The Accident - Short Story SeXStoRY

Cindy Rose, 27, a separated insurance broker without c***dren, is disillusioned by her heterosexual relationships. She tried many a spiritual path to learn to accept her personal male energies and to get aware of her feminine beauty. She knows by now, that lust isn't bound to a single gender and that love can be found only by accident! She wrote to me: It was a stressy day at the office and everybody just picked on me. Somehow frustrated I slam the door and lock the car. A short glimpse into the letter box reveales: only junk mail again! »One day I would gain enough courage to murder that mean mail man!«, I think as a dark shadow catches the corner of my eye - too late! Seemingly with the speed of lightening this push-bike hits me on the sidewalk - and we go down hard together on the pavement! I'm fit from my weekly hours in the gym, and I'm fast on my feet again. I pull the crumpled rider from his bent bike, ready to vent my anger at him - but it is a girl. She seems to be half unconscious and looks peacefully beautiful in my arms - just like asl**p! I grab her hard around the waist, kick her bike behind the huge garbage bins and carry her up the path to my front door. I fumble with the key for a while under the demanding pressure of my precious load and finally manage to drag her in without alaming the whole neighbourhood. I let her slip slowly onto the soft cushions of my big red reclyning chair. She really is beautiful, her wild blond hair frames her pretty face like a fire storm! The adrenalin-boost by the shock of our hefty collision must have relaxed her completely: she breathes calmly and regularely. She wears a loose purple university sweater and very sexy skin-tight pants - and there: her jeans are ripped open and her right knee is bleeding! I say: »Hey, hey, can you hear me!«, but the girl just stirs annoyed, grunts and relaxes again. I fetch some warm water and a clean clothe, but I'm not so sure about how to attack the task at hand. I try to push the leg of her pants gently up over the wounded knee, but it is far too tight. So I pull her jogging shoes off and massage her little feet for a while. My eyes follow up her trim legs to their intimate meeting point, where the sturdy zipper starts its steep climb over her bulging sex. My brain worries about the colour of her underwear, if underwear at all - and my fingers tremble. A disturbing feeling of guilt befalls me as I carefully pop open the brass button on her jeans - my gaze constantly on her face. How would I explain myself if she wakes up in this very compromising situation? Hot bl**d pulses in my ears as I pull down the zipper and open the flaps. And as in an unconscious reflex she lifts her hips slightly out of the seat, actually helping me with getting the pants off her bum! And I feel so grateful, I could have kissed her! But she still seems to be caught in her own dreams, maybe even enjoying the unconscious approach? I pull the pants right off and clean her knee from the bl**d. She lost a patch of skin there, but there is no cut! I massage her calves, then her thighs. She wears an ocean-blue swim-suit, well cut-out at the legs and still wet. It perfectly clings to the swelling shape of her slit and a couple of curious locks peep out from under the elastic seam. And in the delicious brown dimples between the sinews some sandy grains from the beach still find refuge. As I move up between her knees to brush the sand off her groin I can smell her sex: salty and savoury like a mysterious sea creature. But now she opens her eyes - sparkling light-blue ones - and scans the ceiling. Her rosy lips open as well, and the words »Where am I?« are tumbeling out like ivory dice on the green felt of a gambling table. »You're not hurt - we had a collision - remember? Just relax! I will make you a cup of tea!«, so I inform her, annoyed that she had interupted my private meditation. I get up quickly to make her a hot brew. A couple of drops of rescue remedy and a spoon full of honey to it, that should revive her well! And really: She drinks the whole cup in one go! »You run into me! Remember?«, I try to connect the lost coversation. But she just says: »I'm hot!«, and with a swift tug she pulls her sweater of over her head that her golden hair sparks electricly in the fading sunlight like a chinese firework. The bl**d has returned into her pale cheeks and produce a rosy glow. And her little breasts bounce happy in their elastic confinements. But a sudden painful jolt in her hip lets her moan and start. »Your knee is fine - but please let me see your hip!«, I say with the sincerity of a real doctor, kneeling between her feet again. I tell her that she may catch a cold in those wet swimmers anyway! She looks at me with some doubt in her sparkling eyes, but I just smile at her: »Common, don't be shy - you ain't got nothing I don't have!« »Okay!«, she says, »but only if you don't look at the ugly tattoo above my cunt! I made it for bl**dy Harry, it hurt like hell, and he was a complete arsehole anyway! I hate men!« And if comforted by our womanly bonding she rolls the shoulder straps of her tight suit over the shoulders and exposes her absolutely stunning breasts to me. The cocoa-brown nipples in their goose-bumped aureolas are just begging me to be sucked - I have to take a deep breath to stay in control! But she instantly recognises my admiration and wrinkles her pretty forehead: »You like women? I mean: You love them« »You are beautiful! How couldn't I like you?«, I whisper, those luscious nipples just an inch in front of my mouth. I playfully blow at them, and ripples of chicken skin run over the surprised mounds of tender tissue. She wiggles and giggles: »bl**dy Harry always bit them hard - at first it bl**dy hurt, but then it was fun!« »You mean, you want me to bite you?«, I ask her, only just suppressing my carnal instict and my growing arousal. She just shrugges her shoulders, but her eyes are begging me! I can't believe my luck as I warm those silky breasts in my hands, pinch the cocoa beans, before I suck them into my mouth. I poke them with my tongue and knibble them with my teeth, but then I bite harder - and the beautiful girl begins to moan. »Oh, stop! You make me horny!«, she breathes and pushes my head away. She struggles to roll the wet tight garment over her belly and it gets stuck with just the top of her blond pubic hair protruding. And I agree: the tattoo is ugly, but the strong smell of her sex makes me dizzy, drives me absolutely crazy! I can't wait to see her naked before me, and I have to help her to pull the tight wet garment from under her clammy buttocks. She sinks with a deep sigh back into the seat as I inspect her more closely. Her hip is bruised blue but not bleeding. But parting her legs I can see the real location of her pain: the reddish irritation salt, sand and the saddle left on her sensitive skin! With the wet towel I carefully clean the sand from her pubis and out of the wet folds of delicate flesh underneath. Wet, not because of her swim in the ocean - sticky wet from her own arousal! And knowing from a lot of sources that saliva is the best remedy against inflamated skin I set my tongue to work at once. Her taste is delicious, her clit grows under my tender treatment and her gutural sounds tell me that I'm doing well! She pulles her knees up to the chin, and her flower opens like a lotus in the first morning light, exposing the inner pink petals and the ruby core deep within. I'm absolutely fascinated, I'm literally sucked in into this wonder of mother nature. And I'm not surprised at all as I suddenly feel her hands in my hair, pulling me even closer into her wide open, gaping, pulsating sex . . .