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Chapter 4 . . .
Chapter 4 . . .
PART 1 --
I think it may have been the perfume. Or it could have been the thin black dress that just covered what needed covering. Or, maybe it was just how she did her hair that night -- long, thick, black, untamed . . fabulous.
But no, it was the Whisper. To me, it's the most sensual way to communicate; gets me every time.
Yeah, had to be that.
And it definitely got me that night.
It stirred something way, way down deep; nobody since, in fact nothing since, has eroded the memory of that night.
The thump-thump from the club still rang in my ears; her scent was all over me from the grinding gyrating prelude on the dance floor. It filled my eager senses with each breath, as if my very lungs craved her, desired her.
I found the key and she giggled like a kid with a naughty secret, leaned against me with all of her 5'4", and nibbled at my ear.
"You know, that doesn't help," I murmured, fumbling at the lock.
Then she surprised me -- she was by far the best at this -- seizing the moment, attacking my weakest point. Her lips lingered at my ear, her voice a thin whisper, tender leaves in a light wind, her breath hot with need. "Get me inside," she said, "and take me."
Okay, so now I was really fumbling with the damn key.
I felt the familiar stirring-rising-expanding-throbbing-aching, but it was more than that. She found a button, and she pushed it. Knowingly, willingly.
After tortured seconds, the lock released and we were in, albeit just barely; light from the hall pranced in after us, inquiring like a small child -- "hey, whatcha' doin'?"
I kicked the door shut as she was finding my mouth and popping buttons off my shirt, backing me to the wall, pressing her lithe body full against me and kicking off her shoes as I cupped and kneaded her fabulous, girlish butt.
A thin murmur left her lips as she brushed her lips against my neck and bit my ear. "Take me," she whispered, her breath a cauldron of need. "Take me now."
Responding to some code, some secret language, the tumblers all fell in place, a lock binding my primal self fell to the ground, and the gate swung wide open.
In seconds we were as we had entered this world, and I pushed her to the opposing wall, lifting her weight and sliding her down onto me, her exquisite heat filling my senses as her mouth gaped and she craned her neck, crawling her nails across my shoulders.
I lifted her midair, swiftly, up and down, with no support but my hands that so cherished her perfect ass, surprised at her lightness, surprised at the rushing pounding waves that splashed my senses higher, and higher still.
She reached her first peak in minutes, riding me suspended, weightless, a hovering ethereal mass of aroused ecstatic pleasure.
Oh, but that was just warm-ups . . . .
She whispered-bleated-pleaded. "The bed," she gasped. "Kiss me . . . on the bed."
See, she had a rather unique fondness of being kissed up and down the length of her back, and elswhere; this exercise had morphed into a sensual pleasure that I'd never known, and have not known since.
She slid primly onto the bed, lying on her tummy as I straddled her, the twin mounds of her glutes soft cushions against my happy, attentive shaft; I bent low against her neck, inhaling her hair, the softness of her skin, the smell of her, all of her, kissing-nibbling her shoulders, lolling-tracing my tongue slowly down the center of her back, blowing cold air on the cold-hot moistness of her skin as she murmured and moaned, a mix of satisfaction and expectation on her breath.
My hand found her secret place and stoked the fire hotter, a gesture that she greeted with a thin, muffled "oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h" as my mouth groped slowly, methodically, to taste more of her, all of her -- her low back, the back and inside of each thigh. I lifted her hips and perched her on her knees, exploring her from behind with my tongue. In passing minutes I could feel her quivver, her body rising with excitment, the pitch of her voice rising, gaining strength, then finding voice in the dark.
When she would reach climax, it was no mere flutter, no half-baked "Oh, God" -- it was an event; one that, at first, was a little startling in naked honesty. Each time her ecstacy would hit a new chord, a higher note -- her releases were loud, vocal, punctuated proclamations of sheer joy, with nothing held back -- total, utter, complete release, again and again.
She climbed and reached the top of the mountain her second time leaping into sunshine, shrouding herself in the waves washing her body, immersed in it, bathing in it, relishing it, wanting more, ever more.
And there was a lot more to come . . . .