Tea Keeper

"I want to focus on the right thing," I said. "What is the right thing?"

You stopped writing. A drip of water tickled all the way down my spine. You blew on the water softly and I shivered.

"I don't know," you said. "but I don't think it's something visible. There's a riddle here for us, and the answer is something we can't imagine yet. Maybe. I'd like... I'd like to try to discover it with you."

"If you give me a blindfold I'll wear it," I said. "You're my Keeper."

I felt you harden behind me and I wriggled back against you, trapped your cock between our bodies. I leaned back and rested my head on your shoulder. I smiled up at you as sweetly as I could. "Are you going to give me a blindfold?"

You smiled, kissed my forehead, and leaned just enough to slip my silk scarf from the back of the chair. You let it fall across my breast and you dragged it over my skin slowly, making me spark and jump. "Oh," I said, "god."

"This will have to do," you said, and you pulled the fabric snug across my throat, pulled it up over my chin, you slid it over my nose. The silk was fine, it flowed and caressed me. My eyes were on yours when you covered them.

You tied the scarf behind my head firmly. My eyes closed under the fabric, but I could still see light and dark a little. I found that I was straining my ears, listening to your breathing, waiting for you to speak, to swallow, to make any noise at all.

You got up and I heard the floor creak a little as you walked across the room away from me. You moved a piece of furniture. I could feel it bump as you placed it.

"Listen to me, Honey," you said quietly, your voice just above a whisper. "I want you to stand and walk to me. I don't want you to put your hands in front of you. I don't want you to shuffle. Walk like you can see. My voice will keep you safe. Can you do that?"

I nodded and stood, but I didn't walk. "Keeper?" I said, "will you talk again?"

"Of course, Honey. I'm here. Come to me."

I walked as surely as I could. I worried about stubbing my toes, but I was curious how you would take care of me if I hurt myself. What would your penance be like?

I walked six steps before you told me to stop. "Take a big step to the right, then two steps forward, then a step to the left."

I did what you said, and I found myself standing in front of you. I could picture you there, naked, just inches from my face. I wanted to kiss your chest. I wanted your cock in my mouth again. I licked my lips. "I want to taste you," I said. I almost said please.

"Taste me, Honey," you said, so close your breath tickled my forehead. I kissed your chest, and let the tip of my tongue make a wet circle on you. You were spice and salt. I had breathed you when we were fucking before. I had tasted your seep before. Your flavour made me smile. Your flavours. Every time I tasted you it was different and delightful. I tried to find your lips with mine, blind, but I couldn't until you tipped your lips to touch mine. I licked them lightly, with the tip of my tongue, then pushed it into your mouth. Your cock bobbed against my thigh and I licked the roof of your mouth. You smiled and wrapped your hand around my braid. You pressed down and I sank to my knees, my lips grazing your belly, then your hip. You squeezed the lavender in my hair, crushed it again, and the scent surrounded me as I enveloped your cock with the heat of my mouth. You did not let go, but you did not guide me. I was free and held at the same time.

I did not need to see your face to know your eyes were closed. This would be my small moment of control. I tried to take it because it would be fun to win, and because it would be wonderful fun to lose. I was going to make you come in my mouth one of these times. I tried my best. You groaned, rocked back on your heels, shuddered.

I heard you whisper, "Fuuuuck, Honey. Ffffuck" and you pulled me back. I was still straining for you, my mouth open when you knelt and kissed me. I relaxed, stopped straining. I drank in your lips, the lavender scent, the feel of your skin on mine at every point where we touched. Your forearm on my shoulder, your lips on mine, your hand on my kneeling thigh.

"There's an ottoman behind you," you said. "Turn and lean on it."

I turned and let my elbows rest on what felt like an embroidered fabric, or maybe brocade. You had so many textures.

I waited, and you waited, and I spread my knees a little, as a hint, but your voice appeared next to me, by my left ear.

"What do you want more, Honey," you said, "to be filled up or to hear a secret about me?"

I wanted them both. Desperately. But I licked my lips and whispered, "A secret about you."

I felt you lean on the ottoman next to me. Your breath warmed my shoulder. "I am an only child," you said, "and I've lived most of my life inside my mind, in my imagination. It's how I make tea, of course. But it has its limits. I am rarely surprised."

You snuck a hand under my hanging breast where I knelt and pinched my left nipple gently, thoughtfully. I squirmed.

"You surprise me. I expected you to bolt, to shy away, to resist. You haven't. I feel like a fraud sometimes, making up play that costs you more than it costs me. It makes me feel full and safe. I don't think I've felt that before. I've never been trusted fully. You are a powerful drug."

You kissed my shoulder, my lips. You sat in front of me and put a finger on my nose. "Was the secret enough?" you said.

I shook my head. "I want more."

You moved behind me again, and I felt like an undiscovered country, and you were my explorer. You covered me with your hand again, my pussy kissing your palm. You held it there, claiming territory. I liked being claimed.

"Tell me what you like," you said.

I whimpered. "I like everything you do," I said.

"No," you said, "that's not good enough. I want to know more. I want to hear when you taste new flavours. I want to make a map of you and hide precious things, and plunder your riches."

I wiggled a little against your hand. "I like it when you cover my pussy with your hand," I said, "because it makes me feel like I'm yours."

You pressed a little harder, rhythmically, and I ached for more. "More," I said, pressing back into your palm.

