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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
The Anniversary (MF Romance)
From: E.Z. Riter (ezriter@hotmail.com)
Date: 1998/05/22
The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any
other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission
of the copyright holder, except may by posted as part of a review or
posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sights.
Copyright 1998 by E. Z. Riter.
Email address: ezriter@hotmail.com
Please! Give me your comments.
Dear Reader, This should be read slowly and leisurely. Take your time.
Enjoy.
THE ANNIVERSARY
Their life had been like most other couples married five years: two
children, a mortgaged house, good friends, some good times and some
bad times. Their fourth anniversary had been a surprise, planned by
him at great length to make it special for her and blessed by her with
tears of joy. Their fifth anniversary would be in four months. She
had thought about it for a year.
Her plan demanded physical as well as mental fitness. She was running
and lifting weights at the gym. She would smile to herself, watching
her muscles ripple, her stomach taut and flat, thinking of what his
response would be when she gave the gift to him.
She let her hair grow. In four months it would be down to her
shoulders as he liked it. He made positive comments on the changes in
her appearance. He was always positive and supportive, as she was for
him.
She had designed a new, white evening dress. It covered her from its
high collar to the flowing hem around her feet. The dressmaker eyed
her knowingly when she had told her what she wanted. The dress was
really six pieces, attached to each other with Velcro. Skin tight,
both hiding all and hinting at so much more, it was designed to be
removed piece by piece. Under her dress, she would wear six different
items. She purchased matching shoes, higher heels than would be
comfortable but she would not be wearing them a long time.
She rented a small club with an elevated stage and effective lighting
for their anniversary night. She arranged a caterer. She hired a
young lady named Vicki to assist her. When she told her brother she
wanted him to help her interview and hire an exotic dancer, he looked
askance but knew better than to ask too many questions.
At dinner, about a month before their anniversary, her husband asked
if she wanted to go away, take a few days for themselves. She smiled
at him, a smile laden with hidden meanings.
"I have planned our anniversary. I want it to be a surprise, so,
please, don't ask about it."
The hook was set. She knew his curiosity would eat at him. And,
anticipation is part of the fun.
He tried, she knew he really tried, but, as the date got closer, he
was more anxious about the evening. She would only smile . . . her
secretive, womanly smile designed by God and nature to drive men
crazy.
"It's not much longer, honey," is all she would say.
A week before the date, as he was hurrying to leave for work, she
handed him a white envelope. Eyes twinkling, she told him "Our
anniversary is next Wednesday. Please arrange to take Thursday and
Friday off. This envelope has your instructions. Don't open it until
Wednesday morning."
"You are driving me absolutely crazy with all this secretive stuff!"
he complained.
She smiled that smile and pressed herself against him. She kissed him
hard, deep to his soul, then stood back, letting her fingers slide
down his chest, fondling him before pulling away.
"I know," she whispered, "isn't it fun!"
She walked away sexily, rolling her hips, knowing he was watching
every movement, wondering if he would follow. From the kitchen window,
she saw him still standing by the car, a look of total confusion on
his face. She smiled as she saw him sigh and open the car door.
He opened the envelope as soon as he got to the office. It read:
"Honey, be home by four. Shower. Put on only the clothes on the bed.
Directions to dinner are enclosed. Be there promptly at six. I love
you."
In the evening, he would watch her as she did the dishes or read to
the children at bed time. She seemed so serene, at peace. She would
catch him watching her, and that smile would flit across her face,
gone in an instant, becoming a ghost walking the hallways of his mind.
Tuesday, as he moved in bed, touching her, as he had for five years,
she said, "No, baby, not tonight. Let's wait one day . . . please,
just this time." Her smile was soft and warm, a genuine signature of
love.
"I cannot wait one more minute, let alone one more day! Are you
trying to make me have a nervous breakdown?" he exclaimed, his voice
rising in frustration.
Her fingers touched his cheeks as she lightly kissed his lips. She
smiled like a cat with a canary, as she said, "Yes."
She rolled over, turning away from him.
"Good night, my love," she whispered. She slept like a child. He knew
because he had been awake a good part of the night.
He was home at four. The house was empty, quiet as a tomb. He wondered
what she had done with the children. He took the stairs two at a time
and charged into the bedroom. The only sound was his breathing and the
ticking of the old clock on the bedside table. His tuxedo was on the
bed, neatly laid out, shirt freshly ironed and starched. However, he
noticed she forgot his underwear. Or, did she omit them on purpose?
He bought flowers. The girl at the florist shop took his order for one
dozen red roses. "Looks like a special evening." The girl smiled at
him, an omnipotent smile women have at these times when they can feel
a man's excitement. He decided to buy two dozen and waited
impatiently as she completed the order.
