When He Slept
Just a single window was lit in the cabin. Neshe could discern a soft silhouette behind the frosted panes. He knew it was Snama.
This cozy little cabin deep in the Canadian highlands was Snama's idea. Not being familiar with the area, and as usual having succumbed to an all too familiar rush of blood, Neshe had said, yes, I'll be there. And here he was, late by more than 12 hours, and still a hundred yards away from her. Inside him, there was a strange calm coupled with ever increasing turmoil. The feeling was inexplicable. Just like the taste of something he had never savored before, and therefore, was unable to name, to categorize. He knew her, and yet, he did not. Very familiar with each other they were, yet complete strangers. This is the paradox of the Internet at its best and worst. Closeness in the extreme wedded to total unfamiliarity.
His step quickened, as dis his hearttbeat. He had been looking forward to this for a long time now. And the time now had come. Snama's picture is vivid in his mind. So are the many other meetings, the torrid trysts they have had. Like a wet behind the ears sophomore, Neshe had been thinking ahead, trying to imagine how it will be.
A gentle, almost timid caress to the door bell. A soft padding of naked feet inside. The door opens, a broad swath of light falls on the aged timbers of the verandah, her figure is limned by the soft light inside.
"Is that you, Neshe?"
" Yes. I'm sorry . . ." His voice trails off as she gives way, he enters.
Words, perhaps, were not created for such a situation. There aren't any.
It's the eyes that speak, and the tongue they speak is primeval, age old. Her blue, sapphire fire eyes on him, his dark, deep ones on her. And then locked in an embrace, the eyes.
Somewhere, from the deep, dark recesses of his mind, something she had said, suddenly bursts forth on his consciousness, becomes the definition of the moment.
"It's a very hungry mouth . . ." She had once said of her mouth.
Neshe is seized by a hunger for this hungry mouth. He reaches out, pulls Snama to himself, his lips bear down on her's, to devour.
Who was the hunter? Who the prey?
He doesn't even even recall how many times he took her mouth, doesn't even recall whether it was he took her mouth, or she who took him in her mouth.
The only recollection he has of the remnant of the night is slowly easing into wakefulness, (or was it coming to), her head cradled in his groin, his cock captive in her mouth, in the last throes of a climax . . .
II
Her cunt is an exotic orchid in full bloom, it's scent heavy and hot as Neshe's lips and tongue have teased and tormented it, despite her protestations.
Now the blunt tip of his cockhead is doing the teasing and tormenting. Heavy on the distended pistil of her flower, it gently caresses her bedewed petals, reveling in their velvet warmth.
She moans. Again and again. She wants him in. He tarries. But for how long?
Her cunt is too inviting to resist.
He thrusts in.
III
The two.
The male. And the female. The woman, and the man. Both in heat. In rut.
Desire on the sway. Rising. Like the sun toward high noon. Ascending higher and higher.
Tightening its grip ever more on its two hostages.
Snama and Neshe.
Apart from the muted rustle of silk on skin, the audibly heightened breathing, there is silence.
As she removes her pyjama top, then the bottom, the moments seem to slowly trickle by. Like cum oozing out of the cunt of a fully sated woman.
In his mind a loop is playing. Maddening him more with every passing second.
"Neshe" That was Snama.
"Jaan" That was him. He has taught her the sex words, simple sentences of his mother tongue. The saying of them are whiplashes of desire for both.
"Mayree bundd maar [Fuck me in the asse]" That was Snama.
It hit him like a twister. The seriousness, almost earnestness of the tone.
"I want to have anal sex with you, Neshe."
"Mayree bundd maar"
She is naked now, bent from the waist down, her hands resting on the side of the bed, feet feet planted wide.
His desire grows even more.
"Daikh, mein tayray layee chuttar khole dittay nayn [See I've parted my buttocks for you]"
It is like a sharp, vicious spur, this half whisper.
He bends down behind her. Like a dog in heat, he sniffs her, the hot, heavy musk from her cunt intoxicating him. For a moment he is tempted to kiss and then enter her there. But the loop playing in his head . . .
"Mayree bundd maar, Neshe"
Her slim, tightly rounded, buttocks are spread wide, her thighs slightly quivering. Unfolded before his eyes is a rich vista of curves and planes and rounds, her back from her shoulders down to the downslope of her haunches.
Nestling in the cleavage between her buttocks is her anus. Shy. Tight. Tremulous. Virginal. Neshe is overwhelmed. In a blinding flash, all that has passed betwen him and her, the quest and the unfolding, is relived again.
"Mayree bundd maar, Neshe"
He bends.
From the honey and gold of her wide spread asse the dark mystery of her anus beckons him.
He bends to kiss her there, his lips spreading around the crinkled rim, his tongue caressing the orifice repeatedly.
She moans his name.
His tongue becomes insistent. He licks, again, his lips fastened around the rim of her anus, the tongue seeking entry into the tightly puckered hole.
She squirms. He gently nips at her perineum, moves his lips to really bite on her buttocks, either one, hard.
Again she moans out, loud now . . .
"Mayree bundd MAAR, Neshe"
He takes in the sight of her, widespread asse, thighs quivering. He takes in himself, erect, burgeoning, raring to go in, the plum head of his cock purple with desire and need. He takes in the earnestness of her plea . . .
"Mayree bundd MAAR, Neshe"
He positions himself behind her, placing the blunt tip of cock on her tight anus, and holding her buttocks apart with both hands, stretching her cleavage wider, thrusts in with full force.
For a moment it seems he won't be able to get in, but her sphincter gives, and he is in.
He felt he will be her captive forever.
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