Sensual scene of light, line, and love. This is the introduction to 'Ten Weeks' which will probably be the third in the series. Contains a surprise, not a mistake, though there may be a few of those too. Can you work out what it is?
I usually wake with an erection as a matter of course.
That morning my partner had taken advantage of the fact mercilessly, so I had found myself waking to the unique sensation of my manhood being enveloped in warm, wet, and slippery flesh. It took me a few seconds to reach the conclusion I wasn't dreaming. Wonderful, though certainly unexpected.
It certainly beat a damp flannel, an elbow in the ribs, or (the most frequent) a pair of cold feet on the bum. In fact I'd go so far to say this method, along with similar scenarios involving mouth or (warm) hands, are about the only times I wake without any desire at all to go straight back to sleep again. It also helped that the alarm hadn't yet made its usual strident call.
I've had that alarm clock for years and often considered getting rid of it, mostly because its tone is identical to the reactor criticality alarm at Aldermarston. As such it certainly does get the adrenalin flowing by association, though it tends to make me wake in a cold sweat, and puts a bit of a dampener on any considerations aside from fight-or-flight.
So, on first opening by bleary eyes were treated to the sight of her right there, rocking slowly back and forth over me, silhouetted against the dawn with the sun rising right behind her flattering her long dark hair with emerald hue. What a vision. How she'd gone about getting the curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows open without waking me was a mystery, I guessed she must have done so maybe about half an hour before when it was still dark, and planned the whole thing to achieve this special effect. If so it had been well worth the effort, from my viewpoint at least.
I reached behind me and plumped the pillow under my head, the better to contemplate the insanely erotic view before me. I took in the whole for several heartbeats, the blur slowly resolving into a sharper image as my waking eyes cleared. I traced the curves of the gold-rimmed silhouette from top to bottom.
Then slowly up again, taking my time.
First the rounded hips, rocking, rocking, intimately connected between with the wonderful sensation pulsing in time.
Then the curve, gently inwards to her slim waist. Not so slim as to appear fragile, she was no Barbie, but showing a smooth curve with hardly an ounce of padding to mar the perfection of the line.
Then up, up her body curved out again. Smooth once more. Now a distinct kink as my gaze reached the lower edge of her rib cage, then easing towards the vertical, approaching but not quite reaching it before...
Breasts. Round, firm, seductive. Not seen in detail, with the dawn behind her most was in complete darkness still, but the outer edge thrusting just beyond the outline of her torso, breaking the established line with their own curve. I kept my hands behind my head still, relying on vision for my sensory input. Yes. Breasts. Relatively small, high, and firm. I considered their texture, smooth and soft, firm but yielding, Aureole darkening as the nipples harden beneath my lips...
No. Stop that, its cheating. I could see neither nipples nor aureole within the dark silhouette. By the rules of the game I was not permitted to think about anything I couldn't see. Well, apart from the warmth and pressure below of course; I might as well allow that point of contact as there was no way in hell I could possibly ignore it however hard I tried.
Hard it was of course, and hardening a little more as my body slowly beginning to emerge from its hibernation and more of my internal systems came on line. Harder again as it moved out, then back in...
Back to the silhouette before me, reprise the line.
Out, then back in, just a shallow hint of golden coronal illumination curiously serving to emphasize rather than distract from the hard outline.
The line of her torso re-established itself briefly above the breasts, then broke outward towards arms and shoulders. She was holding her arms out and slightly down. Strong and well muscled though not tightly clenched, passing beyond the frame of my attention roughly at the elbows, like one of those moody nineteenth century photographic plates which fade to black around the edges
Sepia the scene was too, in the golden dawn light. All she'd have needed was a couple of palm leaves and an asp or two to pass as Cleopatra in one of those 'educational' or 'cultural' early pictures so beloved of a certain class of Victorian gentlemen in dimly lit smoking rooms.
Back to the shoulders. Broad and square, strong but still fine-boned and light. Athletic, specifically gymnastic rather than shot-put I thought. Have to ask some time. Dark, wavy hair descending around them, thick but with enough of the bright early morning light making its way between the strands that the underlying form was still completely clear.
Above the shoulders the abrupt transition to neck, not sharp though, relieved from suddenness by pronounced trapezoids. Probably athletic in origin again, but almost certainly strengthened more recently by the years of feigning attention in long boring board meetings.
Board meeting / bored meeting. I'd never noticed before the irony inherent in that juxtaposition of concepts, despite my own long familiarity with both aspects of the beast. I laughed internally but, not wishing to spoil the moment, made sure no sound left my lips.
As you can tell my mind was wandering a little, but I assure you it wasn't from boredom. I was still half asleep, in that sort of delicious dream state where the semi-conscious mind makes free associations on the instant, where sometimes the conscious and subconscious minds can seem to swap places for a few moments and the brain can multi-task in a strange though admittedly limited way. Suffice to say I was still fully cognizant of all that was going on at my nether regions, and enjoying it immensely, while also able to contemplate both the view before me and my own musings in parallel.
Back to the view before me then. I realized that the alignment of sun and partner wouldn't last forever, but would pass in a very short while like a solar eclipse. Time to make the most of it.
Trapezoids, I struggled not to think of massaging them at the end of a long day. Yesterday. I struggled not to remember the feel of her smooth warm skin beneath my hands, the muscles and tendons below that, the slight motion of her breathing.. slowing... slowing as she relaxed... all overlaid with the aroma of warm almond oil....
Stop it! Stop it! Back to the here and now.
