There’s a mat I stand on to wait in our sanctuary and today its waiting for me right under the heat pump mounted on the wall. I stand naked in the steady stream of warm air that pours down. It has been running for a while and the room is warm, making me drowsy. Practise, lots of it, means I can handle the wait, reinforced by lessons from the few times she has found me off the mat when she enters.

Even so, my legs are beginning to feel the ache from a longer-than-usual wait. I stand legs apart, hands clasped behind me, slowly adjusting my stance ever so slightly, repeatedly, in the hopes of easing their strain. The longer I wait, the harder it gets, but also the more likely she will enter any second. My ears strain for the merest sound of footsteps beyond the door, the slight rattle of the door handle, pray for that split second of warning.

Suddenly, a voice beyond the room, signing softly, coming closer. She is either giving me warning of her coming, or teasing, planning to walk past the door. I am alert when the door clatters open. She stops her song as she enters, barely looking at me as she makes her way to the large comfy chair sitting in one corner of the room. She sits carefully, tucking one leg up under the other.

She points to the ground before her and I hasten to it, taking the mat with me. I place it on the floor at her feet and sit down cross-legged facing her.

For the first time, I actually notice the book waiting on the arm of the chair. I can see several bits of coloured paper poking out from between the pages. Carefully, she places reading glasses on the end of her nose and wets her thumb, taking her time licking her thumb sensuously before rubbing it and forefinger together. Slowly, she flicks the pages until the first bookmark is able to be extracted.

Holding the pages open with one extended finger, she turns the book to face me and holds it out to me, removing her glasses with the free hand. Taking it carefully in both hands, I look down to where her finger is now indicating my starting point, it’s going to be poetry today. I clear my throat and begin to read, she sinks back into the chair, closing her eyes as she relaxes.

“Your soft lips to all my lips
blow hot
breath everywhere
Your tongue to my tongue
taste me
everywhere
Your fiery desires to fulfil all
my desires
cry out loud
love fountains everywhere”

Continuing through the rest of the verses, my voice is the only sound in the room. I put effort, passion… love, into it, inflection indicating arousal, interest, giving. She remains unmoved, motionless and reposed on her throne. A tiny smile tries to impose itself in the corners of her mouth, softening the look of concentration as she focusses on my reading. I read well, bringing the words to life.

Her eyes flare open as I read the last few words, but I am already moving on to the next placemark, so she raises one corner of her mouth to escalate her smile briefly, then subsides back into her reverie. We go on like this for I don’t know how long. Lost in time as I read the selected passages slowly with all the theatrics and voice I can summon.

Eventually I am at the last page marker.

“…Use nothing but his tonguetip
to flick the light switch in his room
on and off a hundred times a day
until he grew fluent at the nuances
of force and latitude….”

I trip over the words slightly, hoping this is not going to be imposed on me. Luckily, she does not notice the slight stumble. Surely, I am proficient after all this time. Completing the last verse, I look up to find her already looking down at me. The smirk on her face shows she is reading my mind, she knows me so well, probably knows the doubts swirling in my mind in this moment.

She hasn’t spoken since she entered the room and she doesn’t now. With slow deliberate movements she pulls her bent leg out from under the other, and hitches herself forward in the chair. Once, twice, three times she moves her bum forward, sliding the short skirt up toward her hips, bare skin on the leather of the chair making a familiar groaning with each thrusting movement. As she comes to a stop her legs are spread, one knee resting on each chair arm, butt perched on the each of the seat.

With careful fingers she pulls the skirt up the rest of the way, bunching the material across her stomach. Exposed, her pussy gleams in the soft lamplight of the room. She is already wet, as I knew she would be, she picked the poetry. Her eyes lock with mine as she raises one hand to her mouth. Her tongue wets them sloppily, excess saliva running slowly down over her hand. With her other hand she spreads her lips carefully, moving her moistened digits down she slowly wets down the exposed lips and adds her saliva to the juices waiting there.

