Lavender

Lavender

She wanted to experience his sensuality, to have him touch her in all the places that were proper and all the places that were forbidden. She wanted to have him see her naked, to have him revel and delight in her body. She wanted explore the dimensions of how far she could go without going beyond where she wanted to go.

It was he who planted the seed; but is was she who devised the plan. For a woman, the experience of the sensual is often independent of the act itself. It is all the intimacy that connects her pores and senses to the experience of being desired and having that desire expressed. She wanted the magic of being possessed by his eyes, haunted by his lust and consumed by intimate expression. She was no child, nor was she innocent. But she was who she was and that called forth her creativity.

She knew he would cooperate, for he too had similar desires. They would make a different kind of love; but it would rival and even surpass the most lust filled expressions of the physical dimensions that could be explored by a man and woman. For what was to be exchanged between them would be heightened by what already existed between them.

She invited him to her home. They talked about nothing in particular but her tone drew them closer. It was the sort of conversation that becomes highly flirtatious and evolves into the certainty of seduction. It was during a pause that rested on the precipice of intoxication, that she proffered her plan.

"I want you to devour me, to make my body a poem full of sensual metaphor, I want to reek of the erotic, I want you to express all the sexuality that exists between us. I will give you the gift of my body, the whole of my desire and all that exists in between."

She gave him only the slightest kiss and then presented him the Lavender, that he had given to her. She waited... His eyes were on fire, but he gave a gentlemanly bow and said in tones that acknowledged that his creativity had melded with hers, "Your wish is my command."

He took her by the hand. Together they collected all her candles. They made a lighted pathway to her bathroom, placed candles on the sink, the top of the toilet, the corners and anyplace that flames could pose no harm. They drew a hot bath and put in the foaming Lavender creating a mountain of bubbles rich and filled with the odors of sensuality. He walked her back down the path to the edge of the first two candles and took three steps beyond the reach of their flame.

He spoke. "My eyes will burn with the flame of the candle as you expose your sensuality to me. My hands will be like starving lovers, they will devour your body until you drip and sate them with your juices, and my words will be love poems, discovering the secrets of your desires."

He traced his fingers through her hair, slow and methodical, like a distance runner knowing that not speed but patience was the measure that connected him to her needs. He fondled her ears, teasing them, playing softly with her bell earrings that dangled and sang songs of enticement as he moved to caress the nape of her neck.

He told her she was beautiful, that he had fantasized often about seeing her naked and was blessed and unabashedly excited, that through his own hands, this fantasy would be realized. Her eyes showed a mixture of fear, fear of disappointing him with her nakedness, and excitement as she too was living a fantasy. She gave him a slight nod, permission to continue. He was respectful, but he could not hide his lust and she would have it no other way.

He did not just begin taking her clothes off her body. It was as if this was a moment of art, a moment he wanted to savor. He took a step back and traced her full form with his eyes. She could feel them all over her as if it was his hands covering her body. It made her nipples hard, her pelvic area wet. And as if in response to what was going on with her body, he stepped forward and ran his hands along the path cut by his eyes. He started with her shoulders, over her sweater down her arms and cupped her hands in his, wrapped her fingers in his. She felt the quiver of his nervousness... she felt the heat of their exchange. He knelt, like a vassal of old and kissed her hands in a way that respected her, but that promised a kind of touch that would make her, before the night was through, writhe with pleasure.

He bowed low. He stepped out of the light for a brief moment and moved a small chair and bid her to sit. He removed her shoe and held her foot, massaging slowly, he worked his way up to the top of her sock and peeled it off setting it neatly under the chair. He kissed each toe and whispered secrets to them, which she could only image. He repeated this ritual with the other foot.

He stood her up. And again he knelt. His hands followed the hem of her slacks. He caressed her buttocks and felt her tighten as the electricity moved between them. He kissed her where his lips would be planted later. He said, "How I long to drink of this wine, I celebrate the vessel from which it pours." Again, he kissed between her thighs and pulled her in a tight embrace.

As he stood, he let his lips run up her sweater, pausing at her breasts, teasing himself and her. He looked deep in her eyes as his hands went on safari across her body. He knew that this was the alpha of their shared pleasure and he wanted her to see that in his eyes.

Her body moved to his hands as if engaged in a dance that they both had practiced, but with a timidity that confirmed this was a first. He lowered his hands to her waist. Gently pulled her sweater from inside to outside her pants. Again he paused. He was not yet ready to remove her sweater. He knew without asking what she wanted and he knew that he wanted it too. His hands captured the skin just above her hips. His heart beat fast competing with his desire. He breathed deeply and took in her scent. He knew this would not be easy, but his confidence grew. He knew that what was between them, needed to be expressed and that they had found a way. He took another breath, this time enjoying both her smell and her feel.

