At the Summit Ch. 04

"Do you think that I should take my panties off now?" She interrupted herself abruptly, eagerly. A look of uncertainty and unease crossed her face.

"Laetitia," Dean hung on the sybillants in her name, making it softer sounding, "I think that you should stop thinking of it as a project/projet now." He emphasized the word 'now' to mate with her question.

"I think that you look lovely with them on for the moment, and perhaps I should tell you how lovely." Dean said the last words with enough authority that she realized that he was going to do it anyway. She seemed to relax in that knowledge.

His sex struggled hard against his briefs, but the advantage of being 50 years old is that he had some experience with it, and knew that it would wait. What was important now was for this to be something that would stay with Laetitia as a positive moment in her life.

It had all become clear to him while they were watching the sunset at the window. He had been the dry, but friendly, academic who had filled in many details of love and sex for her. He could continue that instantly in this more intimate setting, but perhaps all she would remember of him was that he was a dirty old man. Or, he could approach her gradually, and be remembered as her loving guide into the world of the senses.

"I see before me a young woman whose mind has been honed to sharp perfection." Laetitia blushed and started to interject something.

"No interruptions now!" Dean was forceful in his tone. "I'm going to tell you some things about yourself, or what I see in you, things that no one in school or life will tell you, and this is not the place or time for modesty." Playfully he appended, ".. the naked truth. And I will never tell you when to take off your panties. You will know when it is time, and you will not even have to think about them. They will just be gone."

Laetitia's face grew warm, and her blush flowed down to her breasts. Dean began by describing that to her, the physical facts packaged with just enough poetry that she began to understand the magic.

"Your lover's eyes will follow that blush," Dean continued. "Your lover will enjoy the lovely curve of your breasts. He," and he paused, "or she," he paused again as she looked at him with surprise, "will have no choice."

He held her head as he kissed her again, and then gently massaged her temples and forehead, all the while describing to her how she would one day enjoy the double delight of sharing her new abilities with the lover she would select. He explained to her how this massage itself followed ancient rules of Oriental sages who had divined that the front of the brain controlled anticipation. Russians, he murmured close to her, called it the "korrektor" and saw it as a gateway that held back one's psychic powers. He was literally opening the way in her mind for the beautiful thoughts swirling around them.

Her nipples hardened before his eyes as the image of this dream lover filled her body with pleasurable joy. Her hips twitched noticeably as deep within her, a fountain began to flow.

He took her in his arms as they knelt on the bed, holding her at the small of the back so that her chest tilted up to his lips.

"When your lover sees these cute nipples straining upward, demanding kisses, what will happen? What must happen?"

He kissed her neck, and trailed tender kisses down to her breasts, up her curves, to her raspberry gumdrops of pleasure. She sighed as he drew each into his lips and circled each with his tongue.

"You have the globe-shape breasts that Frenchmen love," he continued. When you chose an evening dress, you will know that, and must be prepared to make the right choice. And when you wear the right choice, no man in the room will be able to resist watching you. For that matter, the women won't either, though they may have different thoughts."

"When you enter that situation, you must realize that you do not have to choose the first man who presents himself to you." He thought of her fumbling lover, and hoped that she would either improve on her future selections or find subtle ways to improve him. "You may have any of them in the room, depending on their situation and your tastes." He paused and then chortled, "and if you practice blushing like you are now, a bit more, that will certainly come true!"

She giggled, but Dean saw that Laetitia was taking in what he was saying.

He continued his travelogue, and as he described each part of her body, his deep tones penetrated her, made her aware of herself. His kisses followed each description.... her tummy, her toes, and back up her thighs.

"Roland never knew how this excites me...." Laetitia blurted out. She stifled another comment. Dean smiled eagerly.

"No, you are on the right path now!" he exclaimed. "You are becoming able to tell me what feels best." He urged her on with caresses.

Floating in the secret world of Nature within the canopy, and suddenly aware of the sensitivity of each part of herself, Laetitia found her sexual voice. Now she was telling Dean where she wanted kisses, needed caresses, desired his touch, all in a voice deeper and stronger than ever. It became a voice touched with a throaty overtone, as she drew in the night air, sipping it at first, and then drinking it in gulps.

His lips found her sex through the white panties, now radiating waves of alluring warmth. He traced her outer lips, and then drew her pulsing clitoris into his mouth and let the slippery material carry his message through to her.

