“Why be a spectator when you can join in,” the note read.” I had just returned from doing errands with my arms full of groceries when I saw it posted on my front door. I stood dumbfounded, embarrassed, for a few moments before freeing two fingers up to retrieve the piece of paper. After entering my unit and placing the bags on the counter I stared at her perfect, curvaceous handwriting and the cheery smiley face next to her initials—what seemed to be two very contrasting features. Was she making an advance, or did she simply wish to meet a new friend? No one ever did accompany her on her swims.

A couple of days went by and she went about her usual sundown routine, glancing up at my double sliding doors every so often while she paused on the steps. I was too shy and confused to join. Then one night I heard a knocking on the door, right about the time that I began dozing off. “Please, come share some dessert with me,” she invited as I opened the door, standing before me with a sweet, yet mischievous grin and two glasses of wine. “My name is Nadia.”

Her chestnut brown hair spilled over her shoulders. The deep olive tone of her skin contrasted well against her long, flowing, lemon-yellow dress which, complemented by her citrus scent wafting in on the temperate night breeze. She really did not need the minimal make-up that she had on as her moss-green, almond-shaped eyes were striking as is. She seemed relatively simple until I saw the 6” heels adorning her feet. I wondered how easily she made it up three flights of stairs with them on.

“Well, are you going to just stand there clenching the side of the door or are you going to accept my invitation?”

Upon entrance to her dimly lit apartment I could smell an odd mixture of garlic and vanilla. The dishes propped up on the dish rack in the kitchen still had little droplets of water clinging to them. The only sound that could be heard was the hum of the refrigerator engine. She motioned for me to take a seat on the couch. “I hope you like flan,” she giggled, making her way into the kitchen. “It was the first time that I have made it at home and I nearly caught myself on fire.” Placing the dish on the coffee table she sat down beside me, and then offered me the only spoon. Again blushing, I nodded in appreciation. “You certainly are shy. Does one have to get you tipsy to loosen you up a bit,” she inquired, though not really waiting for a response.

I sampled her delicious desert, which seemed to me to be perfectly scorched at the top, then placed the spoon at the edge of the plate. Picking up the utensil she then scooped another bite, then raised it to my lips. “This is my grandmother’s recipe,” she said, proudly, guiding my chin between her index finger and thumb. “Now, keep this next bite in your mouth.” Her tongue moved over my lips then slowly crept in to steal the gelatinous treat. Holding my face still until she swallowed the bite, her moistened muscle circled mine before backing away. Only a fraction of the dessert was gone when she placed the fork back down on the plate, attempting to indulge in further introductory conversation. As she did so her nails drifted back and forth up my arm, the tone of her voice voraciously low as she inquired—me only providing one-worded responses.

After finishing our libation she stood and asked if I needed water. I heard the refrigerator open and close and when she came back she held a tall, filled glass in one hand, placed it on the table, and then stood before me, gliding her fingers through my golden locks—stopping to twist the bunches at the tip of her fingers. Then there was a long stretch of silence. She stared down at me with her hypnotic eyes and smile, the flicker of the pillar candles placed about the room framing her form in a strobe-like manner. Just as I began to close my eyes she stopped, knelt down to the drawer beneath the coffee table, and retrieved a folded piece of black cloth. Grabbing one of the frayed end strands she unfurled it, began drifting its edges back and forth across my exposed knees, then settling it over one of my shoulders.

“You can still see a great deal from behind your sheer curtains, you know,” she said, circling the couch then standing behind me. Briefly kneading my shoulder with the palms of her hands she proceeded to retrieve the cloth and raise it to my eyes. “Although you are nearly a mute at the moment your body cannot lie…,” she whispered into my ear, her tongue making contact and circling it as she divulged her intuitiveness. “Breathe, sweetheart….” Shivers radiated from the point of contact down to the tips of my toes. Her sweet breath folded around my face.

I felt her move away from me and round the couch then heard her open the coffee table drawer once again. Parting my knees she crouched and situated herself in between them, stroking my legs to put me at ease. From beneath the hem of my skirt she rolled a small, spongy object up my leg. “Do you trust that I will not hurt you,” she asked, continuing the slow, spinning motion. I hesitated, battled briefly with the conflicting thoughts in my mind. Her hands moved onto mine, placing one ear plug in each palm, as she instructed me to insert them inside of my ears. “Your challenge is to keep your hands beside you, and to resist the temptation to touch,” she instructed. I nodded. “I will tap your right shoulder when you are to take them out.”

My heart began beating frequently—its pulses raising my chest—once they were in place. She lifted one of my feet, removed my sandals, and proceeded to fondle my toes until my shoulders were relaxed. Her hot wind crept up, then descended upon my inner thigh as her arms wrapped firmly around my legs. In a lapping, teasing manner, her tongue danced upon my wanting flesh. With her hands advancing upward onto to my hips she began tugging at the side seams of my panties, gently sinking her teeth into my thigh. The hum from my rising moans, blocked by the spongy obstructions in my ears, seemed to rise from my chest and bounce around in my head. Kneading, nibbling, scratching, tickling, her motions increased in intensity—my body writhing forward into her embrace. I longed so badly to grip her flowing mane but I honored the agreement that we had made.

Halting her dance she moved over me, placing her knees beside my hips in a straddling manner. Weaving her fingers through my hair at the crown of my head, she held it motionless while delivering supple, fluttering kisses. My head titled back into her hands, mouth remained motionlessly agape, and the reverberation between my ears escalated. Releasing her grip she then moved her hands to the row of buttons on my blouse—carefully and slowly unfastening them until my supportive satin undergarment was fully exposed. She pried one cup downward, revealing the beckoning bosom beneath, proceeding to seize its girth and ardently bathe its pigmented peak. While granting the same attention to the other ample peak she freed her grip in my hair and drifted her hand down my torso in a contrasting, teasing manner toward the cloaked, balmy crevasse beneath my skirt. She merely brushed her knuckles up and down the triangular panel of the meshy fabric—repeatedly—as she continued her orchestrated provocation. With every stroke the fever rose within me. Ceasing her play only when I was clearly in a frenzied state, she rose from the couch, and I could no longer sense her presence.

With my loins quivering from the sudden abandonment I sank, frustrated, into the couch, my groans banging against my chest. Startled, my body slightly jumped at the sudden sensation of plump, warm, fleshy finger tips traversing the arch of my foot, but my tension eased once I felt a familiar twirl to a lock of my hair. My unexpected companion dove in, the contrasting sensations of bristly flesh and generous tongue causing my hips to rise violently, granting what Nadia had been withholding.

After a few moments attempting to regain composure I felt the signal on my shoulder. As I removed the ear plug the cloth was lifted from my eyes and before me was the image unfamiliar, smug man, and the whisper of a known voice.

“I would like to introduce you to my husband, Mark.”

“I love my food as spicy as possible,” I explain as the waitress leaves our table and heads towards the swinging kitchen doors.

“So, tell me Amber, what is it that you have been doing with yourself over the past month or so since we’ve last spoken. Are there any potential…suitors?”

“To be quite honest, I have given up looking. Besides, work takes up most of my time and energy and it would be unrealistic for me to take on any other such responsibility,” I explain, fiddling with my fingernails while images of my life’s reality dance through my head—night after night of watching sitcoms and overindulging in dark chocolate.

