I glide into the kitchen on bare feet barely disturbing the silence, my mind adrift in rumours of impending delight, random predictions of lurid fantasy pricking at my anticipation. What will I be doing next? In half an hour, an hour from now? My, oh my! Long ago, and occasionally still, everything was in great detail, with themes… costumes… rules, but for a long time now whispers in the night have replaced days of planning.

Heads resting on pillows in the dark, bodies close, we plot and scheme for the morn in our carnal conspiracy. Adjustments are made, the day’s limits explored, focus discussed. Often these intimate moments escalate, the conversation foreplay, subjects prodding at desire, fuelling yearning, demanding attention and release, slowly, patiently, together, an act of love to culminate our planning like a signature.

There is a day for each of us, it’s always been that way, giving authority seldom called on to final decisions. Saturdays, today, are for her. Occasionally something is held back as a special surprise; birthdays are, after all, birthdays. This is the gift time has given, evolving together to live in the harmony of our desires, no secrets left to trip us.

Of course, there is the one constant of her Saturdays, what I do now, brewing her Kitty Tea. Sometimes incorporated into our roles, but often not, like today. It’s just a little habit we drifted into, but I have grown to love it. A private affirmation of our connection without words to confuse it.
For my part I am ready, showered and shaved. Oh, so carefully shaved, always with a fresh razor on these mornings to give the cleanest cut. Even the faintest stubble can irritate, and I have come to think of it as just the other side of the Kitty Tea coin.

On cold days I’ll turn on the stove element and spend some time beside it letting it chase away the chill. Not at this time of year though; the kitchen is warm, the sun shining stoutly through the big window above the sink. Breaking through the watery morning it bounces from metal bench to any shiny surface in can find, with enough vigour to flood the room with pale warmth. Even dressed as I am, I am comfortable, feeling the light on my skin like a blanket. I’m in just the red silk boxers she particularly likes, as requested. Even with the slight bulge my belly is busy growing with age they are still loose, providing easy access as soon as she wants it.

I hear the shower start in the distance as I always do, marking it in my mind; starting time. The timing for both of us is natural now, precise, made easy from repetition. It isn’t essential, usually not demanded, but gives rhythm to our actions. Both treading our own path of preparation till we come together, entwining destination and purpose.

For a brief moment I imagine her in the shower, hands moving steadily over her body, lather building up in their wake. Without knowing I gently touch my tongue to my lips as a little shiver ripples through me. In my mind’s eye I know every detail, my eyes trace over her image. Her face is calm and still, hands gliding over her body as she moves rhythmically under the stream of water. She showers like she dances, slowly, within herself. Such thoughts stir me, and I feel myself swelling, pushing against the front of my boxers.
Forget that, not yet, get to work, focus, it’s time. Turning to the pantry, I gather my ingredients quickly, and set them out on the bench. A pot of water goes on to boil. The moment of decision now as I return to the pantry, reaching in to grab two packets.

The tea shelf is stocked with a variety of teas and other bits and pieces but I am focussed on just the two in my hands now. In my left is the cinnamon blend we like from the little Asian mart just down the road. It gives a sweet twist on the more aggressive flavour of the black tea in my right hand.
Both are good options, so I take my time deciding, weighing each packet in my hand as if weight is a vital variable in some complex formula. I like them both. She likes them both. It shouldn’t matter, but I know, while she would never admit it, she has a daily preference. I have cracked the code. Like a poker novice she has a tell, and I’m the old rival player who can read it her like a book. I’ve learned to watch carefully for it without seeming to. I don’t really mean to keep it from her, it’s not really a secret. I just don’t mention it and it has never come up. Telling her would break the spell, and her knowing might taint my little moment.

Today, it… well, it just feels like a black tea day. I calculate the slightly more in-your-face flavour the black tea gives our brew will be a perfect little wake-up boost. Last night she crashed early, a long week at work, she said, and a desire to be fully rested, she added as she set out for bed. I wasn’t tired yet so I stay to let her fall asleep with no distractions. Our final words of today were brief, encompassed entirely in the length of our goodnight hug. Sounded like we’re pretty much going to wing it.

Eventually she left me, our plans without a signature on this occasion. I could have followed her, seduced her with my charms maybe, or at least begged for her favour before she slept. I don’t though, it happens, we both walk away at times, for lots of reasons, some fun, some just practical, knowing the wait won’t do any harm and may even be better.

Well, there was that one time, but I guess that was nobody’s fault. Tied up and close, I was once abruptly left to wait for over two hours when the surprising ring of the doorbell announced a visitor. I didn’t know it was her mother’s arrival until she returned; they’d sat and discussed siblings, shopping, some show they both liked. No rush. Plenty of time. Where was I? Out and about with such-and-such, grabbing a wigwam for a goose’s bridle. Don’t know when I’m going to be home, so what about the MasterChef double-elimination last night? All this related back to me later through fits of laughter about conversations with mum, while I am attached to a steel ring I myself installed in a roof beam, wrists tied, fighting the first pangs of cramp.

