His fingers are deep inside her, his fingertips have found that spongy mound on the roof of her vagina. She’s familiar with that place; her own fingers have found it in their internal travels within herself and others. The sensation is a strange one. It’s almost uncomfortable yet she’s frozen, pinned to the mattress by the experience. She’s felt this before, the tension and tingling, but she’s always stopped whatever was causing the sensation. She’s always suspected that going too far down this path would result in things occurring that were beyond her control. Trust is sometimes difficult for her and to lose absolute control is a luxury she doesn’t often indulge in. Tonight, with him, she allows it to continue. Let him take her somewhere new, territory unseen and unfelt before this moment. She knows he won’t harm her or take pleasure from her response and then make a mockery of it later. The muscles in her stomach are fluttering and the sensation continues to build. His fingers press from the inside but it feels like they’re also on the outside, pressing down. She feels something akin to pressure on her bladder and the unmistakable perception that she might urinate on him if he continues. She shifts against him and he locks her left leg between his. She’s abruptly aware of being restrained by his legs and unexpectedly it adds to the experience. From the navel down her body seems to be vibrating and she knows the culmination is close. Without knowing what will happen when the orgasm hits she breaths into his neck “If you make me cum this way I may break your wrist”. He laughs softly but doesn’t falter in his attentions. She strains against him, panting, and he unlocks his grip on her leg. She wants to tell him to put it back but speech is a skill she is suddenly unable to access. It’s approaching like a freight train. She closes her eyes and plunges into the vibrating pool that her pelvis has become. He’s gone, she’s gone and the room disappears. It’s like being lifted up, up, up and then suddenly she’s flung back to earth. She hits the bed fighting for air. His hand between her legs is the best and worst thing she’s ever known. Stop! Don’t stop! Her mind races and her hands claw at him wildly. For a few moments her rational, her intelligence, her restraint are totally gone. She becomes something guttural and base. As her mind resurfaces, the wild animal retreats enough for her to reason somewhat and she remembers that she can stop this. She reaches down and pries his hand from her groin. He resists and she has to force him out, down and away. Suddenly any contact in the general vicinity of her pussy is unacceptable. She is open and venerable like all her skin has been flayed from her. She clings to him like a life raft in the middle of a raging sea. “Don’t speak, please don’t speak” her mind pleads with him silently. If he speaks right now the emotion will overwhelm her and she will begin to sob. She’s heard of this before but never experienced it herself. She buries her face in his shoulder. He must know where he’s taken her, or if he doesn’t know he senses the need to see her thru this moment. He gently embraces her and strokes her, calming her. As her breathing slows and her vision clears she nuzzles his neck and kisses him gently. It’s a kiss of tender gratitude. He’s smiling and asks softly “Are you okay?” She nods and then finds her voice enough to say “Yes, I’m okay. I can’t leave you right now though.” He embraces her and says “You don’t have to”. She settles against him, feeling momentarily safe and cared for in the circle of his arms. She wakes a little while later. She’s still in his arms, pressed against him. She doesn’t want to move from this haven but the pull of reality and life are too much. She has to go. Tomorrow is Monday and there are things to be done, dogs that need to be cared for, a job to go to. She needs to make the trip back to her own home and try to sleep. As she stirs against him he wakes and turns on his side. She molds herself against his strong back, breathing in the warm sleepy smell of him and allows herself another few minutes of the peace and contentment of this place, this bubble of private space they’ve made. She notices the ugly welts on his shoulder from her fingernails and remembers the experience, the moments before she fell asleep. She whispers “I have to go” into the space between his shoulders and she eases away from him, tucking the covers into the warm space she vacated. As she dresses her mind is strangely blank and she has no desire to talk with him. She’s empty, but not sad. Her emotions are right at the surface and it feels strange. It’s like being in a daze. She notices he’s turned on his back and he’s watching her dress with his arms folded behind his head. “You don’t have to get up” she says as she slides into her panties. “I’ll get up” he says. She walks out of the room and heads to the room where she left her shoes. She can hear him follow her. As he comes into the room, into the light, she concentrates on her shoes. The woman who is unembarrassed by all things sexual cannot meet his glance. She embraces him, says goodbye and slips out the door still not having met his eyes. He’s sleepy and seems not to notice her behavior. This experience opened her somehow. It was more than an orgasm, more than just another satisfying fuck with this lover of hers. She wants to be alone, she wants to breathe and be unencumbered by the questions her mood might bring from him. She has no answers to give. She can’t even give herself any answers. She feels like a bottomless pit and she’s strangely okay with that.