“That sounds a lot like my story. Do you ever get lonely? You know, do you ever just wish there were a warm body to lie beside?”

“Well, there is always pinky—all 10 pounds of him.” The attempt at humor does not go unnoticed, but he sits and awaits a genuine response. “I am, Mike, but what can I do? I just keep myself busy and try to forget about it.”

“Aside from intimacy, do you have any…physical cravings,” he questions, with a deep, probing glare.

“Let’s just say that one can only have so many rabbit, wand, and bullet sessions before it begins to lose its appeal.” He chuckles, sensing my wish for a change in subject matter and inquires about the happenings at my workplace just as the waitress returns with our wine.

Through the appetizers we sip and chat—the affects of the alcohol increasing and internal temperatures rising. He politely assists with the task of removing my cardigan. With it being the peak time in the bustling establishment, and the kitchen seeming to have a difficult time keeping up, we decide to order a full bottle of wine. His playful, humorous remarks increase. Our cheeks are fully flushed. I mention that getting out of the house and enjoying such delightful company should become a weekly adventure, to which he offers not one word in response. Instead, he tilts his head and rests his chin on one hand and raises the other. As I finish my sip of wine and return my glass to the table I feel his fingertips delicately drifting across my collar bone, then down my arm. I close my eyes, and for a brief moment it seems as if the surrounding commotion disappears. His hand moves to the small of my back then gently massages up my spine. As he moves closer to me I can smell the sweet wine wafting from his mouth—the heat of his breath on the nape of my neck.

“I think that it should be me that has the honor of awaking your ardent desires,” he whispers, moving his hands underneath the thick, vibrant table cloth. He opened his mouth as if to lick the lobe of my ear, stopping—and breathing—before making contact. Inside I beg for the release of his moist muscle.

“Mmmmike…,” I begin, halting once his hand traverses to my inner thigh. Somewhat startled, I open my eyes and scan the room to see if anyone is taking notice the activity. As I am about to close my eyes again I notice one woman purposefully viewing the happenings at our table. She smiles then proceeds to twist noodles onto her fork.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve smelled and wanted to devour you,” he breathes, delivering a gentle kiss to my cheek. Shivers radiate from the point of contact across my entire face. I uncross my legs, to which he promptly responds by lifting my skirt and gently scratching my skin. My eyes fixate across the room again to the female onlooker. From the expression on her face it seems as if she is aware of every movement and vicariously wishes for him to proceed.

Backing away from my face he leans back against the seat then slides one finger along the side seam of my panties—examining the softness of the black satin. He too scans the room and finds that we have a one woman audience and as their eyes meet the same expression surfaces on their faces. His wandering suddenly changes from easeful glides to direct, intent fondling. The panties are moved aside and he wiggles two fingers inside to gather my slippery nectar. I coo as he moves it onto my engorged button—somewhat embarrassed by my peep but already feeling myself so very close to the pinnacle and wanting to reach it. This he senses then slides his fingers back into my warm, wanting cleft. I wish for just one long moment for everyone in the room to disappear…but for our naughty fan, now biting her lip in suspense, to remain and view the finale. I lean back into the chair, splay my legs wide, and lock onto her eyes—not caring if my moans are heard by every patron. Two of the four in her party turn to see what has her so mesmerized at the precise moment our waitress returns to the table.

“I so sorry. Kitchen have many orders. I can get more wine,” she asks. He does not answer nor do his fingers stop.—as if to put me on the spot. So close to erupting and displeased that I cannot I involuntarily stomp one heel onto the tile floor. “Miss…,” she begins, now noticing my reddened cheeks and somewhat gaping mouth. “W…we are…fine, thanks,” I stutter, hoping that she will sense that I wish for her to leave, but she does not. “We will be right back,” I blurt, grabbing his hand from between my legs and standing up. Hastily I guide him by his wrist away from the table and head towards the front door.

Nearly running through the parking lot to seek a safe haven in my car, I see someone fiddling with their broken trunk latch in the space beside mine. “…Figures,” I grunt, stopping to think of an alternate plan. He…just giggles. On the far side of the building I see the entrance to a dimly lit alley and I quickly take his hand and move towards it. Once past the open chain link gate I notice a small dumpster and proceed to the wall beside it—backing myself onto the rough, cold brick and bringing his body close to mine. We kiss feverishly; I direct his hand between my legs and begin investigating his arousal.

“I believe that such a delectable tart should be savored, dear,” he teases, dropping to his knees before me.

“I want you inside me, Mike,” I gasp. He ignores my request, lifts one leg over his shoulders, and pries the saturated fabric from my flesh. I relent, fully lean back into the wall, and close my eyes. Continuing with the same momentum as where we left off in the booth his tongue dives and laps what has yet to surface, then furiously flicks my hardened protrusion. My moans fill the empty alley—the brick poking into my exposed skin going unnoticed. In response to my tightening muscles he repeatedly alters his rhythm and course. I grab him by the crown of his head, pull, and hold him at the precise spot. As he wiggles two fingers inside me I feel the mingling fluids slide down my supporting leg. My convulsing muscles grip onto his fingers as I loudly moan his name…for what seems to be many minutes. After it becomes apparent that I can no longer hold myself up he rises, brings my head to his chest, and firmly embraces my weakened, satiated body.

You have a talent, there, sir,” I mutter into his shirt. Consider it a friendly gift from someone you trust,” he chuckles, cradling my head.

After recuperating for a few minutes we head back to our abandoned table. Once rounding the corner we encounter the female onlooker, leaning against the wall with her after dinner cigarette. “I love the sound of the city,” she says, smirking.

There has always been something mysterious about you, since the day I arrived fresh on the job two months ago. I wondered what you were thinking when you stared, when you thought I was not paying attention. When I turned to look, you would act consumed by your work, with this odd grin on your face (What the fuck are you thinking?). Still, with every greeting there was this distant, aloof brush-off in return.

About three weeks ago you began appearing in my deep slumber, at first as a warm breath that would traverse every inch of my body–but passing my pussy–often settling on the nape of my neck (How did you know that was the spot…..of all places?). I tried falling asleep on my back but somehow I would awake in the morning turned over…? Sometimes, when awakening from a half lucid dream, attempting to regain consciousness, that I never could get out of, you would let me feel like I was free of you for a few minutes afterward. Then your breath would begin wandering again. I could not see you, but somehow I KNEW you were someone familiar to me….though I did not know your precise identity. After a few days of this, you began licking at random intervals. I could subconsciously sense my body twitch, the bed would slightly bounce, but there was no way out of the dream. Then you started nibbling….

Only to wake up in the morning, do my usual routine, and go to work. There you would be, not the slightest bit receptive of my greetings. When I knew you were staring I could feel your breath on me…taunting me. No grin, nothing,–just focus on the workload before you. I sat there trying to accomplish my tasks without continually being interrupted. (What the fuck is happening, Am I Crazy)?

