Ten Thousand Lakes

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The opening scene of 'Ten Thousand Lakes' which will be the fifth in a series of novels. While the series is unashamedly about sex, I aim for "erotic" not "pornographic", "romantic" not "vulgar". Oh, and I also write with humour, and from experience as much as possible.

We were still basking in the afterglow half an hour later. Tennyson seemed to have gone to sleep with her head on my left shoulder. She was purring gently against my neck, and the soft warm draft coupled with the gentle, slow, rhythmic vibration was sending my thoughts spiraling once more towards my nether regions, and hers.

I contemplated the best way to rouse Ten, while simultaneously turning her on again.

Yes, yes. I know its hardly a problem under normal circumstances, and here, in our warm bed, half way through a wet Wednesday morning when everyone else has had to go to work in it was… well, one of the best imaginable times to be at a loose end and staying in bed.

I contemplated my approach.

First I ensured the duvet was properly but not tightly covering her back. It was. I gently moved my left arm from its accustomed perch behind my head and brought it under the covers. No mean feat to achieve that without disturbing her, she’s a light sleeper at the best of times, but I did so without prompting so much as the slightest change of rhythm. Great, arm under the covers, but hold it; that arm was now cold due to its sojourn on the pillow, so under the covers, down by Tennyson’s back, but maintaining an inch of separation for a minute or two while it warmed up.

Time passed, the arm warmed, and certain other parts of my body started to come back on line too.

So slowly and carefully I brought my hand closer to her body, and gently into contact with the nearest bit of bare skin. Not so gently it tickles, that would be counterproductive, but gently enough that the contact won’t wake her.

Closer, closer… Seven down, drifting to the left a little. Contact!

Right Buttock base, the Eagle has landed.

Its warm.

Its smooth.

Its attached to the rest of Tennyson so counts as one of my favorite places.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I brush my hand upwards to see what I can discover there.

Gently the rover descended, then traversed the valley, then rose again into the lunar highlands. By damn! What have we here? Little green men, a big black monolith, the Russians... ?

No! It’s the Tennyson’s Left Buttock. Quick, stick a flag in it and claim it for Britain!

I was starting to chuckle now despite my best efforts not to. Naturally my attempts to stifle my mirth only made it worse. I bit my lip and managed to prevent my chest convulsing, but it was a close run thing. How’s she doing? Still purring there like a kitten. Good.

My left hand set up a temporary advance camp on Left Buttock and decided to remain there for a while. Time to send in the frontal assault. Right arm went into action. I’d already brought it beneath the covers and warmed it against my side, now I followed Ten’s arm from its parking place across my chest up to the shoulder, then slowly down onto rib-cage, and gently, gently, gently forward until my palm caressed her right breast. Warm and soft to the touch, but compact and firm beneath.

Tennyson only wears a bra because she likes the look and it helps to keep her nipples under control, the things aren’t needed for support. Oh, and to frustrate me; you see they are all different at the back, so I always have to stop and concentrate to get the things off. In the midst of the throes of passion that can be an issue, I’ll tell you! Obviously she wasn’t wearing one now, just letting you know.

Back to the breast then. I gently rotated my hand to cup its curve in my palm, then grasped the nipple between my thumb and forefinger and rubbed it softly between them. It hardened almost immediately.

Both hands now engaged I had to think of something else to bring into play. Legs not an option here, she had her left draped across both of mine, fortunately below the groin, so they were stuck where they were.

Mouth then. I rolled my head left and softly kissed her forehead. Soft butterfly kisses and warm breath in her hair.

Still no change in the rhythm of her breathing. I kissed her again, and hugged her close. We were warm and content with nothing to do, and I was happy enough to remain like that if she didn’t wake soon, though my erection had by now reached the slightly painful stage, and was beginning to raise a distinct tent in the duvet.

I decided to up the ante a bit, and opted for caressing. Both hands went to work slowly, attempting to make the bits of Tennyson they could reach feel especially loved.

I kissed her forehead again, lingering.

Still no change in her gentle purring.

‘She’s really gone’ went through my mind.

‘Why?’ followed it.

I thought back to the last twenty four hours. Nothing particularly unusual there; fairly early to bed (for us) and even fairly early to sleep. We’d woken at about the normal time too; or at least Tennyson had, and her urgency had left me little choice in the matter. I guessed we’d been busy since then, but not really enough to induce this comatose state, especially given her usual stamina.

I kissed her forehead again, and breathed in the wonderful aroma of her hair; redolent of lemon and calendula, chamomile and love; and smiled as I thought how lucky I was to have this woman by my side.

Clearly she wasn’t about to wake up any time soon, so I resigned myself to at least another half hour’s stillness, and began the complex process of persuading my dick to go back to sleep. Unfortunately that involved trying not to think about sex and, as I currently had the sexiest lady on the planet clasped naked to in my arms, I expected it to be difficult in the extreme.

I caressed her once more before lapsing into stillness.

“That’s very nice, but it tickles like fury.”

Tennyson spoke suddenly, with a distinct edge of amusement in her voice,

“You do know that, don’t you?”

Then lapsed straight back into her previous slow purring rhythm.

After my initial surprise I rolled my eyes. She’d fooled me. I suspected she’d not slept at all.

My right hand inevitably moved from breast to armpit, and I proceeded to tickle her there until she couldn’t pretend any more, and squirmed and giggled helplessly. I stopped almost immediately; my initial lust for revenge was rapidly satisfied, only to be replaced with a very different one.

Tennyson looked up at me, the expression on her face conveying that odd composite of contrition, amusement, and inquiry I've labelled No7 "Oh officer, is it really?". I smiled at her of course, I couldn’t have done different if I’d wanted to, and she returned it at once with one of her trademark supernovae.

In that moment the rest of the world went away. The wet Wednesday, the flat, the room, even the bed we were lying in vanished in an instant and my universe shrank to encompass no more than that smile and the emerald green eyes above it.

Then the universe expanded just a little as Ten rolled on top of me, and I became aware of the electric contact of her breasts on my chest, her legs on my thighs, and inevitably her urgent labia rubbing the length of my manhood.

Wet, very wet.

Yes, she’d obviously been planning all this all the while she was pretending to be asleep.

She leaned down and kissed me hard, urgent, then rocked back and slipped my dick inside her. She gave a shudder as she took the whole length, and gasped.

So did I.

.

Copyright Marcus Brook 2015

 
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