Sunday, May 18, 2008
Tender Agony - by KM
Darkness rushes past. I can feel the engine revving between my legs, sense the curve of the road across the tires as I try to relax and let my body flow with the turns as the bike weaves around corners. Night smells – wet leaves and damp earth, woodsmoke, meat on a grill, all rise up into my helmet. The sensation of cold wind buffeting against my leather jacket ripples across my skin. I am gripping tightly, my arms around Andre's waist. The air is damp with a light misting rain. I can see nothing from behind the silk scarf wrapped across my eyes and tied in a warrior knot at the back of my head. Little whips of wet hair lash my neck.
Andre was gone from bed early this morning, a note left on his pillow. "Special evening planned just for you. Pick you up at 5:30. Don't bother getting dressed. I'll have your evening wear with me. Be ready for anything and everything. -- A."
Andre arrived at 5:30 sharp on his motorcycle and handed me a box. Inside, a butter soft black leather jacket with matching leather pants and a wicked pair of black silver-tipped boots – and a black silk scarf. I dressed, the tight leather against my bare skin incredibly arousing, and joined him downstairs, anticipating the evening ahead, but slightly concerned about riding in the cold, rainy weather. I shoved the negative thoughts away and gave Andre my biggest smile. "Ready when you are baby."
"My God, you look so fucking hot," he said, greeting me with a deep kiss, his hands gliding down the soft leather. "Let me help you with one detail," Andre whispered with a devilish grin. He untied the scarf from my neck and wrapped it around my eyes. "Tonight, I want you to feel everything."
A sharp, slow turn. Crunching gravel. The engine slows, throbbing before it is switched off. Wind in trees. Cedar scented air. Andre takes my hand and helps me off of the motorcycle. He is silent as he removes my helmet, careful not to disturb the blindfold. He is leading me somewhere. Gravel to soft earth. Winding, root-bound path. Creaking door. Wooden steps. Blast of heat. Hot, damp, pungent cedar. Steam. Hot, hot steam. The jewel-toned sound of water being dipped and poured. Hissing against lava rocks. The sound of clothing falling to the ground.
Andre slowly, silently unzips my jacket and nibbles at my ear, running his tongue down my neck to the little hollow at the base of my throat that he loves to kiss. He is naked, his skin slick with sweat in the heat of the sauna. He smells different, a new cologne? God he smells good, like someone I know but don't know. A bolt of electric excitement surges between my legs. Musk and cedar, earth and spice. I reach out to run my hands down his smooth, clean skin, but he pulls my arm away. He unsnaps my pants and unzips them with his mouth, his hands sliding the jacket off of my shoulders and massaging my breasts tenderly, slowly.
Andre directs me to a bench covered by a thick towel-covered pad and a feather pillow. He lies me down on my stomach. Something is dipped in water. Cool droplets fall across my buttocks. A dripping cedar branch is drawn across my skin, a slow, cool tickle. Andre knows I like it a bit rough. He is torturing me with this tenderness.
"Is this how you purify me Andre?" I whimper. "Is this how you make me clean?"
He does not respond. I try to lie still. I want to leap up and impale myself on his cock. I want to bite at the meat of his strong shoulders and feel his cum explode onto my back. I want him to slide his cock into my ass and whip my haunches with the branch, a stinging, agonizing ecstasy.
Andre knows what I want. I know what Andre wants. So I swim to him in a dream and breathe him my air. I am as still as a rock beneath the weight of the sea. He is the wave. He is the wave. Warm liquid – oil – dribbles across my back. Andre's strong hands against my skin. Rubbing it in, slow, gentle massage. Cool water on rocks. Hissing. He turns me my onto my back and pulls my legs apart. Dipping of water. "Ahhhh – Oh God, Andre!" Water is poured onto my cunt, the shock of the cold like a delicious slap. Two, three icy slaps. The serpent that is his tongue burns hot against my cool, wet pussy, exploring every tender inch of it. His oiled hands explore my ass, every tender inch of it. God, so slowly. I will die from tenderness. I reach for his cock and he pushes me away again.
"Andre, I want to taste you," I whisper. "I need to taste you. Please Andre, please." He places a finger across my lips to silence me and teases my breasts with the wet branch. Andre is the wave, I tell myself. Let him carry you. His tongue plunges between my legs, stroking my clit, the flame rising as he continues flicking his tongue faster and faster across my ravenous mouth. Rain is tapping an exotic rhythm on the roof. Wind in the trees. I am on fire inside and out. Andre is teasing me like he never has before, the torture of it causing the darkness in my mind to light up in a rainbow of colors, a firework display of light, flashing with the rising intensity, his hands stroking every inch of my sweat-soaked, oiled body.
There is no relief as he pulls me up to standing.
"No Andre, fuck me, please. I need your cock, I want you. Don't deny me Andre." Door opens, rush of cold, wet air. He is leading me naked down the path, rain striking against my erect nipples and rolling down my back in fat balls, repelled by the thick layer of oil. He is practically dragging me down the winding path.
Cement steps. Door opens. Warmth. Fire crackling. Towel across my shoulders. Andre lifts my chin and unties the blindfold. As it drops, I inhale sharply.
"How? I? Where is Andre?"
The man before me is not Andre. I have never seen him before. He is a beautiful, beautiful man. His skin is mocha and etched with a snake tattoo from his neck to below his navel. Tall and lean, muscles taught across his smooth skin, abs ripped, his body shaven clean and smooth between his legs. His erect cock is glistening with oil.
"I am here love," Andre says, smiling from ear to ear and stepping into the room from a hallway. He is wearing only a pair of black silk boxers.
"I want you to feel everything tonight. The old. The new. The me. The not me. Tender agony."
We are standing in a beautiful log home built of gleaming honey-colored wood, a massive log fireplace in the center of the room.
"Did Michael torture you sufficiently?" Andre asks, as Michael presses against me from behind.
"Oh my God, Andre," I reply, desperate for his cock, desperate for the him that is him, but heated to the core at the thought of two men at once. "Yes, he is very adept at the dark arts, but I was good. I restrained myself."
"I know," Andre laughs. "I was there the whole time. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, you resisting that way, watching you long for me, begging for me."
Michael leans down to kiss my neck and pulls a wet cedar bough from behind his back, drawing it along my side.
"I know you like it a little rough," Andre says as Michael strikes me hard across the ass, the sweet, sweet sting putting me within a razor's edge of cumming. "Resist no more."