Adventures of Lionel & Sondra

In that way they stood for a moment, two friends sharing a special time. The long flow of denim trailed from Lionel's shoulders, as if he were a sultan, or a king. Sondra kept her arms around his waist, the side of her face pressed to his chest. She listened to his heart.

Finally she broke away and smiled up at him. "You have one more gift," she announced.

"Does this have to do with Tuesday nights?"

"Mayyyyyyyy-be! Now here you go --" she handed him the teeny tiny little box. It was wrapped in black silk and tied with a gold velvet ribbon. "This one has special instructions, and you must follow them exactly in order for it to work."

She walked him back over to his chair and turned him so he could see the clock. "You are required to wait a full ten minutes before you open the box."

Then, with a satisfied nod, she kissed him and left the room.

Lionel sat at the top of the rollercoaster, belted in and ready for the ride. He tried not to be impatient. He tried to enjoy the moment of suspense, as if he were watching a Hitchcock movie. Yet his ears strained to hear, to try and determine if Sondra was making any sound, any noise at all that would provide a clue. He could hear nothing.

He tried picking up the book she had gotten him. He could not get past the first sentence, so distracted was he. Then he thought of turning on the computer, but that didn't seem right. The computer would only take his mind to another place, and he wanted to be here.

He turned over the little box in his hands. It weighed practically nothing. The silk was sexy to the eye and to the touch. He ran it over his lips. The feather-light weave gave away no secrets.

He sighed, willing the hands of the clock to move. He tapped his fingers on the table. The moments slid by with agonizing slowness. He knew this was what he had been anticipating all day -- even though he didn't know for sure yet what it was.

At last the author had mercy and typed the last paragraph of his waiting. The fabric wrapping gave way beneath his eager fingers. Under the silk there gleamed a shiny gold box. It was the type of box that made a person think of the old saw about good things in small packages.

He pulled off the lid. Lying on a snug little bed of cotton was a card. It read:

"Proceed to the northeast bedroom and sit down in the chair facing the mirror. Leave the door open. You may touch yourself … but only yourself. No flash photography is permitted."

Lionel remembered a certain other picture which had been taken in that room. As if he were walking through a forest, in a dream, he walked down the hall. His heart was beating in anticipation. He had an inkling, an idea, but no, it couldn't be. Sondra was shy, Sondra had always looked to him as the one who led the way through these types of adventures.

Sondra was shy -- wasn't she?

He opened the door and left it open. There were only two pieces of furniture in the room -- the bed and the chair. The chair faced the wall that was one big mirror. He sat in the front row, the only row, as directed.

Thirteen winding notes in a minor key curled into the room. Instantly he recognized the eerie riff: Black Magic Woman as rendered by one of his all-time heroes: Mr. C. Santana.

An arm, clad in a slit black sleeve, waved in through the doorway. The fluid motion of the arm undulated like a sine wave on an oscilloscope. Sondra flowed into the room as if her arm were leading her in a tango.

Lionel sat transfixed as a mouse face to face with a clever, cage-opening cat. Some distant part of his mind trumpeted, I knew it!! But mostly he just sat there with his mouth hanging open.

With the first soft knocks of percussion, Sondra tapped at her own heart, sending a signal from her jungle tribe to his. The little bit of skin below her clavicle was visible, but not much else…not exactly. She was pretty much draped in sheer veils.

"Got a black magic woman
Got a black magic woman
I've got a black magic woman
Got me so blind I can't see
That she's a black magic woman
She's trying to make a devil out of me"

Gradually she moved into the room, as if the music were a rope that pulled her in. The black silk of her bellydancer's costume was the same as that which had covered the tiny box. Little bits of gold flashed as she danced. Gold coins twitched at her hips and fooled around near her breasts. Tiny gold bells hugged one ankle. Her hips circled around, outlining an infinity symbol that was as ancient as it was hypnotic.

"Don't turn your back on me baby
Don't turn your back on me baby
Yes, don't turn your back on me baby
Stop messing round with your tricks
Don't turn your back on me, baby
You just might pick up my magic sticks"

Yet she did turn her back on him, wantonly denying the singer's order. Lionel thought he had known all about Sondra's ass, thought he was familiar with every delectable curve, and here she was, proving him wrong. The way she moved now would have delighted a sheik. The mirror let him see her forward as well as aft. Her hands curved the air around her breasts, drawing the letters of his name.