I watch silently as she moves her fingers up and down, side to side, tracing patterns ever more vigorously until at last they seek her clit. She flinches slightly as she finds it, a small shudder rippling through her, and her fingers slowly become more urgent in their movement. Her breath deepens in tone and rhythm, sometimes a breath extends into a gentle moan. She is oblivious to everything; I don’t exist to her and she is totally in the grip of her own pleasure. I watch her face impassively, waiting patiently but also not betraying my fascination as her face shows the arrival of her orgasm. So beautiful.

Her fingers are now inserted, two of them, working ever more rapidly in and out. As she comes, she moans quietly, her voice deepens in pitch as the little death takes over her mind and body. Until she relaxes suddenly, arched body seeming to collapse back into the chair. Her fingers have slowed, but not stopped, and every now and then her body jerks slightly as she runs them over a particularly sensitive area. Moving slowly, gently, she penetrates herself again, pushing index and middle finger as deep as they will go.

Withdrawing them again, she holds them out to my lips. Obediently, I begin to lick them, taking my time, with long strokes of my tongue lingering over the taste of her climax, the familiar scent exhilarating in my nostrils. Presently she wipes both fingers gently across my cheek to dry them, and ruffles my hair slightly before leaning back into the chair. I see she is smiling at me, amused by how much I enjoy her gifts. With deliberate movements she moves one leg, then the other, from the arms of the chair, placing them carefully so each rest on one of my shoulders.

All the while, she held her eyes on mine, gentle with compassion, with a glint showing the wanton thoughts hidden in their dark depths, plans yet to unfold, more pleasures. She has held rigidly to the silence kept since entering the room. Slowly she lets her head lie back, her calm face in repose once again as she closes her eyes. I stay still knowing from many past occasions this moment will not last long. I look at the glistening wet mound between her thighs, she is still very wet as fluid gathers at the base of her lips. Every now and then a drop is overtaken by gravity and falls away to run down the milky skin of her butt, before breaking free and falling to the floor between us.

We wait like this for mere minutes, before she stirs, but it feels longer. The ticking of the clock on the wall punctuates the silence, and as the moments draw out it seems to slow down, each tick distinct. I don’t really notice it but it’s there hovering on the edge my consciousness; I have no idea if she notices it too. I am focused on what is in front of me, mesmerised as ever by the beautiful symmetry of her lips, how they glow after orgasm, how their colour deepens. Glancing up I see the smile is still resting lightly on her face, she is well aware of what I am doing, where I am focussed, even with eyes closed. She is letting me enjoy the moment, pleased by my devotion, my love, my craving for her, always.

Soon she is ready to move on and stretches her arms languidly as she adjusts herself on her seat. Pulling herself up into more of a sitting position, she keeps both feet hooked behind my head so that I am pulled forward as she moves back. Cross legged as I am, it is awkward but somehow, I manage to shuffle forward until I am hard up against the chair. She keeps drawing my head forward and down with her feet.

As my head gets near, her scent once again rises to meet me, I can smell her arousal. Hidden down below the base of the chair I can feel myself getting hard, but I have to ignore it, focus on her. Reaching out with her right hand she takes a handful of my hair, twisting to make her grip secure. She pulls my face into her, no preliminaries, no teasing round the edges, working my tongue over outer lips, not this time. Her lips spread as they engulf my mouth in their soft embrace. Automatically my tongue pushes out, probing deeper, feeling the pain as she pulls harder on my hair holding my head firmly in place.

Slowly at first, her hips begin to move, pulling them up while my head, and face, stay in still, held in place by her grip. I feel her wetness as she slides over my skin, hear her brief gasp as her clit catches on my nose for a split second and then she is pulling her hips back down again. She begins again, sliding up so quickly I haven’t taken a breath before both mouth and nose are covered again. Again and again, she slides her hips up and back, gaining speed as she finds rhythm, flow, occasionally pulling on my hair to adjust me side to side. I focus on breathing, following the beat of her thrusts, taking air in brief gasps, just enough.

I lose track of everything else now, focus on each breath, eyes closed tight, intoxicated by the euphoria I always feel in her glorious depths. Her grip in my hair tightens as she begins to moan, at first as always it begins with slow gentle breaths escaping delicately but with increasing urgency as her excitement builds, the volume increases, becomes more urgent, filling the room with her sounds. Her hips forcing themselves into me as she takes another handful of hair with her free hand. As she rises closer and closer to climax, she is pulling me in with all her strength, there must be pain in my scalp but I don’t feel it. I listen to her excitement, revel in it, savouring the taste of her in my mouth, the feel on her on my skin as she uses me, strong, smooth, movements and sound in a synchronised harmony of wanton abandon.

