Meditation

My hands are rough from working in damp soil for days. The chaffed skin catches on your bra strap as I slip it over your shoulder. Your breasts slip free and settle, nipples the color of ripe raspberries. I want to suckle them but gently push you down upon the bed instead. As you lay down, you open your arms and place them above your head, close to the corner posts where the blue nylon rope lies loosely piled. I reach for the first rope and watch the shadows cast by candle light dance upon your face. Soft edges fall from your brow, drawn by locks of hair that slide from your forehead as you turn to watch me tie your wrist. I climb onto the bed, straddle you midriff, and reach for the other. Your eyes watch my face as I secure it.

The room is warm and the soft glow of candle light flickers back and forth across the walls. I slip off the bed and walk to your feet. There, I put my knee down on the edge of the bed and take hold your hips. I lift you up and pull you toward me. To feel your weight, the fullness of your hips, and to drink you in with all my senses is absolute deliciousness. It's all I can do to resist burying my face between your legs and letting myself go. But I set you down. As I do, I let my hands take hold the flesh on your hips and give it a gentle squeeze. You smile and I close my eyes and breathe. When my hands let go, I allow my face to descend to the darkness between your legs and kiss the moistness.

The rope makes a scratching sound against the roughness of my hands as I wrap it around your ankle. I draw a rough finger up the sole of your foot and you squirm with a giggle. And with the second ankle tied, I step away to admire your curves and shadows. I feel the immediacy and ache at the base of my erection. A strong desire to take you now and satisfy my needs but I want to wait. This is just a trickle compared to what is yet to come.

You are a little anxious but your eyes are filled with a knowing, playful defiance. I reach for the bottle of oil and carefully, slowly, squirt a small amount into the palm of my upturned hand. The smell of coconut wafts into the room. I rub it into my hands and sit down upon the bed next to you. I turn one hand over and lower it till it sits just above your thigh but not touching. I can feel the warmth of your skin and watch as your eyes close and lips part just enough to let a soft breath escape.

I lower my hand upon your thigh and drag it slowly along your skin. My palm travels down to your ankle where I reverse the stroke and slide my hand up along the outside of your leg. As I push my hand, soft folds of skin form and slip beneath my oiled palm. When I reach your hip, I lighten the stroke and pull my hand up. Using my fingertips I trace the tan line that leads to the musky moist shadow between your legs. I want to slide them in deep but I don't. Instead, I let my fingers slide down till I feel your pussy hairs tickle them. I leave the wet lips alone. When I finish the stroke, I reach across you and repeat the process on the other side. Again, slowly down and back up feeling the muscles in your leg relax beneath my hand. I repeat the movement several times on each leg. Your skin is shiny and supple.

At some point I decide to turn my fingers and find the edge of your wetness as I slide them up out of the darkness between your legs. I smell the muskiness and feel the flow of blood to my groin and wonder how anymore could possibly be added. I continue to slide my fingers up and once they reach the top, I bring my fore and middle fingers down the center, so slowly that I imagine the sensation playing over and over in your head as you wish they'd just slip in. I want you to feel the agony and pleasure of anticipation as I do. It is all the sweeter knowing - with certainty - we will ride the waves of release till exhausted. For now, the pressure builds, fueled by the denial, control, and pleasure. A little further in now, but not quite breaking the seal. I listen.

Your breaths are slightly deeper. Uneven. When I do slide my fingers into the wetness, they easily find your clit. It is swollen, hard, and as I gently rub it your breath catches. I gently shift position and push my knee under yours to force your leg up as far as the nylon rope will allow. I lean over your thigh and with one hand, reach down and part your lips and with the other stroke your clit in a slow circular motion. I use light pressure, just enough for you to feel the roughness of my forefinger. Your hips shift slightly and I hear a creak from the corner posts as you take hold of the rope with your hands and pull. Around the wet hardness my finger slides, always keeping the gentlest of pressure on it. When it begins to feel dry, I allow my fingertips to run along the inside of your pussy lips to lubricate them and then return my forefinger to your swollen clit.

I am nothing if not methodical. The acts of washing dishes by hand and making bread are a form of meditation. As I continue to trace the outside of your clit with my finger, I realize this too is a form of meditation, one that requires a willing subject to practice on. I look up to see a strained smile, eyes closed, and beads of sweat upon your brow. I feel the bed shift as your muscles tense and relax. I imagine what the final spasms of climax will look like as your body expends the last bits of energy before it can rest. I am amazed that as my mind empties through the repetition of my fingers, your mind fills with the almost unbearable pleasure of anticipation and not being in control. I break the circle to draw my finger up over the top of your clit and down the other side and my mind empties again.

At some point I get down on my knees between your legs to push my face into the darkness. The softness of my tongue finds your hardness and my lips gently suckle it before I draw my tongue in circles around it. I am immensely satisfied to witness the results of my efforts. I collect every little twitch, exhale, and moan as precious treasures to be savored over and over and hold me till we make more. I pull my right hand up and slide two fingers into you and up to your G spot. Your breath is faster now. The muscles in your legs and hips tighten and my head is squeezed as much as the rope will allow. Circles and strokes, steady yet slightly increasing in urgency.

I am deep in meditation. My thoughts, focused. My mantra, the repetition of my tongue and fingers. My senses are filled with you. I am consumed and consume in return. Frozen passion melts away in this symbiotic exchange. The melt waters form a powerful and urgent muddy river that accumulates behind the dam. We are lost in the moment of rapidly rising waters as the pressure builds.

Your hips begin to quiver as the water's edge close to the top of the dam. My fingers move in ever faster circles as my tongue speeds up to match them. I can feel the dam shake as we reach the top. Your breathing is rapid as ecstasy drives involuntary gulps of air. Your muscles tense and get harder and harder in the last moments. And suddenly, the damn gives way and your body pours over the edge. Powerful waves rack your body, my head squeezed tightly. Shaking, rising, falling, a deep moan follows the waves as they wash over us. A second. A third. Each wave follows with a little less force. I feel your leg muscles begin to release their grip and as your breathing softens, my fingers and tongue wind down. Your body slowly relaxes, little tremors ripple through your legs and abdomen. My mind returns to the sounds and smells of the room. A fan on low blows lemongrass and coconut across your skin. Meditation over, I kiss the moistness softly.