Two weeks ago you gave me a break for a couple of days, made me think it was all gone…something conjured up from within my own imaginative, longing mind, …but you came back. STILL, I could not see, only feel, you. No licks or nibbles this time, you waited until I was dreaming about other things and started probing your fingers into my pussy…in slow, shallow, rounded motions. I began to smell the same cologne you wear….the scent that is in the air during my brief, nervous, rejected exchanges with you. My body started to quiver…and then you vanished, only to be back again the moment I began to think that I could be peaceful over, and over, and over again. Forcefully, your tongue flung into the depths of my wishful pussy, teasing me to the edge, and then pulling away. I could hear myself whimpering, begging you to continue…But you would not, again leaving me no passage to consciousness or opportunity for release. I swear I could HEAR you mocking me. I would wake up in the morning, pussy wet and shaking, soaked bed sheets, having to finish the task you refused to, haunted while I was furiously flicking.

There you were at work again, completely ignoring me. By then I was too nervous to even look your direction but could feel you FUCKING WITH ME. I could go about my business and there your fingers would be again…toying with me as I sat at my desk. It got so bad that at around lunch time I’d have to retreat to my car, behind the tinted windows, I would soothe my pussy by slowly fingering myself, until I became so intensely turned on that I would Fuck myself with my trusted portable probe. (I must be crazy).

About a week ago you gave me another break, but only for one night. My secure dreamland would be first cut off by the scent of your favorite lunch special from down the street…… and then it would fade away.

I would be jolted to a semi-awake state by the feeling of your breath over every inch of my body, fingers swirling madly inside of me, tongue gently circling my clit…letting off but coming back to FINALLY grant me an intense, full-body tremor.

I gave up trying to regain consciousness. As soon as the aftershocks would go away I would feel your tongue on my asshole, every other sensation along with it, and then your cock slipped slowly inside of me burning for the first few seconds. As you continually plunged deep inside of me, I could not move. This went on for hours, and every now again I could hear you whisper “you are not going anywhere”….As I pushed back against you.

I have been waking up every morning exhausted ever since, as I walked through the door this morning and greeted you, I did get a “Hello” but then a “Are you new here?” immediately following. Fucker.

“I thought that we were going to dinner tonight,” she said, after greeting him with a drawn-out kiss and glancing in the back seat. “I have a better idea that I am sure you will enjoy,” he assured, still caressing her cheek and studying her profile as if it were their first encounter. Smiling softly she sat back into the seat, trusting his discretion. “But, these shoes are not exactly four-wheel-drive, if we are going to be trekking anywhere….” “If there is a problem then I will carry you.”

Reaching beneath the passenger seat he retrieved a black scarf-like piece of cloth, gathered it at both ends and held it up head-width apart. “But, you know, I do want this to be a surprise.” She modestly grinned and situated her shoulders square to him once again. “Paul, you never cease to amaze me.” After securing the knot at the back of her head his lips briefly nudged against her forehead, then the car kicked into reverse.

Their drive was long but went by quickly, most of the conversation being led by his intentional questioning about the happenings in her life—if there was any new gossip she had about the people in her office, what she had acquired during her last visit to her favorite department store, if she had her hair trimmed over the past few days…. She enthusiastically answered, with heavy use of hand gestures, turning her head his direction every so often as if the blind fold did not exist.

For the last few miles of the drive the car moved slowly over the comparatively bumpy, meandering road. As he opened her door warm salt air drifted through the opening onto her face, neck, and barren shoulders. “Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes while I get a few things ready,” he whispered into her ear. Expressing concern about being blindfolded in an unknown place she began lifting the cloth upward with one thumb. “I can see you clearly at all times,” he successfully assured her.

She could hear his footsteps—the loose gravel crushing against the ground—as he traveled to and from the car, collecting from the back seat and trunk to set the stage for the evening. Lastly, he returned to her side and lifted one of her hands, guiding her out of her seat.
“You are going to carry me,” she chuckled, in response to the positioning of his arms—one across her shoulder blades and the other at the back of her knees. She obligingly threw her arm over his shoulder, giggling loudly as he hoisted her upward and began moving forward.

“Grass,” she chirped, hearing it crinkle from under the blanket as her body was carefully positioned on the ground. For a few moments he gazed upon her body adapting to the new surroundings—her knees twisting together side to side as she giddily ran her hands over the fluffy altar. The warming stroke of his hands on her shoulders eased her excitement. “I think that you could use a little bit of a tan,” he playfully suggested, lifting the bottom seam of her dress. Puzzled by his attempt at humor she hesitated to lift her torso. “Don’t worry, there’s no one around for miles, sweetheart.”

She lie there motionless, nervously biting on one finger, though still a grin of anticipation spread across her face as he removed her clothing. “I do think that tan lines are sexy. So, these will have to stay on,” he SAID teasingly, gently snapping the waistband of her delicate black lace panties against her hip, then sliding both thumbs under the blindfold to remove the obstruction.

The moon blared down upon her unclothed form. She turned her head in awe to survey the silvery sheaths it cast across the grass, over the rocky cliff, then dancing atop the rippled sea surface. It was a calm, tranquil night. “This is so amazing, Paul,” she breathed, turning her head to him. “I see that you have brought your guitar. Are you going to treat me to a serenade?” Smiling, he situates himself next to the picnic basket. “Yes, later, but what I had in mind for now is a lot sweeter,” he alluded, lifting the cap off of a plastic container and showing her its contents.“…interesting choice in fruit. There are many that you could have picked that are sweeter than cherries.” He retrieved one of them and dangled it just above her navel. “It has more to do with the added creamy coating. Would you like to try?”

His hand traversed between her thighs, slowly tracing the fleshy protrusions and moving his pinky under the side seam of her thong. She splayed slightly to allow him better access. “What are you going to do with that, Sir” she teased, eagerly awaiting its coldness to make contact with her moisture. Whimpering, she parted her knees further, the moonlight tickling the exposed crinkled edges of her bottom-most chasm. The other, he discovered, was already heavily laden with means to make the appetizer complete.

Her chest reached upward at the swollen moon. A sudden slight wind raised the follicles from her illuminated skin, and the brownish peaks of her supple knolls became more prominent. Wiggling the tiny object past her inner folds, he settled it for a moment in the pool of pleasure that had collected at the entrance to her pleasure passage. “Are you hungry, my dear,” he asked, moving it back farther along the path of her dampened muscles. She moved her hips further onto his fingers. “Only if you hand feed me.”

He lifted the glistening cherry just out of reach of her beckoning lips—a gesture which suggested she reach for it with her tongue, a request which she gladly accommodated. Lifting her head slightly she collected every bit of her nectar from the surface then devoured the juicy pulp. “Now it is your turn, Paul.” Her body writhed as she stared up into his eyes. His treat followed the same path to her now dripping nether region, collecting more of the slippery coating. Instead of bringing it directly to his mouth, he backed his hand from her body as to remove the cloth obstruction which hid her taunting pink pucker. In an easy, soothing manner one finger stroked the subtle lips which surrounded it. She stopped breathing, tilting her head back firmly into the blanket. The cherry was then tenderly pressed into the firm, yet yielding, passageway.

She, having never had that region of her body explored before, wanted more and the mystery of not knowing what could come suddenly jolted her into a frenzied state. “I will do anything you want me to, Paul. You may have whatever you like…,” she whimpered, grasping onto the blanket tightly with both hands. “I want that fine ass of yours smothering my face.” Somewhat surprised by his sudden, blunt request she smiled and waited for him to proceed explaining his desires. “Get rid of that thong, please, and back yourself onto me,” he ardently requested, making room for himself to lie on the blanket.

