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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
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Swirling (fant, rom)
By Sunshine 1995
***
Drifting,
She allowed herself to drift. Her mind joined her body in the
frothing water, which had now taken on the task of digesting a
plentiful Sunday morning brunch. He had shooed her out of the
kitchen after she had finished eating.
A smile played across her lips. Breakfast, as usual for Sunday,
was, interesting. Crepes. Strawberries. Whipped cream which _he_
insisted on making himself, how he had playfully fed her
overstuffed forkfuls of the thin pancakes, how the fruit kept
"accidentally" falling off the fork and into her lap (which he felt
obligated to clean up, with his tongue). Or him kissing her after
every third or fourth mouthful to taste the strawberries still on
her lips, and farther back in her mouth.
Her body drifted, cushioned on a pillow of bubbles, as she waited
for him to finish cleaning up in the kitchen.
All in all, he was pretty satisfied with the morning. Sundays were
always his favorite day of the week - the only day he and she ever
really got to spend together without other distractions. He would
get up early, sometimes as early as 7:00 and begin preparations,
kissing her ruffled hair as he untangled himself from her.
He knew that much of the muss and fuss and tangle was his fault,
sometimes he would stay in bed an extra half hour, propped up on
his elbow, looking at her, the way the hair half-covered her face
while she slept, her hands almost in a prayer-like position under
her cheek.
He would get up, prepare breakfast, and the rest of the day was
theirs. He also insisted that he clean up afterwards. After all, it
was "my bloody mess, so there, nyah nyah nyanyah nyah."
He loved to cook. It was so, concrete. So much of the rest of his
life was based on abstraction. After all, he took for _granted_
that he was working with something he couldn't see without a lot of
gold and a scanning electron microscope. And lots of luck in
finding a strand of it. In the six years that he had been working
on his various research projects, he'd never once had the desire to
take the time to see it.
But an egg, there was something different. Lightly oiled pan, and
the white immediately polymerizing into a long chain of peptides
instead of the free-floating soup that the eggs and yolks usually
consisted of. Damn, he thought, this is as close as I get to seeing
what I do,
This morning wasn't an egg morning. No omelettes, either. He had
run out of cheese last weekend and hadn't gotten around to picking
up any more. Plenty of fruit laying around, and a half-unused
carton of whipping cream,
Crepes it was.
An hour later, he gently nudged her awake, kissed her forehead and
said "Morning luv. howdja sleep?" A half mumbled response let him
know that she had slept well, he grinned. must have been the rather
exhaustive earlier part of the evening, he thought.
He remembered how her body had gone completely limp after she
tightened her legs around his back, not letting him move more than
an inch at a time to finish her off. And then a few more muscles
tightened around him, and he gave in to the inevitable.
The memory left him grinning devilishly as he headed out back to
the whirlpool where she waited for him. patiently. She was always
patient.
The sound of his bare feet on the wooden deck "Thud thud thud thud"
drew her out of her reverie. she smiled. (Did they ever _not_ smile
around each other? well, yes, but most of the time this was not the
case.)
She opened her eyes and watched him take the last few steps to the
pool, dropping the towel behind him about three steps before he put
his feet in the hot and turbulent water. He eased himself in to get
used to the temperature difference.
She noted with quiet pleasure that he paid rapt attention to her
breasts floating freely (or as freely as they could, not much of
them to float, just the way he liked them), and getting a
'positive' response out of him. as he finally sank the rest of the
way down, she could see the head popping up above the water, making
tiny eddies in the water surrounding it, just before he shifted
over to kiss her hard, on the lips.
the intensity of the first kiss was more than she had expected it
to be.
Teasing tongue play at the gates of both mouths, clashing and
concession across and around, into and through, each other's lips.
hands met involuntarily, gripped tightly to each other. Skin,
already flushed from dilating blood vessels (could she ever _not_
throw in a scientific bit of trivia into their lovemaking?) was
much warmer than his, he felt cool to the touch, and it made her
shiver, starting at her breasts - nipples hardening immediately -
along her spine and finally centering at the opening. a few sparks
of pleasure made her arch her back.
A hand unclasped. Who let go first, she didn't know. felt it slide
below the water line. Down her belly, into the sparse pubic hair.
Her hips arched to meet his fingers, now working their way down
past the thatch of hair and across her clit.
The other hand let go - her doing this time. Wet hands around his
neck and into his hair pulling him tighter as he worked his fingers
into the folds, one finger, then two placed inside of her,
She was lifted off the bench, lips still locked together and both
fingers still inside her. moving, drifting, she couldn't
concentrate on anything except the fingers, working in and out,
palm now against her clit and thumb rubbing it, she felt a sudden
increase in the tempo of his fingers, not realizing at first that
the change was not from anything he was doing so much as that he
has placed you over a jet, his hands cushioning the force of the
water.
She tried to bring her legs together. Intensity was too strong as
he pulled his finger out of her, the first few streams rushed past
and into her. He let her adjust before beginning to remove his
hand, but keeping his body between her legs so she couldn't pull
them together,
The force of the water hit and battered her clit, the inside of her
pussy, a thousand screaming fingers all wanting admittance at once.
Breathing became unimportant and he held her down over the jet.
Little chirping noises escape her lips. he took one lobe of her ear
in his mouth, rolled it, sucked on it, pulled it while his tongue
pressed the back of her ear.
Her entire body bucked, mouth opening and closing, finding his and
clawing the back of his head trying desperately to hold his face
tighter to hers. Soon, she couldn't even concentrate on that and
just held him close to her, breath between clenched teeth,
He pinched her nipple, which sent shuddering shocks of goose
pimples throughout her body, a last gasp, low groan starting in the
back of her throat, getting louder as it built up speed. He was no
longer holding her down.
Grinding her hips to the jet, letting the jet torture her clit with
pleasure, one last groan, sounding more like a purr, then her body
slid off the bench and into the deeper part of the pool, one last
kiss on her closed eyelids before she let herself go, drifting
again,.
-stevelee-
John Galt is Prometheus who changed his mind. after centuries of
being torn by vultures in payment for having brought the fire of
the gods, he broke his chains and he withdrew his fire - until the
day when men withdraw their vultures. -francisco d'anconia