He arrived early but waited, knocking on the heavy wooden doors at
exactly six. She was stunning, so beautiful and radiant his breath
caught when she opened the door. She took his flowers and smiled at
him, a sensual take-me-now-or-regret-it-all-your-life smile, and
slowly turned so he could see her. She was dressed in her white
masterpiece, her coal black hair piled high on her head, emerald ear
rings matching her emerald eyes. He watched her sway beneath the
dress as he followed her to the table. She had always turned him on;
it was a major reason he married her. But, tonight he could not
remember ever wanting her more.
The caterers had laid out the feast. Warm spinach salad, lobster
steamed in white wine and served with drawn butter, angel hair pasta
with red plum sauce and fresh asparagus. Desert was his favorite, home
made vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries served over home made
pound cake which she had lovingly made earlier today. All in smaller
portions as to not dull their other appetites. And, wine with each
course, of course.
A beautiful young woman with long golden hair, dressed in a French
maid's costume with its low, square bodice and short, stiff
petticoats, was standing by the table. She said, "This is Vicki. She
will be our waitress." As Vicki curtsied, he glimpsed the bounty
behind the bodice.
She put the roses in two separate vases on the table. They sat
opposite each other, enjoying the outstanding food, the fine wine, as
Vicki provided impeccable service. His darling wife was a
scintillating and stimulating dinner companion, tonight even more so
as he sensed her anticipation and exhilaration. As always, he was
enchanted by her as he floated in her corona.
After dinner, as Vicki cleared the dishes, she rolled in a large,
comfortable recliner and faced it towards the stage. She handed him a
glass of port and extended the foot rest. She gave him a fine cigar
and held the lighter as he stoked it to life. She sat on the chair
arm, making small talk, her fingers idly stroking his arm.
The house lights dimmed and lights flooded the stage. The music
started. Vicki came out on stage, dressed now in a flowing evening
gown with a cape.
"Relax and enjoy," she whispered in his ear.
She knelt at the foot of the recliner, removed his shoes and socks and
began massaging his feet. She watched his face. She could not see
Vicki; she did not want or need to. She knew Vicki's dance would last
eleven minutes and thirty five seconds. She knew it would began very
slow and build to a crescendo. She could listen to the music and tell
what clothing Vicki wore and each step Vicki took. She knew because
she had choreographed Vicki's dance.
Vicki had warned her. "No one does a dance this . . . well, this
sexy. He will go wild."
"Good," she replied, "let him go wild."
She sat at his feet because she wanted to watch him. She wanted to see
how he reacted when Vicki removed her clothing. She particularly
wanted to see him at the ten minute fifteen-second point when the
music changed to a hard, fast rock'n roll beat and the last of Vicki's
garments hit the stage. Vicki was hot; she loved to dance and pushed
the limits. She thought he would enjoy Vicki and she knew it would
increase his tension. After five years, she knew exactly how far she
could stretch him.
She watched her man as she knelt at his feet. She could see his
discomfort as Vicki's routine moved into its fifth minute. He would
glance at her furtively, tearing his eyes from Vicki, seeing if she
minded, not knowing how she would react to his reactions to Vicki.
She would smile at him reassuringly, to let him know he was welcome to
enjoy. She felt the tension in his feet as she massaged. She felt him
move, once, then again, trying to hide his erection. She had to look
away and smile to herself. She expected this and it was funny when he
tried to hide it from her. After all, she knew how he would react and
she had selected her position to see him.
The music and Vicki were approaching climax. He was paralyzed, barely
breathing. She rose when the music stopped. She looked at Vicki and
was startled. She looked at him. He was dazed. She knew it was a hot
number but it really most have been something when Vicki unleashed in
the actual performance. She vowed to tip her for the extra effort.
She stood behind him and rubbed his temples in a slow, circular
motion, feeling the blood throbbing beneath her fingers, letting him
decelerate. She refilled his port glass and resumed her massage,
caressing his cheeks and scalp, feeling the tension ease from her
ministrations. He leaned back, eyes closed. She let Vicki out and
locked the door. They were alone in the club.
The spotlights covered only part of the stage so she could move in and
out of the brightness, using the shadows to her design. She saw him
sit up when she started her music.
She let her hair down as she slowly walked to the edge of the stage
and said to him, "We are alone. My dance is only for you. You are my
man and I am your woman. I love you." She blew him a kiss and began,
gently swaying to the slow and easy rhythm.
