And the Gods Are Pleased

Tessia and Michael had met awhile back at various gatherings hosted by mutual friends. They had talked some and as time went on they found themselves gravitating towards each other, spending more and more time together finding mutual interests and curiosities, always lightly flirting. Today they spent a morning in the outdoors, in the good air, having fun, ending up at his place sitting on his porch talking in the shade.

He is a warm comfortable man, easy with words. She enjoys his easy banter and the way he touches her from time to time. He is one of those people who naturally makes people feel welcome in their presence. They talk about this and that, his slow baritone cadence soft on her ears and his hands loose and graceful adding nicely to the discourse.

The subject of sex comes up and then he starts talking about how men can learn to control their orgasms. He tells her that like some women, men can also be multi-orgasmic. All it takes, like any skill, is some guidance and assiduous practice. She cocks a questioning eye.

He goes on explaining how self pleasuring one's self is initially the way to begin and later finding a willing and patient woman to further practice with.

He tells her about physical techniques that help, like daily repetitions of squeezing the muscles that cut off a pee; the same as a woman does practicing Kegel exercises. It benefits the man by allowing him the muscle prowess to help him squeeze back an impending ejaculation. He also tells her the testicles can be gently stretched out when the they start to draw up in preparation for ejaculation. But these are only beginning physical techniques.

Then he explains that orgasm and ejaculation are not the same at all, but that there is a few moments delay between the orgasm and actual ejaculation. The whole skill is in reaching and riding the orgasm without spilling over into ejaculation, which zaps sexual energies and makes it harder to be aroused repeatedly, like some women can.

The real art he explains is to use ones mind, not to distract one's self by thinking of something else, but to notice the arousal, keeping it in a sort of active suspension, resting above the sexual energies by using the breath. So when one is riding an orgasm and getting too close to the edge, a man can actually draw the sexual energy from the tip of his penis down the shaft, through the testicles and circulate it throughout paths in his body.

A man can actually have a brain orgasm or even whole body orgasms, just like women. He can jump on and off the orgasmic edge at will and last for hours. The more skilled he gets the better the intensity and the longer he can ride. That is not to say that sometimes he may lose his hardness, after all things need rest, but he can easily and quickly be aroused back to hardness.

Men are easy to arousal and quick to cum, like fat hitting a hot frying pan. And she chuckles.

He tells her he appreciates that women are slow to arousal, and how that makes them so much fun. And once a man takes the time to nurture her to a proper simmer, then she's there for as long as she likes. That's when its truly intimate, and special and fun. If a woman is sexually free-spirited, comfortable with herself, and tends to be orgasmic, and the man is passionately aware and bound to her limits, well, that's one of the most special moments in 'our' lives.

"And I'm trying to tell a woman this" he says, laughing at the irony.

She likes how he looked her straight in the eye when he said 'our' with the subtlest of emphasis.

He goes on saying women are much more complicated than that, and their full scope beyond my simple maleness, but you know what I mean.

She smiles knowingly. Then she ventures a shy question, asking if he knows how to do this.

Pleased with her curiosity, he tells her he does practice the art and she feels herself moisten. He smiles and she wonders if that is just coincidence.

He asks if she would like to learn a little about harnessing energies. She blinks a yes, playing along.

He has her stand with her arms at her side and tells her to imagine she is holding a sphere of energy in her arms about the size of her tummy. With words and touch, he guides her through his instruction and relaxes her body where needed; a gentle shake here or pat there to correct or relax.

"Now feel its weight and then lift it to chest level and press it smaller to about the size of a balloon, then push it out and bring it back in and raise it over your head and just push it and pull it around in the radius of your space.

Now make it even smaller about the size of a grapefruit and rotate it with your hands always feeling the energy and how it feels when contracting or expanding. Now relax and concentrate on breathing deeply from your center, concentrating on a place located below your belly button.

Now swivel your hips to move it. Walk it around and set it on the floor and pick it back up. Now just gracefully dance the energy sphere slowly and freely around. Now bring it back to your chest and slowly push it back into your core."

She does not know what happened but she feels a tingle here and there, especially below her belly. She feels gently relaxed and light, as if suspended by a string.

