Hiya!

A couple of nights ago I was bored and low on money, and suddenly realized 
that, though I've written a fair bit of fanfiction, I've never tackled a 
lemon!  This was the result, of which 90% was done in a single setting.

I've never tried writing a lemon before, so feedback would be greatly 
appreciated!  Is it tedious and as about as stimulating as roadkill?  Let me 
know!  This story is unfinished--I've unfortunately run out of time--but I'm 
hoping to finish it off when I get back a small vacation, so C&C could only 
help.  Also, this story (possibly) takes place in my Let the Curtain Fall 
story--but since that's only up to chapter five, and this draws on my 
outline for chapter seven, there might be a few spoilers there ("What?  You 
mean Ranma and Akane are _still_ alive by chapter seven?").

Other than that, enjoy!
-Mike Noakes

Let the Curtain Fall
Act One, Chapter Seven side story:
Lemon by Night
by
Michael Noakes

A fanfiction set in the Ranma 1/2 world of Rumiko Takahashi, though I 
seriously doubt that she'd approve of her characters doinking each other.

(This takes place after Ranma and Mousse's escape from the Order of the 
Cup's attack on the auction.  Though they previously agreed to rendezvous at 
the Nekohanten, after being separated during their high-speed highway 
escape, an extremely exhausted and wounded Ranma makes a stopover at the 
love hotel where Akane is hiding incognito.  They enjoy a lemony moment 
together--their second; and pushed past exhaustion, he falls asleep, Akane 
cradled in his arms.)

