And yet Her Closeness

I felt Leta mold against me as we lay in bed. My arms were wrapped around her. Her warmth radiated through me. Just being close like this was bliss.

And yet her closeness stirred me on a deeper level.

In the world most men live as pawns. We are moved by unseen hands into battles we do not understand. At times we attack. At times we defend. At times we are simply used as pieces in ploys which will not reveal themselves for many moves, long after our sacrifice is forgotten. The world likes us this way for we are easier to control as pawns than we would be as players all. And we too sometimes favor this for it is easier to live in small squares than it is to understand the board is a creation of our imagination and fears. Powerlessness does not require much thought. Freedom is scary.

And yet her closeness stirred me on a deeper level.

I cannot tell you many things that I know as absolute, but through no force or word could you ever dissuade me of the power the lust and love for a woman can bring in a man.

And yet her closeness stirred me on a deeper level.

I smelled the clean, soft smell of her there close to me. It beckoned me to breathe deeply of her, to take her in as part of me and hold her within me as a life-giving essence, and reluctantly required me to let her out with a sound which could not be described as anything less than a sigh.

"Tired?" she asked.

"Not in the least," I said. My lips were less than a whisper from her ear. My day had not been so long nor weary that I would give myself to sleep a moment sooner than I would enjoy with her.

She nuzzled back against me, her bottom pressed close to my groin. I was so very aware of the curve of her so close to my cock. The move had also put her breast close to my hand. It seemed natural for me to cup her breast against my palm. My thumb found the nub of her nipple, still flat against her breast, and could not help but toy with it in circles.

"mmmmmm," she said. She arched her back, pressing her breast more firmly against my hand and her bottom against my groin. Her nipple reacted to my touch, growing hard and tall, like the toggle of a pleasure switch. I found also that my cock was reacting to the closeness of her, growing hard too.

Her reaction and my reaction only enticed me to do more. I shifted so that she was welcome to roll back against me, her weight now supported more on me than on the bed. While that might seem confining in the description, it was in actuality more freeing, as it allowed me to use my other arm and hand to explore her body instead of being part of the pillow for her head.

My one hand worked her one breast, while my other hand sought her other breast. Her head lay back across my chest, her hair tickling my chin and cheek. I heard her breathe in short gasps as I kneaded her breasts. My hands lifted the full weight of her breasts, running along the underside as I lifted, coning them as my fingers closed into tighter and tighter cups, finally coming to a light pinch as my thumb, forefinger, and middle finger trapped and lightly twisted her nipples at the very end of my stroke. It was as if I tried to squeeze pleasure from her, as a baker might coax sweet icing from a delicate piping bag.

And yet I could not help but think that I might not have been as delicate as I should have been. The closeness of her stirred me. My hands upon her body stirred me. I found myself less capable of thought and more desperate to action. I wanted to touch her and touch her and touch her less as a poet composing a sonnet and more as a victor claiming a spoil. Leta was my woman, and I wanted my woman. My woman. Mine. There was no civility in that thought, only a primal desire, and I welcomed it.

I growled as much into her ear in words which had no form or clear sound, but possessed the greatest intent.

If a man can take power from his lust and love for a woman, can a woman not also receive power from the lust and love of a man? There are those in this world who would declaim a woman's desire to revel in the power of her man. There are those who would insist that such feelings are misguided menial subjugation. While the play-makers insist I nod and smile with them in agreement to such things, I spit at them from my heart's essence. But I would never think my Leta less than me - no, I often know she is more clever than I, and I see in the twinkle of her eye a spark I will never equal, let alone surpass. And yet I want her soft against me. I want to feel her yield. I want to take her hands in mine and feel her flow into my strength, and yes, my power.

I felt her hand reach my cock.

"What is this?" she said playfully.

I could only groan and growl in her ear.

Her fingers traced the sensitive head and formed a light grip as they slid down the shaft. Her hand worked up and down, up and down, my cock hardening more with each stroke.

"Oh my," she said playfully. If in my head I was all wolf, I could not help but think that in hers she was all minx.

The soft touch of her hand was maddening.

"What can we do with this?" she said playfully.

"I'll show you what we can do with this in time," I said. I rolled her onto her back and then in a moment I was on top of her, staring down into her eyes. She looked back at me, searching for what my eyes would suggest next, her breath coming a little faster now, her skin growing blush with arousal.

