Archive-name: SpecMome/busy.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Busy





    A soft, firm knock on the door breaks your concentration as you

bend over your work.  With a sigh of resignation at yet another

interruption to your busy day, you stand up, stretch (from the

position you've held for far too long this afternoon), and walk to the

door.  As you pass through the room, your eye flicks with disapproval

over the queue of waiting projects: this one needs you today, this

tomorrow ... a flood of small, medium, and large tasks clamoring for

your attention.

 

    Dodging assorted bric--brac, you reach the door and pull it open

to a jingle of bells.  You're surprised at who your visitor proves to

be. Of the people you expected to find calling at this moment (the

landlord, a neighboring friend, a salesman perhaps), he is not one of

them.  Murmuring greetings and apologies for the frantic activity you

must return to, you half turn as he slips in, quietly closing the door

behind him.  At the lightest of touches on the shoulder, you glance

about to face him, meeting his eyes.

 

    The world stops, and falls quiet for a moment.  You vaguely feel

the rest of your body turn towards him, but you sense it only in

distantly, in slow motion.  For a moment stretched over eternity, you

are lost, caught by his look.  Your mouth goes dry, a thousand things

die unsaid in your throat, and a familiar thrill run through your

body.  Within you, a part of your mind wants to break away, continue

with the comfortable rhythm of the day, but you've already flown

beyond it.

 

    There can be a perfect, intimate, even sacred moment when the

hunter and the prey become one, when a communion deeper than words

runs between them.  At this moment the yielding of the prey is a

victory for both, the transfer and return of life, an exchange born of

respect and desire.  It is a moment, once in a thousand times if that,

which drives the hunter to hunt, and as you close your eyes and raise

your lips to his, you know that the hunted feels it as well.

 

    His lips are cool, as is the back of his neck as your arms circle

him. He embraces you, and pulls you close against him; you can feel

his arousal building already, and your body returns it without thought

or effort from you.  Your mind is a blur, but (far from a blank) it is

full of images, desires, memories of similar times and those far

distant, all blended together into a single, forceful desire to yield,

to acknowledge his challenge and answer it with your submission which

is a victory of both.

 

    The kiss seems to last forever; your tongues circle and dance like

snakes, back and forth between your mouths, a dance as complicated as

that of your wills, both driving to the same conclusion.  You step

back again, and again meet his glance; the final acknowledgement that

you have given the single yes, that you will submit to him, knowing

that in his mastery, it is your will to yield which gives it all

meaning.

 

    You lead him to the side of the bed; you are surprised to discover

that during the last glance, you undressed yourself, exposing yourself

to his appreciative, hungry glance.  (Although it might as well have

been said that he undressed you; his will moved your hands to undo

clasps and unfasten buttons as surely as if he had done it himself.)

You start to undress him, feeling your own nakedness acutely, feeling

every inch of your body, and especially the building arousal and

moistness between your legs.

 

    You savour the touch of his clothes; you caress his now-bare

chest, revelling in just the sensual feeling of your skin on his.

Your explorations continue as you undo his pants, allowing them to

fall in a pool at his feet, stepped out of quickly.  Underwear

dispensed with, your fingers stroke his erection, feeling the blood

and tension of it. His hands rove over your body, feeling your

breasts, rear, thighs.  His lips follow, brushing and nibbling at your

ear and throat, following down to your nipples, gently sucking; you

gasp as his finger probes you, stroking around your clitoris, feeling

your very wet, waiting lips.

 

    Maneuvering onto the bed, he pulls you atop him; the pressure of

his cock on your groin is almost unbearably exciting and pleasant; you

want to just pull up and slide him into you, but you pause as you

kiss: the game is not yet played out.  He slides up, reclining on the

pillows, one hand behind his head, the other stroking you fondly, a

broad smile on his face: the classic image of the master pleased with

his slave. Your mouth descends over his chest, down his stomach.  You

lavish kisses on his penis, and slowly take him into your mouth.  You

feel him stiffen and softly moan as you work up and down his shaft,

sucking, squeezing with your lips, your fingers caressing his balls

and shaft. You flip your hair over, looking up to see his ecstactic

expression as you slide your lips and tongue down to his balls,

sucking one, then the other, into your mouth.

 

    You work him to the brink, closer, then farther, his hand on your

head gently guiding you.  He then gentle raises your lips to his,

pulling you close to him, lavishing you with kisses and caresses.

Lying you down on your back, he spreads your legs as his mouth plunges

down into your pussy.  He licks around and about the outside, just

tasting and testing you.  His tongue the spreads your inner lips,

working up to your clit, where it slowly circles, gently increasing

the pressure as you writhe and buck to match his rhythm.  His fingers

find you, and penetrate you, first one, then two, sliding deep into

you and finding sensitive spots within.  Your thoughts completely

scatter as you feel the first orgasm building within you; when it

comes, you moan, scream, thrash as he licks, sucks, teases you with

his tongue and fingers.  A second, and then a third, pour out of you

as he continues, first lower, then faster, matching the pace of your

arousal.

 

    Then, suddenly, he rises, and, half-kneeling over you, he slides

into you.  The actual penetration is so sudden, so filling and

intense, that another climax floods through you.  You pick up his

rhythm, grinding together, rising to meet his thrusts.  The orgasms

come again and again, blending into one another, until you feel your

own bodies seem to blend together: one span of sensation, touch, taste

... you vaguely remember turning about on your hands and knees,

bending over, offering yourself up to him with spread legs, writhing

hips, soft moans ...you vaguely remember his thrusting into you as you

pushed back into him ... you vaguely remember mounting him, sliding up

and down on his shaft, feeling it fill you ... you vaguely remember,

in answer to a forgetten question, the complete submission of a your

gasped yes, master ...

 

    And you remember his climax, his face contorted with ecstasy and

concentration, as he filled you, pumped into you, hot, wet, your

climax overwhelming as you collapse together ...

 

    You roll over and look about the room.  The waiting projects are

still there, still staring at you.  You smile, softly, and gently

stroke your lovers arm; he returns your smile.  The busy day can wait,

for a moment longer.



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