Candlelight Sonata

After I light the last candle, I shake my hand, putting out the match. I step carefully over the rest of the candles, back out of the living room and into the kitchen. Taking a moment's rest, I look back into the room, surveying my work. My eyes move from one end of the room to another, slowly, taking in all the details I've worked so painstakingly to attend to. The couch is off to one side, against the wall; we won't need it tonight, and so it is best to keep it out the way. The carpet, a deep shade of red, is further muted by the dim lighting. It stretches from one end of the room to the other; our living room isn't that big, but fortunately it's big enough for what I have planned for tonight.

My eyes continue to sweep the room. Next I notice the candles, burning softly in the near-darkness. I arranged them in a roughly semicircular pattern, taking care to leave a decent amount of space between each one, so that we would easily be able to step between them. They don't contribute much light to the room, but they aren't meant to. The main source of light, the thing that I want to draw your attention to, is the small brick fireplace in the center. The semicircle of candles is arranged around this. There is a large space directly in front of the fireplace, covered in thick blankets, pillows, comforters, and myriad other soft, plush bedding. I took great care to make sure that there is not a hard spot or uncomfortable position that can be found in that nest.

The fire crackles softly, seemingly echoing off the walls. The gentle light it gives off complements that of the candles -- one does not overwhelm the other, instead, the two sources seem to intertwine. Despite this, the room is not brightly lit; indeed, I have to struggle to see the painting above the fireplace. My eyes continue to the far side of the living room, where the TV and loveseat now sit. The TV is unplugged, as we will not be using it for the rest of the night, and the loveseat rests comfortably on the carpet. The mere sight of it brings to mind the many nights we've spent cuddling close in its warm, enveloping touch, and the books we've read while curled up next to each other on its plush cushions. As fond as these memories are, this, too, will not be used tonight.

I complete my circle, walking back towards the kitchen. I look over the stove and counter. They are a mess, really, but cleaning up is a job for another day. My eyes fall on the stovetop, on the two remaining pans still perched atop the range. One contains faintly sizzling onions, sautéing quietly in butter. From the other, a slightly angrier crackle issues; this is the main dish. I pick up the spatchela, pressing gently into the compressed ground beef, making sure it's tightly packed and not about to fall apart. Though the burgers are already done, I'm keeping them in the pan so they stay warm for your arrival. I know you'll be home soon, but I can't help but feel anxious, anticipating your return as much as I am. I look briefly to the fryer, where hand-peeled potatoes fry in oil. They cook with a comforting hiss.

I keep a quiet watch over our dinner for a while longer before I hear your keys in the door. I seem to have zoned out, but looking at the clock I realize with relief that I've only been standing there for a minute or two. I quickly take the burgers out of the pan and put them on the waiting buns, and remove the onions in a similar fashion. The fries are done, so I swiftly empty them out onto a plate covered in a paper towel. I carry these to the table as I rush to greet you at the door. As I set the food down, I notice the table isn't quite ready for you; I resolve to remedy that before you sit down.

I get to the door just as you're opening it. I open the door all the way, greeting you with a smile and kiss. I take your bag, heavy with lesson plans and folders, off your shoulder, setting it gently down on the floor besides the door. You stand just inside the door, obviously exhausted and worn. I gather you up in a big bear hug, whispering in your ear that I have a surprise for you. As your body presses into mine, I notice that you're practically soaked through; it's been raining most of the night, though I've been too busy preparing for the night ahead to realize it. Pulling away from the hug, I cup your chin in my hands, look you straight in the eye, and kiss your forehead. You smile weakly; apparently your kids and the weather have taken more of a toll on you than I thought. No matter. I tell you that I want to hear all about your day over dinner, and suggest going upstairs and changing first, before coming to the table. You nod, readily going upstairs to our bedroom to change, and perhaps dry your hair.

