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Archive-name: Casual/cremchoc.txt

Archive-author: M.A. Mohanraj

Archive-title: Composition in Cream and Chocolate

	You walk into the small room with its vaulting ceiling.  The

lights dim automatically as you take your seat in the comfortable

green chair.  A blond man walks across the darkened stage, and a

spotlight hits his face, casting sharp shadows across its pale lines.

He smiles at you, the sole patron of this most elegant club tonight.

	"A private show?" he asks.  You nod, waiting for him to

announce the act.  His smile deepens, as he steps back, gesturing

grandly at the room around you.  "Welcome to Wench Works!  Tonight for

your entertainment and...pleasure...we have a very special

performance.  Please sit back, have a drink, and enjoy the show!"

	The spotlight abruptly cuts off, and the man disappears into

sudden darkness.  Your eyes take a moment to adjust, and even when

they do the stage appears black.  Music swells in the background, an

invisble orchestra playing an unusual theme.  It is slow, controlled,

and somehow subtly erotic.  It leaves you with the impression of

massive power, chanelled into a thing of great beauty, and trails 

off tantalizingly, unfinished.

	A golden spotlight hits the bare stage, near the front.  It

moves slowly backwards, up the center stage, and focuses on a pair of

black boots.  Ever-so-faintly, you can make out silver tracery on the

boots as your eye, and the spotlight, follows them upwards.  The spot

outlines tight black pants, clinging to clearly-defined muscles in

long, lean legs.  The pants hide nothing.  They caress strong thighs

and narrow hips before disappearing under a midnight blue silk shirt.  

	The shirt is very thin and slides gently in the breeze from

the ceiling fan, turning lazily on this hot night.  You are sweating

as you follow the light, and a drop of perspiration slides down your

collarbone to fall into the crevice between your breasts.  You almost

regret wearing black tonight, as even a light chiffon dress is too hot

in this small room.  You take a drink from the glass on the table,

tipping your head back as the cool liquid slips down your throat, careful

to keep your eyes on the stage.

	The spotlight has paused, as if waiting for you to put down

your glass, and as you do so, it starts moving upwards again, and the

music returns softly.  It thrums a gentle counterpoint as the light

plays over a dancer's body.  There is little mass here, but there is

power in the shoulders, in the chest, in the arms.  The silk shirt is

buttoned all the way to the top, and a loose black vest hangs over it,

also buttoned.  You feel sorry for the man in all of the layers, and

feel a desire to relieve his...discomfort.  You restrain yourself

though, and your  only movement now is your foot tapping in time to

the music.

	The light refuses to move above his neck, though it expands

down to include his entire body, a sword of midnight and black lit by

the golden glow.  His hands slowly rise from his sides to the top

button of the black vest, which is also traced in silver.  He starts

to unbutton the vest, oddly caressing each button, sliding his hands

up and around, his fingertips circling before he tugs gently at the



	Your nipples are growing hard as you watch him, pressing

through the fragile fabric despite the heat of the room.  You re-cross

your legs, feeling the chiffon damp against your thighs, folds of

fabric trapped between your legs.  You continue to tap to the music,

the motion rubbing one leg against the other in a slow, steady rhythm.

	He does all three buttons that way, slowly teasing.  He shrugs

out of the vest in one smooth, practiced motion, leaving it to pool

behind him on the floor.  He reaches to undo the top button of the

silk shirt, and freezes as you lift your hand.  Evidently, he can see

you clearly, even if you can't see his face.  You crook a finger and

beckon him towards you.  He comes.

	He walks slowly off the stage, disappearing for a moment into

unlit darkness.  The music begins to increase in tempo, a slight

change that perhaps only a musician would catch.  Or someone

concentrating very, very hard.  The room is still black.

	Then the flicker of candlelight coming towards you.  A tall,

white candle, welcome against the darkness.  He walks around the

circular room, lighting similar white candles hung in wall sconces.

He then brings his to you, and places it on the table near your glass.

He stands silent, awaiting your pleasure.

	You can finally see his face, barely lit by candlelight.  Pale

blue eyes glow out of a pale face to match.  Silken blond hair falls

forward, obscuring one eye.  You reach up to brush the hair aside,

coming half way out of your chair.   He catches your wrist, smiling,

and shakes a silent 'no'.  He releases your hand and you let it fall

as you sit back down.  You slide down the silk shirt, damp in the

heat, pressing your small hand against his skin through the thin fabric.

	You slide it further, to the bulge in the tight black pants,

cupping your hand around quickly hardening flesh.  You run your

fingers up and down his inner thigh, moving up to caress his balls,

then between his legs to squeeze a firm buttock.  He stands motionless

throughout and only because he is so close can you hear his quickened

breath above the music.


	You then lean forward and gently breathe on that space just

inside his hip.  Reaching out with your tongue, you trace a path to

his now hard cock, nibbling gently through the fabric.  Your hand

between his legs pulls him closer and he sways forward, extending one

hand to the table for support.  The other finds its way to your hair

and wraps itself in long, black waves, pulling your head closer as well.

	You give him one more kiss and pull away, though.  His hand in

your hair is still, exerting no force.  You stand up, coming only to

his chest, and deliberately begin to undo buttons.  One, two, three,

four...using that same terribly slow movement that he taught to you

from the stage.  His chest is smooth, as you prefer, almost hairless.

You rub your cheek against it as you continue to undo buttons.  Five,

six, seven...and eight.  Finished, you reach up and slip the shirt of

f his shoulders.  It slides off, until caught at the wrists.  You

hadn't undone the buttons at the cuffs, and he is trapped within the

shirt.  You leave him that way.