I looked at her for a long moment, then two. A man can see a thousand pictures of a thousand different women and see only bits and parts, but to have one there, one very important woman there naked beneath him, grinning at him, her eyes alive with fire, puts the rest of them to shame.

I leaned over her and kissed her hard, my mouth taking the next breath from her. I kissed her again and again. My weight pressed against her and I felt her arching into me. My arms came down around her, holding her beneath me. My leg pressed between her knees, and I felt her thighs open to me. The heat of her sex warmed my leg. My cock poked against her thigh. I kissed along her chin until she arched her head and then I kissed her throat. My lips worked their way down her throat and onto her collarbone.

I kissed her breasts, first the one and then the other. They were light kisses anywhere but near her nipples. And then ever teasing, the tip of my tongue worked its way to her left nipple. The fingers of my left hand played similar tricks with her right nipple. And then I simply let both fall upon her. While I took the one nipple in my mouth and drew upon it with my lips and flicked against it with my tongue, my fingers toyed with the other.

She groaned and arched beneath me.

And then I kissed my way down her belly, over the sweet curve of her belly, towards her sex. I could feel the warmth of her arousal as my chin, rough with a day's stubble, brushed down her mound. I breathed in the scent of her arousal. My lips to the sensitive center of her carnal body for the most intimate of kisses, I tasted the salt of her arousal on the very tip of my tongue.

Her sex at my eye level, I traced the crease of her from top to bottom, my touch so very light it did not breach the fold but merely whisked along it. She arched her back again; her hips pressed toward me. I heard the sweetest of mewls from her lips.

"And what," I said, "can we do with this?"

"Anything," she said. Her one hand had replaced mine on her breast. Her other hand curled in my hair.

I traced the crease again.

"Anything," she purred.

I spread her with my fingers and licked her pussy with the tip of my tongue. She moved in pleasure in a sort of dance which was still for moment, then a tense wiggle of her hips, another still moment, then a writhe which caused her to lift her hips towards me, as if giving her body to me for more and more, and then another tense moment which seemed to draw her away, as if the sensation was too much. I, as partner in her dance and as a man who wanted to possess her body, if not part of her soul also, felt more compelled to take her in those little moments she would dodge. Like the cat enticed by the mouse, her struggle drove me to pounce. And as she drew tense in the waves of pleasure which flushed through her, I sought only to amplify them more.

I drew the nub of her clit into a kiss and while I trapped it between my lips, I flicked and licked at it in a rhythm to match her pounding heart, and then faster, and then faster still. My tongue worked her clit like a little mad tool. And while it did not buzz, there was sound: Wet tongue upon wetter flesh. Her mewls. The raspy catches in her breath. My growls in the pleasure of doing pleasure.

When her hand knotted in my hair and told me she was near madness, I slipped a finger inside her and then a second. I curled and flexed them in a wicked come hither to stroke her sensitive inner sex. Her pussy grew swollen from within, her life's blood and essence concentrating in her sex, just as mine drew to harden my cock.

She was so very close now, so very close within herself. I have watched her as she has brought herself to pleasure before, I have even watched when she did not know I was watching, and just as I have pleasured myself when the need arose, the act of taking one's own pleasure is nothing compared to sharing it, giving it, and taking it from another. I reveled in the way her body responded to my touch. I reveled in watching her lose herself to me.

Like strings and brass my tongue and fingers worked at her in a mad symphony, driving her closer and closer to crescendo.

Then a moment froze as electric fire raced from her brain through her body. Her pussy pulsed against my fingers as her body spasmed. She writhed and cried out. Wave after wave, the pleasure pulsed through her. I flicked at her clit with tongue again and she went mad, now so sensitive, almost painfully sensitive, her brain amped to eleven and the circuits of her body open and overloading with sex as she came. She breathed in gulps, like someone drowning in pleasure.

I eased my fingers from inside her, this too causing her to shake from the sensitivity of her body. I put a loving kiss on her mound, then worked my way up her rosy flesh, past her heaving breasts, to face her. The look in her eyes was still a little lost in herself. I saw her wandering through the field of her pleasure, her arms held out so that her fingertips brushed the tops of the grain that grew there. But I knew she saw me, for she smiled, she even giggled, and then the giggle at a joke I didn't fully understand or could comprehend from outside her, caused her to blush upon her blush in the sweetest way.

I put my arms around her and held her as she floated back to me. I watched as the glaze melted out of her eyes and her breathing slowed to match mine. She nuzzled me and I kissed her forehead.