Knowing you'll be down momentarily, I turn my attention back to the table. The burgers sit on their plates, ready to be eaten. The onions are in a bowl, decorating the center of the table, soft and brown. I get a match from the kitchen, and light the tall, lone candle in the middle of the table. Though it's a fairly large table, our places are set adjacent to each other, so we can be as close as possible. The candle lit, I move back into the kitchen to get the drinks. As I'm pouring, I hear the low, continuous whine of the hair dryer, and I know you'll be joining me momentarily. I place the napkins and utensils neatly on the table, and just as I get to the bottom of the stairs I see you walking down them. You've changed out of your work clothes, and are now wearing your favorite "around-the-house" outfit: a loose tie-dyed shirt and baggy plaid pajama pants. A small smile plays across my lips at this. You always comment on how this combination doesn't match at all, yet it has a certain subtle appeal that I've always noticed.

I take your hand as you reach the bottom steps, kissing it gently. I keep my soft grasp on your hand, using it to pull you into me. We kiss now, slowly, deeply, and sensually. My tongue parts your lips to find yours, and they begin to play; massaging each other, rubbing along each other's length. They then begin a game of cat and mouse, alternately chasing and hiding, flicking between our open, hungry mouths. We stop, not because we want to but because I've whispered something about the food getting cold. I lead you into the dining room, where the candlelit dinner of homemade burgers and fries takes you somewhat by surprise. You thought I was at work until just a few hours ago, but I called in sick today so I could come home and prepare this for you. I pull the chair out at your place, sitting you down gently with my hands, taking the opportunity to massage you. My hands knead the skin of shoulder briefly, hopefully taking care of at least some of your aches and pains. As I massage you, I lean down to whisper in your ear; a sweet nothing, perhaps, maybe something about an after-dinner surprise that only you and I heard, that only I know precisely what it is.

We sit down to dinner and I hear all about your day; about the kids who won't listen, and the other teachers who can't teach. Apparently today had been an exceptionally difficult day, but this close to the end of the school year, these kinds of long, drawn out days are to be expected. You vent to me between bites of cheeseburger and fries, and I listen carefully, although I barely grasp the politics of what goes on at your school. I do know, however, that there are certain teachers that I would love to have a good, long talk to; that these are the same teachers who give you grief is but an innocent coincidence.

After dinner, we go upstairs to brush our teeth. You begin to clear the table, but I stop you, telling you that I'll take care of that later. As I follow you up the stairs to the bathroom, I can't help but admire the view; your round backside swaying before me, the curve of your hips barely, tantalizingly visible through your baggy shirt. My thoughts take a decidedly sexual turn, but I banish these. Soon, I tell myself. Soon. But not just yet. As we brush our teeth, I can't help but notice the questioning look in your eye. You know I have something planned, alright, but you're not quite sure what.

After we've finished, I lead you back down the stairs, through the dining room and the kitchen. Right before we get to the living room, though, I tell you to close your eyes. You ask why, but your only answer is a sly grin and a low chuckle. I stand behind you, covering your eyes, and we walk slowly towards the entrance to the living room. Right in the threshold, I remove my hands from your eyes, and you take it all in: the entire room, softly lit by candles and fire, the light from both reflecting off the subdued maroon hues of the carpet and nest of bedding in the center. I move my head close to your ear, and whisper that you should lie down on the pillows and make yourself comfortable, that I will return shortly. You do so, and I stay in the doorway until you're comfortable settled, nestled in between two large pillows, reclining on a thick, soft, plush blanket. You make eye contact with me, send me a questioning glance, but I put my finger to my lips and disappear around the corner, back to the rest of the house. You wonder idly where I've gone, but you are too comfortable to wonder long. You know I'll come back soon, as I always do, and that I won't be gone long. Still, you can't help but wonder what, exactly, I have planned, though a twist of anticipation in your stomach and a warm feeling between your legs gives you a clue.

You've just dozed off as I return. Before I step into the living room, I'm frozen by the vision of you, in repose on the bedding. My first thought it to leave you alone, to let you sleep off the long hours and the aches and pains. I clear my head of this, though: I know what I have planned for you will relax you more than just simple rest.

