When it happened, they were both surprised. They had been for a walk, and had been caught in a sudden heavy downpour. Tom had allowed Emma to get changed first, and she had just gone into the bathroom to dry herself. She pulled on her bathrobe and towelled her hair dry and padded back into Tom's bedroom. He was stood in his wet clothes and Emma was unsure as to what to do. Stay? Leave? In the end she asked him and he smiled shyly and said she could stay.
'Let me help you then,' she said briskly, hiding her growing desire, he looked so damn attractive soaking wet, his clothes clinging to his every contour. He allowed her to help him strip off the dripping clothes. He felt cold to the touch and she tried hard not to notice his long pale limbs, and his lean torso, muscles clearly defined. Tom had been working out. Emma did not dare look below his waist, as already her body was responding to his beauty. She felt flushed all over, her face, her breasts, and the tell tale aching between her legs.
Instead she handed him a dry towel and went to sit on the bed wondering what to do, watching him dry himself through half closed eyes, and trying not to notice his thighs, gently muscled, and failed. She sighed happily.
He stopped then, suddenly, and walked slowly over to her. A slight hesitation, then naked he kneeled before her, knees apart, his damp head bowed. Her heart missed a beat painfully as she realised in that one gesture, Tom had just given himself to her. He saw her as his Mistress. She wished that she could take a picture, and then knew that the image of him, perfect in her eyes, kneeling before her humbly was seared in her consciousness forever.
She ran her hand through his damp fair curls, and grasping his head gently, she made him look up to meet her eyes. The look Tom gave her was a mixture of want and need and plain fragility, and something else too, fear. Emma traced his features with a finger and felt his muscles flutter under her touch. His breathing became quiet yet rapid. His hazel green eyes never left hers. She bowed her head to his, her long dark, straight hair falling around them, enclosing their heads and she kissed his trembling lips gently. He responded hesitantly, then with eagerness, but remained passive to Emma's own searching tongue. It was their first passionate kiss since meeting a month ago and once they had started it seemed they could not stop.
For a moment she lost herself, and all her senses were overflowing, full of Tom. When she slowly pulled away, feeling extremely drunk, she noticed that he felt unsure as to where to put his hands, wanting to hold her yet afraid too, so she gently but firmly told him to put them behind his head. He sighed brokenly, desire and fear intermingling, then she told him to stand up which he did quickly in one fluid movement. He automatically stood with his feet apart, and she was reminded that this whole scenario was not new to him. She, Emma, was the neophyte and for a moment she felt afraid. She looked into Tom's eyes and the green hazel pools were locked onto hers trusting yet still with that fear that intimacy brought out within him. He smiled encouragingly, though, knowing fully this was her first foray into his world and his trust in her spurred her on.
He kept his head slightly bowed, as she began a slow, sensual examination of his body, touching his beautiful head, his angelic features (if angels really did look like this man the Universe would be in a permanent state of ecstasy, she mused. Then she remembered her lover Faye telling her that actually that was the usual state of the Universe. Pure Bliss) his beautiful eyes, slightly upturned perfect nose, and slightly thin sensual lips, cheeks spotted with scarlet which she kissed gently.
She stroked his arms, which he was valiantly keeping behind his head and felt his muscles twitch. She took his hands in hers and guided them down by his side, looking at each hand in turn. Then she inspected his long, lean back, which was beautiful and she leant against him breathing in his fresh scent, and peppering light kisses down his spine. He responded by arching his back and groaning quietly.
Emma moved around to his chest and stomach and stroked his small erect nipples and followed the trail of pale downy hair between them down past his belly, stopping just as it became thicker. She missed his genitals completely, still not bringing herself to look and touched the top of his left thigh noting his lean legs were covered in darker blond hair, just the right amount of course.
Then she moved to his buttocks, which were small but in proportion to the rest of him. She noticed the long white, thin scars and wondered what he had been hit with or cut with and she touched each with the slightest feathery touch. Now Tom stiffened noticeably and quivered. She didn't remove her hand but she reassured him gently until he relaxed again. It was still uncomfortable for him, Emma could tell, but she decided to carry on regardless, and hoped that she had not overstepped the mark. He didn't tell her to stop; he didn't run out the room nor did he drop into a quivering pile on the floor. So she cupped each buttock in turn in her hand, and traced the crack slowly between the two. She felt his breathing deepen, and his body shaking, his desire now overtaking the fear.
Finally Emma looked at his genitals and saw that his smooth, long cock stood extremely hard. She blushed so deeply she nearly lost her own rhythm and hoped he hadn't seen her face. When she looked up his eyes were half closed, what she could see of them were smoky and dark. He was losing himself in her, she thought and she felt that first thrill of power storm through her own aroused body. Buoyed by this Emma returned to the root of his desire and stroked his bottom some more, enjoying the light quivering flesh under her gentle fingers. Then he spoke, his voice husky and broken,
'Do it,' he said sighing. She knew what he meant but wanted him to say it.
'Do what Tom?' she asked and then, 'and mind your manners my love.'
