The Acolyte
The pub was crowded. People were standing at the bar chatting; they were sitting at tables chatting. Smoke and conversation hung in the air. He stood in the doorway and gazed around and then at his watch. It was earlier than they'd agreed, but that didn't matter. It gave him time. Making sure that she wasn't hidden behind a pillar or sitting in one of the darkened corners, he pushed his way to the bar and was served surprisingly quickly. Perhaps the barman had sensed a stranger in town.
He grasped the glass firmly - there's only one worse thing than dropping a pint of Strongbow on the floor and that's dropping two. He turned to look for a seat and spotted an unoccupied table in a far corner. Perfect. He drifted over, pulled out one of the chairs, sat down, raised his drink to his lips, drank thirstily, soft-landed the glass onto the solitary beer mat. And waited.
She was on time, as he was sure she would be. She'd made that clear. She'd made a lot of things clear. He knew so much about her and yet he wouldn't know everything until he'd looked her in the eyes. And now those eyes were searching him out. He half rose from his seat and immediately she caught the movement. She headed towards him as he carried on rising. He watched her as she weaved her way towards him. The moment had arrived.
They were both nervous - nothing could disguise that. As he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, he could feel the tension within her as he laid his hand gently on her sleeve. His mind wandered to a current television programme where a panel of experts try to make a chosen victim more attractive to the opposite sex. He sees them as they cluster around a monitor transmitting pictures from a hidden camera, making snide comments about the hapless dating couple. "Look at the way he's standing...what is he trying to do?...what is she saying to him?" He almost looked up at the non-existent camera.
"What can I get you to drink?" The standard icebreaker.
"A white wine, please."
Again the barman was at hand. The stranger now buying for two. As he waited, he looked back to the table. She was stripping the jacket from her shoulders and placing it on the back of her seat. She was wearing a white blouse. White, his favourite colour, a non-colour, but one that said so much.
Back to the table. He sat down and looked at her. Their first words were semi-automatic - the mechanical words that kickstart any burgeoning relationship. He took these initial moments to weigh her up and he was in no doubt that she was doing the same. How could she have known that red hair was his favourite? That white with red is so powerful, so contrasting. The virginal with the knowing. And the eyes, just as he thought they would be. Yes, they were blue - she'd told him that. But what he wasn't expecting was the life behind them - the sparkle, the imagination, the intelligence. For a moment he was nervous - did she like what she was seeing? He prayed she was. He'd already mentally crossed his Rubicon - would she be joining him on the riverbank?
He listened as she spoke: the cadences that took him back to when he ran and played in these streets; and later, when he did business with these people and was heartened by their attitude - the refreshing bluntness that meant that everyone knew where they stood.
But soon it was closing time and the unasked question, answered by: "Shall be go back and have a coffee." Not a question after all, but a resolution voted for by all members
They didn't wait for coffee. They stood in the hall and kissed. Nerves again - the quivering bodies and the shaking whispers. Her lips were soft and parted easily as he gently probed with his tongue. A response was forming in him already and he wondered if she could sense it, pressed against her thigh. He ran his hand under her skirt, across the bared flesh between stocking and panties, and stroked the mound, the hill, that protected the secret valley. She moaned quietly, a soft mmmmm escaping from the lips he'd just released. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes." The invitation spurred him on; he pressed again and felt the cleft beneath his fingers. And he felt dampness on the fabric. He peeled the edge of the panties to one side and slipped two of his fingers inside the moist tunnel. She squirmed in his arms and whispered: "The bedroom."
The bedroom was as he imagined. Two words could describe it. Feminine and tasteful. No black sheets here - just a white duvet like a rolling snowscape. His non-colour again. He made to hold her once more, to feel her warmth and vibrancy, but she motioned him away. He perched on the edge of the double bed, watching her intently. Her coat had gone, abandoned on the stairs in true dramatic style. And how this woman had style. She held his eyes as she slowly unzipped her skirt, allowing it to drop noiselessly to the carpet. She stepped out of it, still in her shoes. Still her gaze didn't falter in the half-light of the room as she slowly unbuttoned the white blouse, inch by teasing inch. Soon that was with the skirt at her feet. He couldn't wait - quickly he stripped off his clothes without ceremony and he stood before her, his passion and eagerness bared for her to see. She pushed him back on the bed and fell on her knees before him. Encircling him gently and firmly with both hands, she lowered her head and took him in her mouth. He gasped aloud at the exquisiteness of it all - the thrill of it at that moment matched only by his admiration at her prowess and skill. He felt her probing tongue seeking out every nerve ending he possessed. Once again - how could she have known? He could feel himself building, ready to explode. But it was too early - far too early. He pushed her carefully away, whispering: "Let me do the same," and pulled her on to the bed beside him. Like an acolyte, he too fell at her knees, pushing them apart so that he also could give her the pleasure she had brought to him. His tongue found her immediately; she cried out and thrashed the duvet with her arms as he held her down. Within seconds her body had stiffened and then relaxed.
She raised herself on to her elbows. "Now, quickly. I want you in me."
He rose to his feet and he stood for a moment above her, his penis rigid in readiness and anticipation. She took him in her hand and guided him to the spot as he slowly sank until he was poised above. Again she cried out as he slid into her warmth; he too couldn't stop the cry escaping as he felt her envelop him. He began thrusting and she joined him instantly, her rhythm matching his without effort.
Once more he felt the rising tide of his desire but once more he knew it wasn't quite the time. He wanted this to last forever. He slid slowly out and her eyes widened. He smiled as he realised she thought it was over. Little did she know that it had only just begun. He rolled her on to her front and she quickly understood where the melody was going next. She raised herself on to her knees and he knelt behind her. He marvelled at the symmetry of her body as he placed his hands gently on her thighs. She shuddered uncontrollably as he slowly entered her again and began the pumping motion once more. For minutes they moved in perfect harmony; their cries and moans altering in pitch but not in intensity. He felt her climaxing again and then he could hold back no more. He gathered pace until he was straining every sinew; his arms ached but it was the pain of achievement, of
fulfilment, of joy. He exploded into her and stopped; he felt every last ounce of him drain into her. Tears pricked his eyes as he slumped visibly at the effort. He slid from her and lay on his back, looking her straight in the eyes. "That," he breathed heavily, "was magnificent."
She smiled. "You're not kidding."
He pulled her to him. "Let's talk."
"Yes," she replied dreamily, "but not for too long. Eh?"
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Submitted by:
DonkeyHoty
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