Sometimes, if a man is lucky, he will find a real woman, an honest,
unique, three-dimensional creation of God. Something about her will
burn into his brain, becoming essential to his being, forever in his
memory. Perhaps, it is a physical feature, or movement, or a smell,
or aura, or maybe a look or something else that fires him, forever
molding him by the heat she created. And, if that man is real lucky,
she will become his woman and a great, lifelong love will have been
born.
When he saw her for the first time, she was dancing. Her movements,
so lyrical and sensual, radiating energy and passion, had mesmerized
him. He knew he must possess her. But, it was her many smiles, the
ethereal and undefinable kaleidoscopes of skin and muscle, which
sealed his fate. Her "take-me-or-lose-your-mind" smile which caused
him to fall captive, her "I-want-and-love- you-forever" smile
guaranteeing their heat would never cool.
She was so graceful, so lithe, as she moved in unison with the music,
each beat sounding a carnal movement by her as the woman animal inside
her was freed. Slowly, wantonly, she moved in and out of the light,
artfully using and then discarding the separate pieces of the dress in
a vision of eroticism, raising his temperature and hypnotizing his
mind.
And, her face . . . her face played on his soul as it mirrored her
passions to him. She was sweating, her body covered with her wetness,
undergarments clinging to her. He was sweating, too. He wondered if he
could last through her dance.
Now, she began to strip her lingerie, revealing satin pink skin, shiny
with sweat, covering flowing muscles. Stockings and shoes gone;
shapely legs and feet revealed for him to feast his eyes. Perfect
timing, building towards an end he knew would come if he was strong
enough to withstand temptations and tensions unfolding at a
maddeningly slow pace.
Her pelvis undulated as she undid the garter belt and tossed it aside.
Only the bra and panties remained as she gyrated barefooted to the
ever increasing tempo of the music. He was probably unaware he was
stripping also as she led them towards climax. All he knew was he was
becoming a wild man, desperately needing her and unable to withstand
the torture much longer.
"No, no," she said with a wicked smile. Only then did he realize he
was stroking himself through his pants. He moaned, grabbing the arms
of the chair in desperation.
The music escalated as she removed her bra with painful slowness. She
would turn and twist, using light, material, her arms to hide and
reveal, teasing him.
He managed to stand and remove his trousers. He moved to the edge of
the stage. She danced above him, seeing his tension and naked
hardness. She fell to her knees, moving arms and hands, covering,
finally revealing, her breasts. She offered them to him, tantalizing,
teasing, withdrawing when he leaned forward to kiss an erect nipple.
He grabbed her legs. She pried his hands away, pushed them down,
requiring all her strength to guide his fingers to the metal rail.
Her eyes never left his.
She smiled, a "you-want-me-so-badly-you-would-kill-to-get-me" smile,
passion dripping from very pore, as she moved above him. His knuckles
were white from holding the railing and the muscles in his arms stood
out like cords of steel cable, pectorals twitching from the stress he
bore. His breathing was shallow and ragged. She could see the veins in
his neck and forehead throbbing like blue snakes under his skin. His
eyes were glazed and unblinking, stupefied. A tear ran down a cheek,
a tear of tension and frustration. She knew he was on the edge where
she hoped and planned he would be.
The music accelerated as did she, maximizing intensity, on her knees
before him, pulsating, slithering in wild abandon, her smell thick as
a field of flowers, her heat radiating in heavy waves. He was
catatonic but he began to shake uncontrollably.
The music stopped . . . Silence! Except the crashing of the blood
through his brain. Pelvis inches from his face, panties gone!
Shaven bare, swollen with need, glistening wet. She rose like a
cobra, hissing at him, fingers like claws, nails flashing, a trail
of blood on his chest.
"Fuck me now!" she screamed.
He awakened in his own bed, his body drained and sore. He shook
involuntarily remembering last night, the unbelievable force of the
maelstrom, the power of the passion which consumed him. Every muscle
ached as he tried to sit up. He saw the nail marks on his arms and
chests, teeth prints on his inner thigh.
He threw off the sheets to look at her as she lay beside him. Her
face looked so innocent and pure, incongruous to her womanly form and
her wanton wildness a few hours ago. He marveled at her, thanking his
lucky stars.
Her eyelids moved; she stretched.
"Hi, stud," she said sleepily. "You were something!"
That smile again and his guts churned.
"I hope you enjoyed it," she teased.
She pushed him down on his back and lay against him, head on his
chest, breasts crushed against him.
"Happy Anniversary, my love," she whispered as she drifted back to
sleep wearing a warm little smile, the smile of a woman in love.
Please! Let me have your comments.
Email address: ezriter@hotmail.com