They had made an agreement that morning, over breakfast. With the pale sun low across freshly laid snowfall, turning the landscape into a fantastical dream, they themselves were warm and snug in the kitchen. Bright winter breakfast fruits lay on the table beside an ornate and steaming silvered pot of aromatic spiced coffee.
"We've been teasing you for a long time, now," he said. "But we know too much can sometimes interfere with day to day life."
They had discussed this at length. She craved denial. It made her malleable and submissive, coloured her life in fascinating ways, made her yearn for his every touch, gave her a strange strength of will. Sometimes, though, it overwhelmed her. Upwellings of emotions blew through her like autumnal thunderstorms. During these times, sometimes the best medicine was a night of orgasms - on occasion, forced, until she begged for relief from the pleasure, writhing and moaning, mindless and finally spent, crumpled on the floor like a piece of silk.
"I think you deserve some relief, sweet girl. Tonight, I want to rub and squeeze and stroke you and I want it to be everything. And then I want you to take yourself further. Not edging, not a ruin. I want you to take yourself to the most explosive release you can remember. I don't think that will be too difficult, after... how long?"
"Weeks," she admitted. "You are deliciously cruel."
"It must be desperate, sometimes," he said, and reached over to run a single finger lightly down the nape of her neck. Shivers cascaded down her back. Every touch in denial was heightened, the morning dew on naked feet cooler and more sweet, the world brighter and more alluring. "It's hard for me, too, to be giving you exactly what you want."
"Mmm," she replied, partly in agreement and partly in appreciation.
But there was something about his familiar sly smile, some secret. Clearly he had some wicked plan in mind. She gazed at him with lazy, appreciative suspicion, trying to divine his intention. In answer, he eased her from her seat, drew her to him and sat her across his lap, facing him. He planted gentle kisses across her chest, then entwined his fingers in her hair and drew her face close to his, to gaze deeply into her eyes.
"Trickery?" he said, a glint in his eye. "Me? As I say. I will touch you, without limits, no restrictions, in just the way you like. And by your own hand, you will explode for me. A promise."
She throbbed, deep in her belly. It had been so long. It would be so luscious. She nodded, pleased, and wriggled against his growing hardness that she felt between her legs.
"Just one thing," he added, with a little steel in his voice which made her take notice. "If you choose not to make yourself come, you won't be coming, or edging, or even touching ... until next winter."
She glanced out at the silent, snowy landscape, black and white and without a hint of colour. It would be a long time to wait. Why would she ever decline?
But then she forgot everything as he eased her dress up and dragged her closer, pulled his robe aside and impaled her upon his cock, one hand about her throat, another at the small of her back, rocking her gently. The intensity of his gaze captivated her as he sought every faint change in her expression, followed every gasp and moan, drinking her in.
"But you will come," he whispered. She felt herself floating towards the precipice, her eyes rolling back, her hips bucking.
"Now?" she begged. In answer he slid out of her, leaving her empty and yearning, just short of satisfaction.
"Tonight," he said.
Of course she agreed.
* * *
At some point that morning she noticed the box had appeared on the mantelpiece and her head became clouded with possibilities. She also found herself wet and sultry with desire. How quickly she had begun to associate that object with arousal. Her hand crept to the key upon the necklace about her neck, hanging just at the hollow of her throat. She fingered it thoughtfully.
The day crawled by. He was working in his office, she in hers. Every time she left to make tea, or visit the bathroom, the box refreshed her anticipation. She alternated her time between working and, when she couldn't concentrate any longer, touching herself, edging herself, stopping herself before she went too far. Hopeful it would help, it just made her more distracted.
Until at some point, around the end of their work day, she entered the living room to find the box missing. Her mouth became dry. She felt his touch at her neck; he had approached her silently from behind; and she pressed back against him.
"I hope we didn't disrupt your work day too much," he said. "Follow.". And she did.
* * *
As usual, the box sat in the middle of the bed, so dark and foreboding against the creamy bedclothes. He moved it aside, right to the top of the bed and beckoned she join him upon the sheets.
"I want you as relaxed as possible," he said. "In touch with every nerve. How about a massage?"
Heaven. This time he undressed her completely, her skin comfortable in the warm air, and undressed himself too, so he could use his whole body against hers.
He began to knead her shoulders with his powerful fingers. The pressure sinking into her muscles caused tension she didn't even know she felt to melt and flow like warm oil. She herself also melted, into him, as he found knots in her back, squeezed them through brief but pleasurable agony into a more relaxed state. She sighed and moaned at the caresses.
