Hunting Pixies

Hunting Pixies, Part Four

This is the fourth installment of my continuing story of Steve and Margaret. I think it's definitely landing in Romance, although it will remain unconventional through the end. This segment continues in a similar vein as the third. A good balance of discussion and sex, I think. I'm at around 40,000 words total now, and somewhere around the middle of what I have outlined in terms of what I want from the characters during this first encounter. So it may end up novel-length. I'm having trouble getting Literotica to post this as a series, and have just discovered that I should probably be adding tags. I didn't do much to transition this as a separate piece at the start, so you may be lost if you haven't been following along.

I give her a few moments before asking, "What's wrong? Was that too much? I know I got kind of carried away. Was I too rough?" I feel her shaking her head against me.

"No, it's not that," her reply almost a whisper against my chest. She pauses to compose herself, then sits back up, pulling back from my embrace to look at me. Her eyes move from mine to focus on my left pec, and she frowns with worry. "You didn't get out of control. I did. I'm sorry."

My eyes follow her gaze and land on the distinct bite mark left on my chest by a set of small, perfect teeth. "Oh," I say.

And then she lets all her worries out at once, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mark you like that. What is your wife going to think? I've NEVER had sex like that, and got so lost in the moment, and the things I think I said probably have you thinking I'm some batshit crazy slut, and you're probably never going to want to see me again, or be allowed to, and that was so amazing, I've never come like that, and so many times, and I REALLY want more of it, and all of this is so good, but I've never acted and felt this way before..." Her spoken stream of consciousness has her almost hyperventilating.

I stop her, "Margaret, it's fine. You're fine. We're fine. This will all be fine. That was the most intense sex I've ever had, and I have zero regrets over it."

"Really?" The surprise in her response is genuine. "Will Beth be okay with THAT?" She asks, pointing to my chest.

"I don't know," I reply honestly, "but I'm not going to try to hide it from her, or lie about where it came from if she asks. I trust her when she said she would be okay with me finding 'extracurricular' fun. This may make that a little 'too real' and test that, but if she meant it, she'll be fine with it. I think it will be fine."

Margaret's expression begins to calm, her worry about the mark possibly abated. Then she remembers her other concerns, and shyly asks, "Did I tell you to 'put a baby in me'? Because you know that can't happen, right? I wasn't lying about having my tubes tied."

I laugh a little, "You know I'm kind of old, so my hearing isn't the greatest. I thought I heard you say 'put it in me baby'," I look at her to see if she falls for my joke. She doesn't, so I quickly add, "No, I'm kidding. You did say that. And I believe your tubes are tied, but that wouldn't matter. I got the snip this year. I took your words to be part of maybe a whole 'breeding' fantasy? And that, frankly, REALLY turned me on."

"Really? Because it all kind of is, a fantasy or maybe a kink of some kind? I absolutely loved being pregnant. I've never felt so alive and sexy as I did then..." she trails off, a distance in her eyes as she recalls the experiences.

"God, I bet you were sexy as hell. Not that you aren't now," I quickly add.

"You think so? Do you have a 'thing' for pregnant women?" She asks, and I nod in answer. She continues, "You found Beth sexy when she was pregnant?"

"Hell yes. We both did. I don't know if it was the hormones, or something else, but her pregnancies were the times when our sex drives were most aligned. We only started out to have two kids. I have to admit part of the appeal of having the third was getting to have her pregnant for another nine months," I laugh a little at my half-joke, "although our daughter is a fantastic bonus, as well."

Margaret sighs, "sex was never much with David, but he wouldn't even touch me as soon as I got pregnant each time. He claimed he didn't want to do anything that might hurt the babies. I think he enjoyed having an excuse to avoid me in bed."

"Jesus," I reply, and before I can stop myself, add, "Is he gay or something?"

Margaret pauses a moment, thinking, "Oh, he'd hate to ever have anyone even think that. He was never violent, but I remember joking with him once about something early in our relationship, and saying 'What are you gay?' I've never seen him angrier, and never joked like that again." I process the remark and give Margaret a meaningful look, but she doesn't seem to catch it, and moves to change the subject.

"So we share a whole 'pregnancy' kind of kink, huh? What other dark desires move you, Steve?"

