The End – part 1 of 2

I knew the end was coming. Complacency and steadiness had edged their way into our whirlwind and passionate relationship. His text the morning before our prolonged weekend getaway was exhibit I’ve-lost-count in my case.

Running late with work. Rebooked flight. See you later tonite. XXX

The message reminded how much I didn’t appreciate his staccato texting skills. Running late with work. STOP. Rebooked flight. STOP. See you later tonite. FULL STOP.

I spent to morning getting ready, contemplating the weekend ahead and the future, while folding lingerie and beach wear. And handcuffs – they were essential for this trip. Almost as an afterthought, I placed a short riding crop on top before closing my suit case.

I am by no means bitter, but melancholy that the end of a relationship is drawing near. We’ve been together for a little more than a year and the last six months, we’ve been exclusive. True, our relationship has been based on passion and sex, and yet somewhere along the way, we came to know one another and have feelings for each other.

This weekend vacation was our goodbye and I wanted it to be our finale, bittersweet as it might be.

***

Marta had a lovely dinner ready when I arrived. She looked perplexed that I arrived alone. I skipped through the house, complimented the way, she always made everything homey. You could smell the freshness of the sheets in the master bedroom. There wasn’t a fleck of dust playing in the rays of the afternoon sun. Fresh flowers littered side tables, just the way I loved it, the exotic scent already reaching my libido.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ Marta said, as she grabbed her purse and left with a wave over her shoulder. I couldn’t help but smile, I always do. I found a chilled Chardonnay to accompany my dinner and planned the evening.

He arrived as the sun began to set, looking a little rugged with his five o’clock shadow and his suit jacket over his arm. He had taken off his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt, drawing my attention to his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his muscular arms. The sight of him always made me salivate. He is the right combination of brains and brawn – and with an excellent humor to boot.

‘Honey, I’m home,’ he said from the door.

I went to him and gave him a chaste welcome home kiss. Kinky came later. I draped the jacket over my arm and dug my hand into his pants’ pocket where I felt his cuff links and something else. This was about as domestic as I get, which he knew very well.

‘I need to finish something, before I can give you my undivided attention,’ he said. He licked his lips, ready for the undivided attention, but his eyes and the faint slump of his shoulder told me his mind was still at work.

Exhibit I’ve-lost-count and one.

I took his jacket and cuff links to the bedroom and used the opportunity to change in a white and blue floral sarong. I loved the feeling of the flowing silk caressing my body and the edge of the fabric binding the sarong together and ending in a knot at the nap of my neck.

The sunset was just an orange slice against the darkness of the ocean and the sky. The breeze whispered in the palm trees and the cicadas hummed their music. I served him a glass of the chilled Chardonnay and began to light candles around the room, playing with the options for the evening.

His eyes followed me around the room. The sound of him typing away stilled when I bent over to turn a leaf of a potted plant. Of course, he was watching me. I was only wearing the sarong. Every time I moved, the fabric divided in the front, flashing my thighs and my dark curls. When I bent over, my soft cheeks whispered an invitation. I turned and gave him a frank stare.

‘Finish!’ I ordered him. Our eyes met and I knew that I was winning him over. He concentrated on the computer screen in front of him and I resumed my teasing tour.

The cool air from the open doors brushed my sarong aside and let me feel how wet, I already was. He groaned from his seat by the table, one hand in his lap.

‘You type faster when you use both hands,’ I tell him.

With both hands on the keyboard, I clearly see the bulge he was nursing in his pants. I hope we soon skip to the main attraction of the evening.

 

Luke and the Sunflower seed

His name was Luke. He was so beautiful. His skin was velvety soft and darker than the night. He would moisten his lips with his tongue, the rare pink against his dark lips enough to make me sigh and beckon me closer.

We met on an outmoded train bound for Rostock in former Eastern Germany. I was on an adventure with a couple of friends, to practice German or so we told our parents and the see the remnants of Eastern Germany a decade after the fall of the Berlin Wall.

This final stretch was long. Outside the landscape blurred to nuances of green, cut with grey high-rises and in between, the evidence of people building new, Western housing. Inside, the open compartments were dreary, the fabric on the seat threadbare and everything in a brown/beige color scheme.

Luke was travelling with a friend, shorter than himself. They sat across from each other by the window and spoke that round African French that I couldn’t get my head around. They were rambunctious, laughing, and animated, so that none of us three, blonde girls, sitting across the aisle, could keep our eyes away.

On the table between them, they had a bag of sunflower seeds. Luke offered us some. We giggled our way through language, finding out that none of us spoke the same ones, but for me, it didn’t matter. I was completely smitten. I wanted to touch Luke’s skin so much so that my fingers tingled. And there he was, beckoning me closer with his dark eyes and that pink tongue.

I sat down beside him, immediately feeling the heat from his body. Our smiles wide to begin with as he showed me how to remove the pesky coat from the sunflower seeds. I wanted those deft fingers touching me instead of the sunflower seeds, preferably flicking my clit. He held a seed up to my mouth. I took the seed and sucked his finger, tasting his dark skin.

Our smiles were gone, replaced by countenances of need and want. His hand gripped my hip and I let his finger go.

‘Avec moi,’ he breathed and stood abruptly, showing me the arousal, bulging in his jeans.

I told my friends that I would be back in a little while and accepted the large hand, Luke held out for me. We jolted down the aisle, me in front of him, feeling his hardness. I touched it, making him groan, which in turn made my knees weak with lust.

We found a closed compartment. Luke locked the door, and I closed the curtains towards the aisle, his hands already stroking my arms and my hips.