“Don’t be afraid to use all of your weight,” he assured, guiding her hips onto his head. She sat down, firmly resting her cheeks on his. He held her there, and not a sound surfaced from beneath her unclad body. Only the gentle lapping of the rising tide could be heard as it climbed up the cliff walls. Concerned after what seemed to be long moments that he had held his breath for long enough she started to rise, but he insisted—with a muffled moan and a firm grip—for her to remain situated until he could endure it no longer.

She hovered over his mouth, waiting for him to recuperate, but he only took in two deep breaths before his tongue began furiously flicking at the flesh which had just stifled him. Chills ran up her spine, and she positioned her knees as to further expose her undercarriage to him. Resisting the urge to gyrate to the rhythm of his strokes, she held her knees tightly. She could see from beneath his jeans his member fully awakened and reached for its firmness. “Now, turn around and fuck my face,” he commanded. “Grind that pussy into me.” Without hesitation she turned around and mounted his chin—her fingers woven through and gripping his hair tightly.

Although never having mounted anyone as such before she seemed to almost instinctively know how to increase her arousal, sliding her slippery slit over his chin and occasionally cupping it over his eager mouth. She was near climax, his face already drenched in a mixture of her flavorful fluids and his own saliva, but she held back the sensation. “Come all over my face, sweetheart,” he managed to audibly pant from between her legs, nestling a finger back onto her crumpled vestibule. Immediately she threw her head back, granting him his request.

The wind became chilly as the two regained the composure—her relishing in the last tapering tingles before crawling down onto him. She held him closely, affectionately licking all evidence of pleasure from his face.

“So, are you going to sing to me now?”
“Perhaps after we finish the main course….”

The moment our eyes connect my heart flutters, breathing quickens, and mouth drops. After two attempts to park straight I cease the engine and you approach and open my door for me. I step out and you guide me by my hand a few feet from the car. After a long few seconds you slowly begin to circle, your heavy glare moving over every inch of my body, that smile still streaming across your face. You stop again to the rear of me, drawing your mouth to my ear.

“Your smell, Amber, is something that I have missed so dearly,” you firmly whisper. “…all of your smells, Amber.”

I lean back into your chest but before I can reach up and caress your face you open the passenger door. “Meet me inside,” you say, unloading my luggage. “Yes, Mike,” I confirm, as you head into the courtyard.

Upon entrance to your apartment you stop me from proceeding past the door way, grab the bags from my hands, place them alongside the wall, and proceed to stare at my nervous form (Hold me already–please!) Seeing my clenched jaw and wanting eyes you nudge my chin up with two fingers, step only slightly closer, and peer directly into my eyes. “Have you missed me, my dear, in these months that we have been apart?” My head nods slowly as my eyes drift to your lips. “How much, Amber,” you ask, tilting my head back to fix my eyes back on yours. “More than I have ever longed for anyone before. Mike, just as I have said in my e-mails. I need…,”

Before I finish you step away and interrupt. “Show me what you have on underneath that dress.” I smirk and lift the cloth over my head, dropping it next to me. “Oh, my you please me, Amber,” you confirm, the tone of your voice causing my nipples to feel like they very well may poke holes through by bra (Touch what is yours, Mike. It has been far too long). “Now, please have a seat at the table.”

Trying not to huff I make my way through the foyer into the kitchen where I see that you have prepared a few light dishes and have a bottle of my favorite chardonnay chilled and ready to cork. Blushing, I stop and look back, but your head motions me to continue on. “Mike, I adore when you cook for me.” Please, sit down, Amber,” you insist, bowing your head and pulling the chair out from the table, then tucking it back beneath my legs as I move down. Before joining you pour us a full glass of wine.

We converse as if we were best friends, never having skipped a moment without being in one another’s presence. After I take the last sip of wine you reach for one of the empty seats, retrieve a bag—fluffy, colorful ribbons dangling from the interior—and place it before me on the table. “I did think of you in your absence, sweetheart,” you sweetly affirm, motioning for me to open the package. As I reach in and feel leather, metal rings. “Oh, yes. New cuffs! Thank you, Mike. These are so nice and…sturdy,” I say, lifting all four onto the table (Oh, goody. I miss your bed frame). You sit beside me, asking for my wrists, then my ankles. The pungent smell of new hide arises as you secure the new adornments on. “What a great surprise, Mike..,” I begin, standing as if to collect our empty dishes but you motion for me to remain at the table and stack them to one side.

Rising from the seat I can feel the intensity building in you. Quickly one hand moves under my chin, grasping tightly under my jawbone. The other hand moves to my chest, pries the black lace away, and cups firmly. “How did it feel when I placed the cuffs on you, Amber?” Somewhat startled, I pause before releasing the first words from my lips. “…like I want to be a bad girl,” I chirp.

The force of your body moves me back onto the table. While one hand holds me down, your other races to my lacy briefs—fingers circling between the soft protrusions. “You are wet, Amber, very wet.” (Take me. Use me—hard. You know you miss this…) “That means that I am healthy, Mike.” The fingering becomes shallower, concentrated, stiffening that which cries out for your wandering, moist muscle. Backing off you stand before me, visually absorbing everything revealed before you. I wipe the puddles of moisture from my chin, feeling deliciously vulnerable. My legs draw together, twisting to one side of the table. With a near growl you move back over me, forcing my knees apart. One thumb slides under the clasp of my bra and rips upward, your other hand reaching for the side seam of my panties. My body jumps as I hear the first threads tear and your hands move to the other hip to remove the obstruction entirely, placing them just beside my head.

Anticipating something, anything, is coming I reach my hands above my head. My body squirms, back arches, and my hips thrust outward. “All of this is yours, Mike,” I slowly whisper. You wait a few long moments, watching my form writhe, before directing both hands onto my chest. “And these tits,” you question, firmly clutching. “Yours, silly,” I bellow, grinning. “You think that you are going to be bound. You like that, Don’t you Amber?” Tightening your hold slightly you release and situate your stare between my splayed legs and I tilt my head back and focus on the ceiling.

A deep sigh of release parts from my lips as I feel two fingers slowly make their way down my slippery tunnel—back out, and in again. My jaw rests, shoulders drop, as I begin melting into the table. “Keep your hands up and your legs open wide, sweetheart,” you sharply assert, maintaining the rhythm with your hand. All that can be heard are my low, sweet moans and gentle crackles every time you pull out. “You’re dripping now. That pleases me,” you say, lifting your two glistening fingers to my lips. “Taste….” I roll my tongue over their tips, close my eyes and part my mouth to invite them in further. As I fully engulf them, to their base, then feel a sudden pause.

“SMACK”—the sound seems to come after I can already feel the sweet, tingling sting blanket wanting mound. “M–m-mike,” I jump, “you hit like a girl!” The second is much harder. “Getting better,” I yelp, in a near demanding tone. “I like it when you play games, Amber,” you whisper, reaching for the pair of torn undies near my ear. “Open up.” I giggle defiantly and shake my head. “Oh, you want to be a brat about it,” you chuckle, proceeding to tickle my torso until my mouth gapes long enough for the entire lace thong to be stuffed inside. “Take it like a big girl, now,” You continue, after taking a few moments to study the image of my tousled hair, red face, and flaring nostrils. I knew what was coming. You never ease into devouring me. Your ardent sucking, nibbling, and flicking are perfectly mixed with rhythmic prodding of both of my moistened chambers, but you cease just prior to my pinnacle of pleasure. Growls surface from below the saturated lace.