When he awoke he felt warm and secure and wonderfully lethargic, like a dog 
stretched out by the fire after a long run outdoors, he imagined, languidly 
basking in warmth and held in the soft embrace of a thick, luxurious rug.  
And the embrace he awoke to _was_ soft, and warm, and Ranma found himself 
smiling, eyes still closed, as he snuggled deeper into the arms encircling 
him.
	Still half-asleep, his body comfortably numb, his smile grew as he 
remembered last night.  It had been only their second time together.  And 
third--he felt his face grow briefly hot from his blush--by which point his 
reserves finally gave out.  He'd passed out, exhausted.  The last thing he 
recalled was lying in the bed, the faint sounds of Tokyo traffic a muted 
roar beyond their window, the night lights a slanted slash across the far 
wall; and Akane, nestled against his body, her head lying in the crook of 
one arm, her hand pressed lightly against the smooth expanse of his 
chest--almost as if to ensure he was still alive and hale, his heart beating 
steadily beneath her touch--as he slowly fell backwards into sleep, 
listening to the soft murmur of her breathing.  He remembered passing the 
hand of one arm--the same one she was lying against--along the smooth 
expanse of her body, absently tracing the curve of her hip, the strength of 
her inner thigh, even occasionally dipping into the tight curls between her 
legs, still slick from their lovemaking; and he wondered that they could be 
this close.  Somehow it felt even closer than when he was thrusting up 
against and into her: her hand over his heart, his ear to her soft 
breathing, his hand pressed against the thick hair covering her hidden cunt; 
he felt a profound love and closeness to her that he had never known was 
possible.
	What a fool I was, he thought to himself, lying half-awake the next morning 
and smiling, he knew, stupidly, and not caring in the least; what a fool I 
was to have not said 'I love you' so much sooner.  That he would have to 
leave her soon--it was a truth he knew he had to accept--made him regret his 
hesitancy all the more.  But he refused to allow such dark thoughts to ruin 
his pleasure of the moment.   He snuggled deeper into her arms.
	Wait a second, Ranma thought.  That's not right.  What am I doing in _her_ 
embrace?  She was pressed up against _me_--how the hell did she end up 
hugging _me_?  I shouldn't even fit!  His instinct was to fly from the arms 
encircling him--arms which he realized were far too large, and hairy, to 
belong to the woman he had fallen asleep with--but at the same time an even 
stronger instinct to not disturb Akane's sleep overtook him.  The brief 
struggle resolved itself as a slight tensing of his entire body, even as his 
eyes flew open; but that was it, and he remained in her hold, the arm 
loosely thrown across his chest not even twitching as he suddenly became 
painfully awake.
	When did I turn into a girl? Ranma thought.  With awakening came awareness, 
and his female form quickly made itself know.  He was laying on his side, 
spooned up against his partner, his head resting comfortably against one of 
her folded arm, the other arm across his chest just beneath the slight droop 
of his breasts.  One of her hands, Ranma suddenly realized, his blush 
returning and intensifying, lay in sleep against the tangled mat of his own 
pubic bush, much as his own had rested against hers last night.  That hand, 
and the arm brushing up against his tits, was certainly those of a man.  
Even if their size hadn't betrayed their gender, there was at least one 
other sign.  A slowly awakening hard-on was pushing with increasing 
insistence into his backside.  Snuggling deeper into the man's embrace had 
obviously set it off; a sudden squirm he couldn't resist, at the realization 
of where he now lay, only served to set the thing to poking him harder.  It 
remained a warm spot at the very bottom of his back that was impossible to 
ignore.
	He felt like leaping from the bed, flying across the meter of empty space 
separating him from the ceiling, and clinging there until the urge to vomit 
subsided.  But once again, his concern for Akane miraculously overwhelmed 
his instinct to break free.  When he first brought her the packets of 
Instant Nanniichuan to use, it had seemed like a great idea, the perfect 
disguise from both the hidden eyes of the Orders of Dzyan, and the psychic 
scans of the Children of Belial--but now, lying in bed nestled up against 
the growing hardness of his fiancee turned male, he deeply regretted his 
choice of disguises.  Worse, the Stone of Deucalion he had been wearing tied 
around his neck seemed to have slipped off during the night.  Without its 
ancient magic to overcome the power of the Jusenkyo curse, he had apparently 
reverted to his female form.
	[Maybe expand; why doesn't he leap away-Ilana's suggestion.]
	Well, that's just great, Ranma thought.  I'm stuck in bed with the girl I 
love, except that she's turned into a guy, and I'm a girl, and even though 
she's asleep I've managed to get her excited, and now her cock is poking 
into my back.  We might've gotten past a lot of that 'pervert' stuff, but 
she's gonna kill me for sure over this one.
	And even if she _didn't_ somehow get angry, he didn't want to spend another 
moment in a man's embrace.  He suddenly felt so small--tiny, even, and 
vulnerable, held up against the broad, flat chest of his fiancee, easily 
held within the circle of her large, muscular arms.
	Nearly two years ago, he had taken a shivering piglet for a bath.  A moment 
after plunging it into the steaming bathtub, Ryouga had risen from the 