Onwards to the neck then. Symmetrical and slim but once again not Barbie. Sharp curve in, then gentle curve out again. Slightly longer than average perhaps, but not excessively so, flaring to...
It was hard to see now, her hair was thicker closer to her head of course. I was just able to make out the line of her jaw. I knew it to be strong; Angelina-Jolie-ish you understand, rather than David Coulthard. Once again the probable result of years of jaw-clenching and tooth-grinding in those same board (bored) meetings.
I attempted yet again to put aside my foreknowledge and concentrate only on the light actually arriving at my eyes. Yes, no, I'm not sure. As the sun continued to rise the coronal light was gradually giving way to direct sunlight, turning the subtle sparkles glimpsed through her hair into bright diamond pinpricks that heightened rather than relieved the surrounding black.
Still, nearly reached the top. The mass of wavy dark hair gave the, very accurate, impression it had just been slept in, but still flowed from the roughly-centre parting at her crown down to her shoulders in a cascade of midnight, star-spangled at the peripheries but dark at its centre like one of the great nebulae; the vast clouds of star-stuff where new stars arise from the ashes of the old.
How appropriate; “Where the stars are still young and the light of morning lingers,” ran through my mind, (now where had I read that?)
Which nebula did the image remind me of? The Horsehead maybe? No, that would hardly be seen as complimentary; how about the Eagle? Better name; that'll do.
The dawn light was strengthening all the time now, and the sun was threatening to emerge from behind the cloud of hair.
Her breathing had deepened considerably in the last minute or so, and her grip on my dick had tightened considerably. I was responding naturally, my already engorged manhood stiffening further and straining against the 'downwards' pull of straining vagina. I could feel my glans swell a little more, and the soft, subtle 'click' as it engaged then disengaged deep inside. Not long to go for either of us now.
She leant forwards and braced her hands on the headboard, allowing her pelvis to rock a little more forwards and taking some of the strain off my bits. I hadn't complained, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a bit of a relief. Her rocking gave way to thrusting as she worked me all the way in, then all the way out, tip to base and back again. Her legs spread wider all the time, (the gymnast once again showing herself again?) as she rode the full length of my member without touching any other part of my skin. She slowly spread a bit further still until she'd brought her pubic mound down into contact with my own.
No more than a dozen strokes like that and she moaned, moaned again, and leaned yet further until her nipples brushed against mine. Bliss and agony competed for space on her face, and she moaned again.
She leaned forwards the little bit more to bring our lips together and we kissed for the first time that morning, long and deep, flexing at the hips again to keep the motion going.
To reach this position her arms were of necessity bent backwards above her to reach the top of the headboard. As I've said she was strong, but it can't have been comfortable so I braced my hands against her shoulders to take some of the weight. She responded by bringing her own arms down to the bed, then slid her left in to cradle my head and deepen the kiss further. It takes a lot to distract me from the sensation in my groin at a moment like this, but her kiss certainly managed to at least divide my attention and if possible raised my level of arousal even further.
We were very close now, and with the increased urgency she braced her arms against my shoulders and thrust harder again. If Tennyson's bed hadn't been so well built it would undoubtedly have creaked and groaned, but it was, so it didn't.
Arms back to the headboard, adding their strength to each thrust of her pelvis. All the way in, then all the way out again, leaving just enough to ensure correct aim as the cycle repeated again. And again. Pressing down and down and rolling round at the end to leave not a millimetre of me unused.
Tighter again from her side, harder again from mine. I reached back for the headboard myself, feeling for something, anything to get hold of. No luck; it was smooth oak rather than ladder-barred or metal. I've always heartily disliked cast iron bedsteads but at that moment (and a few others, here and there over the years) I understood at least some of their advantages. I finally managed to get my hands down behind the mattress and grabbed hold of it for all I was worth as the thrusting continued to intensify.
Breathing deep from both of us by now, her moans rising to the status of yells, my own usually taciturn nature forced almost involuntarily to respond in kind.
Past fail-safe, my member stiffened to its absolute maximum and I braced my pelvis up as high as I could, seconds to go. She responded with a scream and a last frenzy; all the way, all the way, all the way!
All the way in and hold it, hold it. Her legs quivered and we both yelled together as she clenched, I exploded, and we came together at last. She settled back with her hands braced on my chest, pushing hard and rocking with an apparent gentleness belied by her screams as wave after wave of the orgasm washed over us.
After the first half dozen or so she began to move again, slowly pull out then push back in, each push prompted another wave for us both. Much more of this and I'd have been begging for forgiveness, but she clearly felt the same way and eventually slowed and stopped.
She knelt there panting for maybe another minute, still fully engaged with my manhood, that was starting to feel a little sore, but was still steadfastly refusing to shrink.
I noticed that the sun had finally emerged above her left shoulder. I hadn't marked its appearance among the other sensory stimuli, but now it crowned her dark locks with dazzling gold, bright enough to wash out all detail. Still and silent, reminiscent either of a scene from one of the great space operas; or maybe something depicted in Westminster Abbey's east window, though right at that moment I hoped the second coming was at least a little way off.
Breaking the spell at last, she smiled at me, and I found myself responding in kind.
She leaned forwards and we kissed once again, long and slow.
Eventually she released me, and sat back cradling my face between her hands. She looked at me for several minutes with that beautiful, radiant, whimsical, smile; which today was also slightly sad.
“I love you, do you know that?” she asked quietly.
I reached up and stroked her cheek, in that moment almost overwhelmed by my own feelings.
“Yes.” I replied.
I drew her down, wound my arms tight around her, kissed her once again.
“And I love you too,” I said, “my dearest Julia.”
© Marcus Brook 2016