Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. ________________________________ This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If you're not both of those, don't read it. Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe. The fictional characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt. If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination. This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off. _________________________________ Feeling (MF rom oral) (C)Copyright 2003 - Shakes Peer2B shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net (remove 'NONO' from the above address to contact me) /files/Authors/Shakes_Peer2B/ http://storiesonline.net/ (go to the Author's page under 'S') ________ Your body has become accustomed to my touch. It relaxes under my hands as I position you. Feathery fingertips now bring sighs instead of giggles. Your skin glows in the flickering candlelight as I kneel astride your hips where you lie prone upon the sheets. Lightly, I brush the silken strands of your golden hair from your face and you smile contentedly. Such trust, from one who seems so small and fragile beneath my brutish bulk, is impossible to fathom, but my heart swells within my chest at the knowledge of its existence. Leaning forward, I trail the tip of my tongue lightly around the delicate curve of your upturned ear. A gentle nip at the fragile shell sends shivers down your spine. I am attuned to you now. I can read every nuance of your body's reaction to my touch. Warm, soft, dry kisses down the side of your neck - your head falls forward exposing more of the graceful curve to my ministrations. Your sighs are soft and expectant. I draw a tender fold of flesh into my mouth and suckle on it, biting softly before I move onward. You shiver and moan. Starting at the base of your neck, using only the tip of my moist, stiffened tongue, I seek out the tiny knots that the day's stress has left beneath the velvet skin of your back. For half an hour or more, following with my hands to dry your skin, lest evaporation chill you, I search out and massage away each tense little bump, every taut strand. My tongue aches with fatigue by the time I have reached the little dimples at the top of your buttocks, and I switch to my hands. Every muscle in your body seems to have melted, and the firm, rounded globes that I love following up the stairs, now feel almost gelatinous in my hands. I shift to the side and gently spread your docile, boneless legs. A heavenly aroma wafts upward from their juncture, and moisture seeps into the sheets. Taking the oil from its resting place above the candle, I work my way down your thigh, taking my time. I avoid the moist crevice that beckons me, only coming close enough to hint at what's to come. When your thighs have yielded up the last vestiges of tension, I move gently on to your calves, taking care not to apply too much pressure, as I know how sensitive those muscles are for you. Your feet are the key to your soul. I work them with oiled hands for at least a quarter hour, each, and your sighs and moans speak to me of the opening of forbidden places within you. At last, I cross your ankles and turn you to your back. Your arms flop bonelessly to the side. Once more I put my mouth to work. This time, however, my purpose is more feral. I ravage the length of your neck with savage kisses and little bites. I nibble around the line of your jaw. I know the places that ignite your passion and exploit them mercilessly. My tongue delves deeply into the hollow of your throat, and your hips rise rhythmically from the mattress. Your sounds are wilder, more guttural now. Working with lips and teeth I trace the outer edges of your precious, exquisitely small breasts. Your cries become more strident and you seek to guide my head, my mouth, with your tiny, fragile hands. I am on a mission, though, and will not be deterred. Frustration colors your cries, and your pelvis thrusts itself upon an unseen lover. Your rock-hard nipples must wait. I know how sensitive they are, how they cry out for my tongue and my teeth, but first there is the soft, sweet mound around and beneath. Sucking, tonguing, nibbling, I minister to first one succulent hillock, then the other. The muscles in your abdomen tighten and as your pelvis vibrates, I stop. Only my hands are touching you - soft, broad strokes to calm and relax. The moment passes and I begin again, swooping down to inhale an entire breast. My tongue swirls around the tender morsel, playing with the hard, rubbery tip. Your back arches, and a sharp cry escapes your lovely lips. Using only my teeth, I swiftly capture the nipple of the other breast, covering the first with my hand. Quck, sharp nips upon the sensitive nubbin send electric shocks up your spine. Your legs fly apart as your sweet pussy seeks its invisible lover, oscillating rapidly in the air. Once more I stop. You cry out in frustration at the sudden cessation of sensation. When you have retreated from the precipice, I begin again, working my way orally down the gentle curves of your belly, pausing to pay homage to the wide depression of your bejeweled navel. Your hands roam freely through my hair and urge me southward as the pitch of your song rises. Almost there, I now combat my own urgency. With superhuman will, I force myself to moderate my pace. My tongue seeks out the softest, most tender flesh of your body, delving into the creases between thigh and labia - feathery touches that have you quivering with anticipation. Your cries have ceased and you seem to have stopped breathing as you wait for what is next to come. Your legs have opened obscenely wide to give me free access to the prize, but I take my time. Lapping like a little dog at his water bowl, my tongue travels from the very top of your fragrant cleft, slowly parting the moistened folds. The tiny, rigid bud of your little sentinel comes to attention as my tongue approaches. Your breath rasps through your mouth and tiny whimpers punctuate the rushing of the air. Pausing, I gently spread your slimy folds and slowly probe with a single upturned finger for the rough little patch of flesh just inside your tunnel. When your tube clamps down on my exploring digit, and your hips ratchet against my face to the tune of your indrawn breath, I know I'm in the right place. My tongue resumes its journey, now laving gently at the tender tissues beneath it - worshipping your most sacred flesh. I toy with the idea of more teasing, but decide against it. As your impassioned cries escalate, I flick the tip of my tongue rapidly over the hard little nubbin hiding in your crease, and run my finger across your G-spot. In mere seconds, your pelvis slams quickly against my mouth, two, three, four times, before your body locks rigid, buttocks a foot or more off the bed. Your keening cry is almost ultrasonic as orgasmic spasms rock your mind and soul. You collapse bonelessly to the mattress, still jerking periodically with aftershocks. I spoon my body to yours and pull the covers up. As the lights go out, you murmur sleepily, "What about you?" Kissing you lightly on the cheek, I reply, "Tomorrow." Before I've finished saying the word, you're snoring daintily into the darkness.