I step carefully through the candles, making my way toward you. My footsteps make barely a sound on the soft carpet, yet you open one eye, peering up at me. You don't notice immediately what I have in my hand, and this is a good thing. I set my load on the carpet next beside us, and kneel down before you. My lips form a greeting, barely audible despite the complete silence surrounding us. You smile back at me warmly, fondly, and I see your affection reflected in your eyes. You ask me now what all this is, when I found time to prepare it, and what my plans are for the rest of the night, but I put my finger against your lips. In answer, I gesture towards the surprise I brought from elsewhere in the house. You notice that it's a small bucket full of similar looking bottles. Picking one up, you realize that they are all massage oils, of different scents and brands. You see a small, sly grin play across my face. Moving forward, I grasp your shirt and pull it gently over your head. I place it to the side, making sure not to toss it onto a candle. I lean forward, and our mouths meet. My questing tongue parts your lips, licking them softly, thoroughly, before your tongue moves to meet mine. When our tongues meet, they dance; caressing each other, flitting around our mouths. My hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to me, and my fingers entangle in your hair, massaging your scalp.

We kiss like this for a good time, though how long, exactly, neither of us is sure. At length, I move my mouth to the side of cheek, and up your jaw line to your earlobe. My kisses are plentiful and soft; I leave no spot untouched on my journey. I stop at your earlobe, and all you feel is my steady breathing against your ear. You hear a soft chuckle as you moan in anticipation, until finally I take your lower ear in my mouth, sucking, kissing, and sometimes nibbling gently. I do this for a moment or two, until I end by dragging my tongue lightly over the outer rim of your ear.

I turn my attention to your neck now, treating it much the same way as I did your earlobe. I kiss you slowly down your neck, starting from your cheek and moving lower. As my mouth moves lower, my hands reach around you to unclasp your bra. My mouth continues its southward journey as I remove your bra, placing it with one hand near your discarded shirt. By now, my lips have reached the gentle upper slope of your breast, and I dwell here for some time, placing large, soft kisses on each breast. My hands move to your shoulders, where they gently push you back onto your nest of pillows.

I now move to take your nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, letting my tongue roll around it. I fold my tongue around your nipple, placing more gentle suction where it's needed. I bite, ever so gently, taking great care that you feel only the slightest edge of my teeth. As my mouth focuses on one nipple, one hand moves from behind your back to massage your other breast. My hand covers you, heel up, so that my fingers can reach the tender skin underneath. These fingers caress your bare skin, never too hard, never too soft.

I dwell at your chest for some time, content to suck and lick you. You close your eyes, moaning every so often, but very quietly; I think perhaps this relaxes you more than your massage will. Or it would, if the massage I had planned was merely a regular massage. Grinning to myself, I reach over to my basket and remove a bottle of oil. You give a small moan, apparently slightly annoyed at me for stopping my ministrations. You pick your head up, watching me open the bottle, watching me pour the oil into my hands and rub them together, working it deep into my pores. I make eye contact long enough for you to see the mischievous grin on my face. The deep, sensuous scent of the oil pervades the room.

You see the oil on my hands, and put two and two together. You start to turn over, but I stop you, one hand on your shoulder. I slowly shake my head, my grin only growing wider. You smile back at me, willing to entertain whatever wild ideas I have planned. You lean back and close your eyes, making yourself comfortable once again.

Your eyes still closed, you notice I haven't started anything yet. Just as you're about to open them, you feel my slick hands on your upper chest, right above your breasts. My hands work the oil into your skin, thoroughly, deeply. They move to your breasts, where my gentle caress is no less efficient at rubbing the oil all over you. As my hands knead your impossibly soft skin, my mouth hovers over your nipple, and I begin to suck on it as my hands work. I spend a lot of time in this position; perhaps more than is absolutely necessary, but when I'm finished the oil is deep inside your pores, the outer sheen almost nonexistent.

My hands now move to your stomach. They repeat the motions here; never missing a spot, never forgetting an inch. I pay special attention to your sides, where I can get a firm, solid grip on your body. You hear a low, throaty throb of pleasure escape my throat as my head moves down to kiss your stomach right between my hands, as they continue to knead your skin. I kiss you down your stomach, my head stopping right above the strip of cloth that marks the beginning of your pants. I grasp the cloth in my teeth, then pull it back, playfully, while my hands continue you massage your stomach. I cover your stomach with many soft kisses before stopping, making absolute sure I've left no spot unkissed.

