Standing quietly in the half-light, watching her undress, he felt already naked, exposed, and humbled. His hands trembled with apprehension. He swallowed the dry jagged rock forming in his throat and felt his chest heave as she slowly unrolled her nylon stocking from a leg that would weaken the knees of all the world.
She would quiet the horns and barking cars. She would quiet the incessant crying and whining of the masses of people and the chorus of the city, the wrenching and churning shrieks of road crews, gurgling engines and the acrid smell of smoking brakes and screeching rubber. Hush the sirens, hush the beeping and clacking of workers working, building their empires of crumbling wealth. Silence the deafening clamor of worrisome stress and the incessant thumping of migraines, sharp shoulder aches and loosen the seizing grip on backs and necks. She would quiet them all. Hush them softly away until you feel the rhythm of long flowering up-to-your-knees grass swishing against your walk; feel their tips gently paint the palms of your outstretched hands with the sound of certainty. They caress your long fingers like the strings of a Spanish guitar, picking out songs that still your soul and quiet your gentle heart. Feel the softly consistent and brazen thump of tribal drums, a steady beating diet for your heart, of courage and fear, doubt and bravery, hunger and satiety.
Standing, watching her shame all his greatest imaginations, he realized that in those supremely perfect moments, she had just measured the weight of his existence. He stood before her as a small boy, staring up the coppered and milky walls of the Grand Canyon, humbled, acutely aware of his insignificance. Here he was staring at a creation that, in a moment, in a look, a soft curl of her lips, could erase decades of noise and frustration, strivings and failures, hopes and daring fantasies and transport him to a far off place covered in tall grass swaying to Spanish guitars riffs and tribal drum beats that move his heart to believe, yes believe, despite his terrible forgettable existence, that all her mystical movements could spirit him away to her.
The blackened night was pegged to the roof of the sky with gems and rhinestones, serving as the backlight that poured in through the window where the path of light, cut by the moon, led straight to her, and ended at her. She was the destination, the purpose. She stood glowing there, marionetting her shadows to dance across the floor as she slowly slipped from her dress. One step and she was free. She trolled her fingers up her sides and into her hair, alerting her bare skin to jubilant attention. She purred softly, tossing her hair back as she turned her face toward the window and addressed the night with a triumphant smile.
In a moment she was looking back at him, fixing her terrifyingly beautiful eyes and attention to him. He could no longer just stare. He was supposed to do something, something great, something magnificent, but all he could do was exactly what he had been doing, stare. The comfort of watching her had orphaned him to the ravenous feeling of expectation. But what was he to do? Staring back into those eyes wasn't just looking into gold flecks that violently attacked their green surrounding; he understood the intention that kept them lit with desire. He wanted to sing out, to croon, if he could, but instead he stood stock-still. He wasn't a movie star, he wasn't a rock star, he wasn't any sort of star and he surely couldn't do what her eyes implored him to do. So, he stood there, paralyzed by her, bathing in both the pleasure and the fear of her gaze.
She effortlessly glided across the floor and took his face in her hands. She studied him. Her breath was hot on his face and neck and her eyes looked through his walls and all his attempts to conceal his insecurities and weaknesses and she held his gaze until he stood before her, short of breath, and completely exposed. He shut his eyes to release himself from her. He felt her breath closer, dusting his chin and lips with sparks, igniting the tiny specs of explosive black powder on the fuse crackling through his body until they lit his skin on fire and all the hair on his neck stood on end. He opened his eyes. She looked inside him and he was finished. She gently pulled his face to her and softly whispered lyrics of honey on his mouth and let her lips form the words across his. She poured out her song on his lips and tongue while her hands and long fingers carefully undressed him, and he drank it in, intoxicating himself.
She dragged her nails down his chest and kissed his neck with an open mouth, sucking and kissing as if trying to free the skin from his flesh. She left a glistening trail of evidence of her mouths attention all across his neck, coaxing his heaving lungs and ever-ragged growing breath to disappear altogether. Gently, and with soft affectionate brushes of her lips down his throat she drew his arms about her waist, cinching herself to him. She paused to watch him watch her, to see his eyes pour over her body. That night he memorized every curve and detail of her body the way others would learn their prayers. She knew it and vowed inside to burn those memories to his soul like a brand across his heart.
