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From: susan_soulcatcher@juno.com
Subject: {ASSM} Comfort Me, by Susan Soulcatcher -revised  (FM rom)
Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2003 07:10:06 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Comfort Me
====

His hands.
His arms.
His musk

They enfold me
Within his maleness
And comfort me.
=========

The sibilant rustle of the shower curtain warns me, not that I
need a warning, of his arrival.  "Hello, Dearest One."

His body slides against mine as he steps into the tub and turns
me to face him.  "My Love.  Miss me?"  Strong hands coax our hips
together before he wraps me in a hug.  I feel his penis slide
between my legs as his musky scent teases me into limp
submission.  I let him begin to carry my weight as I slowly let
myself relax, finally.

"Should I?"  My tone is teasing, light, bantering.  The game is
old, yet newly played with this player.

His arms tighten and pull me closer as his hips make minute
movements that hint of actions, of shared pleasures, yet to come.
 He bends his head forward and his tongue swiftly darts out to
flick the base of my ear before he whispers: "I missed you enough
for both of us."

It is the right answer.  I reach down and help his penis slide
into me, where we are content to let it stay, hidden, yet
connecting our souls.  I place my hands on his chest and gently
push him backwards.  Our souls stay connected and I reach to my
side, for the soap.  Eyes closed, I let the soap help me remember
his body.  I rediscover his chest, then his stomach.  With a will
of their own my hands drift to his buttocks, where his firm
muscles remind me that he is no boy, he is a man, fit and
powerful in his maturity.

The soap, forgotten, drops--and I pull him against me with a
jerk.

A belly dancer would be jealous of his skills, if I were foolish
enough to let her see them.  Only his hips move as he turns his
penis into a fleshy piston that rises and falls within the
cylinder that is home to my soul.

His arms shift so his hands caress my shoulder blades as he
insistently pressures my torso into contact with his.

I begin to pant, to gasp--and I feel his lips, closed, touch mine
before he shifts his head and lets his breath gust past my ear.

Overwhelmed, I sag and let him carry my full weight. 
Soul-touched, my mind reaches past the sterile white ceiling,
past the stars--and touches heaven.

When I return, I feel his breathing change from heavy, demanding
gusts, to something gentler that tells me he too, has touched
heaven.

Together we walk our languid fingers up and down each other's
spines.  It is he who eventually pushes us gently apart.  I open
my eyes to see his laughing eyes above the quirky smile no other
man has ever given me.  His words are a whisper that sends me to
the brink of heaven once again:

"Miss me?"

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------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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