Your hand moves to your belt, unbuttons your pants, and reveals your engorged, beautiful member. My mind moves past the yearning felt between my legs to anticipation, mouth moistens as you slightly stroke. “Are you ready for me, tasty one.” you inquire, rubbing the gleaming toadstool on my soft flesh, and entering my depths so briefly. As you pull out I can see my lips holding on until the last parting moment. I pant, wanting so badly to reach down and pull you inside me. You continue the shallow in-and-out rubbing movements. Abruptly stopping, you tuck yourself back into your briefs, and fasten the top button of your jeans (YOU MEAN MAN! GIVE THAT TO ME!!). “That ass, Amber, I want to see it,” you say, tugging your belt away from your pants. “Get up and bend over the table.” I begin trembling, frenziedly staring into your eyes and biting on the cloth. “Maybe I will reward you with what you want.”

Obliging, I sit up as quickly as I can through my light-headedness, manage to make it onto my feet, turn and place my hands on the table. “Put your face down,” you instruct, nudging my check to the wood. A few long, agonizing moments pass before I feel your hand move onto my shoulders, slowly traverse down the curvature of my spine, then settle to warm one cheek in long, circular strokes. Arching my back further into the motions, I am jolted by an unexpected “SMACK” and the associated burn from the blow. Beads of sweat trickle from my hairline as your other hand rises to my lips and pulls out the frothy fabric.

“Mike, I can take more than that,” I promptly gasp. As your stroke switches I close my eyes and brace for another crack against my bare skin but I instead feel your tongue creeping downward from my tailbone, then circling my puckered passage. My hips thrust outward in attempts to expose every inch of darkened skin then a heavy “SMACK” cuts off my attempt to breathe in. My head feverishly flips, wanton cries surface from my lips. “Sink inside of me, please, Mike.”

You continue to alternate sensations until my knees tremble, then motion for me to stand and turn around. Supporting and embracing me inward from the small of my back, you guide my lips to yours. In my state of rapture I follow, my faint coos intermittently pause the mingling of our mouths. My eyes widen as you guide my hand to the throbbing, engorged mass beneath your pants, which I swiftly unbutton then drop to me knees. “The finale could come very quickly, Amber. I almost did a few times already.” “I want to bathe in it, Mike,” I purr, looking up into your eyes and gripping your vein-laden member. Smiling, you cup the nape of my neck.

Down my mouth moves….You quickly fill my mouth, reaching for the back of my throat, and hold. “Oh I missed that, sweetheart.” I quicken my tempo. Within only a few moments the muscles beneath my lips begin constricting and I swing my head back to direct the feverish flow to come. Cascading forth, your warm fountain blankets my chin and neck. Pleased by its mass, I eagerly spread your blessing onto my chest and navel, and then nuzzle your spent nozzle against my chin. We linger in a long embrace—the only sounds being our tapering breaths and your refrigerator—before I make my way to freshen up.

When I come out of the bathroom you are already clothed and back in your reading seat, reclining. “I want to be close to you, Amber” you sweetly divulge, placing a pillow on your lap and motioning me to lie down. I dive onto the couch, cradle into the softness, and turn onto my back. “I did miss you,” you whisper, gazing down at me, stroking my head. Your knees lift me closer to your face. One hand grabs my chin, the other slides to the nape of my neck, bringing me to your lips. Our tongues dance, reuniting, my occasional nibble on your bottom lip increasing the rhythm.

“I forgot to restrain and pound you, didn’t I, Amber?” Immediately, my body is reawakened.

“When is it that you are scheduled to leave again?”

“In about three weeks

“Good, that means that we have plenty of time.”

“Rise and shine, Amber, and good morning. I hope that you are feeling well,” a low, cordial voice purrs. “I was just listening to the cd you left at the house. What if I were to bring it by and help you nurse that hangover? We could go to breakfast and drink a lot of water together.”

“Well hello, Mike,” I chuckle in response, acting as if I were surprised by his call and delighted to be taken away from the task at hand. “It’s a great mix and you are welcome. You hosted a wonderful party last night and I am thankful for our introduction. Could you give me about an hour and a half?”

At first I had thought that I would leave my jacket, but the previous night had been chilly. I came up with the clever idea of planting the music in his stereo—a mix of slow, sultry R&B tunes—so as to leave subliminal suggestions. He was charming, smart, and through my current roommate I had heard that he possessed magic hands. As I waited for the shower water to warm my mind seemed to forget the workload that I had yet to finish and focused on the prolonged sexual tension that remained from the engaging, playful conversations we had during the party.

After a brief greeting he enters the doorway, immediately cups my face in his hands, and brings my lips to his. We exchange only a few gentle kisses before his encompassing embrace propels his tongue into my mouth. Something tells me that I do not have to demonstrate my willingness to be taken, wherever it is that he wants to guide me. He releases me from his hold, places both hands on my shoulders, and gently kisses my forehead.

After an introduction to my lack-of-guard dog and a brief tour of my rental he points out that it is still early and that he would be willing to massage the upper portion of my body, if I were not too hungry. I blush, accepting his offer. He asks if I could provide him with a few items, and I meet him back in the living room with them. After covering the dining table with a blanket and large towel he signals for me to crawl upon the surface and lie down. Once I am on my back he again draws his lips to my forehead, moving his index fingers into my hair, temples, and jaw line. My mind wanders off—body basks in the satisfaction.

Cupping his hands around one ankle, he then drags his firm grip up the length of one calve, repeating the motion until my eyes loose focus on the lamp dangling overhead and finally close. He pauses for a bit and I then feel his warm breath move over the tips of my toes, his fingers probing the incepts of my feet. For nearly a half an hour his deep strokes conjure up moans of pleasure, echoing within the dining room, or at least that is how long it seems while in the throws of his generous offerings. Finally, his moistened muscle engulfs one of my digits, then proceeds to the others—lapping and nibbling at the tips in random intervals. From his angle I am aware that he has an unobstructed view of what lies beneath the hem of my skirt. The rhythm of his tongue is in tune with the muscle fluctuations radiating from the depths of my cranny.

His hands change pace and move to the sides of my thigh. In a somewhat drunken state I mumble “Thank you,” but he remains silent. Just as I begin to melt into the table I feel his hands briefly drift over my puffy folds and he then asks for my free leg. Having to conceal my moans from my slumbering roommate is beginning to excite me. He moves to the far side of the table, bends and fully parts my knees. How very vulnerable I feel splayed before him on the table, a limp ball of flesh, and how I wish for him to take what I so desire to give. I thank him, again, and he responds by inching his fingers under my panties into my wet, warm, wanting passage. They gyrate in shallow, circular motions—gathering my nectar. He frees one finger, and moves it down slightly, into a tighter casing. Immediately my back arches, legs open to the furthest extent, and I release a long whimper. Moving my panties aside to reveal my soft flesh, he laps in rhythm with his dancing fingers. I feel as if, for this moment in time, I am both an instrument and an oasis. He proceeds to intensely devour until my form shutters with oversensitivity, then when he finally ceases I lie motionless n the hard surface, unable to open my eyes.

