Usually I can leave in the morning so quietly that when they find me gone some have wondered if their antics of the previous night were a mere dream. Not being one to kiss and tell, I sometimes find pleasure in acting as if nothing happened, letting them wonder. This morning, I considered spiriting myself away just before dawn, but instead I decided to awaken the apt pupil with whom I had spent the night.
"The cocks are gathering," I whispered into his ear. "Soon they all will be crowing, and where will you be? Sleeping in the hen house?"
"Hmmm?" He smiled sleepily. "Is it a new day already?" he asked, rolling to his side. Propping himself up on one arm, he admired me in the morning twilight. My hair was a mess and my eye makeup had smeared everywhere. "I was hoping the night would not end," he told me.
"You can hope," I smirked. "But I have quite a schedule ahead today. I thought you might lend me the use of your valet for a few moments to warm and clean the tub again for a quick rinse off."
He looked a little disappointed at my request, and for a moment I wondered why. Then I glanced down to the sheets, and I realized that like many other men, he had awoken at attention and was again ready for a little active participation.
"I'll make a deal with you," I whispered in his ear as I grabbed his stiff wand through the sheet. "We'll practice some of that control that you learned last night for a little while, but then I will really need a warm bath here to get me on schedule. Agreed?"
In answer, he began to roll over onto me. Last night he had learned how to rock from his knees instead of using his hips, and I think he expected to do the same this morning, but I was not willing to remain supine so long. I have to admit that my back was still a little sore from arching when I was on my elbows and knees. We had managed to work around the discrepancy in our proportions quite well, but there were some times when he had more or less collapsed onto me in exhaustion, and I did not particularly like the feeling of being trapped beneath his weight for long.
I placed my hand on his chest and rolled away, placing my feet on the floor. He looked puzzled for only a moment, and then smirked as he realized he was in for some new instruction.
"I thought we might try it drow style," I teased. I saw by the look in his eyes that he did not know the term, so I resorted to my basic teaching style. I gave explicit instructions. It is a simple philosophy. If I tell him what to do, it should increase my chances of receiving what I want.
"Roll onto your back," I began. I gave instruction like a dark elf matriarch, expecting compliance, giving no quarter. He only hesitated for a moment, and I fixed him with a fiery gaze to convey the fact that I meant business. He shrugged and rolled face up. "And strip off those sheets while you're at it. They'll only get in the way." Again he complied.
He lay before me, stripped from head to toe. A young man, with no noticeable scars or blemishes, his only vertical feature standing at full attention in the brisk morning air. Last night I had been puzzled by his lack of scars, since the tales he told me in the tavern bespoke of a life of adventure. No swordsman I had ever met had come to me in such tender condition, and certainly anyone who had engaged in half as much adventure as the tales he told would be crisscrossed with the mementos of battle. I had come to the conclusion that he was either lying in hope of impressing me, or that he had spent a major fortune in curatives and restoratives to cover the signs of battle.
From the time I had spent with him last night, I guessed it might be a bit of both explanations. He was most certainly adequate, but his reflexes were not by any means up to the standards of his tales. If I were to describe his style as a lover, it would be clumsy but eager. Still, his extravagant spending, and use of magic told me that he also had some means of wealth.
Admiring the view, I reached down and picked up the open bottle of rinberry wine. there was only a little left in the bottle. Tilting it up, I waited as the last bit began to trickle out from the spout and down my extended finger. It was thick and syrupy; more so for being left open half the night.
Keeping the juice cradled around my fingers, I crawled across the bed and crouched near his head. "I am going to need just a little more incentive," I told him, and I straddled his head facing his feet with my knees bent and shins next to his ears. I heard a muffled sound from him as I lowered myself to his waiting mouth. Before I made contact, I dabbed a drop of the wine onto my other hand and spread it over my clitoris with one outstretched finger. last night, I think he developed an appreciation for sweeter wines.
I felt his tongue searching and probing. I hoped he might get the hint and find the sweet nectar I had left for him. In the meantime, I lay down across his chest, to give him some incentive to find the right spot.
With one motion I cupped my hand around his exposed member, spreading the remaining rinberry wine down its shaft in one fluid motion. I felt it throb as my lips followed the wine down the shaft, filling my senses with its fruity essence. I felt him gasp between my thighs as his now energized tongue sought new recesses. I was not ready for him to explode just yet, but I could feel his impending pressure.
