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THE FEATHER
Tonight was the night. She was going to make love to him with a feather. Just a feather, and nothing else. So she stepped into the bathtub, and made herself lovely. Scented water, floating with rose petals he’d bought her every week. Scented oil, a little perfume. Out of the bathtub, she put on her make-up, adjusting her necklaces. Then pulled out a white feather and a pair of heels.
She looked in the mirror. Naked, beautiful. Small breasts, but beautiful. And she turned, watching the light on her body, on the curves. As she was doing this, he walked in Quietly. And stopped. She didn’t know he was there. She was studying herself, and touched herself with the feather. The curve of her breast, down the center to her navel, resting lightly on her pubis. He walked up behind her.
“My God, it suits you.”
He said quietly. And he took the feather, and leaned her back on his shoulder, and he touched her with the feather. Her neck, down to her breast…his hand held the other, playing. And the feather slid further, to her navel, and he traced patterns on her. Softly. And turned her around. She stood, and he touched her. And he kissed her breasts, raking them softly with his teeth. And his mouth slid down her center, to her navel, where he explored her. And traveled further, to her pubis…and stopped. He spread her legs, and used the feather to touch her. Her head fell back, and the feather insisted, Slowly, he touched her, aching. And soft, his mouth on her, his tongue, licking, lightly. He was hungry, and the taste, so sweet. And he slid, the tip of his tongue dipping into her…across the skin. And he sucked, pulling the tip into his mouth, licking, so deeply. His eyes closed, and he wanted her closer. And he sighed, his mouth exploring, finding her, caressing so softly, eating her gently, intently. He spread her labia and ate her, just ate her, and she stood, her body immersed in love, in pleasure. His mouth…his tongue. And he felt her as she came, and licked her softly. The pleasure. He wanted her again. So he led her to the bed. And lay her down.
“The feather is beautiful. I want you.”
And he spread her legs, the feather between his fingers.
THE FEATHER © Rebecca Tacosa Gray Wed., Oct. 29, 2008 5:43 p.m. FOR MICHAEL...ALWAYS ON MY ARM...REBECCA TACOSA GRAY
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, Dec 6 2008, 11:33 PM EST
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