Guiding me onto my side, I feel his warm body curl up behind me on the table. With one hand gently seizing the back of my neck, he moistens his member along the edges of my fervent furrow, and sinks himself inside of me. As a welcoming gesture, I attempt to slide myself farther onto him but in response he grips my ankles between his calves—commanding complete control over our movement. He dives deep, slowly, in emphasized spurts. I feel my warm reaction begin to drip form between us, down my leg. He increases the force of his thrust, holds me firmly in place, reverts back to the slower pace, and repeats. I can hear the evidence of my arousal, and so can he, with each advance. Collecting the glistening liquid, he raises two fingers to my mouth. As I suckle, he releases. It was a long, strong murmur. When finished he frees his grasp then gently kisses the back of my neck until we both regain composure.

I wobble into a sitting position and attempt to focus my eyes on his form as he dresses himself. My body…has never felt so relaxed. I cannot recall ever having had such an experience in my entire life. I lift my hands to my hair, flip the clump onto one shoulder, and attempt to finger comb the dreadlocks out.

“I can do that for you. Do you have a brush?”

“It’s right there on the counter, inside of my purse, if you would like to grab it.”

“Turn around.”

I comply, sit Indian style, and he then proceeds to carefully detangle my golden locks. As he manages my mess we hear a door open and see my disheveled roommate stumble down the hallway—pausing and squinting at the new sun beaming in from the kitchen window. She gives her belly a few scratches, yawns, and says “Oh, Amber, that cd hook worked a little quicker than I thought it would,” before making her way to the refrigerator.

“I might just pass out after I eat.” Half of his chili was devoured, much of which could not have been chewed very well, before he came up for air. His eyes were squinted, shoulders slouched, as he scooped one more helping of sour cream into his bowl then sluggishly mixed it in. “I understand that you’ve had a long day. It’s Friday night; we’ve nothing but snow to deal with in the morning. Why don’t you allow me to spoil you a bit?” A slight devilish grin spread across his face before his lips parted for another bite, which he made sure to chew thoroughly, teasingly withholding his answer. “You don’t have to move, if you don’t want to, but something tells me…that you will.” Savoring my last spoonful of chili, I abstained from commenting any further in spite of his raised eye browed reaction.

“Relax and watch a little television,” I suggested, signaling for him lie down on the bed and rest his head on the pillow I had placed upon my lap. Shedding everything but his boxers he wobbled onto the duvet, blissfully situating himself onto the cushion. His eyes closed as he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The palms of my hands kneaded into his temples, up to the crown of his head, then beneath the base of his skull—his mouth gaping and parched. “It is interesting that you are volunteering to put the sports channel on. It’s not usually your cup of tea.” I proceeded to work the tension from his shoulders, watching his eyes flicker open at the onset of every commercial.

Cutting into one of his drifting off phases I curled forward and reaches for the waistline of his pants and lowered my lips to one ear. “How do you feel, honey?” His torso writhed into the bed, signaling for me to proceed downward with my hands, while gentle moans rose from his lips in affirmation. Nudging my hand to the flesh just beneath his awakening member I kneaded tenderly until it was fully engorged. “You are awake now,” I teased, retracting my wandering hands and gazing down into his desire-laden eyes. “I believe you might be ready for my little surprise.” He smiled, expecting further attention to his warmed, wanting region.

“Alisa is very easy on the eyes, I must say.” His breathing paused. “She also seems to be very well-versed at tantalizing.” His face began reddening. “Don’t worry, honey. I am not mad. Just make sure your chat windows are closed before leaving the computer. She sure has some sultry photographs on her website.” With that I motioned for him to lift his head so that I could get up from the bed. “Wait here, please. I will be right back.”

After a few moments I returned to the bedroom wearing only a white satin chemise, waving a manila envelope before him. “You…didn’t….” He immediately sat up and attempted to grab the package. “I didn’t what?” Playfully, I hid it behind my back. “Did you order a photo set from her?” I giggled, girlishly, taking a couple of steps away from the bed. “There’s only one way to find out.” Tearing into the parcel I removed a small folded mass of plastic and handed the accompanying stationary to him. “I hope the two of you enjoy these. They’ve been sweetened to perfection! Love, Alisa,” he read aloud, sitting dumbfounded for a few long moments before I handed him the rest of the contents from the envelope. He squeezed it a few times, attempting to see through the layers of plastic, before separating the lips of the first storage bag.

From the second he retrieved a carefully-sealed bundle of delicate black lace. “You had commented on how pleasant she must taste, so I thought that we might as well find out.” Eagerly he unfolded the article and lifted it to his face. Slowly, I knelt back down onto the bed, both of my knees at his hips, straddling him firmly. “You look intoxicated already, honey. Is she as sweet as she promised she would be?” His eyelids gently rested as he repeatedly inhaled from the rear of the gusset to the front panel.

“I told her what we’d be doing with her panties the night that they arrived. She said to tell you that she wishes she could be here right now, her warm flesh pressing against your tongue. Would you like that?” Moaning deeply he grasped one of my hips, grinding his increased girth upward into my bare, moistened crevice. “This may seem silly, but it will only last for a moment.” Unraveling the lace from his grip I fully opened the garment and placed it over his head. He remained motionless as I lowered myself onto the floor before him.

Through the front slit of his boxers my fingers pried inward, firmly taking hold of, and revealing, his throbbing, dribbling endowment. Slowly I stroked up and down its length. With every upward motion Alisa’s essence filled his breath. Careful in allowing him to savor the moment to its fullest extent, I weakened my grip and slowed my pace. He panted from beneath the lacy sheath, the muscles of his member pulsating from the base up to its beckoning tip. With my tongue I tenderly followed the course, eagerly lapping up his viscous feedback.

“Would you like to know what the two of us taste like together?” I rose from his twitching body, removed the fabric from his face, and .stuffed the center portion between my fleshy folds. “Yes, that’s it, babe, get your juices all over it,” he stuttered, his hands further tending to his fervent desire. Once the cotton strand was satisfactorily slathered I dove onto the bed and proceeded to put slip the panties over my ankles and onto my petite form. My fingers danced beneath the fabric, preparing for his decent. “Dive, my dear….”

Forward he propelled his mouth onto the softened lace. Having always been a good marksman, he found my pulsating button with ease and embraced it firmly between his lips. Rocking his chin rhythmically back and forth and thrusting his fingers beneath the saturated panties, he quickly escorted me to near release. “Cum all over Alisa.” My body tensed. I held my breath, clenching the sheets. In one forceful moan my gratitude gushed onto his fingers. Still shuttering, I felt his stiffened member move momentously into my glazed grotto. “…one more time, beautiful.” After only a few deep, hard thrusts we cried out in unison, then folded into each others embrace. As we regained our composure our mingled essence dripped from between my thighs onto the comforter.

“Well, this play toy of ours is now ruined.” He rose from me and looked at the exploited item. “Perhaps, but we get a piece of Alisa again next week.”

“We got them dirty and now they cannot be used again.”

“Don’t worry. Alissa and I have arranged for one to be sent per week and for them to be sent back with our intermingled juices.”

He was also a pheromone junkie, which is why on this particular night he specifically requested that I not bathe or change my clothes before arriving at his apartment after helping my friend move into her new apartment. This request alone was enough to preoccupy my thoughts for the entire day, but added to it was the six month long yearning for the man that I had endured. My last relationship… did not work out.