He puts his hands on her shoulder and runs them down her arms then down her back and places his other hand below her tummy right above her mons. A sensual energy she's never experienced swirls in her center and glides off on paths, circling through her. It feels luxurious. She decides she'd definitely be curious for more.

Then as if he is reading her mind he asks, "have you had ever had a sensual massage?"

She feels a tingle slip to whirl deep within to where the root—to what she calls her tulip patch—grows. She smiles letting him know that she is definitely in, delighting in where this is going.

~

Taking her in hand he leads her to a nicely adorned room, warm and comfortable in its color and feel, simple with just a touch of elegance, but mostly homey. It is like a large master bedroom with a bath. It has a height adjusting massage table and a bed, some comfortable looking stuffed chairs with hassocks and bookshelves and a table with chairs and an exercise area spread with yoga mats. He asks if she would like to freshen up pointing towards the bathroom. She nods, smiling mischievously .

When she returns he is stripped down and draped in a towel. His smile is warm and confident. He envelopes her in his aura, making her feel comfortable and confident. He has soft brown hair and eyes, lively and gentle and a very smooth face, freshly shaved with a super deluxe ten-blade razor. He is a solid man not quite tall with almost heavy muscles, but loose, relaxed and nicely formed.

Her nipples harden a bit as she imagines feeling herself against him. He notices she has removed her bra as the tips of her breasts strain against her simple frock. He invites her to disrobe. She is feeling a bit naughty and leans over flashing him a glimpse of her breasts and she hopes her nipples. She reachs under her dress, pushing her panties down to her knees. Lifting a leg, slowly, she reveals the sensuousness of her white tender thigh and almost her mound. Then she slips her foot out of the silk. The panties as light as feathers float down her legs gathering around her ankles, revealing a trace of dampness. She blushes a little and he blinks kindly imagining her bare under there, his nostrils flaring at the hint of her scent. A thrill stirs in both their chests.

She cocks a hip and pulls the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders giving them a little shimmy. The dress starts to slide but slows over the gentle slope of her breasts and stops hung on her nipples. She drops a shoulder and it falls over one nipple and the weight of the fabric dislodges it from the other. Her breasts spill out, settling like cream. With a whispery gasp and a subsequent sigh, his appreciative eyes capture their splendor as he drinks them in.

The dress continues its fall, catching on the points of her hips, the fabric draping low under her belly. The sensual shadows that define the confluence of her thighs and abdomen are sweetly defined, pointing the way to her moistening pussy.

This is what drives discriminating men wild. She can tell by his eyes that he yearns for the feel of her, her taste, her smell, her body and mind. As brown-sugared nipples strut high on her breasts she poses proudly with one toe pointing daintily in, a hip jutted out, and the round womanly swell of her lovely belly. She looks as if she just stepped out of a long ago paradise, sensuous and lushly erotic.

With a shake of her hips she loses the frock, shrugging it to the floor. It pools around her ankles. As she steps out of it she detects a stirring behind his towel, a shudder of shadows, a faint pulse in the folds. In the thrill of that moment and before she realize what she is doing, she cups a breast squeezing gently accentuating her nipple. She blushes deeply and raises an embarrassed eye. He does not laugh at her or leer, but expressively adores the spontaneity of her sweet innocent gesture, beaming his affection. She clenches, silently sighs, and moistens some more.

~

He pats her up to the massage table asking her to lie on her stomach. Encouraged she glances back at him with a flirty eye and raises a knee to the table, her pussy lips parting, giving him a wink. He rocks back as if hit by a hot sudden wind.

He warms his knowing hands as gentle and light as a woman's. He splashes warmed massage oils into his cupped palms. Reminding her to focus on the sphere of energy in his hands he spreads it lavishly over her backside smoothing and soothing, easing her into it. She wiggles with pleasure. He pushes and spreads her energies like kneading out dough. He harnesses and gathers them and sets them in motions of tingling soft shades of colored wash, dashing and painting them lightly over the length and breadth of her. He spreads her legs a bit as he works her feet and calves and thighs.