I pause briefly with my head suspended directly above your sex, but your only reaction is an encouraging noise made somewhere deep in your throat. I take the advice to heart, sitting up just long enough to hook my fingers into the soft plaid of your pants. You lift your hips, and the pants come easily down and off, joining the other clothes in a pile. I sit up now, quickly removing my own shirt and pants, which takes but ten seconds. They, too, join the growing pile of clothes beside our nest. For a few seconds after the rustling of clothing stops, you still feel no movement from me; opening on one, you catch me admiring your body, your lovely, curvy hips, your full breasts; your legs, soft as always, though this doesn't quite hide the strength I know lies beneath. You squirm slightly under my intense gaze. Though it's difficult to tell in the dim light, you know we're making eye contact, and you smile. I smile back, momentarily losing the calm, cool control I've exhibited so far. The smile that plays across my face is wide and genuine; noticing this, you return the same smile.

The smile lingering on my lips, I bow my head down, returning my attention to your stomach. You feel many more light, airy kisses, before I finally move down to where we both want me to be. I hold my mouth just inches above you, breathing in your intoxicating scent; I can barely keep myself from burying my head between your legs. Despite the temptation, I stay where I am, until finally you lift your hips, encouraging me to move forward. I do, thrusting my head forward, burying myself between the soft curves of your thighs. My tongue begins its initial licks, long, wide, and flat. I lick you from the very bottom, up to your clit; my head pushing forward the whole time, making sure as much of my tongue is against you as possible. I do this repeatedly, each time encouraged by the gasp of pleasure from your throat. My tongue begins to press inside you, and I stop my licking so that I may pay more attention to you here.

My tongue now swirls around your entrance, whirling, spinning, folding. I push inside you, each time further and further in. Finally, I push as deep inside you as I can; my hands move to your hips for leverage, pushing you up and into my hungry, searching tongue. As my tongue goes inside you, I move it in wide circles, trying to stimulate as many nerve endings as I can. You hear hungry, muffled groans from my throat as you cover my lips with your juices. This goes on for some time; my tongue pressing ever deeper, then swirling around the entrance, my muffled moans of pleasure and hunger vibrating against your sex, my hands, firmly on your hips, pushing you ever upward and forward. Finally I slow down; my tongue relaxes its movements, until it now makes lazy circles around your inner layers of skin. You feel me lick my lips, taking care to get every drop of you, not wanting to miss a fraction of an ounce of your sweet juice.

My tongue continues its lazy circles, taking care to not miss a spot. At length, I regain some of my composure, and I begin to move slightly further up...I find your clit quickly, and my mouth latches onto it, sucking gently. I take it in my mouth, whirling my tongue around it, alternating that motion with slow, full, wet licks. I hear the breath catch in your throat, and I continue, encouraged and turned on by the low, throaty, erotic sounds emanating from your throat. Your hips lift up again, this time of your own accord, and I know you want more. I oblige, releasing your clit, this time flicking only the very tip of my tongue against it. I do this rapidly, alternately taking you into my mouth. We hit our rhythm now, my mouth against your sex, your hips pushing you further into me. Your hands move to my head, pushing holding me in place, making sure I don't release you.

We continue like this for some time, though neither of us knows how long. At some point, I hear your moans grow louder, your pleasure obviously overcoming you. Your hips tilt up now, your back arches, and you moan my name over and over. I feel the muscles begin to contract, and at the invitation of your raised hips, I bury my face inside you, my tongue whirling madly around your sex. You feel my nose brushing against your clit as I push my face and tongue deep into you, deeper than before. My mouth opens against you as I feel your juices flow freely, my tongue greedily licks up every last drop. You feel my moans of masculine pleasure vibrate against you, but this is only a secondary feeling. You continue to come for a few seconds more, enjoying the hungry questing of my mouth and tongue against you. As your pleasure subsides, I pull back, but I keep my face close to you, still incredibly turned on by the scent and sight of you. I move my head to rest against your thigh, and you feel my warm, steady breathing against your wetness, and my tongue occasionally flicks out to lick you clean using those wide, warm licks.