‘I need to see all of you,’ I told him, even though he didn’t understand English. I yanked at his clothes,

‘Off, off!’

‘Une tigresse,’ he smiled and shed his clothes.

I reciprocated.

The sight of him, naked, in front of me, his hand supporting his erection made my jaw drop. In that moment, I wished for a camera or at least photographic memory. He was majestic. My very pale fingertips ran over his ebony skin. I moved closer to kiss his chest, his free hand clutching my ass.

I trailed my kisses further down to his shaft, the memory of which still makes me quiver. That was what a cock should always look like. Tall, proud, and ready to pounce. I kissed the very tip before licking the length. Anticipation made us both breathe heavily. I pushed him back on the seat, already on my knees between his legs.

‘Non, en haut, maintenant, tigresse.’ The words were desperate demands. Luke picked me up, spreading my legs. My moisture leaked down my thighs. His voice deep and round.

‘Lentement,’ I didn’t know, if he was telling me or himself, but by the strength of his arms, he lowered me on to his cock ever so slowly. My core was burning with sensation, stretching to accommodate him. Every nerve screaming, until he was completely sheathed.

Luke moistened his lips again and swirled his tongue around my nipple. The current of pleasure made me rock my hips, moving him in and out. The sum of sensations almost too much.

And then, Luke used his dexterous fingers to flick my clit. I screamed at the assault and he drowned the sound with a hungry kiss.

I was at the point of no return. My hips gaining in speed. Luke’s fingers sending jolts of current to my clit and his mouth roaming my chest. My core flashed with the first touch of orgasm, my walls pulsating his shaft as the orgasm took flight.

As the aftershocks of orgasm convulsed through my body, Luke lifted me off him to my audible displeasure. He landed me on weak knees on the floor just in front of his glorious cock. I welcomed him between my lips. His hand gripping my blonde hair, controlling my speed. I strained to take as much of his hardness as I possibly could, but even with my zeal, I could only take half his length.

Luke licked his lips, his breath hitched in his throat. His salty seed hit the back of my mouth in bursts as he came. I swallowed to my heart’s content. When he withdrew from my mouth, he wiped a smear from the side of my mouth, letting me suck his thumb.

‘Chère tigresse,’ Luke said, his voice husky.

We were both spent and the minutes stretched as we had our arms around each other. Conversation was needless and we wouldn’t have been able to understand each other anyway, but it didn’t matter. We existed in a small vacuum of time, speeding through the German countryside.

Slowly we resurfaced from our tryst and got dressed. Luke took my hand and led me back to my friends. Of course they wanted to know the details, but this is the first time I share them. The tryst, Luke and I shared on board the train to Rostock was without words, without description, and for many years it remained that way, until now, that I am ready to share the glorious Luke and the sunflower seeds.  

 

 

 

Good morning

You stir beside me in bed. The final ebb of sleep draws away. Your eyes are closed, and you begin to breathe irregularly as you put motion in your limbs.

I love seeing my man like this. Uninhibited. Completely relaxed. No façades. Especially when you’re so much in control every moment of the day.

You roll on to your back. I was hoping for that. I stroke my hand down your chest, feeling the warm skin and the hard muscle beneath.

Even in your sleep, you make me wet. I push my Venus mound into the mattress to absorb some of my sweetness.

I pull down the sheets as my hand encompasses your trunk above your curly undergrowth. You are already hard and ripe.

I wet my lips and kiss the tip, my tongue swirling around the head. A bead awaits me. I lick it up and begin in earnest, drawing you in with gentle suction. Your slick hardness makes my hips squirm.

Your breath catches as my lips brush against your curls, your strong trunk completely covered by my mouth. You groan a deep sound that makes my chest resonate.

I feel your hand grabbing my hair, guiding my head, seeking control. I continue to suck you with abandon; the sound fills the bedroom together with your grunts. You are close. You tighten beneath on the cusp of fulfilment. Your shoot your seed into my mouth and I happily swallow.

Your breathing returns to normal. Your hand caresses my hair as I linger.

‘Good morning, Oleana,’ you say with that husky voice, I love.

Quickie: Xerox aquarium

I’ll see you again tonight, and I can’t wait.

I’m wearing a new, black pencil skirt with a golden zipper down the back. I think you’ll like it. It’s tight on my curves and makes me strut a little more than usual. The zipper calls for a little experimentation. How far can I unzip it while still at the office?

The teal blouse makes the blue color of my eyes pop. It’s modest in the front, but has a long slit in the back. When I move, I give everyone a flash of skin. I love it. Understated sensuality, I call my style.

I stand in front of the Xerox machine, feeling the heat of the mechanics and knowing that everyone passing by the little aquarium has the full view of my back, the golden zipper curving over my ass, and my patent leather heels.

A male colleague enters the tiny room, giving me a polite, quick smile and waiting his turn. There is barely room for the two of us. I can basically feel his proximity. I reach for my papers. In order to accommodate me, he slides his hand over my back, through the slit, and on to my bare skin. His touch is electrifying. He isn’t you, but in the anticipation of you, any touch can make me breathe heavily.

He doesn’t stop. The heat of his hand caressing my back, applying pressure in that zone that sends jolts to my loins. I can’t help myself. I lean back and feel his arousal pushing against me. I know, you will discipline me, if you find out, I leading someone on. I imagine I’ll hear you growl from deep in your throat. You’ll make me beg, won’t you? I feel a drop of moisture escaping down my thigh. If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, holding my stack of paper and leave the tiny room.

I better not tell you about the incident, but I can’t wait for tonight.