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Message-ID: <27701asstr$975942604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cymbidia <cymbidia@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} First Offering ~a very short tale~
Date: Mon,  4 Dec 2000 10:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The door closes behind me.  I slide the heavy black bag off my shoulder
and it drops to the floor at my feet with a small muffled thudding
sound.  I know you're close, i can feel you close, but i can't look
up.  My heart is beating erratically, very fast, and my face is
flushed.  I know why i'm here.  You know why i'm here.  But we've been
so long getting to this day that i feel faint and trembly as hard-edged
anticipation and sharply-honed desire rampage through my emotions.

"Look at me," you say.  Obediently, i look up.  You're standing close
and i relax a little seeing your familiar blue eyes and the angles of
your face.

You step in, close, and lean down as i lift my face to yours.  The kiss
is tentative for a long moment but pent-up passion sweeps away all
hesitancy and galloping hard need plunges between us, making my body
begin to shake as your arms tighten reflexively around me.

You break the kiss and stoop, lifting the bag to one shoulder.  Pulling
me along, you lead me toward your hobby room, toward the place you've
prepared for us.  I follow, narrowly-focused arousal making me
inarticulate and apt to stumble.  You slow to steady me a couple times
and at each pause i seek the heat of your arms, your hands, your
body .. all of you i can reach.

We walk around furniture and down stairs. Another kiss, searing in it's
energy and promise, causes me to moan and shift inside your arms,
pressing more tightly against you.  My hands move over you, yours over
me.  Your scent fills my nostrils, your taste spreads over my tongue,
the small sounds you make spear into my brain as your body imprints
onto mine.

I slide my hand down the front of your pants, feeling the inflexible
arousal there, rubbing up and down, moaning into your mouth.  You lean
back, looking at me, hands tight on my shoulders.  Slowly,
deliberately, you pull yourself out of my hands.

"Did you ask?" you demand, and I look up in surprise, shaking my head.

"No," I whisper, and the words are hoarse as they push past lips ready
for almost anything but rational conversation.  "No.  I'm sorry."

I slide my hand down the front of your shirt, leading toward your
pants, then hesitate, slowing, still looking up at you.  "May I touch
you?"

You remain silent, looking down at me, still, unmoving, waiting.

"Sir," I add, the word filling the space between us with electric
energy, making me gasp when I say it, making you shudder just
slightly.  "May I touch you, Sir?"  The words are just a whisper but
the power they represent shimmers and stretches between us almost
tangibly.

My submission has been offered; we both know it.

"Yes.  You may."  You guide my hand down the front of your pants,
pressing it tightly against the raging hardness beneath, watching me.
My fingers sweep over you, feeling for your piercings, learning your
shape, while you hold my eyes, a very fine trembling betraying the need
that rides you as hard as it does me.


--
"All joy emphasizes our status; always reminds, beckons, awakens
desire. Our best havings are wantings."
 .. C.S.Lewis

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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