I chuckle, "Those are probably best found by exploring, not just served up on a platter. You're a bundle of sexy surprises. I should probably try to stay at least a little mysterious to keep you interested."

"Oh, you have something that's going to keep me VERY interested already," she says, giving my only semi-flaccid penis a meaningful gaze. It hadn't occurred to me that we've been having this conversation completely naked, sitting in the afterglow and aftermath of a very satisfying "first round" of sex. The thought and Margaret's gaze bring some life into my dick, and it visibly stirs.

"Jesus," she laughs and looks to my face, "did you take some little blue pills before I got here?" And then looking to my dick, addresses it with a mock stern tone, "down boy, momma needs a break, but I'll play with you again soon." I swell to almost full staff, and she giggles, and then says seriously, "but first things first, I need to clean up a little, this towel is soaked. I know I get really wet, but...did I 'squirt'?"

"I really don't know, I'm not sure I believed that was an actual 'thing' before today, but if you didn't 'squirt,' you sure gushed a lot," I say with a smile.

"And that doesn't turn you off?" She asks with a hint of trepidation at what the answer may be.

"God no, yours are the sexiest climaxes I could even imagine, Margaret," there is no hesitation in my response.

Margaret locks eyes with mine and beams, rising to kiss me. As she moves to do so, she shifts in the bed, and then stops herself, moaning a little, "oh my god."

I give her a quizzical look, she meets my eyes and spreads her legs, looking down between them. I follow her gaze, and we both watch as a glob of our combined juices oozes from deep within to catch on her inner lips. "That's quite the cream pie," she smiles devilishly, and licks her lips. I have to agree, and am somewhat surprised. My sex drive has never declined with age, but my semen production certainly has. I really must have enjoyed the "breeding" session, because my load was very evidently substantial.

I watch, entranced, as Margaret gathers our combined cream on her index finger and brings it to her lips, sucking it clean. She reaches down and dips in for more, finds it, and hesitates a moment before reaching it toward my lips. I part them in acceptance, she smiles broadly as I suck the finger in, then swoops in behind it with her mouth claiming mine, her tongue seeking mine to share the offering. We both groan, she looks at me inquisitively, "It's not really gay if it's mine and not coming directly from another source, right?" We both laugh, and she gives me a quick kiss. I'm now fully hard again.

Margaret notices and smiles at me briefly before bobbing her head to my lap and engulfing me completely in one motion. I feel her tongue working my shaft as her throat constricts around my head before she withdraws fully. Her head dips further and she swathes my balls with her tongue, bathing them, before sucking one, then the other, then both into her mouth and releasing. I'm throbbing.

She jumps up from the bed, grabs the towel, and scurries toward the bathroom, looking over her shoulder before she closes the door, her perfect body framed in it, "I hope 'edging' is one of your kinks?" I can only groan as I realize that she's already discovered another one, she closes the door with a wicked smile.

I sit still for a moment, collecting my thoughts and letting my erection subside, it doesn't take long with Margaret's enticing body behind the closed door. I don't know if she's going to shower or not, so I'm unsure how long she'll be. She had taken the soaked towel with her, and I note that even with it, that side of the bed has definitely been well used. I make a note to myself that it can be our designated fun zone and we'll sleep on the other, much dryer side.

I get up, not bothering to put my yoga shorts back on, and pick up my phone. I note hers is lying on the bed next to our little "lovenest." I'd forgotten she had picked it up at some point during our session. I'm curious as to what she may have been up to, but will let her decide if she wants to let me know. I look at the time, and it's after 4:30. We had started around three. Ninety minutes of sex is a record for me, by a long shot. Two orgasms that closely for me is a first, and three for my partner is also unprecedented. Maybe the little blue pills Margaret mentioned would come in handy at some point, I laugh to myself. Since I don't have any, rehydration and refueling will have to do.

My spacious room has a little sitting area in the corner with two comfortable chairs and a small coffee table/ottoman. I go to the mini fridge and pull out some waters and Gatorade, placing them on the small table along with an assortment of our snacks, mixing the jerky and cheese bites Margaret brought with the nuts, chocolates, and macaroons I have. It makes a nice little charcuterie. A little sweet, salt, and chocolate always gives me a second wind, and I think I'll need at least that, tonight. I don't want to put shorts back on, or sit my naked ass on the chairs so I go to sit on the "used side" of the bed again to wait my turn in the bathroom. I figure I'll check my phone as I wait.

