in the shower. My cock started to swell at the prospect.

I climbed into the small shower stall. The feeling of hot water on my skin was a welcome relief from the day. There’s a certain kind of invisible film that forms on the skin whenever one travels, I think. A kind of “travel grime.” It slowly falls away in the shower the same way that hot water loosens grease in a pan.

I grabbed the soap. First order of business: lube up down below and enjoy some white-knuckle shuffle.

As I reach down, I heard the door open. Sarah walked in.

I open the shower curtain slightly to look out. “Anything wrong?” I was praying that my shower hadn’t ruined a weekend by stressing the relatively rural plumbing. Call me strange, but I noticed the boots were gone.

She started by saying “Uhh…”

Then she took of the sundress, revealing her amazing body in full. Her ample breasts in a lacy bra. A thong, making good on the promise that the dress that covered it previously concealed.

I managed to stammer “But I thought…”

She walked closer to my shower-curtain-shrouded face. “Listen… You have been the most wonderful boyfriend — I might even say “partner” — over the last several months. After that one night when we made… you know… our ‘deal,’ you never made me feel uncomfortable or pressured. And don’t freak out when I say this, but I love — yes *love* — you for that.”

The emotional impact of the words, combined with the display before me, rendered me mute. I managed to nod encouragingly.

“And… I think I’m ready to be… *physical*… now. *Intimate*. I mean… I don’t think I’m ready for… you know… *THAT* kind of physical just yet, ‘cause there are things I *still* need to work out in my head. But I do want us to be able to give each other pleasure.

“So… I said ‘Tonight is about us’ earlier. But right now, I want this to be about you.”

With that, she took off her bra and slid off her thong. Her large, firm breasts hung with their full weight. Freed. Her pussy was nicely trimmed. Wasn’t sure if it was habit or preparation. I didn’t care.

She approached the shower curtain still closer. It no longer framed my face tightly. She could now see my arousal.

“I see this is all having the desired effect,” she smirked coyly. “Need someone to help wash behind the ears?”

“I’m… in… nopositiontodisagree…”

She slowly approached. “Wow,” as she stepped inside the shower. “Between your dick and my boobs, I’m not sure we can fit both of us.”

But fit we did. My right hand immediately caressed her ass as my left supported her head by the back of the neck as we kissed. As the kissing continued, my right hand firmly traced the contours of her hips and waist and finally to her breasts. She let out a moan, encouraging me.

Her hand went to my cock, which I gently batted away. “No,” I managed to gasp. “I want to last for as long as possible.” That this was happening *at all* made me want to explode. To have this end in a handjob felt wrong somehow, especially for my first intimate moments with her.

She gave me one of her confident smiles, as if to say “Challenge accepted.” Then, she deployed a move that I had never experienced in any woman’s repertoire.

I had mentioned her well-toned legs. After lathering her breasts with soap, she put her back to the stall and slid down into a kind of wall-squat. Then she pushed her tits together, her eyes rising up from them to my eyes, silently telling me “You know what to do. And don’t act like you haven’t thought of this.” I did know what to do. I gently thrust myself in between her perfect breasts. Any more vigorously and it would all be over. I tried to make sure that the shared skin contact focused less on my tip and more on my shaft and the base, providing immense pleasure but not totally risking over-the-top stimulation too soon. I had to savor every second of this. I was confident that there would be more times, but there would only be this one *first* time.

After a few minutes of this, I noticed her legs shuddering slightly from fatigue. As it was, she could only wall-squat so far, so I had to rise up a little on the balls of my feet to meet halfway, and my feet were starting to ache a little. I helped her up and continued kissing her and exploring her body. At this point, I knew I would be desperate for a release. I slowly turned her around, continuing my caresses. Nestling my cock in the crack of her ass, I whispered to her from behind “Is this… Is this… *okay?* Like this?”

“Yes, David,” she whispered back. “I trust you… I want you to have this… You need it… We need it… I want it…”

“But what about you? How… do… do you want…”

“Don’t worry about that now… There will be plenty of time… Please… Cum on my ass… Cum on my back…”

Using the soap, I lathered myself and her ass, placing myself inside the crack, sliding myself up and down, up and down, my hands starting at her breasts and slowly making their way to her hips as if counting down to my release. Her lower body started gyrating, reflecting her half-gasped desire to ensure that my own pleasure was the only thing on her mind. By the time my hands reached her hips, I couldn’t hold back anymore. My testicles started to deliver that not-unpleasant ache, anticipating relief. I grabbed her hips firmly and started to buck uncontrollably. “Sarah… Sarah… I… I… I’m…”

“Yesssss,” she looked over her shoulder, again giving me that smirk that said “Me and this body made you completely lose your mind right now…”

I couldn’t see how much cum came out — by then I was nibbling her earlobe from behind — but it felt like I was backed up inside for weeks. I held her close as I started to shrink. I cleaned off her back and then did a perfunctory job of actually showering, at least making sure to catch whatever got caught in my belly hair.

We sat on the couch to watch movies after drying each other off and getting into our pajamas. She fell asleep with her head on my lap. Once again, I didn’t want the moment to end. I stayed awake until three in the morning, savoring the moment.

Oh. And I passed the “audition” with her friends.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/bvfnnc/taking_it_slow_at_the_hill_house_mf_long