His hands moved up her sides and followed her bra until they rested full on her breasts. This time it was she who breathed heavy and through both word and movement bade him to continue.

He lifted her sweater and her arms and when she was in the dark tunnel of her sweater held high, he stole his first look at the cleavage between her breasts. He paused but not to long. He wanted her to see him looking at her. He knew she wanted to see him full of desire as he looked at her body. The sweater joined the socks, though more recklessly placed. She crossed her arms, over and under her bra. He wasn't sure if she was hiding, embarrassed or a little cold.

Again he took her hands and stretched them and her arms out to her side. He looked at her breasts in a way that she believed him fully when he told her they were magnificent. He laughed at his own stereotype, when he confessed that he supposed she would be wearing white.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me", she said. He paused... again his eyes covered her while his mind continued to uncover her but there was no ambivalence on where either of them wanted to go. Sometimes she struggled with whether or not she was really attractive; but one look in his eyes convinced her that, at least to him, she was not only attractive but beautiful. That made her more excited and anxious about what they would share.

He walked around behind her and buried his face in her hair as his hands dropped first to her shoulders, then slowly down her arms before reaching across her chest, following the patterns of her bra as if he was reading in Braille.

Her breasts stiffened and she adjusted the small of her back to conform to the contour of his body. For the briefest of moments they held their position as if posing for an old time photograph where even the slightest movement could cause the picture to blur. His hands glided down to her over her stomach pausing briefly to tickle her navel; before continuing their downward descent. She could hear and feel his breath struggle for control as his hands came to rest at the top of her slacks. She gave a shiver of excitement as his fingers rode the crest of where her pants touched her skin to the button that held her slacks. They both laughed as he fumbled to get it through the hole. First she forced her stomach outward, making it more difficult for him. Then, more to respond to her own hunger for his touch than to help him with his fumbling, she breathed in... creating a space for him to bend the material to slip the button through. With button dislodged, her zipper opened part way of its own accord; just enough for his hand to slip under the cloth of her pants and feel the texture of her underwear. He let the weight of his hand and gravity fully open her zipper.

He was careful. He didn't want to unintentionally pull down her panties. His fingers were like a can opener, he let his fingertips ride the elastic lace that ribbed the top of her underwear separating her slacks from hips as he slid his hands over her silk before reconnecting with her skin. Goosebumps exploded over her thighs as her pants, dropped in a heap, piling up over her naked feet. When he squatted to help her out of them, his cheek caressed her buttocks and his lips bridged the area that linked her skin and her panties. He laughed as he firmly placed his hands on her side and planted a big kiss on her rump, "If this is what the expression, 'Kiss my ass' entails, I am so sorry, I did not do it sooner."

He moved to her front and helped her step out of her pants. He stood full in front of her and carefully folded them along the crease, reached behind her and draped them over the back of her chair. Again, he let his eyes devour her. He wasn't sure if he kept returning to the sensuality of her eyes or if he kept escaping to steal glimpses of her body. He didn't really care both were alluring and exciting.

He took a step back. He remembered she wanted to fully experience the sensuality of the moment. He couldn't honor it if he was to close. If he was going to make her naked, see her naked and allow her to enjoy his excitement, he needed to, not be calm, but be focused. He smiled, he looked her full in her eyes. "You provoke me to lust."

He reached his hands out... stopped pulled them back... Let his eyes drift from hers and absorb her body. It was at least a full minute before he returned to her eyes. His eyes were on fire; but with a deep cleansing breath, he composed himself. This time when he reached, he rested his hands on the top of her shoulders at the base of her neck. He slid them, catching the straps of her bra and sliding them down her arms, letting them hang like loose ribbons. He moved behind her, used both of his hands to secure the back of her bra and with a twist unhooked it and brought it down until the straps slid over her fingers. He let go with his right hand and brought it to him with his left. He laid it neatly over her slacks, a cup on each side of the chair back.

She knew he was looking at her. She loved the feel of his eyes as they explored her naked back. She wondered if he found the mole and the freckles exciting or a distraction. She didn't want to break the silence with questions. She knew his eyes did not stray from her back. She felt their heat. The candles cast his shadow as he moved toward her. She could tell he was quietly dropping to his knees. She smiled to herself. She assumed he would remove her last article of clothing from the front.

As if reading her mind, he spoke. "When I see you naked, totally naked, I don't want to experience that moment with my eyes and hands distracted. I want the thrill of stripping that final piece of clothing, but then I want you to turn to me and let me take you in completely. It will be a moment to beautiful for even the distraction of excitement that would come with seeing your beautiful sex as I remove you panties."