Taking in my essence was the first endeavor on his list after he opened his front door to greet me. “You look just as captivating as ever, Amber,” he said, signaling me to fold into his embrace. He held me close to his chest, guiding my body along with his gentle sway while we breathed in unison. Feeling his arousal slowly begin to swell from beneath his belt buckle I clasped the side loops of his jeans and drew him further into me, my mouth instantly beginning to salivate. He nuzzled his chin then nose into the crown of my head, releasing a low, blissful hum as his fingers traced the contour of my spine. “Are you about to feast on me, Damon,” I giggled into his chest, “right here for all of your neighbors to see?” He stepped back, mischievously smiled down upon me, and suggested that we find more cozy surroundings. During the proceeding walk up a flight of stairs he remained four or so steps behind me—the flesh on the exposed portion of my lower back feeling the weight of his stare.

Stepping into his room I realized how much I missed his bed, how many past acrobatic feats I had performed on its jungle gym-like frame. This time he had sheer, brick red fabric clothing the top poles, cascading down to make fanciful sidewalls. The stylish, womb-like contraption begged to be slept in. After unfastening my restrictive, musky bra and unbinding my feet from my shoes I jumped onto his duvet and made myself comfortable. While he lit what seemed to be dozens of votive candles around the room I laid on my back, fiddling with the only object other than pillows on his perfectly-made bed.

“Open it, Amber.” Prying one side of the lid I revealed a shiny metal implement, glided one finger tip across the engraved handle, then lifted it from its casing. “Be careful, it is sharp,” he said, kneeling down to join me on the bed. Taking the knife from my hands, he shifted one panel of the draping fabric aside and placed it on the nightstand. “I would never want anything to harm that stunning body of yours,” he assured, moving back over me.
Playfully nudging his forehead into mine he spurted sweet, soft sentences of adoration while our closeness awakened the latent force within our bodies. “I can almost hear your body demanding me to take it from under that over-sized t-shirt,” he chuckled, sliding his hand beneath the obstacle then slowly peeling it upward from my waist. Upon reaching my mounds of soft flesh he raised his fingers and drifted them from one peak to the other—barely grazing the hardened tips. “Damon, I wish for nothing more than to feel all of you,” I eagerly gasped. “You will, beautiful woman, he promised, sitting upright and shifting to the edge of the bed. His hand moved the nightstand and picked up the knife, admiring it for a few seconds, then opened the top drawer. “I bought these a few months back specifically with you in mind,” he said, retrieving five scarlet silk scarves. As he turned back to me an excited grin drifted over my face.

“…you want me to please you, don’t you, Natasha?”

“That is kind of a silly question. Do you want to use those scarves on me, Damon?”

I sensed that he could feel the heat rising from my body as he knelt down to kiss me, fastening one of my wrists to the bed post then delivering gentle nibbles to my ear lobes and a trail of kisses across my face. Imagining how damp my panties must have been, wondering if anything had already surfaced through to my black tights, I parted my thighs to their furthest extent. Slowly he traversed his mouth over my navel, the only flesh exposed of my form, down to my dribbling crevice.

Weaving two more silk scarves intricately about my ankles, he then bound my feet to the lower bed posts. I softly chuckled, biting my lip and writhing into the bed. No, I did not have any qualms about being completely vulnerable to him. “You have…become very…creative, Damon, in the time that we have been apart,” I quipped. “You have become even more ravishing, sweet woman,” he purred, smiling down upon me and wrapping the final piece of silk around the palm of one hand. “What shall I do with this last one?” Fluttering the fabric over my exposed belly his other hand searched for evidence of my arousal.

He lowered his body closer, delivering one last playful kiss. Upon opening my eyes all that I saw before them were woven red strands. Continuing to nibble on my lower lip, he carefully tied a knot at the back of my head. Tracing the tip of his tongue from my hip to my exposed chest, one hand proceeded to my throbbing mound and nestled the fabric between my hidden folds. I knew that he wanted them fully-revealed—open…to him. I sensed his movement back to the night stand. My belly quivered at the thought of the cold steel on its surface.

He quickly lifted the cotton tights away from one inner thigh, slid the knife into the fabric, and ripped it from my aching region. I jumped, shook my head a couple of times, immediately becoming short-winded. He waited, and after a few long moments my body calmed only to become tense again to the sound of the gusset of my panties ripping. The slack on the scarves allowed my knees only slight inward movement. My lips trembled somewhat. He gently massaged my hips until my breathing slowed.

Starting at the base of one puffy fold, he fervently lapped upward, stopped, then granted the same attention to the other side, repeatedly, increasing with intensity with each passing. I imagined him fondly observing my reddish passageway caving inward with each breath that I took. He continued, his four ‘o clock shadow grazing my inner thighs until my sweet moans filled the room.

The cold blade returned and in one swift movement it ripped my shirt from the bottom seam cutting it all the way to the neckline. He rested on my barren, erratically-rising chest, and held me close to him. With every dip of his pelvis nectar seeping from my fleshy flower flowed around his engorged member. Resting his head upon my shoulder he whispered into my ear. “Would you like for me to be inside of you?” I merely sighed in affirmation. …another silly question. Caressing the nape of my neck, he lifted the cold metal implement to one cheek, and paused. My chest rose furiously beneath him, my mind vacillating between fear and ardent passion. He drifted the steel piece down my throat then circled my chest. I released a long, beckoning cry. Abruptly, he moved inside of me. The hours of anticipation causing my body to convulse,…around him,…onto him. For hours our mingling forms shifted from fervently fucking to gentle love-making, until our mouths were numb and the sheets were soaked with our fusion.

After unbinding my limbs and unveiling my eyes we laid on our sides, drifting our fingers through each other’s hair. Although the sun had not yet risen the birds were beginning to welcome it.

“I have never experienced anything like that before in my entire life. You have definitely evolved since we were together last. I must say that I was scared when you held the blade to my face and throat.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to stop?”

“I trusted that you knew what you were doing and would not cut me”

“My dear, it would take a considerable amount of pressure to slice you with this,” he said, sliding a metallic envelope opener from beneath one of the pillows.

“I am sorry that I left you out here, in a foreign place, while I took my time in the shower,” she apologized, standing only feet in front of me. “It’s alright, I am in no hurry. Last call is at 1:45, and your dog is a pretty entertaining character,” I nervously replied, still playing with Nalu’s floppy ears, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. I was fearful that the moment I tried I would fixate on her well-endowed chest, as it had always both intimidated and excited me. I had always been curious as to what they looked like out of a bikini top. I felt something from her that was begging me to indulge my senses. “I am so thankful that Rodney took little Ashley to her Aunties’ house today. It feels great to be able to have an opportunity to be ‘Nani’ every once in a while.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I held back a sincere compliment.

She turned her back and began moving toward her vanity. Taking the opportunity to marvel at her form I studied the backside of her thong as she opened the bottom drawer and retrieved lotion. Her rear had always been well-concealed under her bathing suit, as she preferred full-coverage. It was just as I imagined it would be—supple-looking, radiant, olive-toned skin with prominent tan lines. My heart began racing. The room felt stuffy. Nalu could no longer be used as a diversion as he had taken interest in his bone.