	You begin to drop tiny kisses on his skin, following a long,

slow path down one arm.   You nip gently at the elbow as he tries to

remain still, and spend an endless time licking and sucking each

finger of his left hand.  You enjoy this immensely, circling the tips

with your tongue, biting very gently with your teeth, humming  in the

back of your throat in time to the swelling music.

	You then let go of his hand and return to his white body.  You

pause to mark him, sucking hard at the tender juncture of neck and

collarbone until a violent red mark appears.  You pull back to admire

your work, then pull your fingernails down his chest, just hard enough

to leave clear red lines, beautiful against the white skin.  You look

back up at him, and he is smiling.

	You go back to dropping kisses down his body, curving over his

chest, sliding down his stomach, your tongue licking at the sweat

coating his skin.  You nibble at his ribs, and his right hand, still

caught in your hair, pulls you sharply away.  Your head is pulled back

so you are forced to look at him briefly.  He shakes his head again.

You nod in agreement and he relaxes his grip.

	Now your fingers undo the button on his pants and unzip them.

He wears nothing underneath, and his cock is caught against one side.

You reach in with your right hand and grasp it firmly, pulling it out

of its prison and into the open air.

	The air in the room is cooler now.  A cold breeze is blowing

from up in the rafters, and the sweat is cooling quickly on your body,

chilling your skin.   You move closer to him and kneel down, your hair

falling around you.  You are an elegant line of black, your body

silhouetted in candlelight.

	You unlace his boots quickly, growing impatient.  He lifts

each leg so you can pull off the boots and toss them under the table.

Black socks go too, and it only takes a moment for you to reach up and

pull down the black pants, unpeeling them from his muscled legs.  He

steps out of those as well, and now stands clad only in the blue silk

hanging from his wrists, one hand still entangled in your hair.

	He is beautiful in the candlelight, glowing lion-gold.  You

rise to your feet again, and stand before him, still fully dressed

yourself.  You shiver in the growing cold, and lean forward to press a

chaste kiss on warm lips...but the kiss doesn't remain chaste for

long.  He captures your mouth in his, and the kiss turns almost

violent.  His tongue probes your mouth, exploring, as his hands clasp

your waist and pull you towards him.

	He cannot embrace you fully with his arms constrained, but his

fingers hold you firmly, the thin chiffon no barrier as strong hands

slide down your hips to cup your thighs and pull you to him.  His

warmth is welcome against the cold of the room.  His eyes glow pale

blue in the candlelight.

	You suddenly notice the music crescendoing, and you are

somehow sinking down to the lushly carpeted floor, underneath him.  He

is kissing you fiercely now, and you moan, arching up to meet him as

his fingers dig into your buttocks.  There is the faint sound of

fabric tearing and his arms are suddenly sliding up your curving back,

tangling once more in your hair, scratching down the dark brown skin

covering your spine.

	Your own arms are wrapped around his at first, but as he pulls

down the straps of the black dress, you relax your arms and slip them

free, curving up so he can pull down the top of the dress.  He quickly

unsnaps the front of your lace bra, freeing your breasts into the

chill of the room, their dark nipples firm and erect in the bracing

cold, and your own heat.  He drops one last quick kiss on your lips,

and then begins to tease your nipples with his tongue, tracing inward

spirals on your breast until he has almost reached the nipple and then

suddenly changing to the other breast, leaving you gasping.

	You only tolerate this for a few minutes before you reach up

and pull his head towards you, whimpering softly as you do so.  You'll

never know whether it was the whimper or your movement that caused him

to take pity on you, but soon his mouth is warm and wet against your

right nipple, sucking and pulling and nibbling gently while he rolls

the left in practiced fingers.  

	He then begins to nibble the skin of your stomach, your ribs,

pushing the dress down until it just covers your hips and he can taste

the salty skin near your hipbones.  Your moans are almost covered by

the rising music.  You are writhing beneath him now, begging under

your breath for him to please fuck you now, sliding your legs down his

sides so the chiffon rides high on your thighs.  The fabric inches

upward until you can finally rub your cunt against his skin, bare flesh 

against flesh.  

	At that he seems to break, and lifts his head from your body

long enough to look at you one more time.  Then he slides his hands

down and at first he seems to be removing your dress but he's actually

sliding it up and lifting you higher and he is suddenly plunging in

you, his long hard cock enveloped in your warm wetness.  The music

swells to a grand crescendo now, and the room is echoing as he moves

back and forth inside you.  Your legs wrap around him and you pull him

closer, using his body to pull yourself deeper and harder against him.

	And you are splitting inside and out and you are both sweating

now despite the cold, your slick bodies sliding against each other and

your long black hair sprayed out behind you like a fan against the

dark green carpet.  He bends down once more to a breast and bites and

your fingers are digging deep into his shoulders.  Your legs are

clenched tight against his body trying to hold him still but he is too

far gone for that and pounds deeper and faster and you are suddenly

screaming above the music and you are both curving into a sudden

frozen arc and the spotlight suddenly comes down on you both, blinding

white.  As you collapse into a pile of cream and chocolate skin, limbs

wrapped around each other, his head resting on your shoulder, a solo

flute arpeggios its way up into ending.

	As the spotlight fades to black, restrained clapping is heard

from the gallery up in the rafters.  The clapping swells as more of

the audience joins in, until the room is thundering with applause.

You relax, finally satisfied.


M.A. Mohanraj

August 29, 1993

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