In the mirror she met his eyes with a sultry gaze. It was as if she were saying to him, Go ahead. Pick up your magic stick, baby. Dance for me, as I dance for you. Her eyes were swept with kohl, like Sophia Loren, or Cleopatra. Lionel was already throbbing. He unzipped his jeans and picked up his magic stick.

Sondra swayed and bumped, letting the guitar tell her body what to do. At the end of the first guitar solo she went full stop, splayed like a standing starfish, but only for a brief moment. Then the music pulled her again.

The music was her dance partner, persistent, insistent, unwilling to release her until the dance was through. She lifted her arms high overhead, then moved them one at a time, as if she were picking apples from branches just out of reach. Then she offered the fruit to him, Eve to his Adam. Finally her hands fell, tumbling over and over, like blossoms falling under the pressure of rain.

She looked at her Lionel, shamelessly staring at his cock. She licked her lips as she watched him handle his length. He met her eyes just as boldly. She began to touch herself directly, no longer making little aerial patterns, but clearly rubbing her breasts. Her nipples stood proudly through the sheer black fabric. The lustful guitar notes worked her hips as if she were fucking him.

Lionel thought he would go mad if she didn't show some skin soon. As if she read his mind, the third and final verse began to reveal itself, and along with it, so did she.

"Got your spell on me baby
Got your spell on me baby
Yes, you got your spell on me baby
Turning my heart into stone
I need you so bad, magic woman
I can't leave you alone"

At the first two lines, Sondra pulled away the panels of silk that draped over her ass. There was a ripping sound as first one, then the other, gave way. Her back was to the mirror. Lionel's eyes widened as her peach came into view.

The scarves that looked like sleeves went next. She let one fall under her feet and threw the other in his direction. He lunged to catch it and nearly touched her but she backed out of range. The music was thrashing like lovers in the homestretch. Sondra had no choice but to follow.

The bra top flashed in jeweled gold and black. It barely held her breasts in place. She bent her body like a c-clamp and her bosoms spilled out. With a sudden jerk, she came upright again, simultaneously pulling the two front panels from her hips. The remaining miniscule g-string barely covered her mound.

It was then that Lionel broke the rules. He grabbed her and threw her forcefully on the bed. He tore off the shiny demi-bra and the little nothing of a g-string. With a growl he took the nearest nipple into his mouth, grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth.

Sondra cried out. She was soaking wet. She grabbed his sword and guided it to her sheath. Lionel stabbed into the haven she gave him with a groan. He hadn't even made it out of his jeans. He fucked her with lustful abandon, entirely freeing his animal urges. He had to have her. He had to. Most of the noises he made could not be construed as English, but a few of his syllables matched hers, mostly the ones devoted to taking the Lord's name in vain. He spluttered her name, even as she screamed his.

With a final dramatic push, Sondra arched her body. At the same time she pressed down with the soles of her feet. Her weight pointed through her shoulder blades as her pelvis thrust sharply upward, taking her partner with her. Her orgasm squeezed his cock.

Lionel clapped his hands to her ass cheeks in an answering squeeze. He shouted and filled her with a splashing crescendo. Smash! Smash! Smash! Like an ad for Zildjian, his body crashed into hers, thundering over the cymbals and toms.

Gradually the bumping descended to just the bass drum of his heart. He lay on her chest for a while, listening to her heartbeat slow with his. She cradled him, caring for him and tending him.

Finally he rolled to one side. "Oh, god, Sondra, that was great."

Yes!!! shouted her spirit.

Then: "Thank you," he kissed her, "this is the nicest birthday I've ever had."

"You're welcome." Her smile reflected all the emotions that added up to joy: the sense of accomplishment…pleasing her lover…sexual bliss…and the warm, relaxed feeling of trust.

Another thought trickled into Lionel's consciousness. "You probably had some kind of ending in mind for your dance."

She grinned at him and chuckled. "This was it."