The Night of the Cicadas

Gently, I am lain on the floor. The rest of the ropes binding me are slowly pulled apart. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins, trying to return to those parts where my bindings had constricted it. It is like all the pores in my body are open, taking a collective breath.

You let me relish the moment for a bit longer. Then you give me back my hearing.

The first sound I hear once the ear plugs are removed is the sound of the cicadas and the soft padding of your feet. They are the most beautiful sounds I have heard.

Then, you remove my blindfold.

I have never before relished the fact that I could see. I do now. We are, once more, alone in the room. Your guests, it seems, have departed. Even Julian. You are crouched beside me, your face sporting the boyish grin that first drew me to you. I reach out to you, my fingers touching your face, mapping the contours of your mouth and your eyes. Your smile widens.

You take my hand and press it to your lips. You kiss each finger before taking it into your mouth. But you do not stop there. You let your tongue travel downward, past my palm to my wrist. You lick at the marks the ropes have made, which even in the soft glow of the candlelight is clearly visible. You trace the circular path they have made. It is like you are healing me, your tongue, your saliva, a balm.

You take my neck, tilting it to the side so that you have better access. Your tongue makes a swipe across my throat until it rests at the spot where it meets my collarbone. You take my flesh into your mouth. Suck it. Bite it. You are marking me.

Your hands cup my breasts as you administer to them. Gingerly, you remove the clamps you have placed on them. You admire my erect nipples. The warmth of your tongue on them creates an echoing warmth in my vagina. It is long minutes before you release my breasts, a strand of your saliva still connecting your lips with my hardened nubs.

You taste the valley between my breasts before you dip your tongue into my navel. As you let your tongue swirl inside it, you let your thumbs caress my hips, their motion a mirror of the sensual actions of your tongue.

You bend my knees, your fingers lightly scratching their underside with feather light touches. You pepper it with kisses. You make me look at your face, the devotion shining through the darkened orbs. Your pupils are blown wide, your arousal evident in their depths. You make sure I register all this before you put your face to my pussy.

Your tongue sweeps across my vulva, drinking the copious liquids I am spilling. You tease out the vibrators still buried deep in me. Then your tongue jabs inside again and again, a spear of fleshy heat. I am bucking against your face. You let me. The hands you use to grasp my hips are pulling me even closer. Your nose is rubbing my clit. You make sure it does. You eat my core.

When you emerge from beneath me, I can see my fluids staining your lips. They glisten. You guide my hand to where your manhood is. Your hardened cock is making your jeans bulge. I trace the contours of it with a fingertip. You moan.

You unbuckle your pants, letting it drop. It is then that I realize you are not wearing any underwear. Your penis unfurls, long, hard, and proud. Its uncircumcised head pushing past the foreskin. It demands my attention.

You guide my hands to your cock. I can feel the sticky warmth of your precum on my fingertips. You shudder. I lift my fingers to my mouth, let my tongue taste you on my skin. It is salty.

For a moment you and I are thus, poised at the edge of something indescribable. The cicadas punctuate the silence that stretches between us. I imagine that in the heated gaze you bestow on me you are taking me over and over again. Dominating me.

You acknowledge my desires.

You plunge your cock into my pussy. I can feel its hot hardness filing me up. You let me adjust to your size. You touch the point at which we are connected, rubbing the skin.

"This," you say. "This is what I want you to be. Where I want you to be. Right here."

Slow at first, you make me register the sensation of you pushing your penis in and out. In and out. Pulling out until it is only the tip of your cock in my vagina before surging back in. All the motions you make are deliberate. A sensual tempo like a wolf circling its prey, counting down to the inevitable wild passion sure to erupt.

When you do it is with the force of an earthquake. I wrap my arms around your torso as the urgency of your need takes over. And we reenact the ancient dance of our ancestors. Our moans spill from our mouths unabated.

It does not take long before our frenzied coupling peaks. With one strong thrust you are coming inside of me. I follow you.

And I am reborn.

Just like the cicadas outside, it is as though I have shed my old skin in order to emerge anew.

We do not speak. There is no need to. You understand what it is that you have given me tonight. Instead, you choose to cradle me in your arms. You let me rest, to bask in the afterglow. Tomorrow we know that this, our meeting, will come to an end. I will return to the city and to my life. To the calls that demand my attention 24/7. To the never ending conferences and client calls. You, on the other hand, will return to your gallery. You will continue to sell your paintings. The moment that allowed our worlds to collide and for this night to happen will be over.

But, just for tonight, I am yours alone.