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About LishonTov
I AM MARRIED. Though we are miserable and sleep in separate rooms nevertheless we are married. Long tortuous trip. Someday when I can write honestly "SINGLE" i will joyfully do so.
Pleasurizing a woman. Heated fragrant oil massage of feet. Toe by toe, metatarsal by metatarsal, thumbs into the arch of foot, rubbing deep knots out then gently flexing and extending the ball and ankle. She (you) are prone, comfortable on a massage table. Naked but modestly covered with plush towels. Since we would be pros at this by now you would murmur or sigh and that would cue me to bring heated oil to the heels, and the Achilles' tendon. Thumbs deeply probing the belly of the gastrocnemius and other muscles of the posterior calf. First left leg. Then with a the most subtle quick flick of the ankle joint the right leg is cared for gently but firmly.
The scent of the oil fills the room, along with the slight cloud of incense. The room is candle lit, but you know there is a hot tub to the side, and a shower on the other. Two brief contractions of your hamstrings demands attention further upward. Another scent begins to rise. It is your scent. I am intoxicated.
I reach for the glass beaker from its stand above the nearby candle on the table at the foot of the massage bed. The beaker refracts candle light around the room, of which you are vaguely aware, seen through half closed eyes, behind hair that has draped your face. The sensation of warm fluid spills down the back of your thigh. My thumbs two together now push, first gently exploring for tension. When found, deep boring pressure aches for a moment then you slowly exhale, and tension drains out of you. Pushing thumbs up from behind your knees, between the tendons at he crease behind the knee up, tracing the individual muscles of your hamstrings. Each string is thoroughly explored and massaged. A nearly imperceptible finger movement shifts me to the other thigh. Again the light refracts, the candle flickers and warmth trickles down your thigh. Now you are not sure if ALL the liquid heat is from the oil, or is some of it of your own? "Whatever" is your half thought reply to the unasked question.
You stretch your arms out in front of you for an instant, stretching in that feline manner, and place your head back down, now turned to the other side. Your eyes open languidly and seem to be almost surprised that you are not floating in some dream-state, alone but for protective presences. "Don't stop now" you purr (as if!!! Wild horses could not take me away). More warm liquid flows down from the center of each buttock, streams wind their way down, down into a vague pool of heated oils. The streams describe slight rapids and waterfalls as they descend down to the the horizontal crease where your thighs join your butt. First one buttock gets two thumbs and the deep gentle pressure, then it's sister does as well. Then each thumb presses down into your gluteals, both imparting a rhythmic component: slow, relentless. Down the hill my thumbs go; they are totally in tune with your every cell. Then after lightly barely brushing the skin on your ass, your buttocks begin a slight contraction relaxation rhythm. A soft breath, a puff from my lips like a half felt kiss plays across your skin, causing goosebumps to rise.
But not yet.
Another tilt of the oil beaker and warmth pools at the small of your back. The three middle fingers of each hand press into your low back, picking up oil, and beginning their slow trip up the muscles along the spine. My fingers make circles, ascending along the back. Then the thumbs are oiled and they explore deep between the spines, while my palms drop down along your flanks. Each of my fingers fits between two ribs. You sigh. Your back arches. Your butt again begins its rhythmicity. I continue up your back and my thumbs separate each pressing and exploring the shoulder blades. My pinky and ring finger reach all the way around to your armpits. My thumbs on your shoulders, and my long fingers are exploring the muscles of your collarbone. A moan escapes you.
You look back at me and your eyes tell me to proceed.
