"Inaugural Ball" {Pendragon} (MF wl rom)
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.
This material is Copyright, 2001, Uther Pendragon. All
rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long
as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous
permission.
All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly
coincidental.
# # # #
Inaugural Ball
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
After the restaurant they went dancing, following the pattern of
their dating days. During the fast dances, she was the
hummingbird, spinning around and darting in and out. David was
the oak, standing still waving his hands and nodding his head in
time to the music. But she could always depend on a clutch to
his arm to steady herself or change her direction. The fast
dances were artistic fulfillment.
During the slow dances, his lead was direct. She could dance
with him or lean back in his arm and merely raise and lower her
feet in time to the music. He'd move them both where they had to
go. This, down where it was concealed from everybody else, was
arousing.
During one of those dances, she'd leaned back and looked up at
his face. His arm on her waist must have carried a third of her
weight, and their groins were pressed together. She grinned as
she felt him harden. She wasn't the only one aroused. "Tease,"
he said. "Getting enough dancing?"
She would never get enough dancing, not dancing with him. Still,
this wasn't the last act of this evening. "Let's make this the
last dance," she said.
The weather had cooled when they came out, and he draped his
jacket over her before he waved for a cab. Although she kept
the jacket, he sheltered in his arms during the ride. He
automatically moved upwind of her on the walk down the courtyard to
their building. His height and breadth partly shielded her from
the wind and the spattering of rain.
She ran up the last flight of steps, out of breath as much from
laughter as from exertion. When he was two steps down and
pulling his keys out of his pocket, their heads were level. She
clasped his face to kiss him. He stopped there for a minute,
enjoying the kiss as much as she did.
When they got inside, he took back his jacket and hung it up.
She kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bathroom. She took
off her pantyhose rather than pull them back up, and she did the
cleansing ritual, being too to sleep in makeup. Forgetfully,
she reached for her diaphragm. Then she stopped herself. Not
tonight; not ever again. They were going to make a baby.
His own trip took longer than usual. She could smell his
aftershave and feel his smooth cheek when she kissed him. "You
shaved again!" she said.
"It's a special night." He held her while he returned her kiss.
Where hers had been flirtatious and laughing, his was slow, deep,
serious. His mouth no longer toyed with hers; his lips drew hers
open while his tongue drove into her mouth. When he broke the
kiss, his eyes were no longer laughing back at hers; they were
piercing, possessive, ardent.
She shivered. David had never her during sex, not even the
first time. He'd never her at all. She wasn't truly
worried that he would, although that seemed to be a worry of his.
Still, when he looked at her like this, she felt vulnerable. He
was so large, so strong, and -- right now -- so hungry.
He had worried when she'd mentioned it, so she had stopped
mentioning it. "Never fear me," he had said. And, really, she
didn't. Just this little frisson as she thought of all that
muscle and bone beneath his skin, all that desire focused on her.
Careful not to mention it, she still felt vulnerable when he
looked at her. She trusted his gentleness. He'd been the gentle
husband she'd expected; she was sure that he would be the gentle
father her children would need. There was no reason to fear him,
and no rational fear.
There was only that one shiver, that and the dampness she could
suddenly feel at her center. More than the dancing - sexy as
dancing was with him, more than the kiss on the stairs - fun as
his kisses were, his predatory stare turned her on. Still, there
was only so much of that stare she could take. She rested her
head against his chest.
"Do you know how beautiful you are," he said. It wasn't a
question. She could have answered a question. She looked
healthy and pleasant enough. But she'd turned no heads in the
restaurant, let alone the dance club. She'd never been
beautiful, except in his eyes.
He held her like that for a minute. Then he kissed the top of
her head and reached for the snap at the neckline of her dress.
It took two hands, but he'd done it before. He lowered the
zipper. After brushing the dress off her shoulder with his chin,
he kissed her there while he took the zipper the last few inches.
She shivered again at the licking and sucking.
He didn't straighten until she had raised her arms. Then he
lifted the dress over her head. He followed her into the
bedroom, closing the door behind him. He dropped his cufflinks
and tie clasp on his dresser, slipped out of his shoes, and hung
his tie in his closet while she got her dress just right in hers.
More self-conscious in only bra and half-slip, she glanced away
from his gaze. Her brush caught her attention. Did she have
time for the hair ritual tonight? Not really, and he would
insist on doing the brushing while looking at her reflection.
She turned and pulled back her shoulders; he unsnapped the bra
and spread the sides before dropping them. Topless, she shivered
again, feeling even more exposed. It was his turn now. She
reached up to unbutton his shirt.
When his was hanging loose, he took off shirt, trousers,
and socks in a few efficient movements. If her naked torso made
her conscious of her vulnerability, why didn't his naked torso
even the balance? But it didn't. The sight of the muscles
flexing, the tight jockeys tenting, didn't expose him to her
eyes. It exposed her to his body. His hard abs burned her
nipples as they hugged.
Then he bent to kiss her. He shoved the elastic of the half slip
down over her hips as he did so. He picked her up without
breaking the kiss. The half slip fell away; his tongue took over
her mouth; his chest was scratchy against her breasts; she was
moving and swinging through space. When those sensations ended,
she was lying about two feet from the bottom of the bed and
parallel to it.
He turned on the dim lamp on her dresser and turned off the
bright overhead. He stripped off his shorts on his way back to
bed. He knelt on the floor, arching over the foot of the bed to
kiss her. As his tongue explored her mouth, his hand explored
her body. He cuddled her breast, smoothed down to her belly,
stroked upward again to tease her nipples. When both these were
so full of blood that they ached, he stroked downward once again.
He tickled her thighs and drew them apart.
