Silent Horses, Burning Hearts

The rain hammered against the windows of the cabin, a relentless percussion that mirrored the frantic beat of my heart. Two years. Two years I’d known Jen and Al, quietly sharing a passion for naval history, James Bond films, and the delightfully twisted sense of humor that seemed to bind us together. They were the anchors in my life, a welcome respite from the predictable, the mundane. But Barbara… Barbara was a force of nature, a chaotic whirlwind of sensuality that threatened to rip through the carefully constructed walls I’d erected around my own desires.

It had all started with a wardrobe malfunction, an embarrassing stumble on a boat that exposed more than I intended. The memory still brought a blush to my cheeks, but also a strange, undeniable thrill. Then came the dream, the one where Barbara didn’t turn away, didn’t offer privacy. Just a raw, uninhibited gaze that ignited something primal within me. The subsequent invitation from Jen, disguised as a friendly gesture, felt like a calculated move, a deliberate push toward the precipice.

She’d sent identical notes to both me and Barbara, cryptic messages about heartbreak and the need to forge new connections. “You’ve both sought me out on separate occasions during your dark times of heartbreak,” she’d written. It was unsettling, this orchestrated reunion, but I couldn’t deny the pull, the insistent whisper of desire that had been dormant for too long.

The cruise was a blur of champagne, forced smiles, and simmering tension. Jen, ever the orchestrator, had subtly guided us toward one another, dropping hints, playing on our shared histories. It was during the last night, as we were dancing in the ship’s ballroom, that the inevitable happened. Barb opened the top of her dress, a flash of lace and skin that stole my breath. A few well-placed nudges to my knee, and the rest was simply instinct. She knew exactly what she was doing, feeding my hunger with every stolen glance, every lingering touch.

Later, on the deck under the moonlight, her hand found my erection, a hot, insistent pressure that sent shivers down my spine. She didn’t speak, just gently guided me, letting the anticipation build until it became unbearable. When I finally succumbed, a torrent of pleasure erupted, a release that washed over me with intoxicating intensity. She slid her hand down my thigh, her touch electrifying, as she began to explore my arousal with her own fingers. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of control and abandon.

The next morning, back in the cabin, the rain continued its relentless assault. Barb insisted on seeing me, demanding my attention as if I owed her something. “Rog, I appreciate your preparation of our honeymoon bedroom,” she purred, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The flowers, the candles, they’re lovely. And we’ll enjoy the candle light as we make love, but not tonight. I know you want to see me. You want my naked body to please your eyes, to behold the wonder of my breasts. I want to rouse your cock as your eyes grope at them, to strengthen your manhood when I spread my legs. You want to lust at the naked beauty of my womanhood. And we will do all that, in the soft light of morning’s dawn.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. I found my way to the bed, the darkness amplifying the heat of my arousal. My hand bumped up against her torso, sliding upwards, desperate to find her breasts. When I finally located them, they were soft, yielding, a perfect invitation. I lowered my head, seeking out her lips, my breath catching in my throat.

“Rog, I appreciate your preparation of our honeymoon bedroom,” she repeated, her voice a low, seductive murmur. “The flowers, the candles, they’re lovely. And we’ll enjoy the candle light as we make love, but not tonight. I know you want to see me. You want my naked body to please your eyes, to behold the wonder of my breasts. I want to rouse your cock as your eyes grope at them, to strengthen your manhood when I spread my legs. You want to lust at the naked beauty of my womanhood. And we will do all that, in the soft light of morning’s dawn.”

Her hand found my erection, gently guiding it. “No need for foreplay,” she whispered, her fingers teasing my skin. “I’ve already pleasured myself, in preparation of giving that same pleasure to you. It’s the last time of waiting, of anticipating, of imagining. Tonight, I will – know – the joy that you are about to pour into me.”

As she spoke, a strange aroma filled the air, a heady mix of sweat and arousal. The scent confirmed the graphic invitation, a silent promise of the delights to come. The doors to the garden were smooth, wet, and inviting. Soft, feminine fingers, not the harshness of my own, gently stroked and confidently guided my eagerness. They led me towards the open space, where moonlight streamed through the trees, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground.

“Get this thing in me,” she commanded, her voice laced with urgency. “My heart is bursting with the joy of being your wife. Now I have the privilege of bestowing my joy upon you.”

Moonlight, at times softened by the clouds, dodged the leaves of the trees outside the bedroom window and stole across the room, fearful of disturbing the sleeping woman who moments ago knew a man for the first time. I followed the dancing light patterns as they swept across her legs, her abdomen, her rising and falling breasts, and my dried semen on their nipples. I was torn between the desire to let her continue her slumber and the desire to mount her again. Punching up my pillow, I reluctantly rolled away, letting my mind wander over the events that brought us together.

It all began with a wardrobe malfunction, an accidental exposure that had occurred during a boat trip. The memory was still mortifying, but now, as I looked at Barb, a different kind of heat began to build within me. The realization dawned on me that her actions had been carefully orchestrated, a deliberate attempt to both tease and satisfy.

Jen, always one step ahead, had known about my attraction to Barb for some time. She’d orchestrated the cruise, hoping to bring us together under the guise of friendship. Her notes, filled with suggestive language and veiled promises, were a testament to her manipulative brilliance.

As the night wore on, the rain intensified, drumming against the roof of the cabin. The darkness deepened, but Barb’s presence felt like a beacon, a guiding light in the storm. She continued to tease me, her touch becoming more insistent, her gaze more demanding. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I mounted her, the sensation a potent cocktail of lust and anticipation.

She arched her back, inviting me deeper, her body trembling with pleasure. Her hands explored every inch of my arousal, while her mouth worked on my cock with a frenzied intensity. I felt myself losing control, succumbing to the primal urges that had been suppressed for so long.

The climax was a symphony of sensation, a torrent of pleasure that left me breathless and exhausted. Barb slid off me, her body slick with sweat, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She grabbed a towel from the bedside table and began to dry herself, a slow, deliberate act that only served to heighten my arousal.

As she stood before me, naked and vulnerable, I couldn’t help but admire her beauty, her confidence, her unapologetic embrace of her own sexuality. It was a stark contrast to my own carefully constructed walls, my own hesitant approach to pleasure.

“Rog,” she whispered, her voice husky with pleasure, “let’s do this again.”

And as I looked into her eyes, I knew that this was just the beginning. The rain continued to fall, washing away the last remnants of the night, but within the confines of that small cabin, a new world had been born. A world of lust, desire, and uninhibited pleasure. A world where I had finally let go of the reins.

Did you like this story? Silent Horses, Burning Hearts look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.