Her hand found my cock, only slightly softened from our moment of rest, and she said, "Oh, what can we do with this?"

"Anything," I said. "Anything."

And she bent over me, her lips trailing over my belly, over the tufts of fine hair which led to my sex. Her hand stroked the base of my cock, while her tongue worked at the sensitive head. In mere moments I was as hard and growing harder than before.

As a man, as a boy really, I can give myself an erection to feel pleasure. This touch. That feel. Yup. There it is. I'm hard and it feels . . . okay. It's a base stimulus response in the same way that putting a quarter in a slots of my youth caused the screen of my brain to light up and flicker with candy-colored pixels for three minutes. It is nothing compared to the art that is the erection I get in the act of loving and fucking my woman. When she teases me, when she flaunts before me, when she is simply there naked, or half naked, or fully clothed, posing deliberately or merely crouching to pick up a spoon that she has dropped upon the floor, that look of her, that feel of her within my monkey brain goes to my cock in a way that stirs me like nothing else. A thousand miles away, sitting at a stoplight in traffic, glancing at the extension of my hand which trails electronically into the world, I read a whisper meant to entice, and I feel it to my depths in places which the scantily clad model spread across the billboard over there will never touch.

I was hard. My woman sucked and stroked my cock, and I was hard. Her tongue flicked at the underside of the head like my tongue had flicked at her clit, and I was hard. Her fingernails followed the veins of the underside creating a sensation which is sharp and yet so very precise in a way that can only be described as maddening. And I was hard.

The hard cock wants to fuck. That in itself is both base and poetry.

I grunted and knotted my fingers in her hair to nudge her away from something that was giving me pleasure and towards something through which I would receive even more. She kissed her way up my belly, and I kissed her as she met me eye to eye, and I tasted the brief salt that was myself upon her tongue.

I looked fire and hunger at her and I saw her eyes widen with that tiny fear that all women know they need fear from all men, that dark whisper which says try as we might we still remain cavemen who accidentally on purpose developed the intellect to fly starships. And yet, using the word fear should not detract from the baited anticipation that look in women's eyes also belies. Is it not a tiny fear - is it not anticipation - which glistens in our eyes just as the roller coaster is about to take us over the edge?

I rolled on top of her and I held her beneath me. As I had before, I slipped my leg between hers and again I felt her hips part for me. This time, however, my cock would not be satisfied with merely poking against her leg. I found my sex grinding towards her with a will of its own. She moved her hips and her legs rose to greet me. My hard cock prodded towards the crease of her. Her hand reached between our legs to take the tip of my cock and run it along the slit of her pussy. She was drenched and hot from our play before and her orgasm. Her heat and slickness was maddening upon the sensitive head of my cock.

I thrilled in the anticipation of plunging into her.

And then I was inside her. And I held myself there a moment, enjoying the moment as her warmth and my warmth flowed together, as the very closeness of our skins melded together at these points where nerve-endings fire cannons at our brains.

The hard cock wants to fuck.

And I fucked her.

I do not quite know the way to describe that eloquently. To say that I thrust in and out of her seems so very mechanical for an act which was anything but so. And yet to say that I felt the sleeve of her stroke the shaft of me as our bodies moved together ignores the power of it. To say that I attacked her body through my cock seems frightful, and yet the liquid programs deep within my brain grunt yes, yes, YES! Take pleasure, the primal mind screams. Cock and pussy. Cock and pussy. Cooooock. Aaaaaand. Pusssssy. Through my eyes I see this closest of souls to mine writhing beneath me and I can only hope that the deep impulses which want her to give herself to me feel just as good.

And the fire lit itself deep within my brain, and there, THERE was that physical rush I feel as a man as my orgasm began.

He goes into the wind up, and there's the pitch! A spitball! Straight down the middle!

I cannot say exactly what it is, but there is something about cum which aches and aches to be released the moment it exists. As a young man, I marveled as I would project my string of pearls into the air and upon my lonely thigh. As an older man, I marveled at my body's human squirt gun once again, but now I get to leave myself within my woman. Noble not at all, prideful not in the least: Here, I give myself unto thee, like the modern Prometheus spreading the fire of my life amongst humanity.

Good lord, I need a nap.

I eased out of her and onto my side. She rolled against me. We fitted easily like pieces of a puzzle made from soft clay. Just being close like this was bliss.

And yet her closeness stirred me on a deeper level.