His hand clasped her center, warming her, claiming her, detecting
-- she was certain -- the dampness of her panties. He rose from
the kiss to look her in the eyes while three fingernails
scratched across that dampness. She writhed as the fingernails
tickled her, blushed as she faced his knowledge of her arousal.
Finally, he freed her from his gaze by bending his head down to
her breasts. Each of these got generous attention before he
rested a hand on her knees.
"Sit up," he said. When she did, lifting herself against his
pressure on her knees, he shifted the hand under her knees and
put the other one under her back. With that support, she slid
on her to the side of the bed and almost over it. He
stood and walked over so that she could rest her legs against
his chest.
Again, his nakedness didn't balance hers. Instead, she felt as
exposed to his erection -- jutting upward framed by her knees --
as to his eyes. Maybe she was more exposed to it.
Her heels were hooked over his shoulders, and she used that
leverage to raise herself so he could loosen her panties. When
he pulled them up her legs, she was even more exposed; an
exposure emphasized by his pushing her legs back and down while
staring between them.
His eyes kept fixed on her center while he knelt back down. Her
legs draped over his back as he took one very audible sniff. Her
embarrassment couldn't compete with her arousal, though, as his
lips and tongue teased every surface of her sex. His hands came
forward to hold her and play with her nipples.
All the pleasure from her and her mind and her center
combined into something which was almost pain. She stiffened,
thrusting herself against his mouth. She shuddered and shook.
The feeling took her and swung her the way he had, totally beyond
her control. It was joy, it was beauty.
It was over. When she returned, she was lying with her back on
the bed and her legs on his shoulders. He was holding her. He
straightened, and she felt his arousal at her entrance. He
lowered her legs from his shoulders to his hips, then bent down
to kiss each of her nipples. They were so sensitive that they
tingled from his lightest suction. Her labia were even more
tender; the burned where his erection touched them, but she
writhed to increase that touch.
"Nothing between us," he said, looking straight into her eyes.
Was there ever anything between them when they made love?
Neither of them ever wore anything but their rings. Then she
realized what he meant. She wore no diaphragm, he wore no
condom. Her womb was as exposed as her face.
As she was thinking this, he straightened. She felt his maleness
pass between her labia as it pierced her. His eyes pierced her
as intimately. Each possession was a fierce as the other, and
she felt herself yield to both. However much she felt herself
blush, she couldn't look away from that stare. She slowly
stretched to accommodate him, feeling his head push her
sensitized labia apart. Then she felt his shaft rub against them
as she was filled to completion, and then filled beyond
completion.
She took a sharp breath. That always helped her accommodate the
last little bit, but it also pressed her into his hands.
His eyes stared at her as his thumbs stroked across the tops of
her nipples. These stiffened even more in response. He could
feel that engorgement; his face showed that awareness.
Could he feel that he was touching her, where they touched deep
inside -- no intervening latex? She couldn't, but she knew. He
knew as well, had just said so. And, having said so, he knew
that she was aware of that ultimate exposure. She blushed more
deeply, couldn't help it.
Neither could she help wiggling a little from the embarrassment and
arousal. And the wiggling rubbed her engorged labia against his
curls. Which increased her arousal. And, since he could hardly miss
the motion around him and against him, this increased her
embarrassment as well.
He began his own motions. First, he moved from side to side --
moving her but also rubbing against her. Then he slowly withdrew
a bit before returning back inside. She knew where these short
motions were headed, the long strokes which would fill her and
empty her again and again.
Before David could reach that point, however, she tightened.
Surprising her, ambushing her, the spasms wracked her body and
took her away. Agony filled her, and then joy.
When she returned, he was motionless, his body stiffly vertical
against her legs. His erection was even stiffer and deep within
her. "Love," he said and began moving again. She couldn't
respond yet; there wasn't any *her* yet to do the responding.
But, somehow, there was a response. Not quite herself, it was
flowing though her. She even missed his motions within her when
he paused. Then he bent to kiss her -- one brief kiss
between them, one long suck on each nipple. The nipples stung
from the kisses, but that fire rushed through her.
In that position, his strokes weren't quite so deep, but he could
drive in more rapidly. He slid slowly out until his crown
smoothed her labia apart; then he drove in quickly until his
groin pressed against them.
Every stroke aroused her more. When she teetered on the edge
once more, he raised his head. She glanced up and his eyes
captured hers. He stared straight at her as he drove in one
final time. Exposed to his eyes, she tensed. She felt utterly
full. Exposed to that cock, she spasmed around it. She heard
him grunt, and his shudder matched hers. Exposed to his sperm,
she came.
And came and came. This time she didn't fly away. This time the
pleasure filled her as he filled her, as his sperm filled her.
His forehead was resting against hers, and they both were gasping.
Then he withdrew and rested his head just below her breasts.
Some time later, he rose and helped her into the bed. He washed,
and came back with a washcloth for her. While she used it, he
brought her nightgown.
They spooned, her back up against him, her front by his
massive arm. Wrapped by his body, she was half asleep when he
spoke.
"Love you," he said.
"Love *you*," she responded. The close holding, the shelter of
body and arm, communicated his love more convincingly than words
ever could. Someday, she would say, "I know that," or "I can
tell."
But not tonight.
The End
Inaugural Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2001/07/19
For another involving a couple's seeking
pregnancy, see:
another.txt
"Another"
This, and the mentioned above, were writen as part of
Pendragon's Second Challenge. More description of the challenge
and a directory of other entries may be found at:
p2c.txt
Pendragon's Second Challenge
This is indexed in the subdirectory:
wl.txt
Wedded Lust
The directory to all my can be found at:
index.txt
|
|