Slowly my hands, palms fingers, thumbs retrace their ascent. Descending now, quicker than they ascended. Not as quick as your body needs though and you extend your back to bring your butt closer to my hands. I speed up a little, but still linger over each point traveled, each point loved and known in detail as one may know a forest trail. Another warm, very warm dollop of heat, (the oil has been on the candle for some time now) at the central of the base of your spine. This oil has but one route to the sea, down the vertical crease between your cheeks. And so it flows, mixing with your own stream of natural lubricants, sweat, beads of stress are released as globules of golden light in your mind's eye. My thumbs gently descend into this your special secret garden. Spreading the cheeks apart I blow softly and see your anus contract for a moment, but then your ass rises and demands its attention. My finger traces down, softly, a slight side trip around the outer rim and then further down, down where my hand feels a heat like a steam vent. Further still and my finger dips into the sopped bottom of your vaginal folds. With a slight rotation of my wrist my finger glides inside you. I feel your entire body tighten around my finger. A second finger barely gets in before your pussy lifts from table. You flip quickly onto your back and with one hand wipe a sweaty strand of hair out of your eyes, and you glare at me, wordlessly you scream "down--on-- me--now!"
You scoot down the table, your legs flexed at the knees, your feet on the edge. I take a knee, my knee, and kneel. Your scent fills my senses, my heart is throbbing. Tongue wants to greedily slurp you up. But I know how you like it. Teasingly my tongue parts your trimmed pubes, parts your outer lips, and slowly s l o w l y traces their outline. A quick flick of tongue brings back a taste of nectar. And now your greedy body takes over. Your hands leap to my head, grabbing my hair and pulling down, driving yourself up. My tongue stiffens and probes deeply. A duet practiced many times ensues. Your pelvis and my head in reciprocal synchronicity. My tongue is fucking you. You're fucking my tongue. A grunt, a shiver and a command STOP! For a moment you are too sensitive to proceed.
Catching your breath you gesture "come". I know exactly what you desire. I climb up on the table.
You run to pee. You return very quickly too rushed to wipe. You return and push my head down, so I am facing the ceiling. You straddle my face and get comfortable. You sit forward for you like to see my eyes as you sit. Looking up I see your trimmed bush, your torso and your tits. I see your eyes for a moment and they look serene, regal, relaxed confident and in charge. You sit further down, and moan. My tongue knows its way around here as a honey bee does a flower. I look up and see your head thrown back in wanton pleasure. My face bears your weight but for that held by your knees.
Skillfully you move your pelvis about changing and controlling exactly what my tongue is licking. You press down now and grind your clit on my chin and then grind your bottom forward to bring my tongue deep inside you. I know what you want now, stiff tongue, upon which you rise and sink, fucking my tongue. Our practice has perfected our rhythmicity my tongue driving upward as your pussy grinds down. Now you press down hard and do not rise. Your knees spread apart and your pussy bearing your entire weight presses down down and down. Your hips begin forcing your pelvis to rock front to back front to back. My forehead, nose, mouth are slick with your juices. My senses are drowning in your scent, wanting nothing but more. And now you begin to come. A deep guttural sound escapes your throat, and forceful contractions rock us. As your back arches you lean back enough for me to see you, head up exalted chin pointing to the ceiling nipples like rocks your eyes tight shut you lean back on your arms. Finally the shudders come slower, less forcefully, and you open your eyes. You look deep into my eyes. Your face is beatific, radiant, satisfied. As I think you are about to hop up, you look down again and drop your sopping bottom on my mouth. Using my hair, beard and mustache to wipe the flood away, I understand this is your gift to me. I feel adoration for you. I am near tears in gratitude. Now you hop up. Once more you look down on me with the satisfied gleam but then like a switch a cool commanding gaze locks my eyes.
Your commands come rapid fire. You clap your hands together loudly, and say "Up! Run my bath. While running go finish cleaning the kitchen and put up tea. Return with the tea, and I will be in the tub. Go ahead....., now!" The speed shift took me a moment to get in gear.
I return with your tea and hand it carefully to you. You sip contentedly and direct me to one of your drawers in the counter. "I have a meeting in the morning. Bring me the nail clipper and file and polish remover and take some of the reds, and rose colors."
She languidly raises one leg and drapes her foot over the top of her tub. "Proceed." I have become adept at keeping her toe and fingernails in perfect condition. She places earphones in her beautiful ears, and plugs in to a jack built into the tile behind her. She leans back and hums quietly while she soaks and I kneel and do her nails. We are content. |
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