But Margaret comes back out just before I sit, so I turn back to the bathroom and start making my way toward her, my dick swinging a bit as I do so. She looks at me and the table with snacks, "Ooh yummy," she says, eyeing my growing member, "and snacks too!" She laughs as she makes a beeline for the chairs. She has a towel wrapping only her waist and is carrying another. She hands it to me and points to the bed. I get her message and watch her perfect breasts and ass exposed and bouncing as she walks to the chair before I turn to the bed to spread it out where the previous towel had been. I turn back to her to take her in. She has washed her face and brushed her hair, and seems to have acquired a radiant glow she didn't have an hour and a half ago.

Aware of my gaze, she opens her towel and lays it on the chair, making a show of placing it just so, thrusting her ass toward me in the process, her sex peeking from between her cheeks and thighs. She sits, pulling her feet up and placing them on the seat of the chair, spreading her upraised knees wide. Her sex is open and glistening. She pretends not to be aware of the lewdness of her actions as she takes a sip of water and opens a dark chocolate nugget, bringing it to her lips and winks at me. "Go clean up, dirty boy," she playfully commands.

I move to do so, following my bobbing erection to the bathroom, she giggles and I wiggle my ass at her as I close the door, bringing a full laugh. I need to pee, but my full erection would make it awkward. So I brush my teeth and wash my face first. I almost don't recognize the man in the mirror returning my gaze. I'm not sure the last time I saw him smiling as broadly, and he seems years younger than he should be. I try not to think too much about what that may mean. I'm able to pee now, shake myself dry, debate whether to give my dick a wash in the sink, or jump in for a quick shower, and decide against either. I wash my hands and dry them on the towel I use to wrap around my waist and return to the room.

Margaret is sitting in the chair as naked as I left her, but much more demurely. She has retrieved her phone and is absorbed in it, but looks up at me as I enter and smiles, before going back to it. She has a little pile of snacks in front of her. It looks like she's finished a small bottle of Gatorade and is well into a bottle of water. I retrieve my tumbler of ice from the bedside table and my phone from the bed, and move to join her. I make a show of placing my towel on my chair, as she had, exaggerating my movements so my just-flacid dick can swing. She's watching me and laughs. "Ooh, so he does go down," she asks in mock surprise, "he's still big, but just a softy now." Her words have me responding. "Oops, spoke too soon," she grins.

I laugh and move to the minifridge to mix another lemonade and tonic. The ice in the bucket is half melted, but still usable. "Can I make you something a little stronger?" I joke as I eye her water bottle.

"Ooh, please," she coos. And watches as I fill one of the small hotel tumblers with ice, tonic, and lemonade, and repeat with my larger tumbler. I walk back and stand in front of her to give her the glass. She reaches out and takes my larger tumbler from me instead, with a laugh, sticking her tongue out at me before taking a big sip.

I laugh and sip from the smaller glass, moving to sit. But she reaches for my now semi-hard dick before I move away. Lightly gripping it and stroking it, maintaining eye contact with me. I smile, and gently slap her hands away, delivering a line I've never had the opportunity to recite in appropriate context before, and in my very best impression, "no more Yankee my wankie, the Donger need food." Margaret laughs until there are tears in her eyes, as I take my seat and enjoy some snacks.

Our phones are on the table in front of us, mine lights up with an incoming call. Margaret says, "should you get that?"

"No," I respond, "no one ever calls me. Beth and the kids always just text." Margaret gives me a raised eyebrow. I'm not sure if she doesn't think that's true, or if she thinks I really ought to get the call.

I pick up my phone to see that the call has already rolled to voicemail. The message is from a number I don't recognize. I toggle over to see the voice-to-text message scrolling in: "Hi, Steve...it's Sue...I got your number from Maggie... We were hoping you two were going to join us again this evening at the square?...She never gave us a firm answer and isn't answering her phone...We were going to start at Bluefin at 5...The band tonight plays a lot of slow songs from the 70s...I'm really hoping to get to dance with you again...hope to see you...both there." What the hell, I think, why would Margaret give her my number? Rather than wonder, I hand the phone over to her and ask her to look at the message. She does, then listens to it as well.

