I was at a low-key point in my love life when I began going out with Barbara. She was a friend of a friend, thirty-six years old, short and a little overweight in a cute, rounded way. Wavy brown hair that hinted of an experiment with red coloring a month or two earlier. Quiet brown eyes to match her hair. Subtle makeup for the most part, except for a bright crimson on her lips that I learned later was evocative of the crimson between her legs. She was low-key, too. It seemed to work for us.

Barbara's days were spent as a research assistant who occasionally came to the university's Science And Technology library where I worked. She would roam the stacks with lists of publications and books to pull, carefully arranging the piles in her cart. It was a quiet, almost solitary job for her. It was no wonder that at night, when we'd watch television together in her apartment, or when we'd sit in a restaurant or at a movie, I grew accustomed to how few words we would exchange.

Even in bed, Barbara was mostly nonverbal. We'd kiss and nuzzle, and she would moan soft sighs as she'd press her body against mine. When I slipped my head between her thighs and part her lush brown thatch with my nose, even then she would merely purr as I feasted on her labia growing plump and her juices flowing fragrant and sweet. She rarely allowed herself to reach climax that way, preferring instead to signal me to roll onto my back so she could mount me.

From that moment on, Barbara took control. Our lovemaking followed a predictable pattern. She would capture my erection in the valley of her inflamed vulva, smearing her wetness on my shaft to assure my smooth entry, then with a deft angling of her hips she'd impale herself on my rigid flesh. My cock would nestle into her silken heat, and she'd press her breasts against my furry chest, tuck her forearms beneath my shoulder blades, and cup the ends of my shoulders in her hands. Her mouth would perch close to my right ear, breathing hot, moist sighs as she undulated her hips like a bellydancer and caressed my cock in her intimate clasp.

I found it to be gentle, sensual lovemaking. Almost passively I would serve as her pleasure point as she rhythmically stroked and stretched herself with my embedded rock-hard flesh while I held her hips and accepted her rhythm. Hot became hotter, slick became slicker. The little muscles at her entrance would nibble the base of my shaft and I would twitch in response, or I would twitch and she would nibble. It was all a blur. And all the while she would be wordless and just whimper and gasp and squeak the announcements of her climbing arousal.

Even Barbara's orgasms arrived largely unheralded. Her breathing would accelerate, her hips would press her sex more firmly against my pubic bone and add a circular swirl, and in the final few seconds she allowed herself controlled "Oh! Oh! Oh!" grunts before holding her breath for a few delicious seconds and going mute before inhaling another quick breath and repeating it all, again and again. All the while her body would shudder against me, and the deepest reach of her vagina would quiver around my buried cock, and her kegels would grace me with stronger pulsing clenches.

It took all my determination not to join her climax with my own.

When Barbara's release ended, her hips stilled and her body slumped heavily on me. My cock would still be high and hard, still jammed into her body like a fulcrum that kept her centered on top of me. My fingers would play in the sweat that had emerged on her back. Her breathing would still be quick pants. I knew what was coming. We were patterned, as I've said. I knew from past experiences that now she would begin to speak.

Her mouth, still resting close to my ear, would whisper, "I need you to fuck me now," then she would hold tightly onto me and roll us both over, ending up on her back. Now I would make the final adjustments of my knees and elbows and take control. My erection buried inside her, her arms around my back and her legs wrapped around mine, kept us connected. Her knees would raise and her heels would dig into my flesh just below my buttocks.

"Ohhh, that's it," she'd exhale a soft moan. "Give it to me." And, of course, I would.

Barbara's silence was now loosened up and she became a poster child for Tourette's, whimpering her encouragements and demands. She'd cling to me and writhe beneath me while I gave her deep, satisfying, muscular thrusts. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," she'd breathe, her eyes locked onto mine, her pupils dilated. "Harder!" she'd demand, "Oh deep deep oh fuck oh shit oh fuck." I'd do my best, stabbing deeply into her wet clutch for both her and for me.

And it would get progressively more intense. If I momentarily paused at the end of an inward thrust, Barbara would clench her ankles around my hamstrings and lift her hips off the mattress, encouraging me to bury myself even deeper, to graze my cockhead against her rubbery cervix and to grind my pubic bone against her inflamed vulva. "Oh God, oh God," she'd gasp, "My cunt is so hot. So hot. Give me your cock! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

I don't think I ever spoke during these times, and I don't think Barbara ever noticed. She became unrestrained to the point of being almost crazed, her walls snug and smooth and slick, her juices so copious that the power of my thrusts meeting hers became a continual juicy crackling with barely any friction. And when she felt I was at the edge, she did her best to whip me forward to my finish. "Oh, come baby, come!" she'd plead. "Do it! Give it to me!"

And at the end, she knew what was the final trigger of my climax, her final control over when and where. I'd be panting like a freight train, alternating straight-ahead full-length thrusts with various slight angles to give every one of my and her nerve endings an erotic tingle, trying to find the friction to take me to the edge of the cliff and over the side, and Barbara would decide it was time. "Let it go!" she'd demand, her eyes glistening and her jaw jutting out, "Squirt in me! Deep in my cunt! Now!"

That would always do it. One final slippery thrust or two or three, one last gasping groan of pleasure that had me buried to the hilt and straining for more. Barbara would strain her hips against my stiffened muscles and give me her strongest clenches and take me over the top. My first spasm exploded in my pelvis, seeming like it would last forever in a frozen eternity of pure pleasure that in reality was probably barely longer than a single second. And then my intense pulses would begin, my throbbing pleasure spurts of liquid flying into the farthest reaches of her glorious vagina. "Oh, hot!" she'd breathe in response. "Oh! Oh! So hot! I can feel you! Fill my cunt! Come for me!"

Afterwards, Barbara returned to her normal state, quiet and self-conscious. When we eventually pulled apart and lay next to each other, heavy and satiated, it was as though she was suddenly embarrassed at the realization of the rawness of her lusty demands. After a few silent moments she'd excuse herself and retreat to the bathroom, returning to bed wearing a long t-shirt that descended to cover most of her hips. We'd cuddle, exchanging gentle, almost romantic kisses. She'd press her sex against me, and I could feel our joined soup oozing on my leg. Patterned as always, she would finally murmur a simple "That was nice." And a few moments later, she'd be asleep.