by Ozymandias Rocks
(04/16/08)
Dinner finished, wine consumed, blankets are spread over the carpet, pillows on the blankets. The friends undress quietly. Totally, except for the wife, who says in nearly a whisper, "I'd like to leave my underpants on."
They sit cross legged on the blanket, men across from each other. Women across from each other. They sit quietly. The husband stands after a bit and gets the candles. Hands them to the seated, with matches. The candles are lit. He turns off the lights, rejoins those on the floor after moving the candles back some, the light flickering. They hold hands, and close their eyes. "Why don't you lie back first. Keep your eyes closed, and just relax," he says to the wife. She shudders. She lies back, arms crossed over her petite breasts. Legs together. The husband bends over his wife, kisses her lips, left hand in her dark hair, right hand on her shoulder, gently moving down to her fingers, taking hold of one hand and bringing it to his mouth. Other hands are slowly caressing her body, the friend with his fingers rubbing the soles of her feet, then moving slowly up her legs, massaging her thighs. The other friend with her long fingers touring the belly, moving in circles, her lips gently touching her navel, her left hand sliding under the waist band, very slowly moving downward.
The wife with her free hand reaching down to the hand beneath silk, pulling it gently upward, bringing it to her breast, cupping it there. The husband brushing her eyes with his lips, bringing the hand entwined in her hair to her lips as he slides down her body, and with his other hand lifts the chin of the blonde, kissing her, as his friend crawls to the head of the wife, kneeling, cupping her head, and she opens her eyes as his hands reach down to pull her arms up between his knees, as he brushes her lips with his own. The husband, kissing the blonde, takes her hand, slides it down, his hand on top of her fingers, her fingers resting on wet silk, so very lightly applying pressure, so very gently moving. The wife, trying to turn her head away from the kiss, buried in his thigh, almost a whimpering sound. The friend backing away, freeing her hands. The wife, lifting her head, seeing the kiss, feeling the fingers between her legs, bringing her left hand to the head of the blonde, pulling her face to hers, tongue on her lips, whispering "I'll leave you two together." Then, "Come with me," to the friend.
She sits. She stands. She takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom.
"Don't touch me. Just hold me." She lies down on the bed, turns her back to him. A faint breeze from the window. The smell of lilac. The pale light of a full moon giving substance to her body. He holds her quietly, erect. Afraid to move. Holding her. Not touching her. Hair tickling his nose.
The husband hears the quiet from the other room. Tries to hear the noise as the blonde rolls him over onto his back, forcing his legs apart with one leg, then another. Hands sliding down from his fingers, down his arms, lips gently touching his eyes, then his lips, lingering. He feels her breasts on his chest, lightly, feels her hair on his body. Feels her lips dance from his mouth, to his chest, to his stomach. Puts his hands on her head as she slides lower, as he tries to hear his wife moaning, or his friend, moaning.
Silent tears on the bed as she feels him behind her, very close, very still, very stiff. Lying quietly, his hands on her breasts, feeling her nipples. Quietly she reaches down, removes her panties, rolls over, holds him. Eyes closed, finding his lips with hers. His hand pulls her closer. Her legs parting. Wet. Slippery. "Are you sure?" he asks.
In her mouth, her tongue massaging, warm, wet. "Oh God," says the husband, lifting her mouth away from him, pulling her up so her breath is on his face. She positions herself, takes him inside. "Did you take your pill?" he asks. She stops moving. Thinks. Whispers "No." Resumes her movement, her tongue between his lips, greeted by tongue.
"No, I'm not sure. I'm sorry." He becomes very still, remains very stiff in that slippery place of warmth. She gently pushes him over on his back, props herself up on her elbow, kisses him, slides her fingers down, finding the tip, wet, circling it with her finger.
"Please..."
"Which?"
"Please..." She feels the throbbing, feels the release, feels the result in her hand, on his belly and chest, touches his cheek with her sticky hand, touches her own face, and her hair, and his lips with her fingers, licks his lips, kisses him, tongue in his mouth, pulling him to her, holding his sticky body close to her naked soul. They lie quietly, listening. "Should we go back out there now?"
"Not now. I don't want to know. Just hold me," she says.
"You are so very beautiful," he whispers, closing his eyes, falling asleep.
She moves and he feels himself deep inside her. His hands are on her throat. He does not really squeeze. She is wondering, as she moves, as she feels him inside her, if he will put pressure on those thumbs, cut off her air supply, cut short her life. She continues to move, folds herself over him, mouth to his mouth as his hands leave her throat, find her butt, pulling her even closer so he is so very deep inside. His breath is rapid and she gasps and they cling tightly, with the only movement being inside her as he buries his face in her neck, as they share the orgasm. "I hate you," he finally whispers, kissing her gently.
The wife takes his arm from around her, kisses him gently, sits up, listening. She finds her panties on the floor, carries them to the other room. The blonde watches her through the flickering light cross over to where she and the husband lie spent, candles casting dancing shadows against the walls, the husband stroking the body next to him with long, slow, gentle strokes across her breasts, across her navel, to the fine blonde hair between her legs. The wife reaches down her with her empty hand, slides her finger over his mustache, then holds her hand out to the blonde, and the blonde takes it, and rises to stand with her. The husband remains silent, becomes still. His eyes are open. The two women walk to the shower hand in hand, wash the night from each other's bodies, dry each other, leave after getting dressed. The husband closes his eyes.
