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Extasis, Part Six
Reply to Scynneh or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list February 13, 2001
See 1 for disclaimers.
Rating: R, for sexual deliciousness. Some f/f/, and m/f.
History can be looked at as a brand of psychotherapy. Others have been through the same thing, and everyone has thought roughly the same things about things. Teenagers take it to the extreme:
'I'm isolated, alone, no one has ever suffered as much as I have, and I'm enjoying it and annoying the hell out of my parents.' But the point of the thing is that most people have gotten through the mess that if life, never mind their home or circumstances.
There are variations that break tradition of course; fairy tales seem to be written primarily to convince small children that their lot is better than they think, and that they should be grateful to be breathing, forget about wealth and happy endings. Through stories, lessons are etched into young minds: French are really tricksters; the German tales are truly grim. Never should anyone inflict that on a child until they're about ten years old and truly appreciate all the blood and gore. After all; the Deutsch have written down another important truth of life: go straight for the entrails. More overachievers in this area can be found in primitive Earth history: the Aztecs, ripping the hearts out of their sacrificial victims, and the Mayans with their favorite game of soccer with a severed head. Unforgettable are the Iroquois, who flayed the flesh off their enemies' backs and then ingested it to gain their power. But there is something to be said about such clean practices, nowadays, one had to got through all the political posturing and nonsense in order to be tortured in much the same way. In my opinion, there was a perk to being born back when animal skins were worn for warmth rather than a statement of one's status: no one kidded around, death was inescapable, and while it might come in the night, it would not talk you into glazed catatonia with vows of social betterment as a prelude to the inevitable.
Dionysus was the god of fertility, both vegetative and human. He was also the patron of wine, and merriment, which sometimes lead to fertility.
Definitely 'merry' was the mood in the sweltering room, but I was more tense than pleased, and from the looks of the collapsed women, there was not likely to be any real assistance from that section of team. I was wound too tightly, though for moving soliloquies, and didn't anticipate Tess being moved by that kind of nonsense to relieve my problem. That in mind, I carefully severed the bond I had formed with a chair while watching the girls' 'getting to know you' session, and glided over to where they lay, not really considering stealth to be a wise course of action, especially since my body was ready to combust, all without any further stimulation. And I wasn't too concerned with what they thought about my joining them. I'd 'lost many a battle but never a war' in the game of Seduction, and that was why I had confidence- nothing so bolstering to one's libido as the assurance that relief was close at hand. Or at the hands of others.
Tess was far gone in post coital relaxation for any dramatics when I nudged her into a position where I could reach her mouth, and she responded dreamily when I swiped my tongue over her puffy lips, demanding her acquiescence. . Within seconds, her tongue was exchanging my need, tracing my teeth, and generally assuring me that she was awake enough to go another round. When I bit down on her tongue, she mock-growled at me and raked my shoulder with her nails in admonition. Too much at once, and she'd lapse into a coma so convincing that she'd be able to fool a team of specialists, but moderation wouldS I wiped my palm over her belly, skated over the dip leading to bliss, and discovered the fountain of youth. Bringing my sopping digits up to her lips, a tickle behind her ears garnered the sought for reaction, and her arousal returned in a gush with the sampling of her juices. I could feel her heartbeat accelerate under my left hand, and smiled inwardly. The right touch got all the results a poor boy could ask for, and then some. A little geographical determination had her most receptive spots wide and ready for more testing, and Tess' sighs had Maria blinking sleepily up at us in less time than it took for me to remove my shirt and Tess' confining bodysuit. In a magnanimous gesture, I left my lower body clothed for the time being; it wouldn't do to frighten Goldilocks so early in the evening. There was time aplenty for her to become accustomed to what I had to offer her. And I got the impression just peeking at the mouth that was agape in a yawn, that my fortitude would be more than rewarded.
Meanwhile, Tess and I were reminding each other why gentleness was greatly overrated; her nails had raised welts over my already clawed back, and I was considering whether or not to throw her to the floor and fuck her raw, when she grabbed my attention. And firmly enough that I gasped.
"The girl," she reminded me, as if I had forgotten that succulent piece of fruit waiting to be plucked and savored. Grinding her hips against my cock, Tess reiterated her worries to my mono-celled-brain.
"Ease her into this, Rath," she ordered. "Don't break her."
My smile was no more than a flashing of dominance as I pressed her into the floor alongside Maria.
"Oh, I want to break her Tessie," I whispered into her cropped hair. "Thing is, I'll be a good boy and put her back together again."
This satisfied my little bitch and she nearly choked me with her wrap of limbs around my quivering body.
I spared only the smallest peek at Maria, and even that was sufficient to tell me that while she was more bewildered now than ever, there was also a tiny amount of curious arousal showing through. The lily had color after all. So, ever the exhibitionist, I played Casanova to my audience.
Tess was a marvelously sensitive being; all of 'the family' was, and certain places on our bodies render us more or less insensible and open to the suggestion of anything. Sometimes though, involuntary responses have nasty connotations, and as I found the potential for their abuse all too common in my life, I made a concentrated effort to keep my 'special places' a 'need to know' thing. As in- if they weren't screwing me, and I didn't trust them, no way. And after all, I slept with Izzy, what worse experience could one hope to have in the bedroom? With her in my past, I had no need for other enemies.
Back to Tess' 'bundle of feeling'. I knew that the insides of her elbows were erogenous zones, and had learned that the slightest touch of my tongue could send her into a frenzy of excitement, releasing the dam from her river; allowing me to taste her. I never understood the place's importance, I'm a 'neck man', myself, but there was no denying the slither of moistened lower lips over my pants as I neared her arms.
Maria was watching us, not realizing that the simple act of being an observer to this was opening her up to more possibilities than she could ever hope to have the stamina for. Thinking about contorting with that softly muscled form made me even gladder that Tess had warmed her up, and since one should always commend good work, I decided to give her a reward.
Splaying one hand on Tess' belly to assure her immobility, I brought one limp arm to my lips, cupping the elbow as reverently as if it were some chalice of life. Just the faintest contact of my tongue to that downy indentation had Tess gulping for air, and the suction of my mouth brought her temperature up to burn me. I nursed at that patch of skin until it was a deep rose shade, and then I pulled back; ignoring the curses uttered by my lover, knowing that in seconds, she'd be shouting expletives for an entirely different reason. She could climax here without me ever touching her clit, and we both knew it, but this was our private game, and I had just gotten an urge to quench my thirst.
There is a simplicity in sex that I find comfortably liberating: one has a duty to their partner, and the task of bringing them what they need may be difficult, but that is the very basis for the idea called Duty. If something seems impossible, then it is the Duty of one to accomplish that task in an outstanding fashion, and in doing so, raise the level of trust and commitment in the relationship. Yeah, everything can go to Hell when the agreement isn't reciprocated, or worse, misinterpreted in some distasteful way, but the trick to avoid those kind of unfortunate happenstances is gratuitous self-gratification. I am justifiably proud of my talents, but I'm rational as well, which is very important in that I understand how to plan out encounters so that there is mutual satisfaction; whatever that may entail. And I am this way because there is no other way to do things: selfishness in sex can only leads to breakdowns, emotional isolation, or a celibate life of distemperedness.
Of course, there's no rule specifying who gets 'happy' first, and the order of operations is a personal choice.
Continue to Part Seven
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