She comes fiercely, cry out her passion in a rush of sound, maybe words I can’t catch, probably wasn’t meant to, before a short shudder punctuates the orgasm. She is not finished though as instantly she thrusts my head away, relinquishing the grasp of hair, and stands. I take a moment to wipe my eyes clean and opening them, blink quickly to clear them after being so tightly shut. I am just in time to see her tapping the front edge of the seat still wet and shiny. Knowing what she wishes I quickly move, putting my back to the chair and resting my head on the edge.

She does not hesitate and straddles the chair quickly, facing its back, knees braced in the corner where the seat meets the arm rests. Positioned thus, she carefully lowers herself to my waiting mouth, but this time remains still. I take my cue, and begin working the tip of my tongue over her labia briefly, pausing often to apply kisses, or sucking gently, drawing her in to my mouth before releasing her again, but it is not long before I seek out the clitoris, finding it, tongue flicking, teasing it gently with long strokes. I take my time, slowly stimulating her in every way I know she likes, how she taught me. Carefully I clasp the clit between firm lips, sucking on it gently, as I tease it lightly with tip of tongue, moving my head to pull on it until it lets go suddenly. She gasps. I repeat, once, twice, three times, each time more deliberate than the last, slow, sure. I feel her becoming wetter, mixing with my saliva, sloppy sounds follow my movements.

The movement is subtle at first, thrusting herself down on my tongue as it reaches up, deliberate movements that quicken in tempo, until once again she is pushing herself rapidly, forcefully into me. Wildly she gyrates, across, down, into me, more and more, faster and faster, hands gripping the chair tightly for balance and strength. Where there was quiet, noise now adds to the intensity. She is so wet now, each movement proclaims itself loudly, mixing with her rising oooo’s, ah’s and sudden sharply drawn breath gasping a moment.

As wild as her twisting, bucking body above me seems, she is in control still, maintaining contact, driving her pleasure, onwards, upwards, toward its zenith. I focus on staying still for her, pushing back against her force, countering firmly, providing the stability her rising orgasm slowly robs from her. As she nears, she slows slightly, each movement longer, more deliberate, until, forcing herself downward with all her strength, she comes. I feel the contractions of her climax, as her body convulses with movement, sudden tension, release, slowing steadily, the gap between each widening. Her cry is long, a mix of low sounds, loud pleasure, spasms of guttural cries, inarticulate. Once more the gush of warmth fills my mouth, overwhelming me so that I feel its wetness covering me, over me, and off me to pool on the seat of the chair behind my head.

With one jerking thrust she finishes, collapsing into limpness. I can picture her above me, head hanging, eyes closed, breath still recovering, short intakes, fast exhales, slowing into one long steady letting of breath. She still straddles the chair, and with it my face. I hold still as long as I can, letting her take her time, but eventually I have to move, find air, draw breath. As slowly as I can, I move my head, twisting it slightly. She stirs at my movement, makes a half-hearted movement in the other direction with her hips, allowing nostrils freedom, access to precious oxygen, slowly, gently, I breathe again, trying not to disturb her in this quiet after the storm of her climax.

However, it is she who moves suddenly, throwing one leg over, placing foot to the floor. I feel her moving off me, hear her steps as she walks away, and then back. I flinch suddenly as something hits me in the chest, but from the feel of the material alone I recognise that it is a small towel. I grab it from my lap and start wiping myself off, ungumming eyes and still-slick face, blinking once more as I see clearly again. She is standing in front of me, waiting as I quickly finish. Turning I give the chair a rapid wipe over and leave the towel on its arm before settling back on the mat, legs crossed, hands resting on my knees. There is still tension in me, expectation, want, and I tremble slightly, as I look up at her.