Oh yes, she made sure she got through the whole story before releasing me. It was a Saturday. She loved telling that story to those that could hear it. Even months later we’d be at a play party and I’d find her in a corner with a couple of mates telling it again. Luckily by the third or fourth time I was able to laugh along with everyone else when she finished.

Back to the tea; Replacing the cinnamon blend, I turn back to the stove to see the water in the pot is now boiling. On a chopping board next the stove, the cranberries sit in a tight little cluster, beside them a couple of cinnamon sticks. Putting the tea aside for a moment I quickly shred the cinnamon sticks over the cranberries. Lifting the board, I scrape both into the pot of boiling water and add two tablespoons of the black tea, giving the contents a stir to ensure they are mixed thoroughly.

The last ingredient in Kitty Tea are four liquid cranberry pills. Holding each over the pot I cut them in half to release the liquid inside before dropping them into the water. They don’t change the flavour much, at least to my mind, but certainly seem important for its desired results. According to our empirical experimentation anyway. Adding the ingredients has taken the water off the boil again, and I adjust the dial to make it return to a simmer.

She’s been using this tea recipe since before we met, and always swore it was something her mother told her. I mean, I would never doubt her, if she says that I believe it. Besides, I’ve met her mother. I could not imagine either of my parents ever in a million years suggesting to me I drink pineapple juice to make me “taste sweeter”. I mean, that is beyond conceivable from my folks, but of course she knew about that too and so, of course, I’m doing it now as well, and why not? Until I met her, I had no idea that Kitty Tea is a “thing”, and oh what a thing it is. Her thing, not mine. She says it’s like a detox that tastes good. Okay, well I can’t deny that.

As I reach for her cup, deep in my thoughts, bare, wet arms reach around my chest, meeting there and gripping, pulling me back into her firmly. I twist my head toward her and she responds, lips parted slightly as our mouths meet. The first kiss on these mornings is always a little different; love there always but this has more hunger, more fire, than usual. Partly for the fun to come but also a release, a permission if you will, to give ourselves over more to the lust we still feel for each other.

Her body is hot from the shower, the bits I can see still flushed and pink from scrubbing, she smells fresh with just a hint of sweet. I relax back into her, enjoying her smell and softness as she hugs me tighter. The towel wrapped around her is damp, feels cold on my back compared to the warmth of her body beneath it and it gives me just a hint of her nipples pressing through it. As she rests her chin upon my shoulder, eyes closed, I plant small kisses on the side of her neck, intoxicated by the touch of her body moulded against mine.

“Good morning, my princess,” I murmur softly into her ear, before taking the lobe gently between my teeth, teasing it with my tongue.

I’m rewarded with a subdued “Mmmmm…” as she closes her eyes and sniffs delicately. “Morning my darling man. Black tea today. Good choice,” she says but I know that’s what she would say whatever I chose.
We both stand still now, watching the tea simmer in the pot, enjoying our closeness, the touch of our skin, the way her chin feels on my shoulder. Slowly, she slides one hand down my belly and feels me gently. A testing squeeze and I can feel, rather than see, the little smile when she confirms that I already nearly hard. She likes me that way, it will be all the attention that part of me gets for a while. Maybe I’ll be rewarded later but while she doesn’t make a point of it, she enjoys that I am denied for now.

“Five minutes,” I warn softly.

She bites my ear suddenly in mock anger, “I can’t be late today. Whenever I am ready is the right time and you, peon, will match it or suffer.” She laughs as she moves her hips away from me so she can get in an admonishing smack at my presumption.

“Yes, my princess,” I acquiesce quickly in as timid a voice as I can muster.

“See that you do!” she says roughly, her smile exposing the lie of her tone. Disengaging, she turns and leaves, glancing back over a suggestive shoulder. “I’ll be ready.”

I don’t quite move with undue haste, but my pace definitely quickens. Heaven forbid I spill any kitty tea, have to start again… delay. Anticipation is a subtle but powerful suggester, now I am conscious of the erection she left behind. The damn thing is starting without me as usual, which just won’t do. I focus on the task at hand, ignoring it with studious intent, hopefully letting it dissipate with neglect. I’m not sure why I bother; even if I succeed, she will probably notice and bring it back.

With a small dollop of honey as the final ingredient I pour her cup of kitty tea through the strainer, give it a stir to mix the honey in and place it on the tray. Adding the teapot, honey and accessories to the tray I lift it before me and turn toward the door. For a beat of three or four breaths I stand still, settling in to myself, preparing. Then, with tray held high and back straight I leave the kitchen for the play room.

Our play room is nothing special, just the second bedroom with a few bits of robust and easy to clean furniture in there. Nothing decorating its walls to give hint to its purpose. Plenty of props in the wardrobe, toys, accessories, costumes to prod memories of past adventures, real and imagined. It’s us that makes it our special place, but the tales of this room are not for this telling. It is only the here and now in my mind as I get to the door.

