“Did I snore?” I ask.

“No honey. I can’t sleep…”

I touch her face.

“Did you have a good time at the party, tonight?’

She bites her lip and touches my cheek.

“Yes, my dear. Always with you.”

“We hardly spoke to each each other. So many guests.”

“I know,” she says in a faint, heavy whisper, “I missed you all night. Did you get my messages?”

“You mean the hand across my back by the punch bowl or on the balcony, the fingers grazing across my cock?”

“Both, lover. You were particularly sexy last night.”

We kiss. It’s a moist, soft kiss.

“As were you. That little black dress is now my favorite.”

“It’s a size too small. I almost fell out of the top. And no room for panties.”

“I noticed.”

“I guess you did, you rascal. Feeling my ass while you talked basketball. Someone could’ve seen that.”

“No. I held their interest. I was pretty glib on the topic of one on one.”

“One on one, huh?”

“My favorite game. Especially with you.”

She raises up, brightened.

“Let’s get back to the topic of no underwear. When did you decide to go commando?” She asks, raising her eyebrows.

“When I watched you get dressed. I figured why should you have all the fun?”

“Well, we are going to be quite the topic amongst our dry cleaners.”

I kiss her again.

“Oh well.”

I love her voice, the richness of tone, the relaxed huskiness. It’s like gentle fingers trilling along the surface of my desire. She raises her eyebrows, then bites her lip. I know now what this is about.

She lifts her side of the covers, presenting herself.

“Look, honey…”

Her body is radiant and disheveled. One breast spills from her nightgown, catches the light. The pink nipple tight and radiant, the other breast still adorned, jiggling at the briefest of movement. Her gown is gathered on her upper thighs, the ruffles of fabric illuminated like the greek sculptures that adorned the yard of our host. Creamy folds in moonlit reverence. She breathes heavy and rubs her thighs together. She knows I love this. She knows its effect. She looks down to see if, yes, it has sneaked out. I revel in the feel of silk along my lengthening intention. I move closer. She parts her legs. That makes a sound.

“It’s talking to you, baby, It missed you. We both missed you,” she says in a whisper, as she moves to me.

My lover is comfortable in size, generous curves. Her movements are my foreplay, even when she’s standing and walking across the floor. In jeans or slacks. That night, I was riveted watching her unrestricted hips gently sway beneath her dress.

But here, in bed, her movements are flammable. Combustible.

How hot she feels against me, against my prick. I ooze a slight precursor along her belly. She wraps my prick in the silk of her gown.

“I wanted to go home as soon as I got there,” she whispered, “you could’ve taken me in that garden.”

She kisses with a slight flick of her tongue.

“You could’ve taken me on the hood of our car.”

She bites my lip. She runs her tongue across my eyelids. My cock pulsates in her hand. My breathing deepens. I take in her scent.

“You mean pull your little black dress up? Run my hands inside your thighs? Dip my fingers into you?”

“Anytime you wanted.”

She kicks the covers off us both.

“Touch me there.”

She’s hot, moist and impatient with my pseudo-reticence. She pushes my fingers in. One finger. Then two. Three. Her essence drips from her pussy onto the bed.

“My God, honey,” I say in a whisper.

“I’m going to drown you, baby,” she says moving her hips to my manipulations.

Her nightgown has slipped off her shoulders. Her breasts heave and dance. The sight of her arousal is breathtaking. Her parfum de sex fills the room. I finger fuck her, then remove my pajama bottoms. They catch on my prick. She covers a chuckle with her hand.

“Having a bit of a time are we? Entangled in our own ardor?”

I laugh and naked, I move to her, repairing the brief distance between us with my body.

“Top, baby. I want top.”

She says it in such a low, lusty whisper, I feel it through my chest. She mounts reaching back for my prick, sliding onto it, mashing her breasts into my chest. I can feel the heat of her through her nipples, as she humps slowly, her cheek to mine.

“I love how we fit together, baby, don’t you,” she says in between gasps, “can you feel me squeezing you?”

“God, yes,” I reply, immersed in our compete embrace.

She gasps and lurches.

“I wanted you all night long. Your hand on my bare ass drove me crazy.”

She moves like a passionate tide above me, her breasts swinging, until she fills the room with gasps and shouts, wrapping her arms around my neck, clenching my, holding me deep as she comes.

My darling holds me, her fingers grip my shoulders. Her hair is in ringlets, her gown matted in sweat and satiation. She turns her knees out. Her feet rub the insides of my legs.