As he works her womanly cheeks, her pussy lips murmur open with spellbinding motion, whispering and smiling silently, her clit peeking out expressing its need. He teases and toys with her, kneading the tenderest parts of her thighs, his fingers grazing and skimming her labial dew. Her fleshy little biscuit sits puckish and plump, all steamy and hot as if freshly baked from the oven, the top split clean and coated with a sheen of warm slick butter.

She silently wills him to her pinkness, wanting it now. Sensitive to her desires, he traces a teasing finger through her now liquid slit, but then scurries on, leaving her softly mewling, her ass raised high, and poor little pussy pawing the air.

It is only a tease and he quickly returns, sliding his thumb gracefully through the heart of her thickening lips. Slowly and carefully he slips it in, burrowing down into her magical tightness. She shivers and gasps. Between his tender fingers he swaddles the sheath where the Queen resides gently gripping her like a small soft bowling ball. With his other hand he slowly and gently massages the cheeks of her mound and joys are released from deep inside. The roiling swirl he has concentrated there is making her crazy. With very small circles and tiny thrusts she explores his thumb as he dazzles her pearl, taking her to frenzy and height.

~

Before she boils over he turns her to her back. Slathering her with oils and with great skill and touch, he performs his slow rolling dance, opening paths and circuits, guiding magical sparks, spinning and fluidly flowing, from toes, to head, now ass, then heart and breasts, the bombardment swelling her pussy.

He stands behind the top of her head drizzling a garnish of oil over her breasts gently working them slick and painting them pink. She feels his hiding cock pressing and rolling against her head as his practiced hands pleasure her. It feels substantial and heavy. She savors it, imagining it swinging between his loins, lying in wait ever so patiently, alert, ready for the pounce that will make her his meal.

He slowly swirls her tits around in lazy circles then swoops them up, and brushes them aside. Then lightly draws his draping feather like fingers along their tender undersides, stroking and petting them like sleek limber cats lounging a lap. He gently but firmly kneads and worries them, sometimes lingering and sometimes not. He grasps and pushes them to their peaks, nipples thrust heavenward, taut and quivering in liquid glow, as if offered to gods. He rolls and tweaks them between thumb and forefinger gradually testing her limits. With his palms he gently blankets her sweet pillowed breasts, capturing her nipples in the webs of his fingers. Then he floats lively fingers over the globed beauties, and like fine silk, they ripple over them as if caressed by a tickle of breeze.

Then like a child playing naked in the sheets on a summer bed, he throws his silky hands from her breasts letting them hover. She can feel the energy flowing in the vacated void. Then he lets his fingers fall, floating down gently, settling as light as a bee's falling wing. She likes that and he does again. Then he cups her breasts one at a time and rolls them between his palms, bathing it in ecstatic sensations. He makes a handful of them pushing south then scoops them back north pausing to kiss them on their very tips.

He steps to her side admiring her subtle loveliness, graced with wide set eyes, an earthy prettiness to her face and a cute merriment to her lips and eyes. She's so enticingly sensual like mud squishing through bare toes. Her dark nipples are like fat baby acorns strutting tensed and proud on downy breasts.

He gives them a gentle kiss and then pinches and plucks them and they are mad with sensation. He twirls and thumbs and tugs. He drops weightless fingers and rolls them around on the tops. He bends them aside and delights as they spring back quivering and alive. He touches his tongue to them and gives them a quick lick and she gasps.

He wraps his tongue around them and laps around their edges and flutters across and presses them flat. He softly sucks them in, massaging them with his lips. He walks his lips down lower and lower and swirls his tongue around and around sweeping her up in all sorts of joy.

He grasps their heft as they pulse on her chest and they pop up firm as he engulfs nearly the whole of them, mouthing and tonguing them and drawing his lips up the sides like skimming off ice cream plopped down on a cone. He lays his broad flat tongue against them and suctions them gently and they pulse like a calm resting heart.

He works her nipple as it lolls against the very back of his tongue working it as if dissolving a piece of firm tasty candy. He slides his lips up capturing her tall fat nipples and tugs them taut and laves and nurses and suckles and kisses, while fingers fondle and flow and squeeze and hold. She lifts to the pleasure, sweet strings of sensation zing to her clit and it sizzles.