waters.  He had been naked, and very, very angry--Ranma could still remember 
how the porcelain edge of the bath had cracked under his rival's enraged 
grip.  Most of all, however, Ranma remembered the sudden tremor that had 
shot through him.  He had been naked, too, kneeling in front of the angry 
boy, and had felt very small, and exposed.  His rival had seemed _huge_, his 
chest rock hard, his shoulders broad, and his arms thick and muscular.  In 
contrast, Ranma had resorted to his 'cute' defence, blinking innocently, his 
hands clasped in front trying in a vain attempt to conceal the roundness of 
his breast, his slim tapered shoulders, his thin arms.
	Ranma had been scared; terrified even, he know realized, which galled 
him--especially when Ryouga had tried to yank him back by his hair, one 
meaty paw grabbing him by the buttocks.  Only the sudden spray of cold water 
had kept the boy away.  Something had torn his martial skills away from him, 
a decade of training forgotten in a moment.  Instead of bashing his rival to 
the floor, he had scrambled away on all fours, girlishly and foolishly.  He 
had been afraid.  At the time, however, Ranma hadn't quite realized exactly 
what he had been afraid _of_.  He had been too young, maybe, or just plain 
idiotic.  Fortunately, so had Ryouga.
	Now, however, once again naked--but this time in the _embrace_ of a 
man--Ranma felt that same tremor run through him.  He shivered, and at first 
thought it was fear; he quickly dismissed that, knowing he had nothing to 
fear from Akane, and settled upon disgust; but a moment later he realized 
that what he felt was loathing--self-loathing, at his own weakness, at his 
own failed masculinity, for the disgust he felt was only fleeting, and 
before he had been able to firmly clamp down on it, he had actually 
_enjoyed_ the feeling of being in Akane's embrace, strong and manly that it 
was.
	I have to get out of here, Ranma thought.  He still didn't want to disturb 
Akane, however, and so he took a long uncomfortable moment to ease his 
breathing, and then, ever so slowly, began to push the arm that held him 
aside.  It fell away, and for a moment Ranma thought he was free of his 
fiancee's unconscious grasp; and then the arm pushed back, and he realized 
that perhaps Akane wasn't as asleep as he had thought.
	The encircling arm closed enough to keep him from easily slipping away.  
The other hand pressed down briefly, the tight curls of his pubes bunching 
between the coarseness of her palm and the softness of his mound.  The hand 
drifted away, to brush softly against the smooth skin of his inner thigh, 
and slowly continued to make its way up his leg.  The body behind him 
shifted, slightly, so that both arms could be free.  The first arm tightened 
its embrace, effortlessly lifting him as the man behind rolled onto his 
back, but kept Ranma on top.  He laid between Akane's spread legs, still 
looking towards the ceiling, desperately wishing he'd taken his leap while 
he'd had the chance, her penis now pressing higher up against his lower 
back.  It was a rude presence, still hard but held between their bodies, its 
length a disturbingly warmth along his spine.
	Both hands, now free, began to roam across his exposed body, fingertips 
brushing lightly against the taut expanses of his skin, reaching with a 
disconcerting familiarity.  One hand swept invisible trails along his hip, 
tracing the womanly curve there, before turning inward, across his taut, 
hairless stomach, and finally coming to rest there, one broad palm pressed 
warmly against her abdomen.  Her palm was slightly rough and calloused, 
markedly masculine contrasted with the smoothness of his own flesh, 
feminine, weak.  Ranma began to feel hot--not with excitement, but with 
embarrassment.  The other hand, after rubbing down one full side of his body 
in a possessive, controlling way, quickly returned to his chest.  After a 
light squeeze of one full breast, one finger began to idly trace circles 
around his nipple.  He felt acutely, overly aware of that single finger: the 
slight bumpiness of the areola beneath her touch, and then the press against 
the nipple itself.  It felt, much to his revulsion, nice.  The softness of 
his breast, the tenderness of that focal point; the coarseness of his 
fiancee's touch.
	Through the heat that flushed through his body, Ranma began to shiver.  He 
felt himself tensing again, his limbs locking up even as he lay passively 
within Akane's grasp.  He couldn't believe Akane was doing this to him.  He 
couldn't believe she was being this forward, and couldn't believe he was 
allowing her to do it.  But he felt paralysed within her embrace.  The 
simple act of her touching him there--and _there_--with such easy 
familiarity seemed to have torn away his ability to resist.  He didn't want 
this, he felt sick to his core that he lay in another man's embrace--that he 
lay in a man's embrace while he was a _female_--and yet somehow he couldn't 
bring himself to pull free.  As lightly as that one hand lay against his 
stomach, and as softly as the other grasped his breast, they might as well 
have been iron chains, or a daruma stone pinning him to the bed; the 
femininity of his cursed form seemed to have robbed him of his will.
	Then a panicky, terribly thought struck him: how do I know this is really 
Akane?
	He had gone to sleep with a woman.  He had woken up in the arms of a man.  
He knew how the instant powder curses worked: short of having taken a bath 
in the middle of the night--and Ranma felt certain that, as exhausted as he 
had been, he would have noticed Akane leaving the bed--there was no way she 
could have turned male again.  And he hadn't seen the man's face since first 