Through the vanity mirror she glanced back at me as she closed the drawer and lifted one leg onto the chair. I quickly moved my eyes to her hands in hopes that she did not see me admiring her. “You know, I have been meaning to connect with you for years but after having Ashley I found it hard to do so with most people. Now that she is getting older it has become easier to find free time,” she said, flipping the cap of the bottle back. She continued to inform me of her daughter’s preschool adventures as she slathered the cream around her feet and ankles. The scent of jasmine filled the room once the moisture hit her skin. It somehow melded well with the visual of crisp whiteness up against her deep complexion. Again, my eyes were drawn in to her flawless figure, this time her fleshy flower was peeking through her sheer mesh panties. This time, when I looked back into her reflection in the mirror, it was clear that I had been caught. She simply smiled, lifted her other foot onto the chair, and continued to talk while pampering her other stem.

Beads of sweat began forming at my hair line. I had known how to handle propositions from men and was a little disturbed and bewildered by my reactions when it came to an encounter with a woman. I knew that she saw my nervousness—my beet-red face, my eyes bouncing from the floor beside her to what was on display before me. She stood upright, piled another load of scented moisture onto one hand, pushed her delectable mounds outward, lifted the back of her thong, and proceeded to slather under and around the tiny piece of cloth. Wide-eyed, I listened while she continued her story. It was apparent that she knew what she was doing.

A part of me wanted to run—not knowing what to do or how to react—and another was telling me to relax and let the situation flow. After the lower portion of her body was gleaming she turned away from the vanity and approached me. She was speaking very quickly, using her hands for emphasis—her breasts bouncing and swaying back and forth. The sensual aroma seemed to surface from her skin and smother me.

At once she stopped speaking, sat beside me at the foot of her bed, looked me straight in the eye, and paused. That sweet, warm, genuine smile drifted across her lips as she raised two fingers to a few strands of hair dangling from my crown and proceeded to tuck them behind my ear. “Is everything alright, Amber,” she asked, in a low, seductive voice. I took a hard swallow and softly peeped “Yes.” She lifted my hand, placed the bottle of lotion inside, and turned her back to me. I did as she requested with a slight sense of relief, as it felt less like I was on the spot not having all of her tantalizing body revealed before me. As I spread the first stream from her neck to the base of her shoulder blade I felt, for the first time in my life, blissful softness. It was precisely as I thought it would be in the years that she had filled my fantasies. In circular motions I continued stroking to the other side of her toned back, all the way down the length of her spine. All of my apprehension had faded; I began to be in somewhat of a meditative state. After her flesh was sufficiently moistened I flowed with what came naturally—pressing the palm of my hands into her firm muscles, the towel unraveling and falling from her head as she tilted her head back. Her coconut-scented, perfectly-straight hair spilled onto her shoulders.

I collected her mane in a tight pony tail at her heads mid-section and tugged upward, causing her shoulders to relax. Shifting her head slightly to one side, I gazed at the contours along the peach fuzz-laden nape of her neck, her tiny supple earlobes beckoning for attention. I lifted my tongue to it, barely making contact, my heavy breath releasing into her ears. In the reflection of the vanity mirror I saw her gaping mouth form a subtle, long moan. My entire face began tingling, from that tiny region of contact outward. Opening my mouth, I tilted my head so that it may envelope the crest between the back of her ear and hairline. I delivered a gentle, intent peck, and she leaned farther back into me. One of my arms wrapped around her torso, and held her closely. Conflicting thoughts of wanting to cuddle and devour her danced in my mind, although the later overcame. In a slow, drawn out motion I sank my teeth into her open flesh, causing her to jump and somewhat hiss and arch her back. “I can feel that in my nipples,” she gasped. Switching the grip of her long mane to my other hand, I repeated the advance on the untouched side of her neck. It was far more sensitive than the other—causing her to squirm, though she tried hard to sit still.

“Would you mind helping me moisturize the front of my body,” she purred, slowly shifting her body on the bed until we were face-to-face. She squirted a puddle onto my hand and guided it to her cleavage. I slowly traversed every curve, marveling at their shape, texture, and…responsiveness—her contagious smile assuring me to continue. After becoming well-acquainted with every inch, she stopped my motions. “You still have an awful lot of clothes on. At least take of this top,” she urged, lifting the bottom seam of my tank top. She stopped to admire my black lace bra, running her finger tips over the surface. “We might as well get rid of this, too,” she added, sliding her thumb under one of the straps. “I have always wondered what it would be like to have hand-fulls. I have always felt that mine were a burden,” she said, cupping one of my breasts, lifting its weight upward.

“Now come closer and wrap your legs around my waist, like this,” she said, throwing hers over mine as an example. Sitting upright, top-less, our lips effortlessly connected, our dancing tongues gently flicking at one another. We sat entwined, licking, kissing, and exploring—me mimicking her movements. Her hand rose to my nipple, grasping it between two fingers. In a mix of subtle shakes and rounded, deep strokes, we heightened one another’s sensitivities. “They look like chocolate kisses, begging to be savored and melted in my mouth, Nani,” She placed one hand at the back of my head and urged that I follow through with that notion. I moistened the skin about one nipple—slowly, so that she may feel the warmth of my breath—then gently clasped my teeth around the erect peak. “You just bit into it,” she giggled, cradling my head closely. I continued to lap, …nibble, ending in a firm caress of her lips.

Her hands moved to the waistband of my skirt and massaged my hip before two of her fingers nestled under the side seam of my panties. I disengaged my lips from hers and watched as she fondled my fleshy protrusions; I saw her own from beneath the fabric—begging me to follow her lead. Lifting the bright mesh from her flesh, I nuzzled the backside of two fingers against her warm, welcoming folds. We both were attempting to move our hips inward, but our sitting position was prohibiting the movement. I suggested that we lie on our backs, entangled in somewhat of an l-shape. All of the focus from that point forward was at our pleasure epicenters. We worked one another’s panties into the moistened crevices—our glazed eyes smiling, our coos of enchantment rising from within.

Our fingers wiggled inward, traversing the warm, wet, walls—legs splayed to their widest extent. We cleaned the nectar from one another’s fingers,…then dove back into the feminine depths—our bodies writhing, moans filling the room. Her warmed fluid was intoxicating, making me propel forward, grinding into while I cleaned it from her flesh. We found the sweet spots in the midst of the damp muscular folds, but would stop once approaching completion—ingesting all of one another that we could. The tiny pieces of fabric could no longer hold all that seeped from our furrows, the excess trickling downward onto our rarely-explored caverns. Massaging the slippery wetness around the puckered surface, we teased one finger tip in and out. Our buttons were hardened—neglected and craving amenity—but the moment that we began messaging them…we heard the sound of thick-treaded tires pull into the gravel driveway.

Nani shifted the alarm clock next to her bed. “Well, I guess it is easy to loose track of time. We have been playing for nearly two and a half hours.” Immediately she headed to her closet, fetched a sundress, and grabbed a hairbrush from her vanity. I gathered my clothing and nervously began covering myself back up. I had just put my tank top on when Rodney came to the doorway of the bedroom, holding little Ashley held on one hip. He stood there for a long moment, with a devious grin. “I promised Ashley ice cream in return for being a good girl on the way home,” he said, turning his back and heading toward the kitchen. Nani came closer to me, still detangling the ends of her hair.
“I feel so ashamed, Nani, but from the looks of it Rodney does not seem to feel threatened at all.”
“No, actually, he had known of my crush on you for some time and urged me to finally follow through with my desires. He was the one to suggest this…taste test.”