She spun in slow motion in his arms, spinning the delicate skin of her back and belly in his hands until she was turned from him, arching her back so only her head and fantastically perfect ass rested against him. The brewing coals in his belly burst to flames and he felt himself harden against her. She purred again, basking in the moonlight and warmth of his tightening body. She turned her head to see him, biting her lower lip playfully, and snaked herself against him. She traced lazy swirls and patterns from his shoulders down his sides until her palms pressed and groped the taught muscles of his belly. His cock grew against her as she writhed and danced her body down his; letting his hands slide up her sides and stomach, past her ribs until each finger left its print across her erect nipples. She moaned gently. He swore under his breath. She was Aphrodite and he, a poor wretch, helpless to the melody she sung, spellbound to the charms with which she adorned him.
There was no hurry in her voice, no rush in her hands.
Patiently, kindly, she allowed him to roam her body freely and, at times, crudely. She lay her head against his shoulder and encouraged him with whispers of pleasure. Soft instructive moans, simple songs of delight, led his hands where she wanted them, and the gasps for breath taught him how she wanted to be touched. He laid a track of kisses across the back of her neck and slipped his hands across her hips and down toward her wet pussy. She arched her back and pressed her ass against him, cooing out her encouragement. She reached behind her and wrapped her hands around his massive throbbing cock. It felt warm and smooth, soft in her hands, but rigidly stiff. Her mouth began to water and her stomach skipped with excitement. She gently rocked her hips against his fingers, maneuvering them to lightly rub her clit. She moved her hands with each gentle sway of her hips, pulling and tugging on his cock with her hands and coaxing his grunts with a pouty playful moan. She looked up at him from his chest and half-opened her mouth.
"Tonight, I'll do anything you want. I'll be whatever you want me to be." Her voice hung on his ears like the smoky notes of a coppered saxophone. "I want you to make me do exactly what you say. Make me beg you to fuck me." She plead the command and fire ignited her.
She bit her lip and turned to face him. Her invitation changed him and he felt a boldness come over him like a sticky syrup. He smiled wryly and put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees.
"Put your hands on your ass," he told her, "and open your pretty mouth again."
Her body became electric and shot jolts through her belly and into her pussy. She felt herself get wetter. He let the tip of his cock brush across her lips. He stepped closer to her so the underside of his shaft rubbed slowly against her open mouth. Her lips felt thick and soft. The upper lip folded and contorted sideways as his cock shifted from side to side. Her tongue flicked out and whipped him as she contracted her lips into a dozen kisses.
"I know you want to taste this cock. You want it to fill up your mouth, don't you." Her eyes closed as her mouth opened with her nodding head. "Good. Now, spread your knees as far as you can go. Spread them wide so I know you want me to fuck that little pussy."
She obeyed. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair away from her eye and curled it around her ear.
"You can lick my cock from my balls to the tip, but you can't put it in your mouth. Understand?"
She didn't wait to answer. She held her ass in her hands and deftly lathered his penis with her tongue, stopping only to add a thick layer of sucking kisses on the underside of its swollen head.
"Is that what you want? Am I doing it how you want me to?" She queried with confidence.
He ran his fingers around to the back of her head and tilted it back so he could look into her eyes.
"Yes," he whispered through is growing smile, "now, I want you to suck it. I want you to try your best to take the whole thing in your mouth and swallow it. Put it down your throat so you can feel my balls on your chin. If you can do it well, I'll let you touch yourself."
She opened her mouth slowly, playfully. It was her acceptance and invitation. He guided his cock inside her opened mouth and watched her expertly inhale it. She slowly let it fill her mouth and slip over her soft, wet tongue until it hit the back of her throat. She looked down the length of his shaft and realized the challenge before her. Her stomach danced and her fingers pressed into the cheeks of her ass. She felt herself get wetter, craving to touch herself. She moaned lightly and came up his cock. She repeated, bobbing slowly at first, gaining momentum and distance with each downward impalement. She held his hips in her hands and looked up to him and asked him what he wanted to hear.
"I want you to fuck my mouth. Please."