~

Then with a light massage in slow careful motions, he smoothes and caresses and circles her chest moving around and between her breasts, then down over the swell of her womanly belly. His hands swoop down past her fecund soils, and up her tender thighs, then back to belly to breasts. Skipping on, he massages slowly back down to her dewey blossom causing her legs to part.

He splats on a generous dollop of oil and mixes and works it all in, her legs pressing wider. Her plump little mound puckers and grins. It wiggles, squirms and squeals and squishes. She feels herself swirling in a whirlpool of slick pulsing pleasures.

Then he grabs her whole mound and squeezes to center, and pushes and pulls and tugs it around. He presses it down, and pats it flat, and fluffs it up and spreads it out.

With one hand, he gently grabs it, delicate fingers enfolding her hood, her hiding clit as dizzy as drunken bees. He pulls her pussy up suspending it high. Then with the subtlest, gentlest, and tiniest of motions, stokes the flesh surrounding her womanly cock, exquisitely jacking the tiny thing off. She thrills at his touch, impelling its will, to please her.

Then with the greatest of skill, and still suspending it high, he toys with her. Like winging a yo-yo, he tosses it down, letting it spin, then draws it up and it whizzes back down. Doing it, doing it, again and again, 'round and 'round and 'round it spins. Then just clasping her mound, whispering fingers rustle over it like wind on new spring grass. He murmurs a warm satisfaction at her free-spirited response as he spins her close to rapture's dance.

Still maintaining his grip he lowers her and massages her vulva. Rolling her hips she undulates to his grasps mouthing her pleasures as he kneads her pussy's doughy cheeks. He works her plucky sex with his fingers and thumbs in a whirring, two handed, ten fingered shuffle. He palpitates every delicate convoluted fold and fat tender petal. His fingers page through her blood infused flesh, spreading her frosting to frothy peaks of creamy sheen.

Swiftly circling, he rolls her hooded pearl, now firm as a man's cock, all the while separating her folds and laying her open, her labia sassy and juicy and fat. Then he lays them gently aside, smoothing and spreading and petting them wide, forming the wings of a fairy. Rubbing her pretty lips in slow languid ways her pussy is like a circus: a madcap troupe, with crazy clowns and death defying acts. He takes her up, and they walk the high wire.

Her ears pick up the susurrus sounds of the steamy wetness emanating from her total arousal: the sweet tang, the succulence, the palpable scent. She croons, chorusing along to her pussy's song, as her pelvis pumps a rhythm. Her bubbling pussy simmers and steams. Gasps and moans rattle in her throat as she succumbs to the focus of his wonderful attentions.

Her clit is in a furious burn shooting embers and sparks and popping like stars on a moonless night. Gently he slowly slips his fingers back and forth either side of her hooded clit. Her rivers floods their banks. Like a captured bird, he uncages her clit to the air and the light. With finger like feathery down he lifts her free, urging her flight.

He floats down through her grand canyon, swirling in the whirlpool around her deep paradise. This is where the big fish feed. He casts and drops in his line. It makes her breath ragged. She rises to the bait and clenches him hard and he slips in another and her eyes fly open, then flutter shut as she oohs and ahs her storm's impending arrival. Swabbing his fingers in her shallows, he lazily explores her marshmallow grotto, slippery and mucky like rain-soaked clay his fingers scrabble for footing and purchase. Loosening and prodding and twisting, he fingers her slowly in sinuous ways, dancing a rhumba in tropical sway.

He pushes his fingers deep into the her drunken soil. She spreads wider and pulls back her knees. He slowly hastens the tempo and firms the pressure. She presses onto his fingers hard, squirming and thrusting against his fist. He tickles her clit while dancing her lead. His fingers plow and ply as she wails and cries. Massaging the flesh just above her pussy with one hand, he hooks his other fingers up inside her, probing for her special place. Finding it, diddles it slowly walking his fingers in place.

She begs for release. He is pleased with her wanton arousal. He has found her groove and continues the pace, not varying, not letting himself get too hungry for her finale. He tilts her on the edge, then draws her back. He bends to suck and tongue a nipple. Her body lifts, thrashing about like palms in a hurricanes' wind, her whole being bombarded with shards of piercing sensations, colors whirling. She writhes on his fingers, her whole body shuttering, her cum spilling.