awaking.  How did he know, really _know_, that this was really Akane?
	That it could be somebody else seemed equally absurd--who could have 
possibly sneaked into the room, pulled Akane out of bed, and taken her place 
without him noticing?--but the mere possibility was enough to heighten his 
fear.
	Yet that very fear suddenly seemed to enhance the pleasure those arms 
curled around him offered.  The hand at his breast continued to circle his 
nipple, the thumb pressing with increasing pressure as it rubbed at the 
base; and to his own shame, he began to respond.  His own breasts seemed so 
pale from his vantage point, the skin of the large hand cupping and 
massaging them darker than his own; but his areolae were darker still, as 
their sensitive pinkish tips began to engorge, harden, and rise.  The hand 
suddenly tweaked the nipple between forefinger and thumb, and the brief pain 
was pleasurable in itself; and then the hand glided over to his other 
breast, tracing a soft line in the pale valley between.  Meanwhile the other 
hand began to drift downwards, still rubbing slow rings across the quivering 
tightness of his belly but gradually expanding their scope.  With each full 
circle those softly pressing fingers, spread like a fluttering wing, began 
to reach further into the tangled weave between his legs.  And through it 
all, that damn hard-on continued to push up against his back.
	I can't just lie here, Ranma told himself, even as his eyes unconsciously 
drifted shut as the pleasure he began to feel increased.  It was a different 
sensation than what he was used to.  Even his own experimentations, rare as 
they had been, hadn't felt anything like this.  Shameful as it had been, 
masturbating as a girl had felt nice, but not terribly compelling; this was 
something completely different.  What he was beginning to feel was far 
nicer, far more . . . indolent, then his desperate, furtive efforts.
	He couldn't believe he had told her, last night, in the quiet moments 
between lovemaking, that he had tried out his female body before.  Ranma 
suspected she could have drawn _any_ answer out of him at that point.  To 
his surprise, she hadn't been angry; hadn't even called him a pervert or 
anything.  Somewhat sheepishly, she answered that she did, too, and then 
asked him how he liked it.  He had answered with a shrug and a non-committal 
grunt, which had pretty much summed up his feelings; and bizarrely turned on 
by the conversation, he had put an end to it by jumping on her and silencing 
her with a deep, breathless kiss.
	But this--this was different, and the feelings were beginning to frighten 
him.  And he still didn't know if it was Akane behind him!
	He forced himself to push past the comforting warmth that was slowly 
enveloping him.  Ranma tried to sit up, and turn around to see the face of 
his partner.  The hands holding him would have none of it.  The lower hand 
pushed against his mons--an interesting feeling in itself--while the other 
gripped his breast firmly and resisted his twist.  Ranma felt hot breath on 
his cheek; he tried to turn towards it, to catch a glimpse of his partner, 
but only managed to rub up against the manly cheek at his side.  It felt 
slightly stubbly, the line of the jaw, strong.
	"Relax," the man said.  "Lie back."
	Was it Akane's voice?  He didn't know her male form well enough to identify 
it with so few words.  But it had to be Akane.  It had to be.  And 
meanwhile, one hand continued to fondle his tits, while the other groped at 
his cunt, and he felt strangely powerless to resist and lay passively in the 
man's grasp.
	The mouth by his ear didn't move away.  The breath remained hot on his ear. 
  The breathing was heavy, and warm.  Suddenly he felt something moist flick 
against the upper ridge of his ear.  Again the man--_Akane_, he 
insisted--lightly brushed her tongue against his ear.  Her tongue was soft, 
and warm, and wet, and continued to lightly lick along the edge of his ear.  
Her hand abandoned his breast--Ranma felt a moment's disappointment, and 
hated himself for it--and slid along the length of his body, which also felt 
good, his skin somehow more . . . alive, to her touch than before, as the 
other hand began to press more firmly against his mound, still rubbing small 
insistent circles.
	Then she bit down, briefly but surprisingly hard, against his earlobe.  He 
gasped involuntarily, but not in pain--a brief tingle shot through him, like 
an icy chill down his spine but far more enjoyable--shooting from the base 
of his neck and diffusing somewhere near his belly.  Ranma felt himself 
pulling away, but then leaning in closer and tilting his head aside, his 
hair--which he just now realized was hanging loosely--as Akane moved down 
the curve of his neck, kissing and licking as she went.
	When she switched to the other ear, Ranma pushed almost eagerly into her 
hot breath.  He thought he heard her ask, 'Do you like this?' but the words 
were heavy and blurred, lost in the hot exhalation of her breathing.  
Consumed with nibbling at his ear, she seemed to have forgotten one of her 
arms; it lay heavily across his abdomen, and Ranma suddenly found himself 
wishing she was fingering his boobs again.  Then, despite the passivity her 
masculine presence and the growing warmth seemed to have forced upon him, he 
suddenly remembered that he had arms of his own.  Hesitatingly, almost 
nervously, he brought his hand to his own chest.  He cupped the full weight 
of his breast, its heavy softness settling easily in his own soft grip.  How 
different it felt, he thought, than holding onto Akane's breasts--or even, 
