Archive-name: SpecMome/busy.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Busy


    A soft, firm knock on the door breaks your concentration as you
bend over your work.  With a sigh of resignation at yet another
interruption to your busy day, you stand up, stretch (from the
position you've held for far too long this afternoon), and walk to the
door.  As you pass through the room, your eye flicks with disapproval
over the queue of waiting projects: this one needs you today, this
tomorrow ... a flood of small, medium, and large tasks clamoring for
your attention.
 
    Dodging assorted bric--brac, you reach the door and pull it open
to a jingle of bells.  You're surprised at who your visitor proves to
be. Of the people you expected to find calling at this moment (the
landlord, a neighboring friend, a salesman perhaps), he is not one of
them.  Murmuring greetings and apologies for the frantic activity you
must return to, you half turn as he slips in, quietly closing the door
behind him.  At the lightest of touches on the shoulder, you glance
about to face him, meeting his eyes.
 
    The world stops, and falls quiet for a moment.  You vaguely feel
the rest of your body turn towards him, but you sense it only in
distantly, in slow motion.  For a moment stretched over eternity, you
are lost, caught by his look.  Your mouth goes dry, a thousand things
die unsaid in your throat, and a familiar thrill run through your
body.  Within you, a part of your mind wants to break away, continue
with the comfortable rhythm of the day, but you've already flown
beyond it.
 
    There can be a perfect, intimate, even sacred moment when the
hunter and the prey become one, when a communion deeper than words
runs between them.  At this moment the yielding of the prey is a
victory for both, the transfer and return of life, an exchange born of
respect and desire.  It is a moment, once in a thousand times if that,
which drives the hunter to hunt, and as you close your eyes and raise
your lips to his, you know that the hunted feels it as well.
 
    His lips are cool, as is the back of his neck as your arms circle
him. He embraces you, and pulls you close against him; you can feel
his arousal building already, and your body returns it without thought
or effort from you.  Your mind is a blur, but (far from a blank) it is
full of images, desires, memories of similar times and those far
distant, all blended together into a single, forceful desire to yield,
to acknowledge his challenge and answer it with your submission which
is a victory of both.
 
    The kiss seems to last forever; your tongues circle and dance like
snakes, back and forth between your mouths, a dance as complicated as
that of your wills, both driving to the same conclusion.  You step
back again, and again meet his glance; the final acknowledgement that
you have given the single yes, that you will submit to him, knowing
that in his mastery, it is your will to yield which gives it all
meaning.
 
    You lead him to the side of the bed; you are surprised to discover
that during the last glance, you undressed yourself, exposing yourself
to his appreciative, hungry glance.  (Although it might as well have
been said that he undressed you; his will moved your hands to undo
clasps and unfasten buttons as surely as if he had done it himself.)
You start to undress him, feeling your own nakedness acutely, feeling
every inch of your body, and especially the building arousal and
moistness between your legs.
 
    You savour the touch of his clothes; you caress his now-bare
chest, revelling in just the sensual feeling of your skin on his.
Your explorations continue as you undo his pants, allowing them to
fall in a pool at his feet, stepped out of quickly.  Underwear
dispensed with, your fingers stroke his erection, feeling the blood
and tension of it. His hands rove over your body, feeling your
breasts, rear, thighs.  His lips follow, brushing and nibbling at your
ear and throat, following down to your nipples, gently sucking; you
gasp as his finger probes you, stroking around your clitoris, feeling
your very wet, waiting lips.
 
    Maneuvering onto the bed, he pulls you atop him; the pressure of
his cock on your groin is almost unbearably exciting and pleasant; you
want to just pull up and slide him into you, but you pause as you
kiss: the game is not yet played out.  He slides up, reclining on the
pillows, one hand behind his head, the other stroking you fondly, a
broad smile on his face: the classic image of the master pleased with
his slave. Your mouth descends over his chest, down his stomach.  You
lavish kisses on his penis, and slowly take him into your mouth.  You
feel him stiffen and softly moan as you work up and down his shaft,
sucking, squeezing with your lips, your fingers caressing his balls
and shaft. You flip your hair over, looking up to see his ecstactic
expression as you slide your lips and tongue down to his balls,
sucking one, then the other, into your mouth.
 
    You work him to the brink, closer, then farther, his hand on your
head gently guiding you.  He then gentle raises your lips to his,
pulling you close to him, lavishing you with kisses and caresses.
Lying you down on your back, he spreads your legs as his mouth plunges
down into your pussy.  He licks around and about the outside, just
tasting and testing you.  His tongue the spreads your inner lips,
working up to your clit, where it slowly circles, gently increasing
the pressure as you writhe and buck to match his rhythm.  His fingers
find you, and penetrate you, first one, then two, sliding deep into
you and finding sensitive spots within.  Your thoughts completely
scatter as you feel the first orgasm building within you; when it
comes, you moan, scream, thrash as he licks, sucks, teases you with
his tongue and fingers.  A second, and then a third, pour out of you
as he continues, first lower, then faster, matching the pace of your
arousal.
 
    Then, suddenly, he rises, and, half-kneeling over you, he slides
into you.  The actual penetration is so sudden, so filling and
intense, that another climax floods through you.  You pick up his
rhythm, grinding together, rising to meet his thrusts.  The orgasms
come again and again, blending into one another, until you feel your
own bodies seem to blend together: one span of sensation, touch, taste
... you vaguely remember turning about on your hands and knees,
bending over, offering yourself up to him with spread legs, writhing
hips, soft moans ...you vaguely remember his thrusting into you as you
pushed back into him ... you vaguely remember mounting him, sliding up
and down on his shaft, feeling it fill you ... you vaguely remember,
in answer to a forgetten question, the complete submission of a your
gasped yes, master ...
 
    And you remember his climax, his face contorted with ecstasy and
concentration, as he filled you, pumped into you, hot, wet, your
climax overwhelming as you collapse together ...
 
    You roll over and look about the room.  The waiting projects are
still there, still staring at you.  You smile, softly, and gently
stroke your lovers arm; he returns your smile.  The busy day can wait,
for a moment longer.

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