"It's like I'm playing a beautiful musical instrument," he said. "But how to occupy your mind, pretty thing? How about another tale? You must have heard about the proto-myth of the original lovers?"
"Mmmno," she murmured. "Is this more research?"
"Quite so. The mythology predates that of the Norsemen, that of the Tales Of A Thousand Nights And A Night, the mythology of Tibet. It is an ancient story reconstructed by analysing all of those tales, finding shared traits and working backwards. It was never written, you understand, just transmitted orally."
"I like things transmitted orally," she said. He gave her a gentle slap on her buttock. "Hush, now, wicked girl," he said, "don't interrupt the tale." She smiled and sank back further into his embrace as he continued to press her flesh.
"Back in the truly ancient times," he went on, "the Gods held themselves above earthly things and concerned themselves only with the life of the mind. They looked down upon mankind, who had yet to develop intelligence, and saw only beasts following their urges: eating, killing, mating.
"But two of the younger Gods were fascinated by humankind's urges.
"Veya was the Goddess of Wisdom. Stately and intelligent, she gave her name to the Vedas of India, and to our word for 'sight'.
"Canna was the God of Knowledge, although he was somewhat roguish and the aspect by which we come to know him now is more like the God of Cunning."
Now he worked at her scalp, finding pressure points upon her skull, alternating this with slow caresses, moving ever downward, across her face, her neck, her shoulders, as if she were being extruded through a warm, taut circle of pleasure.
"Both these Gods' attributes, you'll notice, are concerned with experience. Their names mean "to see" and "to know". And by their natures they both became intrigued by the human world of passion. They suspected that desire was powerful and could be blended with intelligence to evolve the world of gods and humankind. They would steal away to talk of physical pleasure and develop their theories. But soon it was not enough for them to ponder these things intellectually. They felt they could only truly understand by experiencing it themselves."
He had reached her midriff and now he slowed, stroking her belly, her thighs and buttocks in unending patterns which she found, quite against her will, her body reciprocated, pressing back against his fingers, slyly trying to guide them towards her aching pussy, longing for his touch. He was quite aware of this and kept his steady rhythm.
"Thus one night they crept through the palaces and gardens to the Spring Of Delight, from where the Gods sourced the Waters Of Ecstasy, one drop of which they use to anoint the head of each new-born human child, so they would throughout their lives be drawn to seek the pleasure hidden with their bodies.
"From the spring, Veya and Canna each drew a cupped handful of water and together, as they gazed into each other's eyes, they drank deeply. And as the waters coursed through their bodies, they began to feel arousal for the first time. They began to feel physical pleasure. They began to feel attraction."
Now his fingers began to tease at her lips, slow, even strokes across her mons, beside her vulva, somewhere between massage and devilish pleasure. She sighed and shuddered, trying to let his hands take their laconic course, hoping they would move deeper faster.
"So these two original lovers began a passionate affair. For a year and a day they partook of each others' bodies, enjoying every pleasure, exploring every inspiration that occurred. It is said that just one day of their experimentation inspired the entire Kama Sutra. And other days, other books, now long lost, which recount darker pleasures.
"But one day, the prudish Father of the Gods discovered their passions and became enraged. They had broken the sacred pledge to eschew earthly pleasures and had drunk from the Spring Of Delight. They had blended base desire with intelligence. If this knowledge ever reached mankind, the world would be transformed.
"In his rage he offered them a choice: to be banished, each in different directions such that they would never meet again, or to be punished together, to endure each other's agony but never to touch one another for comfort. After conferring together, the lovers not bearing to be parted chose punishment."
Somehow his fingers had parted her lips and begun to collect the moisture there, scooping, sweeping, spreading her leaking juices about her pussy, across her perineum, turning his stroking caresses into flowing, liquid delight.
"So the All Father had Veya chained beneath the mighty Falls Of Sorrow, whence the Gods collected the waters upon which they rained upon mankind all the agonies and vicissitudes of life. Every illness, every ailment, pain from the tiniest twinge to the greatest heartbreak, came from these waters.
"The waters would cascade down from above and splash upon Veya's body, sometimes in great torrents, sometimes in a fine spray, running across her skin, between her breasts, over the belly, between her legs and buttocks, causing her to writhe and cry out. And this would be Canna's punishment also. He would be forced to remain beside her and witness her agony."