You slipped your finger into me, and it wasn't enough. "Keeper, I want more," I said, just before you crossed my little patch with your finger. I jumped and squealed. "That... was... good," I said, and I felt foolish. "Good" was inadequate. "Fuck, do it again, though," I said.

You teased me, making circles just around the edges, orbiting my centre, making me weak and desperate.

"Fuck, Keeper, I... don't... oh god. Again... just... fuuuck." I couldn't think straight and it was okay. I just let myself be carried along with your voice, with your fingers, with the heat of your breath and the pull on my hair.

"Honey, sweet. You're so beautiful like this. You're so wonderful," you said.

You snapped the cinnamon stick in half and slid your cock in at the same time. I curled my toes, overwhelmed with the scent of spice and the stretching need at my core. You must have bitten off a chip of the bark because when you leaned close over me I smelled it on your breath.

"Wait to come, Honey," you said, "and I will wait with you, okay?"

"How long?" I said, because waiting seemed impossible.

You thrust into me slowly two times, three. "Wait until we get to the honey in your hair."

I whimpered. I couldn't remember all the things you had twined into my braid. "I don't think I can," I said. I swivelled my hips a little. "I want to move."

You held my braid with both hands then and pulled smooth and firm. My head pulled back and I arched my back. You were filling me so deeply it almost hurt. I held as still as I could.

"Wait, Honey." You released my braid slowly, letting it slide between your fingers. You rocked into me, out, deliberately, and I keened and squealed. You slowed again, stopped, halfway in, and I tried to grip you, pull you in. You put both hands on the small of my back and held me still for a few heartbeats.

You slipped something out of my hair and I only remembered what it was when you crushed it and dropped it on the ottoman in front of me. Cardamom. It reminded me of milky chai, of sticky rice desserts, of curry. My mouth started to water and I felt hungry. No. I was thirsty. I couldn't tell. I needed you.

You pulled something else from my hair and you pulled again and I arched. "Open your mouth," you said, and I did, and I hoped for water or your cock.Anything. Your finger slid into my mouth and you left a soft, fragrant leaf there. Mint.

"You're going to make it, Honey," you said, but then you started to pound into me, my hair in your fist, and your cock driving me mad. You breathed hard, and I tried to picture your face, your mouth open, your eyes on my back, my ass, my hair, my shoulders starting to slick with sweat. I almost said please.

I didn't feel you take the vial out of my hair. We were in motion, making the floor creak, scooting the ottoman every time our bodies met. I think I heard the cork skitter across the floor but I wasn't really paying attention. I was trying to soak up all my desire, trying to stop, trying to hold on. You pulled my braid again, your cock filling me again, held in deep.

"Open your mouth," you said again, and I was so close I shook. I hoped it would be honey.

You kissed me upside down, your tongue laying across mine, and you tasted sweet. Finally, honey on your tongue. We were sweet, locked together, deep and tight. You held me there, immobile, for two breaths. "Now, Honey," you said, "Now," and you gave me my head, and fucked me. I let go, my face pressed into the ottoman. I screamed when I came, and something broke free and fell away. You roared your orgasm, your fingers dug into my hips. I had loosened something in you too. I started to sob and I wasn't sure why.

You lifted the scarf from my eyes and we sat together on the rugs of your loft.

"Are you okay, Honey?" you said, watching my eyes carefully.

I nodded, and tried to smile. "Better..." I said, "better than okay."

"You did so well. You did just as I wanted," you said, "even though it was hard."

"You bastard," I said, and then I started to laugh. You laughed with me. We fell back on the rug until we could catch our breath. "I'm thirsty," I said. You stood to get the water but I wanted to stay close to you, so I grabbed your hand and followed you around the loft as you collected the water jug and a bowl of fruit from a low table near the stairs.

You wrapped me in a wine coloured damask comforter. We sat on a small couch facing each other with our legs intertwined and you sliced kiwi and fed me pieces while I cradled a tumbler of well water. We were still there after the sun set.

You told me stories about travelling to plantations and I told you about an ill-fated holiday in Bali. I was surprised that you would be interested. You kept smiling at me and I nudged your balls with my toe.

"You had me fucking lit up," I said. "I think I want..." I stopped, nervous, and you set a slice of kiwi on my knee. "I think I want you to try to make me say no."

"I think I want to try to make you say yes," you said.

You understood. I ate the kiwi slice, the fruit tart on my tongue, cool and sweet.

We slept in your loft, curled around each other, wrapped in soft blankets. You brought me water again in the wee hours and I drank sleepily, and then sank back into a deep nest of clouds. You were making tea when I woke up, the sun filtering through the morning overcast.

"It's just breakfast tea." you said, "heavy on the Keemun tea. I have strawberries."

We ate comfortably, quietly, dipping the strawberries in thick, cold cream. The tea didn't need milk, but you put a few drops of honey in it.

I dressed slowly. You had put on your apron. Just your apron with the leather strap you used as a belt. I liked slipping my hand across your skin when I was close to you. After I pulled my boots on you came to me with my red satin ribbon. You slipped it around my neck and tied it with a simple knot. You put your finger between my throat and the ribbon and pulled me close.

"Yours?" I said, rising to my tiptoes.

"Mine," you said, and you kissed me slow and hard.

"When you come back," you said, "bring your favourite pen. I want to try something. And Honey..."

I looked you full in the face, waiting for a command.

"When you leave, turn my sign over."

I obeyed.