“You’re magnificent,” I say to her as I feel the last of my passion drain.

“I love making love to you darling,” she says, “but now…”

She rises from me and on her knees, removes the last of her dampened garment. I watch as the last of her gown is pushed from the bed, the bedclothes, off the mattress. The moonlight brightens as if the moon, wide-eyed, is watching in astonishment. She is naked on her knees, giving me a show. Running her hands through her hair and caressing her breasts. Her lovely brown tuft is matted with passion. I hungrily watch her undulate. She watches my cock, and as it bops and rises.

“There it is. There’s my hot fuck toy.” She moves to me and takes it to her lips. I shake with ecstasy as she plunges, cupping my balls with her hands. She works me to rigidity, then moves to her back, drawing her knees up slowly. A move that ignites me time and time again. I move between my lover’s legs, and run my shaft along her slit.

“Take me home, lover,” she says, “fuck me…”

I mount my goddess and plunge deep. She wraps her legs around my waist, and we move as one.

She urges me to the brightest light of passion. Sensing the horizon, she grabs my ass and shimmies hard, propelling herself into bliss.

The calm after our vigorous collision surrounds us. We sigh to each other, wearing silly grins. All around us, discarded linens and garments. Our breathing is one breath. The moon, sated, passes by our window. The room is dark.

“We must attend more parties, my love,” she says.

The ticking of the clock returns as the only sound. We sleep as the clock’s hands sweep to three-fifty one, a.m.

As morning consciousness pushed out the haze of sleep, I remembered how our evening had begun. “Are you busy?” she had called to me from the bed, while I made some notes at the neat little hotel-room desk. “Because I was hoping you might come over here and kiss all the invisible hairs on my bottom. I’m situated just right, see?” Her eyes had lit up her otherwise impassive face as she gracefully flipped the back hem of her short, silk dressing gown to reveal the soft curves of her naked cheeks. They were radiant with anticipated delight. I had approached her and watched her derrière wriggle in a brief, involuntary spasm of pleasure. Her slight lime underpants, which she had peeled down silently while I had been absorbed in my work, nestled politely on the carpet at the foot of the bed. A minute later, I was feasting on her, watching the flesh of her hills drink every squeeze, every playful little slap, every tiny kiss. I saw her roll into each titillation of our bedside feather up and down the sensuous crack. When she was as hungry as she could get, she had turned herself over to pull me in between her thighs, and at last I had entered her sexual grand junction.

Afterwards, I had slept very well.

“Good morning,” I said softly. I gave her irresistible nose a quick kiss and her boldly-available crotch a quick grab. “Kiss my juncture,” she whispered in my ear. I knelt down, stretched the gusset to one side, and cheerfully complied.

With my erection starting to protrude from my pajamas, I hustled over to the luggage stand. I produced a long, soft silk scarf from the suitcase, and I held it up to show her. “It still smells like you from yesterday afternoon,” I observed with a grin.

She put her book down and unzipped her dress. She was bra-less, and when we met at the bed she wore only her hat and the already-moistening panties. As I removed my pajama bottoms and sat, she leaned over to kiss the head of my stiffness before settling herself, face down, across my lap.

Inch by inch I eased the panties off her cheeks, until she lay bare-assed over my thighs. Her bottom, now just clearing the delicate fabric, smiled up at me, its feminine roundness winking lustfully. I admired the dimpled cheeks for a moment before touching. Then, like the night before, I massaged the inviting globes. She writhed contentedly and further moistened the crotch of the underwear which, in its half-removed state, pressed against her.

Now I slowly threaded the scarf between her bottom and the panties, so that it became intimate with her slit. From there, we guided the silk together along her warm, sensuous belly. “It’s like a printer ribbon,” I whispered, and we laughed. When we had finished situating the scarf beneath her, she held the end that emerged from between her breasts, and I held the end that tickled the inner undersides of her buttocks. With her free hand, she claimed my straining member.

Ever so gently, we rocked into a peaceful “tug of war,” so that the silk caressed her in as many places as possible. I let her set the pace, which quickened as her stimulation blossomed into frantic arousal. Finally, she gripped the scarf unequivocally with her groin muscles and screamed a giggling, incoherent orgasmic song. Her ass cheeks were becomingly flushed, and it was just as I noticed this that my tension throbbed definitively against her fingers and I spurted onto her flank.

“And you thought it was silly of me to pack a scarf for a trip to Italy,” I murmured.

this piece was originally published in Oysters & Chocolate, 2006