He kissed the small of her back, tucked his fingers under the tops of her panties and pulled them down, slowly as if removing a silken shroud from an ancient statue of a Greek goddess. When they reached her feet, she stepped out of them. She waited until she saw his shadow stand tall and she turned, like a model and let him take her in. His eyes showed delight. She basked in his gaze and he regaled in her nakedness. He was not shy in looking at her breasts nor in enjoying the dark rich loam that covered her sex. As his delight intensified, any inhibition she may have felt dissipated.

He stepped into her space. Not in an invasive way, but as if he were asking her to dance a very slow dance. She could feel her nipples extend, reaching to touch him. Again, his hands moved, touched both of her cheeks and gently planted themselves in her hair. He tilted her head and tenderly ever so tenderly, let his lips join with hers. She closed her eyes to savor the moment, when she opened them, she saw a fire in his eyes that almost made her melt.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed lightly. He became her puppet and slipped down to his knees. She guided his head. They engaged in a rhythmic dance until she wet his face with her release... until he drank his fill.

She ached to have this moment last and let the fire totally consume her. She knew all she needed to was nod and he would surrender to his abandon. But she wanted what was to happen as she had planned so she touched him, raised him to his feet and turned her body, together they walked that candle lit path to her bath.

The fragrance of lavender escaped from the hot bubbly water. With his hand as a stay, she stepped over the tub and let her body sink beneath the bubbles, coating her skin with silk, enhancing her body with a touch she had been tempted to get from him. He took respite as those same bubbles hid her nakedness and quelled his fire. But the scent of Lavender overwhelmed him like pheromones, making him even more hungry for her.

He got on his knees and took the burgundy washcloth and poured a small portion of the lavender bath gel on the surface of the cloth. She leaned forward as he danced the cloth across her shoulders and then down to the small of her back creating a film of richness that gleamed in the candle light and felt like liquid silk.

He let the cloth explore her back making a sheath between her skin and his. As he had done with her clothing, he wanted to strip the barrier that blocked the touch of his skin to hers. He let the washcloth fall into the bubbles and then watched as it disappeared.

Again he took the lavender, this time he squirted it into the palms of his hands and coated them with its essence util its feel and smell became potent and pungent. He began where the washcloth had left off, at the small of her back. As his hands began their exploration, his breath teased the nape of her neck, giving her shivers of excitement which he massaged into a heat stirring her passion. His hands climbed to her neck and rode down the slope of her shoulders and let the gravity of her forward slope, guide them across her until they rode the crest of her breasts. Now she leaned back let his hands slide even further to where the bubbles that covered her nipples were replaced by caress of his palms. She let loose a "hmmm" that stretched into a smile and she felt, both her excitement and sense of relaxation, grow.

He leaned his face into her cheek and let his neck slide next to hers as his hand remained firm cupping her breasts. He kissed her cheek and mockingly teased. "You are my breast friend". They laughed causing their skin to lightly brush, like a gentle breath on a glowing ember. The fire lay in waiting.

In a dare, she invited him to join her beneath the lavender bubbles. Affirming his discipline but surrendering to his excitement, he agreed to join her. He rose. Walked the candle lit path to the chair where her clothes lay and in a metaphor laid his clothes on top of hers. He strode back to the bath, trying to act casual, but being male, he could not hide his excitement. As with her, when he sank into the water, the bubbles hid the evidence.

Their legs touched and wrapped as they positioned their bodies. He sat high, she sank low. Whatever they had called boundaries, were dissolved under the water, while what was above stretched a bit farther apart. Their genitals touched but not joined, their faces from a greater distance appreciated the irony.

It was she who first moved. She raised herself wearing a camisole of bubbles that was slowly dissolving as the air separated her from the sheath of bubbles that crested the top of her bath water. His eyes like the bubbles themselves slipped from her eyes to her breasts. He rose in a strait sitting position and began to lean into her. His hands again found her hair and scooted to the back. Sliding and squeezing her wet ends, imagining that his fingers were the drips of water that rolled down her back.

She pulled him to herself and let his cheeks caress hers and pressed her breasts into his chest and let the soft sponge of her breasts and the firm tickle of her nipples settle into the warm contours of his chest. They touched their foreheads, they let their noses play Eskimos, their lips charted each other's shoulders, necks, cheeks before coming to drink from the fountain where their tongues exchanged the juices of passion like well springs. She raised her hips, he boosted her up and then brought her down until there was nothing that separated him from her. They locked their arms, their lips, their sex and gently swayed until they found release amidst an explosion of breath that was forever tied to the scent of lavender.