e0025@telly.on.ca (03/28/91)
Archive-name: busy A soft, firm knock on the door breaks your concentration as you bend over your work. With a sigh of resignation at yet another interruption to your busy day, you stand up, stretch (from the position you've held for far too long this afternoon), and walk to the door. As you pass through the room, your eye flicks with disapproval over the queue of waiting projects: this one needs you today, this tomorrow ... a flood of small, medium, and large tasks clamoring for your attention. Dodging assorted bric--brac, you reach the door and pull it open to a jingle of bells. You're surprised at who your visitor proves to be. Of the people you expected to find calling at this moment (the landlord, a neighboring friend, a salesman perhaps), he is not one of them. Murmuring greetings and apologies for the frantic activity you must return to, you half turn as he slips in, quietly closing the door behind him. At the lightest of touches on the shoulder, you glance about to face him, meeting his eyes. The world stops, and falls quiet for a moment. You vaguely feel the rest of your body turn towards him, but you sense it only in distantly, in slow motion. For a moment stretched over eternity, you are lost, caught by his look. Your mouth goes dry, a thousand things die unsaid in your throat, and a familiar thrill run through your body. Within you, a part of your mind wants to break away, continue with the comfortable rhythm of the day, but you've already flown beyond it. There can be a perfect, intimate, even sacred moment when the hunter and the prey become one, when a communion deeper than words runs between them. At this moment the yielding of the prey is a victory for both, the transfer and return of life, an exchange born of respect and desire. It is a moment, once in a thousand times if that, which drives the hunter to hunt, and as you close your eyes and raise your lips to his, you know that the hunted feels it as well. His lips are cool, as is the back of his neck as your arms circle him. He embraces you, and pulls you close against him; you can feel his arousal building already, and your body returns it without thought or effort from you. Your mind is a blur, but (far from a blank) it is full of images, desires, memories of similar times and those far distant, all blended together into a single, forceful desire to yield, to acknowledge his challenge and answer it with your submission which is a victory of both. The kiss seems to last forever; your tongues circle and dance like snakes, back and forth between your mouths, a dance as complicated as that of your wills, both driving to the same conclusion. You step back again, and again meet his glance; the final acknowledgement that you have given the single yes, that you will submit to him, knowing that in his mastery, it is your will to yield which gives it all meaning. You lead him to the side of the bed; you are surprised to discover that during the last glance, you undressed yourself, exposing yourself to his appreciative, hungry glance. (Although it might as well have been said that he undressed you; his will moved your hands to undo clasps and unfasten buttons as surely as if he had done it himself.) You start to undress him, feeling your own nakedness acutely, feeling every inch of your body, and especially the building arousal and moistness between your legs. You savour the touch of his clothes; you caress his now-bare chest, revelling in just the sensual feeling of your skin on his. Your explorations continue as you undo his pants, allowing them to fall in a pool at his feet, stepped out of quickly. Underwear dispensed with, your fingers stroke his erection, feeling the blood and tension of it. His hands rove over your body, feeling your breasts, rear, thighs. His lips follow, brushing and nibbling at your ear and throat, following down to your nipples, gently sucking; you gasp as his finger probes you, stroking around your clitoris, feeling your very wet, waiting lips. Maneuvering onto the bed, he pulls you atop him; the pressure of his cock on your groin is almost unbearably exciting and pleasant; you want to just pull up and slide him into you, but you pause as you kiss: the game is not yet played out. He slides up, reclining on the pillows, one hand behind his head, the other stroking you fondly, a broad smile on his face: the classic image of the master pleased with his slave. Your mouth descends over his chest, down his stomach. You lavish kisses on his penis, and slowly take him into your mouth. You feel him stiffen and softly moan as you work up and down his shaft, sucking, squeezing with your lips, your fingers caressing his balls and shaft. You flip your hair over, looking up to see his ecstactic expression as you slide your lips and tongue down to his balls, sucking one, then the other, into your mouth. You work him to the brink, closer, then farther, his hand on your head gently guiding you. He then gentle raises your lips to his, pulling you close to him, lavishing you with kisses and caresses. Lying you down on your back, he spreads your legs as his mouth plunges down into your pussy. He licks around and about the outside, just tasting and testing you. His tongue the spreads your inner lips, working up to your clit, where it slowly circles, gently increasing the pressure as you writhe and buck to match his rhythm. His fingers find you, and penetrate you, first one, then two, sliding deep into you and finding sensitive spots within. Your thoughts completely scatter as you feel the first orgasm building within you; when it comes, you moan, scream, thrash as he licks, sucks, teases you with his tongue and fingers. A second, and then a third, pour out of you as he continues, first lower, then faster, matching the pace of your arousal. Then, suddenly, he rises, and, half-kneeling over you, he slides into you. The actual penetration is so sudden, so filling and intense, that another climax floods through you. You pick up his rhythm, grinding together, rising to meet his thrusts. The orgasms come again and again, blending into one another, until you feel your own bodies seem to blend together: one span of sensation, touch, taste ... you vaguely remember turning about on your hands and knees, bending over, offering yourself up to him with spread legs, writhing hips, soft moans ...you vaguely remember his thrusting into you as you pushed back into him ... you vaguely remember mounting him, sliding up and down on his shaft, feeling it fill you ... you vaguely remember, in answer to a forgetten question, the complete submission of a your gasped yes, master ... And you remember his climax, his face contorted with ecstasy and concentration, as he filled you, pumped into you, hot, wet, your climax overwhelming as you collapse together ... You roll over and look about the room. The waiting projects are still there, still staring at you. You smile, softly, and gently stroke your lovers arm; he returns your smile. The busy day can wait, for a moment longer. -- Mail rec.arts.erotica submissions to erotica@telly.on.ca. Most software will automatically mail your postings to that address.