No sooner than I have settled, and she clicks her fingers above. Once, twice, three times in a rapid staccato sound. I get to my feet as quickly as I can, feet apart, hands by my sides, ready for instruction, but she puts a flat hand on my chest and pushes me steadily back until I step back off the mat onto the bare floor. Immediately, the same snapping signal prompts me to bend to pick the mat up and place it in her extended hand. She steps away and drops the mat in its original position beneath the heat pump, still pumping warm air into the room. She gives a single snap of the fingers but I am already moving to the position, standing on the mat again, at attention, poised, ready, watching her.

She steps up close, not touching but I feel the heat of her body on mine. Her eyes roam over my face, but settle into place with her eyes locked on mine once more, burning into mine, smouldering, intense. Her hands go to my bare chest and begin to slide over my torso, touching me lightly, sensually, lovingly. Her eyes do not move from mine even as she leans closer. When it comes, the kiss is long, fierce, possessive, pressing my lips against my teeth. Finishing, she has my bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls gently on it and as it releases, she is back, locking mouth onto mine as her tongue probes, her hands still moving over me, caressing, stirring me with her soft touch. She inches her body closer, nipples press into my chest, my erection pressing hard into her belly. I can’t be more aroused, more in need of release but all I want is her close to me, feel her touch on my bare skin, to hear her soft breath between kisses, the taste of her soft lips, see her eyes on mine, smelling the sweet aromas of our love.

I do not know how long we stand together like that, kisses blending into the next one, looks, gazes held, communicating silently. As some point she has lifted my arms from my sides, and they join in, combing her soft skin, gently caressing her contours, down over her back, squeezing a buttock, tracing the lines of a bicep, pushing a strand of hair back over her ear, just touching, always touching, never wanting to lose that contact, connection, desire. Lips become slightly frantic as urgency takes over again, she kisses me deeply as one hand runs down my body to grasp my erection firmly.

Steadily, her hand begins to work itself over my hardness, gripping, rubbing, kneading with a firm insistent grip. She does not speed up, but maintains a pace that burns into my excitement, and I begin a battle between maintaining this perfect feeling of arousal, of being with her, needing her, fighting to halt the need for release, knowing it must come, needing it to come, that it must come soon.

Her kisses have slowed and eventually stop. I look into her eyes, so close, so hot, like beams piercing into my soul as I begin to sag, lost in my own pleasure’s call, but I can’t look away, I’m her prisoner, a captive, captivated by a look, the compassion within, the love, the simple acknowledgement of this power over me, my goddess, my heart. My lips part as the first moan escapes my lips, my eyes reflecting my want, pleading for her love as her hands work up my shaft, over the head, and back down again, without haste.

I feel it rising within me, try to fight, but powerless against the inevitable, vision blurs and I bury my head into her shoulder, feeling her lips kissing my neck, her free hand holding me tightly to her. I can no longer hold it, coming in great shudders, that leave me trembling as I lean against her, needing her support, knees weak, mind confused, body sagging, she is the rock to which I hold on to through the rising flood of emotions, sensations, love.

Finally, I sink down to my knees on the mat. My head leans against her waist as I close my eyes, arms hugging her legs, clinging to her warmth, security, love’s bastion. She lets me stay there a while, stroking my hair lightly, as I slowly relax, breathing calms, safe in her embrace, letting the moment last, willing it to, praying gratitude to my goddess wordlessly as she stands above me, until after a long while, with a gentle tap on my head, she signals an end. I kiss her once just below her naval as I release her, but she has not spoken a word the whole time, so I don’t either, gratitude can be expressed later, in a thousand ways. Instead, I assume my worship position, forehead to the floor, arms outstretched as I kneel before her.

I receive acknowledgement. She pushes a foot forward until it is just touching my head, receiving a single kiss to the top of it, before abruptly turning and leaving the room. I keep my position after I hear the door close behind her again, letting the tension bleed off, reflecting on the glorious pleasure she brings me, this goddess that knows me so well, owns my souls, my desires and every part of me.

Eventually, I slowly rise, stretch and walk to a cupboard. Taking a robe, I put it on, tying off the belt. I stetch again, then pick up a few other items, sprays, cloths, and I flick a switch on the radio so that soft music starts to fill the room. I start to clean the sanctuary…