The cloth now was damp from more than his lips. Welling up from deep within, her own fluid moistened the material and made its motion yet more sensuous to both Laetitia and Dean. He inhaled the scent of her readiness, and his own body responded. His balls rolled ferociously within his briefs, the hairs dragging on the resisting threads.

His own excitement was urged on by her hands, which transitioned from tender caresses of his back to sensual exploration of his tummy, and now to intimate mapping of his groin. She traced the secret shape of his half-ready power through the cloth, adding to his growing sense of urgency.

Gently, Dean eased her back on the mound of pillows. He pulled away for a moment to breath deeply and let his eyes take in Laetitia's ready body.

Suddenly, her hands were at her own waist, tugging in haste. It was just as Dean had promised her, that there would be a time when there were no more questions. And as she flung the panties aside, the wilted cloth of the sensual Tanga she had worn so seductively looked no different than others that Dean had seen before in his wilder years.

He felt a rush of confidence surging through his whole being. Now he realized that despite what she might have thought, he was a bit apprehensive. After all, he had not been with another woman in years, and he and his wife had settled into certain patterns before they had ceased having sex. Now he was ad libbing again, and instead of being nerve-wracking, it was wonderful. His senses were heightened, he observed everything, and knew that he could adapt to respond to her needs, just as she was learning to respond to his.

Laetitia tilted her hips slightly, and Dean watched her adjust her long, attractive legs, as she opened her lips to him. His hands trailed up her thighs as he bent over her for a kiss. He saw a tiny tremor race through her as she waited to learn where he would plant it.

She sighed as his beard grazed the inner softness of her thighs. His lips were at her labia, gently tasting, touching with the sensation of a controlled feather, enjoying their warm fullness.

"Dean, I want more, more!" she found herself saying. She squirmed to open her legs wider, easing the way for his kisses past her wet curls and into the soft invitation. His tongue darted out, and suddenly she was aware of the ring of her opening, his tender probing teasing and testing at the same time.

Dean stopped for a moment and raised his head, running his tongue slowly over his lips to savor her taste. Laetitia twitched her hips urgently and half-giggled.

"DON'T stop now," she playfully imitated petulance.

Dean winked knowingly, and knelt between her thighs again, his hands slipping along her waist and up to caress her breasts. Now he followed the sensitive path up to her clitoris.

Laetitia felt that it was a mountain journey, it seemed to take forever, and yet each corner turned opened a new vista. She begin to breath out tiny whimpers as his conquering kisses reached her summit.

Dean took her anxious femininity in his lips and cradled it there for a long moment, and then suddenly she realized that his right hand was no longer on her breast - her hot nipple stood out untouched in the cool room. His hand was at her vagina; tenderly he placed a finger, and now two, and began to caress her from within.

Excitement of a different kind filled him now, as he almost subconsciously took the measure of her rhythyms and made his movements a part of them. It had been so long since he had made a discovery like that, so long since he had been given command of such a perfect moment.

She tried to say something, to tell him in the traditional way of subservience that she wanted him to undress now, to give herself over to his needs, but her deeper self countermanded her sentences. Words came out in a disorganized tumble in both languages-- speaking was futile folly when every sound was captured by her new sexual self and converted into urgent sighs and demanding cries.

"This is just for you, Laetitia," Dean whispered. "You will know just how beautiful you truly are." Spoken so closely to her, his words resonated within her -- she felt herself so sensitive now that sound waves might push her over the edge.

Little whimpers became great sighs, and then panting cries, and then all merged together into a sound of pure lust. At the same moment, in his intimate touch, Dean felt the sensation escape from within his kisses, clenching around his fingers, and then electrifying her body.

The tension of the secret responsibilities, the stress of the day, her apprehensions, vanished -- swept away in the unexcelled orgasm of "la petite mort." Dean felt before she could speak that she had never experienced this before, and a feeling of lion-like confidence swept through him.

Her clitoris was too sensitive now, it withdrew beneath its tender shield, and he felt her bouncing attempts to pull away, and took his kisses elsewhere. Her breasts were burning with excitement, perhaps as sensitive as any part of her, and he covered them with kisses and caresses.

She delighted in every kiss, each different in its placement and effect.

"I feel so alive," she finally felt her powers of speech restored. She laughed when she realized that she could speak sentences again. "I don't think that I was very coherent for a time there. Un plaisir sexual intense. Un rapport sexuel..." her voice drifted off pleasantly into her mother tongue as she felt the enjoyment surrounding them. Finally, she simply looked up at Dean, who gazed tenderly at her cooling curves and points.

"But what must we do about you?" she asked archly.

* * * * *

To be continued...