I Love You 13

What is the nature of fantasy? Is the landscape of the imagination populated with only those erotic ghosts so far beyond the realms of the day to day that we become submerged in our own romantic idiom? Or does the frisson come from the knowledge that the fantasy could actually be reality and is just tantalisingly beyond the outstretched finger tips? I know where this belongs.

*****

I have longed for this.

I can hear the wind outside. I can hear the rain rush through the night in spiteful gusts. The streetlights peer apologetically through the gloom of the near Winter evening and refract in a glitter through my windows. The cold outside is palpable but it doesn't affect the closeness in my room. I always have the lighting very low and it creates a cosiness on the bleakest of nights. Tonight it is more than cosy. It is almost suffocating.

He is here at last. Sitting on the floor of my room, taking his boots off, smiling up at me and I can feel the tension between us like static. He is a wonderful conversationalist, sophisticated, witty and articulate, he even has moments of genuine wisdom. There are so many words I could use to describe his many talents. In so many ways he is an extraordinary man, although he would be the first to slap down such excess. However, time for the finer points of conversational prevarication has past. There is just one thing I want to do before I give myself up.

I look at him and laugh as I sit down on the floor with him,

"How far apart can you get your legs, just sitting on the floor?" I ask.

"What?!" He has a way of looking at me indulgently that makes me bridle but he shuffles forward a little and parts his legs. I sit in front of him and put one leg either side of him, moving forward, I can wrap my legs around his back. He moves a little to make us both comfortable, putting his arms around my waist.

"Aaah, Karma Sutra!"

As he holds me I am so close to him I have to move my own eyes from side to side to look into his. They are beautiful blue. I can feel his body against mine, warm and hard and my sheer physical arousal is something I only barely control. I touch his face very gently, letting my finger tips trace spider's webs over his skin, I can feel my heart beat like a hammer in my chest as he pushes my hair away from my face and guides me. I close my eyes and all that I can feel in the world are his lips on mine, sweet and soft, becoming harder and more urgent as the breaks are gradually released.

This is what we both wanted. Something sensual and personal and I have tortured myself with its anticipation.

He bites my lips, kisses my mouth, bites my neck gently, then harder and I curl my hands round his head and pull him into me. A small sound escapes and I know that I have now given control to him. He leans forward slightly and I tip backwards, bringing him with me. He is pulling his shirt off and I can feel the weight of his body moving against me as he undresses. I want to keep my eyes open, to feast on his smooth skin, the riot of sudden colours in the tattoo on his shoulder and the half sleeve in reds and turquoise on his arm as he reaches down and pulls my sweatshirt up over my head. I want to enjoy the curve of his neck and the definition of his shoulders, his chest, his hips. I want to gaze at his smile, the dimple in his chin and the deprecation in his eyes, the fan of his eyelashes. But my eyes close and I come alive to the gentle resolution of his hands, the sound of our breathing and the unmistakable scent of my response as he strips me.

I can feel myself almost shaking with pleasure as he treats me to his body. That smooth as silk soft, warm, hardness of caressed naked skin. I wind my legs around his back again and am rewarded with a growl of satisfaction and an instant demonstration of why my body has ached for this encounter.

He leans up and with the ease and strength of long experience, he pulls my hips towards him, spreading my legs apart and a shudder goes through me as I feel his strong, dextrous fingers at the tops of my thighs. I reach up for him as he bends his head towards mine again and, as he kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth, I feel his fingers pushing between my legs, sliding velvety into the wet, hot centre of me, fingering me. His mouth holds me and I can only make an inarticulate sound. Hanging on to him, I push my hips against his fingers. He kisses my neck and whispers,

"No, babe. Lie still"

I can feel my breathing accelerate as I try and control myself. Just the command has made achieving this harder and I can feel my arousal pulse through me like a blush across the skin. With careful deliberation he squeezes one breast then another, drawing up one nipple, then the other into a hard, exquisite erection. I have given up trying to be sophisticated about the noises I make and I simply moan as he begins to suckle at my left breast, teasing me with his tongue and his teeth. He pushes one finger, then another into my pussy, his thumb sliding easily through my swollen lips and resting firmly on my clit. He raises his head and pushes hard with his fingers. I try to do as I'm told and keep still but as he pushes again I know it is going to be almost impossible. And again...

