Night With A Taskmaster

Their first night together was explosive.

There was, of course, the initial awkwardness, when Abba and Ayesha found themselves alone for the first time since the wedding. She stood there, before him, small and vulnerable, yet radiating a barely-concealed anticipation. Her simple wedding gown, devoid of the elaborate lace trappings that festooned the gowns of first-time brides, clung to her body, hugging its curves. Abba held out his hands, and Ayesha shyly placed her small hands in his, looking into his eyes. Abba gazed back into hers, entranced by the complexity and depth of what he saw there: love... infatuation... submission... innocence... wisdom... deference... arousal. Definitely arousal.

He pulled her close to him, enveloping her in his arms. She was not a short woman, yet her head scarcely reached the top of his chest. He bent his head and pressed his mouth against her fine, dark brown hair, her uncovered hair that only now, as her husband, he was privileged to see. She shuddered at the intimate touch, and Abba marveled at her clear and unabashed sexual tension, as though every part of her was singularly focused on their forthcoming mating. He lifted his hands to her head, and began removing the pins that held her hair, freeing her tresses from their confines to cascade over her shoulders. With each stroke of her hair, each curl undone, each ringlet freed, she let out a soft feminine moan, as her own arms encircled his torso, and she pressed her cheek to his heart.

For a while they stood like that, breathing deeply. Then Ayesha gently extricated herself from Abba's embrace, and shyly excused herself to prepare for bed. Even the way she said "bed" sent an erotic thrill through Abba, as she managed to infuse that single word will all of the promise that the evening yet held. Their fingertips lingered in each other's for a brief moment, and then she pulled away to make her preparations.

Abba had not yet decided whether he wanted to watch Ayesha ascend the steps to the new bed, or whether he would carry her in his arms and place her in it himself. However, when he entered the chamber, he found that Ayesha was already in bed, covered with the quilt. The chamber was softly lit by the candles in the wall sconces, as well as by the additional four candles on each of the elevated bed posts. Thus, a soft glow fell upon Ayesha's lovely features as Abba drew close.

Her dark eyes were upon him, unflinching as they followed his slow, deliberate approach. When he reached the steps to the bed, Abba paused to remove his robe. He felt her eyes on him as he loosened the sash and pulled the robe over his head. Fully unclothed, he climbed the steps slowly, his eyes on Ayesha's, watching her watching him, as his body gradually came into her view atop the steps. He saw her eyes widen slightly when she took in her first glimpse of his manhood, fully erect and swaying heavily as he moved.

Suddenly, he found he could wait no longer. He grabbed the quilt and flung it from Ayesha, nearly extinguishing the candles with the motion. Ayesha was gloriously naked, and Abba could not resist a sharp intake of breath. Ayesha looked up at him, a look of apprehension flickering on her lovely face. She suddenly felt very exposed, her body bared before his eyes, wondering for the first time whether perhaps she had erred in not wearing her nightgown to bed. Her doubt lasted but a moment, as the hungry look in his eyes, and coarse sound of his voice as he murmured "My Ayesha" possessively, told her that Abba approved her choice of nightwear.

It was as though he sought to devour her with his gaze. His eyes first lit upon her face, her exquisite features flushed with arousal, glowing in the candlelight, her slight perspiration casting a sheen on her forehead and cheeks. Her full lips were parted, glistening where her tongue had touched them moments before, and he could see the tip of her tongue hovering just between her teeth. She had an adorable cleft just below her bottom lip, which trembled irresistibly as his glance touched it.

Lower, his eyes took in her delicate chin, and then her slender neck, noting how it pulsated each time she swallowed, as she willed her body to stillness, submitting to his inspection. His gaze took in the curvature of her shoulders, and the gentle protrusion of her collarbone; then, forcing himself not to hurry, he followed the soft sloping of the clear skin of her chest until his eyes settled upon the most beautiful breasts that he ever had occasion to see; full, creamy mounds of soft flesh, rippling and undulating with her every ragged breath, and each crowned with a prominent dark rose that strained upwards, as though begging for his oral attentions.

Abba could not restrain himself, and whispering hoarsely, he intoned the words of King Solomon's timeless poem: "How fair and how pleasant you are, a love with delights! Indeed, your breasts are like clusters of dates!"

Ayesha moaned lightly at Abba's words and his reverential tone, and her thighs twitched involuntarily. The slight movement caught Abba's attention, and he tore his eyes from her nipples to travel further down her body. He drank in the soft curves of her stomach, her tapered waist, and the wide, childbearing hips that had so intruded on his thoughts since their first encounter. And then, there, at the apex of her ample thighs, peeking out from beneath a thatch of well-tended silken curls, were her lower lips, the essence of her femininity, and the entrance to as-yet-untold treasures. They sparkled in the candlelight with the moisture of her arousal, and Abba knew that his new demure wife was also a seething and tempestuous cauldron of sexual hunger; it would be cruel to deny her any longer.

Returning to her eyes, he completed his ascent onto the bed, and moved on top of her.

"Let me climb up the palm tree, let me seize its boughs, and let your breasts be now like clusters of the vine, and the fragrance of your countenance like that of apples," he intoned once again, his voice quavering with desire as he lowered his mouth to hers.

The first contact of his lips against hers, soft and pliable, was electric. He pressed against her, his tongue darting between their lips, seeking entry into her mouth, only to find that her tongue had a similar goal of its own. They kissed desperately, their first time as though it were their last time, their passion punctuated by her soft sounds of pleasure and his masculine groans as he ravished her. Her back arched and she cried audibly into his mouth when his fingers found her sex, slick with the fluids that it could not seem to contain.

"Your palate is like the best wine, that glides down smoothly to my beloved, making the lips of the sleeping speak," he growled breathlessly, as his fingers plied her. She forced her own hands between their bodies and clutched at his chest, scraping her fingernails against his hair. Her thighs opened and closed involuntarily as her hips bucked, desperately seeking relief.

"Oh, Abba," she moaned, throwing her arms around his neck. "How I need you!" She pulled him to her, burying her face in his neck, inhaling his musky scent as she tried unsuccessfully to calm her body. She clenched her legs together as his hand withdrew from inside her; she suddenly sensed her own aroma, and from the light sucking sounds in her ear she knew that he was tasting her essence. She shivered at the erotic significance.

"Your taste, Ayesha," Abba breathed. "It is intoxicating, and sweeter than any wine. Would that I could keep my glass filled with your nectar!"

"One would think that Father's mouth had never swallowed food before!" a voice suddenly rang out, that was neither Abba's nor Ayesha's.

(This story is based upon the well-known Talmudic anecdote in Babylonian Talmud, Brachot 62a and Chagiga 5b, in which Rav Kahana hides under Rav's bed while Rav is engaged in marital relations.)