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Love in Bed
episode: "aching and naked"
"Think you've got it?"
"Yes."
"Repeat it back to me."
"You'll be seated at eight. I'll be your waiter. You'll say to go slow. At the end she'll want dessert, you'll put up a fight against it, but then you'll give in."
"Right."
"You'll order two slices of the gateau au chocolat, but I'll bring just one to the table and say it's the last one. Instead of serving it to her, I'm supposed to put it down for you. You'll take a bite right away."
"Yes."
"Then I'm supposed to run away and keep everyone away from your table."
"Yes."
"There'll be trouble over the chocolate."
"Yes."
"Okay, I've got it," said the waiter.
"You have my charge card number. Put the dinner on it. I'll slip your tip to you in cash when you serve the gateau."
"Okay, Mr. Pell."
The waiter waited. He should have walked away, but instead he waited. Then he asked.
"Mr. Pell, it's none of my business, I guess, but would you be willing to tell me what you're going to say tonight? Your punchline? The whole thing's leading up to some big question or announcement, right? When she gets mad you have the chocolate?"
"Sorry. Private."
Seeing the look on the waiter's face, he took pity.
"Are you trying to figure out how to say something to someone?"
"Yes."
"Keep your breathing steady. Realize you're playing for all the marbles. Reach down in for the most dangerous thing in your gut. No more than seven words. Risk everything."
~~~~~
Mr. Pell played it well, early that evening, by taking charge. At first, she resisted, claiming it was her turn to run everything, then gave herself into his control when he uttered a certain promise in her ear. He made up the game. The rules. He began giving intimate orders, which were obeyed. He teased in the shower, touching without letting her touch, her hands raised high above her head in imaginary bonds. He kissed without letting her kiss back. In the middle of a sweet one, he made her shudder from tenderness in his hands on her undefended ribcage.
The exquisite arc to full bloom required ten minutes of play after the shower. Then, he was in. A stroke. Another. Then out, all the way out, that sweet hollow feeling of loss, yes, that ripe male sadness when withdrawing unexpended -- a melancholy women do not understand.
Now he lay his organ against the orifice -- not in -- slipping against lips with the underside of cock.
"Rub me," she said, voice thick.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Rub me."
"Quiet."
Her head fell back, arms circled his neck, legs cinched tight around his waist. Her bottom rested on the dressing table, just on its edge. He stood planted solid.
"Please please please. Oh please in."
Ignoring.
He passed hands under her thighs, circled around to the mouth between, put fingers in place on the lips, pulled them apart and pinned them back, laying open the tender flesh. He renewed his slithering attack.
"Rub me ..."
"What did you say?"
"Rub me. Rub me rub me rub me."
He let more weight come into play. Oh, luscious sounds. Lust-insanity to penetrate grew, yet the fine agony of withholding prevailed. The male ache increased.
His left hand came up from below and tangled in her hair. He guided her head into the position he wanted, flashing his eyes inside hers for a wounding second, and opened her mouth with his, launching a wild kiss, its eroticism uninhibited and voluptuous. Her tongue tantalized, taunting him to chase it around inside, sometimes in her mouth, sometimes in his. Never, not for an instant, did his cock cease its rub, perfectly positioned against the sensitive folds of the yoni.
When she reached the edge of screaming inside the kiss, he stood up taller, forcing her head to bend further in supplication. It brought the underside of his cock more rudely in contact with her bud, the sure path up they had followed hundreds of times. He poured his mouth into her above and let his weight tell below.
At the first clench of her pelvis, he pulled out of the kiss to watch her face, saw the sure sign of the going, the going before the coming, and soon the sailing afar of body and soul, her breath running away like a horse wild with fright, eyes widening from the shocking flood-wave fast approaching, skin flushing red, and that distinctive scent, like a mushroom steeped in musk.
Her uninhibited bellow shook the air. "Oh oh oh oh. Oh no. No. No. No fucking no."
"All gone," he said, whispering into her screams. "All gone."
He continued to caress her organs with his cock all through her flight to its shuddering, gripping end, rubbing tenderly as she floated free. She drifted back to earth emitting lovely descent-vowels, looking unraveled, with no care to hasten composure -- deliberately showing her carnal satisfaction. He whispered words of endearment, dirty and sweet.
"That was a good one," she said with a laugh, eventually, with shiny eyes, still nearly breathless, clinging to his body like a primate on a tree-trunk. "My toes curled good."