"Oh God, please ..." It sounds so pathetic.

"Shhhhh. Tell me if you're going to cum."

He pushes my legs further apart and with the slow concentration of the truly dedicated, with the fingers of both hands, he delicately spreads the lips of my pussy like the petals of a flower. The smell of sex seems to fill the whole room. He bows his head and my entire existence disappears while he takes his pleasure from the only part of me that now matters, his tongue lapping and teasing at my cunt as he holds me down. He growls again. A low, slow, masculine purr of satisfaction and I feel control slip from me completely. I know this particular delight has been one we have both looked forward to, teased each other with, fantasised about and I want him to enjoy it for as long and as much as he desires. But I can feel my climax building and it becomes almost too much as he pushes his fingers inside me again.

"I'm going to .... I think I'm .." I somehow manage to say although all my breath seems to have left me.

He raises his head and I can feel relief and disappointment surge through me in equal measure. He helps me up and I cling to him as we kneel on the floor together. I can taste myself in his kisses, sweet and sour and salt and he kisses me lavishly to make sure I do.

"I think you probably need a little discipline." He says, smiling. He always uses humour to indulge me like this and I find it strangely comforting. I know what he has in mind. It is probably his most favourite peccadillo and in many ways, mine too.

The weather outside continues to wear the night down in torrents but only imminent apocalypse could distract me from this commitment. I find myself sprawled across his lap as he relaxes back on to my sofa, my arse presented to him as ready and ripe and round as he likes it. I feel his hands smooth the skin, caressing me and teasing between my legs as I open up wider for him. He is taking his time and I can feel my breathing become shallower and shallower as the anticipation builds.

The first smack sounds delicious and stings my backside viciously as the delights have so far been softer. It makes me gasp and jump but he doesn't let me relax again as he follows it up quite swiftly with a succession of perfectly weighted hits that blend into a warmth that spreads throughout my whole body. He holds on to my hair with one hand, the other hand again between my legs. I can feel the eye watering pull of the one and the other makes me shake as he fucks me hard with his fingers. Calming my flesh again, he resumes spanking me until my ears are ringing with the sound of each slap and the sighs and whimpers I make, now beyond my ability to control. I have no memory of anything but his hands striking me and my tears, this need to be his and to show him - sucking his fingers, his delicate touches on my back making me yield, each invasion of my body taking me nearer and nearer the brink, his soft voice,

"Babe, yes, oh yes shhhh mmmm. That's my girl. Good girl..."

He releases a final flurry that makes me squeal and then he helps me up, a living doll, a perfect thing of his making, warm, hurt, caressed, happy. I am in a daze but I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the sheen of perspiration on his torso, the slight tremor in his arms as he holds me which tells of the effort he has put into this. And his cock, hard and erect tells me what he needs now as much as I do.

I cant speak but I don't need to. He lays me down and now, despite my exhaustion and all my surrender, the moment is mine to control. He even gives me this and my desire is very simple. I need him to fuck me. Opposites may attract but not with the immediacy and understanding of highly adjacents and I know that this is what he needs too.

Feeling him on top of me, a simple pleasure, breathlessly kissing my mouth, my face, my eyes. I just want him inside me now, a visceral ache my body screams at me, at him. The relief as he drives into me, slowly, firmly and so deeply, I cry out. I hear him,

"Oh, God."

Each stroke, harder, pushing me beyond a place I thought I could go. I raise my legs higher around his back, almost to his shoulders as he cradles my head, his cheek softly against mine, I can hear him groan and I push my hands into the small of his back, drawing him into me, holding him tighter against me. I want to make this last longer but I have no hope at all. Just the sound of his abandonment tips me over the edge and I can no longer control my orgasm. I feel my back arch into him deliciously and wave after beautiful wave shudder through me. I hear him cry out and I can feel the wonderful explosion that possesses both of us.

We lie together. He holds me. I hold him. He stays inside me and I can smell the warm, rich scents of our skin and mingled sex. When we have our breath, he kisses me softly,

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

The rain has stopped and I can barely hear the wind. The night has become quiescent to this particular moment and I want to make it last before the possibility of the mundane overcomes us both. Just for a little longer.

"I love you." I say. The word doesn't actually frighten me any more. His eyes are like stars and I feel his grip tighten. Bliss engulfs me.

"Good." He says and the storm has become perfect.