"How did she get your number?" Her question isn't quite an accusation, but there is a lot of heat in it. "I certainly didn't give it to her. Why would I?"

"Well, I didn't," I respond calmly. "Is there any other way she could have gotten it?"

Margaret thinks a minute. "Shit, I forgot my charger when I drove down. I left my phone on theirs in the kitchen last night after you dropped me off. She was up before me this morning. That witch must have snooped and taken your number from our messages before I got up." She blushes, "at least she didn't see it after I texted you this morning. That would be...awkward."

I look at the time. It's almost five now. "Did you want to meet up with them?"

"No, I don't, and Sue knows that. I told her before I left, and just texted her again when you were in the bathroom. She only texted me once. I wasn't ignoring her." She pauses, clearly thinking for a moment, "I mean, we could meet them if YOU wanted to..." she trails off.

"What? No, I mean, I'm sure I'd have fun with them, but I'd much rather continue 'getting to know' YOU."

"Good answer," Margaret smiles with some relief, then pauses a moment and seems to steel herself before asking, "Would you have fucked Sue?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that, is Sue someone you would fuck? I mean, you came here looking for a 'pixie,' Sue probably fits the bill, in a lot of ways. She was all but humping you on the dance floor. Your jeans didn't do anything to hide that thing," she gives my dick a meaningful look, and continues, "If I hadn't sent Daddy back to the dance floor with her, she probably would have made it clear she was available to you. Would you have taken her up on it?"

I remember that I am sitting naked and fully exposed as we are having this conversation. It is all that I could do to not become aroused when Margaret uttered the word "fuck" and looked me over. Even in this context, it is extremely sexy to see her cute mouth filled with such a "dirty" word, and her eyes draw every bit of me to attention. With will, I'm able to stay composed and reasonably soft, even as I think I sense her eyes drifting again to check more carefully for a reaction.

"Probably? I mean, if you were not a possible option, but she was? She's in my general age range, she's attractive, I could sense some sexual chemistry there. So I would find it difficult to say no if she asked. But she's also 'taken' as far as I know, so I wouldn't have pursued her. And NONE of that diminishes in any way the fact that I had my eyes set on you from the start."

"Wow," Margaret responds, clearly a little taken aback. "You didn't even hesitate, or hedge, or try to change the subject. You just came straight out with the honest answer. A little bit brutal maybe, but honest. And I'm sorry, I asked that to 'test' you, and that wasn't right. I shouldn't play a game like that. Your answer maybe stings a little? Because of all my history with Sue and hers with Daddy? But it's also pretty refreshing to get unvarnished truth when you've been conditioned to expect something less."

I think a minute before I respond, "I just think that honesty is the only real way to ever hope to relate to others on anything more than a superficial level. Lies are always just a temporary workaround. A cover-up that will always fall apart. A means to an end without real regard for people you may end up hurting with them. Often much more so than the truth likely would have."

"I think you've maybe rehearsed that," Margaret jokes. "But it's all true, even when the one we're lying to and hurting the most is ourselves. And I'm sorry again, I really don't want to 'play games' or have to think about 'strategies' to get what I want out of a relationship. And that seems to be such a big part of so many relationships. I want to be as open with you as I've ever been with anyone. I'm just so tired of games even when I'm the one playing."

I smile at Margaret and take her hands, looking into her eyes, "I'm glad, because I feel the same. But openness is tough. I've lived behind the 'walls' I've built to keep others safely outside for a long time, and I don't think I have a lot to show for it. I've been hurt, deeply, all the same. And I haven't built the intimate connections I've really craved. I don't know what we can offer each other past the next few days, but I want to see what we can come up with if we work together, openly and honestly. It seems like it might be pretty special?"

Margaret leans in and gives me a deep kiss, then backs off, "I agree. So what do we do about Sue?"

I take my phone back from her, delete the message, and report and block the call as spam. Margaret laughs and says, "That's a start, and the easiest part, but I think I'm going to have to finally confront her about what I'm pretty sure she's been up to with other men."