“Yes, yes-” his voice was choked with a great and overwhelming desire for her. Hastily, he crushed out the cigarette, his body shivering, his skin prickled by myriad irradiations.
Her hands again on his knees, gently, insistently parting them. As if will-less now, he obeyed. Again the fingers took hold of the robe's folds, yawned them, and his male loins were bared to the priestess.
Pagan now and virgin yearning priestess, who would not be a vestal virgin beyond this hallowed hour. Then he was shaken with ecstasy and torment too sweet to bear and yet too agonizing not to bear at the touch of her elusive soft fingertips that had glided along the insides of his legs, rising from calf to knee, pausing there, thence to lower thigh, tracing a lingering and evocative pattern of response and perception till they reached the apex.
They were like butterflies, these fingers, so evocative, so delicate and sensitive, that he held his breath for fear he would not savor every nuance they conveyed to him.
They brushed his navel, made the circles and depth of it, then returned to his knees, his calves, and his ankles-thence to the upper thighs and at last, after an agonizingly Tantalus-ridden pausebrushed the tip of his penis.
“Marcia-oh-my darling-my sweetheart-”
“Shhh, don't speak-please, not yet, let me-” she whispered, her voice trailing off, and her fingertips resumed a far more eloquent message.
She gathered up the head of his hot prong between the middle three fingertips of each slim white hand, pressing them together gradually, then gliding along in delicate friction. He leaned back, hands on the loveseat, giving himself up to an ethereal and sensuous reverie in which, through his titillated brain and senses, the clear sharp memory of feminine flesh, of coquetry, of caresses and words exchanged and kisses taken passed intermittently.
Then these magical fingertips glided along the shaft, cajoling it and pressing it lightly, never seeming to touch the same surface of over-sensitive skin twice, bringing a varied and yet cumulative league of sensual forces into play over all his being. He felt his very essence summoned up, not imperiously, but in an ecstatic drawn-out etherized sensation, to focus all his life and radiant energy in his male organ. Then, as if divining that their work was done, those lovely tapering fingers took up the caressing of his balls, feeling the crinkly-gnarled sack, brushing the undersides of the scrotum, which they plied with soft wantonness and delicacy impossible to describe, incredible in their summoning forth of vitalized sensation.
His lips twisted, tensed, and shudder upon shudder rippled his yawning thighs, all his body was relaxed that it might taste every infinite shade of voluptuousness.
Her fingers suddenly ceased their ardent ministrations; the silence in the great and luxurious salon was torturing yet it fancifully heralded unspeakable joys to come.
Then her lips brushed his left knee and with the exquisite nibbling of a bee at the corolla of a flower began to traverse his naked thighs.
His nails drove into his palms; the aura of mystery, of darkness, and of beauty in which he inhaled the smell of her hair, the heavenly odor with which she had adorned her lovely ivory body, enchanted and intrigued him.
His legs yawned wider of their own volition, to grant her access. Her lips had paused at midthigh then circled around to touch the inside of his leg and her fingers now resumed hold of his penis' head, but with more sagacity than before, more sensual blandishment, for they tickled the circumcisional groove, the tips pressing into the indentation in the sexual flesh that was the weapon of her womanhood, the tool by which her womanhood was to be infinitely achieved.
Then, quickly to his balls, cupping them up, as if weighing them, determining the potency they bore for her, gauging it and preparing to revere and worship it in this role of priestess.
Then-again-a pause-a silence.
And then, he had to suppress a cry of ecstasy and of mad desire. Her lips had brushed the tip of his now surging organ, made it loft in fierce exultance and in proclamation of its male stature.
And her fingers weaved myriad patterns along his inner thighs till they shuddered and his flesh seemed drawn into the crux of carnal appetite, granted a mystic power far beyond its portent.
Lightly at first, as if shy and maidenly, as if curious and hesitant, yet latently ardent, those soft moist lips attained him, taught him a new delight, for she was virgin-wanton and wanton virgin in her waking hour. On the head of his rod she placed a series of butterfly kisses, so ecstatic and light as to hardly be felt, yet so cumulative in power that his body was shaken by countless spasms, all of them supercharging him with the knowledge of love's glorious triumph.
Then suddenly he groaned, her mouth had opened wide and engulfed the head of his rod, his structure delved deep into her sweet warm maiden mouth, tasting the elixirs and the perfumes which, till that moment, no man had ever known. And this, too, was her gift to him, and this her delight to bring him as only she could.
His fist clenched, head flung back, skin taut and shivering, he writhed in an ecstasy he had never believed could wreak its will upon the male, yet leave him so assured of power.
And, connoisseur of women as he was, he divined its wonders, learned its very inimitability. This bliss was not the Tantalus accorded by a courtesan or sensualist. It was the wonderful sweet and tender tribute of a maiden who delighted in his pleasure that her own might be the more fulfilled.
And then her ministrations ceased, leaving him dazed and shaken by the incredible wonder of her presence that was so innocent as to be gloriously wanton, the divine paradox of women.
She arose from her knees with an enchanting swiftness and suppleness, stood before him and murmured, “Max, come to me.”
He rose, trembling. The robe fell from his body and he was a naked man, and the root and sacks of immeasurable strength betokened his eagerness and potency.
She stood before him, arms at her side, head bowed. His hands groped for her in the darkness, found the tresses flowing to her shoulder; thence his fingers tasted the delectable bare velvet of those dimpled curves, so warm and fragrant, firm yet silken-soft, and pulsing under his touch, tipping at his behest and surging at the intimation of his nearness and readiness.
His hands roamed her, but not hurried-rather in a priest-like worship, as if bestowing on her the mystic and cabalistic benediction. The breasts, fruits of all delight-his hands attained glory in their firm jutting roundness, in their ivory-satined flesh, in the provocative peaks of the nipples that now tumescent rose stiffly to stimulate his own hardness.
She sensed that for him the proper moment had not come, that this, for him, was also ritual, an appreciation and an approbation of body-offering.
His hands circled her waist, knew the sweet bare warmth of it, the supple curve and well of it, then the thrilling promontories of ripe, firm, agile hips, the rotundities of her buttocks. His palms passed repeatedly over summits and base, learning by heart the breathtaking descent of fullest bottom-peak into quivering base, thence to thighs that were trembling with a feverish eagerness, as if their owner yearned to learn if she had passed this inspection without being found wanting.
Then, he knelt; the overpowering urge to worship at her shrine commanded it. Had she not knelt to him?
And she had purity-the gift supreme-to bring him, yet she knelt to him so he could master her.
His hands stroked the belly, the life-giving goblet where flowered the seed essence of the male, thence to the silk softness of the lower abdomen, and then his fingers knew the silk growth of her down, of her virgin's pudescence, suave and soft and gentle. Thence to the evasion of the loins, their hollowing-and there found the apex, there the gate, there the fount of her sweet quim-virginity-and his With his palms, he pressed against soft rounded knees, lovely bare knees that quivered with virginal modesty. Never had Marcia shown herself thus to a man and it was the proof of her love that she thus yielded so magnificently.