he suddenly realized, from having them held by someone else.  When he 
tentatively brushed his thumb against his nipple, he felt how erect they now 
were--not fully hard, like on a cold February day, when training outside in 
his dogi could become distinctly painful--but not that far; and as he 
gripped his own breast and gently massaged himself he felt a pleasurable 
tingle in response, that again slowly made its way down through his belly 
and gently diffused there.
	His head slowly fell back, into the crook of her neck, his eyes drifting 
shut as he gave himself over to the feelings growing in him.  He imagined 
how he must look: like some long-haired bimbo flaunting her assets while 
flung back in some man's embrace, fondling her own tits, the man nuzzling at 
her neck and dominated her, hand gripping at her crotch, threading through 
those coarse hairs to finally settled upon the slight puffiness of her outer 
lips, faintly outlining them with a gentle touch.
	Which is exactly what Akane was now doing.  Her touch--and suddenly Ranma 
felt beyond a doubt that it had to be Akane; something in her touch 
resounded deeper within than he suspected anyone else's could--seemed 
unhurried as it reached a little deeper, tenderly rolling the soft flesh 
between her fingers.
	Ranma realized that his mouth had drooped open, slightly, though he hadn't 
released a sound.  His head still lolled back, eyes closed, as he focused on 
the sensations she was giving him, on the sensations he was giving himself.  
His nipples were still responding to his own embrace, though mingled with a 
slight soreness; he thought he should rub softer, but didn't want to give up 
the extra pleasure.  And then it seemed immaterial, as Akane dipped a single 
finger between the folds of his outer lips.
	It wasn't as enjoyable as he had hoped.  In fact, it hurt slightly, and he 
realized that, as turned on as he was beginning to feel, he had a long way 
to go.  He remembered his frustration with his few earlier attempts at 
coming to terms with his female sexuality: it just took so bloody long!  
Despite the spreading warmth he still felt quite dry; there was an incipient 
wetness, but deeper in than Akane's probing fingers had yet reached.
	So focussed on his expectations had he been that his hands had fallen 
aside.  But Akane, it seemed, having checked that he wasn't quite ready, 
returned her attention to other places.  One hand grabbed at his breast, 
this time with increased strength, nearly roughly, and she deliberately 
tweaked his nipple, a little painfully but again, as the blood rushed back 
in, with an unexpectedly intense burst of pleasure.  Her breath was on his 
neck, and then his cheek, and finally his lips.  She had pulled him up 
slightly to be able to reach his mouth.  He could open his eyes now and see 
her properly--but didn't.  His hair fell in a heavy veil across half his 
face, over his bare shoulders, and he unconsciously brushed it back as he 
felt Akane's tongue lightly dance against his upper lip.  He felt her 
stubble, again--it was a wholly alien feeling, a man's stubble against his 
cheek; he couldn't remember the last time his father had kissed him, and 
that was the last time, he was sure, that he had felt a bearded face that 
close to his own.
	Akane then leaned back again, pulling him with her, as her hands continued 
to roam freely.  Five fingers unhurriedly spidered up his chest, taking a 
moment to rub up against the peak of one unattended mound, and then caressed 
his chin, and cheek, and finally traced the contour of his face.  Somehow 
such a simple gesture felt sensual in itself, and he felt his excitement 
grow.  The wetness between his legs rose, like oil bubbling towards a swampy 
surface, and he began to feel warm down there as well.  The early rigidity 
of his legs was gone, replaced by a willing looseness, and he even felt 
himself slightly ease his legs apart, the air a pleasant coolness against 
his mound.
	Akane's hand clasped his chin with a confidant grip, but the thumb snaked 
upwards and rubbed against his bottom lip.  It followed the fullness of his 
mouth and circled around once, and it felt a little like an awkward kiss, 
though not as pleasant; and then it began to go around once again, but 
suddenly pushed inwards, and slipped into his open mouth.
	Ranma suddenly felt sick to his stomach again, the feeling of passivity 
slamming back, his awareness of exactly what he was doing and where he was 
painfully apparent.  He began to feel angry with Akane, that she would force 
this upon him.  His anger at himself redoubled, that he couldn't stop her 
from doing it to him.  Why did this rob him of his strength, lying in her 
arms--no, lying in a _man's_ arms--when he was a woman himself?
	But he had little time to wonder about it, for Akane was slowly thrusting 
her thumb in and out of his mouth, and then her other fingers, and he found 
himself responding.  He closed full lips around her fingers.  He licked at 
the digits in his mouth, circled them with his tongue.  Ranma felt dirty 
doing it: it reminded him of the blow job she had given him last night--his 
first--and he felt guilty, too, once again, like he had after she had agreed 
to suck him off.  Much of his early enjoyment had faded under this new 
barrage of emotions.  His stomach began to tighten, but with revulsion, and 
he felt the moist pool of anticipation draw back, draw back into its fleshy 
folds, the oasis of his femininity gone dry.
	Akane, perhaps sensing the sudden rigidity that once again gripped his 
body, and the angry passivity reasserting its grip, withdrew her thumb.  A 
loop of saliva followed it out, connected drops of his own spit.