As the door swings open slowly at the nudging of my foot, I can see her standing in the middle of the room waiting. Hands on hips, naked, feet apart, shoulders back, she faces me as I enter; there is only one word to describe her – magnificent. All fierce and sexy like some Lynda Carter Wonder Women fantasy. She stays silent as I enter, watching me. I place the tea tray on the small coffee table, and stand, awaiting my cue.

The play room can often be a little cool to start the day, it doesn’t get the same light as the kitchen and besides, the curtains are pulled. Today though it is cosy, she must have turned the heater on earlier knowing her plans did not involve clothing. The tinted light of its bright bars mixes with lit candles and the free-standing lamp with the funky shade to give the room subdued light, the slightly orange tint altering her hue, making her look like a renaissance painting, showing off every wonderful curve.

She knows the power of this stance on me and holds herself there as I pick up her cup and discard the teaspoon. Holding it in both hands with the handle pointing out, I start walking toward her. With each step I slow, like wading deeper and deeper into water, stopping just out of arms reach. I slowly examine her from her eyes to her feet, from her feet to her eyes. Mesmerised, I am in awe of this beautiful lady but she takes my homage in stride. Patiently smiling a little with her eyes, she lets the moment last.

Finally, she holds out a hand and snaps her fingers in my face a couple of times to break the spell. “My tea?” she says huskily. So, she’s feeling it too this morning it seems. I take a hasty step forward and present the cup to her with a small flourish, staying silent. Taking it with one hand, she points at a spot on the floor in front of her where there is a large flat cushion. “Sit.”

Keeping my eyes on her face, I slowly make myself comfortable on the cushion. I sit upright with my legs crossed, hands resting on my knees as she watches me. I watch back. Slowly she brings the cup to her mouth and tastes the brew. I think she has guessed by now that something is important about that first sip. Not yet what it seems, but lately she has made sure I am where I can see it. A slow smile forms on her face but more importantly she tilts her head, just a little, to the right, as she exhales a long breath.

“Yes!” my mind exalts.

For the next few minutes there is silence. She sips her tea slowly, eyes locked on mine. She has me here, I don’t know what goes on in her mind through this part. Sometimes I can read her face for a general feel but not today. When I have asked her about it in the past, she says it’s “just stuff”, or “what I am going to do to you”, but it always seems more. Once she told me that it was when she is at her most content and I think that is probably closest to it. I’m not sure if I fully understand why but I’m happy to be a part of it.

Eventually she is ready. She takes two large gulps of her tea and puts the cup down on the arm of the nearby chair. On the floor close by is the foam rubber matt still rolled and tied. She moves her foot behind it and with a quick flick kicks it to me so I must catch it or wear it.

“Lie down,” she says.

As I untie the knot on the string holding the matt, I idly note that once again her command is almost as if talking to a trained pet. Briefly I wonder if that is significant for our day and glance her way. She is standing still, watching me, one hand holding the elbow of the other arm as she does when focussed. I can see she has her lower lip caught between her teeth, kneading it gently as watches. So! She is just keen to get started I interpret. She wants me in position now, right now, and that suits me just fine. I hurry to comply and soon I am prostrate on my back, hands by my side. She moves to stand by my feet looking down at me.

After a few seconds she moves. She is trying to keep it slow but not quite succeeding. Taking small steps, she walks up my left side. Stopping about halfway she lifts her bare foot and gently nudges at my boxers, working her toes slowly up the length of my membrum virile until she comes to a slight damp patch near the tip.

“Getting a little excited, are we? Try and control yourself,” she smiles teasingly, carefully drying her foot on the leg of the boxers. “I think we can lose those now,” she adds.

While I work the boxers off and toss them casually to a corner, she continues her journey up my body, reaching my head. Stopping there she waits till I am settled again. Lifting her right foot, she moves it slowly over my face to stand directly above me. Holding herself like that for a moment, left heel by my right shoulder, right heel by my left, she stretches, taking her time. Lifting each arm toward the ceiling, movement rustling through the tightened muscles of her arms and body, down into her legs as she flips her hips from side to side.

She’s teasing me a little, she knows I am looking, and I know she knows even as I try to disguise it. I lick my lips quickly again, hungry for her, why is she delaying now? As I watch, a small wet line appears and slowly meanders a random path from swollen pink lips down the inside of her thigh, betraying her readiness. I guess I am not the only one excited today. I can smell her too now; the tea adds a sweetness like fresh citrus to her natural fragrance. Although no demand of mine, I have come to love it and can harden at the slightest hint. I am already today, but a sudden twitch from down there confirms it, notice has been taken.

Suddenly, swiftly, she lowers herself to my face in one smooth motion. Just in time my tongue is out, ready, reaching. Making contact, she wiggles her hips slightly, seeking the exact position she wants. Then, finding it, she lets out a long, deep breath, and the motion of her hips’ changes, rhythm and pace synchronise as she settles into place. She presses harder, moving slowly, deliberately, her breath already quickening as the first sounds escape her lips.