He rocked his pelvis, to keep heat simmering as yin pressed yang. She cooed with each motion, especially each time an after-tremor seized the deep organs.
Then she looked him straight in the eye. "My turn now. Do what I say."
He nodded.
"Put it in," she said, voice aching and naked.
The tip lowered. The shaft changed angle. He let his weight fall. The puffed lips parted, and like a forlorn sojourner finding the way, he slid in. Wet insides encased him.
The sweet sadness vanished.
The tableau held for a breath of time. Then he felt her arms cinch tight around his neck. It set him off.
Immediately she could not speak, only issue gurgling grunts on each stroke. It was fast and powerful.
He stopped to regather. She whispered in his ear. "Push my legs apart."
He did it with urgent roughness, which made her cry out. He resumed thrusting, now finding the deeper yoni open to him.
"Yes, yes, there, fuck me. Fuck. Me. Like. That. Like. That. Like. That."
"Yes.
"Open me, fuck me."
"Yes."
"Hard, fuck me, fuck me."
He stood stronger than ever, planted on the floor, surrounded by the sounds and scent of sex, right at the edge of his own going. At the first sign she laughed.
"There. There you go now."
He passed all striving, set free his strategies, let them be taken up, swept away. Nothing could stop them from winning.
"Give me," she said. "Splash me."
Her hands gripped the vanity tabletop to brace for it. She removed her legs from his waist, held them away from his body with strong thigh muscles, more split-apart than ever. Her eyes invited him into the heart of sex -- penetration a man cannot believe she would allow, yet a woman will, will, she will. If.
It sent his stomach falling in wonder.
A final, massive stroke. His voice roared out. In her vagina the spray deluged the flesh, soaking her, thick and warm. All in, splash after splash.
They stayed joined and finished long, with laughter and looks, deep looks of pleasure and the most intimate truths that can be. They did not avoid these reflecting in each other's eyes. She squeezed. He contracted his shooting muscles to feel his organ pulse inside the slippery warmth.
"This is what you do to a girl," she said.
"Yes."
"You love her, she wants sex."
"Yes."
"She'll do anything."
Finally, she eased off the vanity to stand in his embrace, still filled with cock. She didn't want to let it go, she said, don't take it out, she said, don't ever take it out, she said.
He did, though.
Then, he watched to see if she would carry out the plan. Smiling up at him, she reached for the clean black cotton under-thing lying on the bed. With deliberate grace, she pulled the tiny garment on over hips.
"All nice and cozy," she said, tugging it into place, fitted into the delta. "All nice in me."
She reached for her dress lying across a chair, an ephemeral blue, with spaghetti straps. A tremor ran through when she settled the dress in place having donned nothing else under -- very few women could bring this off with taste and modesty yet still allow a simmering tease for the eyes. After a few runs of a brush through her hair, stockings that had their own way of staying up, and simple pumps -- she was pulled together, a lovely package with a ripe liquid center.
He savored every detail of this femme dance while slipping into his dinner clothes.
This is how you want it, the echo of a female screaming with sexual joy in your ears, your own libido drained out, its juice soaking the womb of your mate.
She lifted her face to him, glowing with color and heat, the flush of orgasm her only makeup. He knew the primal scent was strong on her skin. So too, for him.
"As we said, this is how I'll be. All evening. Aware of … inside," she said.
"Every once in a while, look at me a certain way. Show me you're feeling it, right then. Specifically. Squeezing."
"Like this?"
Watching her expression, his chest filled with the thrill of her unashamed daring.
"Yes."
"Okay."
"Let's go. I hope you're hungry, this dinner's going to be really special."
"As long as there's chocolate at the end," she said.
© John Kirnan 2003-2024
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She reached for the cotton garment lying on the bed and pulled the tiny thing over her hips, tugging it into the delta. Then, the dress, an ephemeral aqua color with spaghetti straps. A shudder ran through him when she settled it in place with a shimmie, having donned nothing else under. A few runs of a brush through her hair, stockings that stayed up by themselves, and silver dress sandals ... she was put together, a smart package with a ripe liquid center.
"I'll be like this all evening. Aware of ... inside."
"Once in a while, look at me serious," he said. "Show me you're feeling it, right then. Squeezing."
"Like this?"
Watching her expression, his chest filled with the thrill of her unashamed daring. She lifted her face to him, glowing with color and heat, the flush of orgasm her only makeup.
This is how you want it, the echo of a female screaming with sexual joy in your ears, your own libido drained out, its juice soaking the womb of your mate.