	He lost track of her arms for a moment, and was about to sit up and 
forcefully push her back, when he felt her hand fall heavily against his 
mound once again.  This time she didn't waste any time: with a single deft 
movement, her finger--lubricated with his own spit--slipped between the 
dryness of his outer lips and reached deeper in.
	Ranma heard a gasp, and realized that it was his own.  He felt himself 
jerk, unconsciously, at the suddenly feeling of being invaded by Akane's 
finger.  She didn't reach far, no further than the second knuckle of her 
finger, probably, but it enough to make him squirm.  He had felt something 
inside himself before, of course, during his own tentative probing of his 
vagina and clumsy attempt at pleasuring himself (he was just starting to 
realize how inexpert he must have been).  Akane's finger felt _huge_ in 
comparison to his own slender female digits, even though he abstractly knew 
that the difference must be minor.  He shuddered, caught between extreme 
discomfort and, he couldn't deny, curiosity, and bit down on his lip to 
prevent another gasp from escaping--the situation was embarrassing enough as 
it was, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing his agitation . 
. . or his pleasure.
	Her finger made a little swirl inside of him--which felt surprisingly 
nice--as if she were stirring a pot, which, in a way, Ranma realized she 
was, because he _was_ wet down there, still, and she was bringing those 
juices to the surface.  Her moist fingers traced the outline of his cunt, 
passing easily where before he had been dry and resisting.  If before he had 
been disappointed with how it felt, now he felt anxious at how easily her 
touch was stimulating him.  Her finger would dip in, and withdraw, and 
gently brush along the edge of his inner lips, or reach further out, passing 
along the rim of the outer labia, slowly, even carefully, and Ranma found 
all his attention being drawn towards that single point, that single finger 
entering and pulling out of him, sometimes staying inside for longer, 
massaging the inner wall of his vagina; and he suddenly realized that Akane 
was finger-fucking him, and that it was starting to feel very, very good 
indeed.  She had long ago reached beyond her knuckle, burying her entire 
finger within his moistening hole.
	As nice as it felt, however, it still made him feel uncomfortable, his 
unease growing with each thrust of her hand.  He wanted her to stop, but 
couldn't force the words from his mouth.  His buttocks remained clenched, 
his stomach taut, at the thought of what he was doing--of what was being 
done to him.  Unconsciously, he brought his thighs together, to somehow 
capture or stop her hand from penetrating him.
	"I don't think so," the masculine voice by his ear whispered, and the tone 
of the voice brought back all his fears that it somehow, someway, might 
_not_ be Akane.  His attention returned to the other hand, which had up to 
then been softly stroking his hair, in a way that definitely accentuated his 
feelings of helpless femininity.  Now it roamed south, and firmly grabbed 
hold of one of his breasts.  The hand massaged them roughly a few times, and 
then pinched his nipple, hard.  It hurt, and he released an exclamation of 
pain, but must have also relaxed his thighs, because the other hand was 
suddenly reaching into him again.
	He went to squeeze down again but the hand had already withdrawn, sliding 
up his pelvis, but with the fingers trailing behind, passing along his outer 
lips, and the stopping.  He could almost feel the middle finger, extended, 
hovering over his spread genitals.  There was another place down there, 
Ranma suddenly remembered, that hadn't been attended to yet.
	When the finger first brushed against his clitoris, with a touch hardly 
stronger than a flowing wind, he nearly jumped.  He jerked in her grasp with 
each soft, intermittent stroke of the sensitive nub, the fingers still 
lubricated with his vaginal fluids; and each time he released an involuntary 
gasp.  He didn't know if he actually _enjoyed_ the feeling . . . but it was 
certainly _interesting_, and he suddenly kind of hoped she wouldn't stop, at 
least not quite yet.  Again involuntarily, he felt his thighs slowly draw 
apart.  The hand groping his breasts continued their ministrations, but 
softer once again, sensing, perhaps, his renewed interest.  That hand 
withdrew, briefly, but when it returned the fingers were wet as well, 
perhaps with her own saliva, this time; and the warmth emanating from both 
swollen nipples spread further as the firmer but now less irritating 
circling of his areola continued.
	Perhaps as a result of his muted exhalations he felt the hard press of her 
penis, which had softened slightly as she attended to him, grow rigid once 
again.  The rude poke of it in his back was annoying, but he realized it had 
to be somewhat painful for her as well.  He faked a squirm--well not so much 
faked it as exaggerated and directed it, considering she was still stroking 
his clitoris and fondling his breasts--and shifted hard against her 
erection.  The brief pause in her strokes brought a smile to his lips; he 
even thought he heard a half-repressed 'ow'.
	[...]

[To be continued...]

***

It's probably too long and repetitive to be an effective lemon.  It's my 
first try!  I've got some ideas on how I'll probably rewrite it, but any 
suggestions would be appreciated.

And that's it!  It might take me awhile to answer any feedback, but I will, 
eventually.

-Mike Noakes
noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m

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