tagNovels and NovellasNo Accounting For Chaos Ch. 05

No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 05


"Monty," she called him after her session. "We have to talk."

She could hear him gently breathing, letting out a small sigh? "Anytime. Anyplace. Lunch? Dinner?"

She hadn't worked more than an hour so far that day because of her session. She couldn't afford the time away from work. She had to see him, had to get this out in the open.

"Drinks. Antoine's. 6PM."

He agreed and hung up leaving her shaking slightly at the raw emotion building inside her. She was terrified. She was angry as hell. She needed to do this thing. She wanted him. It was stupid to wait so long, but she had to get some work done.

By 3PM she had almost forgotten about it, buried in some stupid corporate finance audit. It should have been dry enough to burn any emotion out of a person, but every few minutes she'd look up and daydream about what she was going to say, what might happen later that night.

On the way to the bar she recalled the night in the living room, the one she had forced him to show her. The scene she wanted to see was in the den, but she had cut it short, just after he had finished her off in the living room. She had thought the night was going to go as all the others had -- all foreplay without the big event, but it hadn't ended there. She practically missed her right turn thinking about what they had done later that evening.

* - * - *

She looked at him, still stiff even though she had reciprocated his incredible cunnilingus not moments before. "Are you always so aroused?" She felt a little...intimidated? that she couldn't satisfy him.

"Just around you," he stroked her.

"Stop it," she giggled, a little embarrassed at the complement. "I'm serious. Every time we get together, I can't seem to relieve you. It's disturbing as much as it is a challenge. Not to mention incredibly sexy." She reached down and held his erection. She loved how warm it was; soft on the outside, firm on the inside.

"I am serious. There's something about you that keeps me stiff." He made a point of tracing his eyes from her fingers to her nipples, stopping at her bush along the way.

She blushed, but didn't stop stroking him. Petting him really. "But, why doesn't it get soft after you come? And are you hard even when we're not having sex?"

He paused. "the second question is easy: No. When I see you naked, or touch you, or kiss you, or you touch me..." he stopped to take note of her hand, "...the first question is a little harder to answer."

She caught his eye, raising her eyebrow to confirm the pun.

"It's as close to a religion as I get," he continued, looking her straight in the eye. "Remember my comment at dinner about belief systems changing your behavior?"

She nodded, still stroking him, wishing she could get him to release his sperm for her.

"Well, that 'Tantric Exercise' reference -- I was serious about it being like praying. Would you think me a terrible geek if I filled you in on it a little?"

I wish he'd fill me in a lot with it, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards...That conversation at dinner -- he really started to go off on belief systems...I hope he isn't some kind of religious nut -- although if this is what his religion's about, maybe I shouldn't complain.

"Let's go into the den -- it's cozy there....No...don't get dressed, I love to see you parade around this house...your body adds sorely needed femininity to my starkly male aesthetic." He smiled lewdly at her.

They went down the stairs to a room below the kitchen -- it was like being inside a crystal its facets extending out from the house into the forest behind. Except for the floor and the back wall through which they entered, all of the other surfaces appeared to be glass. The far exterior wall was interrupted with a fireplace: it appeared to be suspended in the forest.

It was breathtaking and she wondered why he hadn't brought her here before. It was immediately her favorite room in the place. Several pieces of furniture decorated the room: large poofy bean bags, a deep pile rug, book shelves on the solid wall, tables throughout. "Monty. You keep surprising me with new rooms. You should give me the proper 25 cent tour." She posed with her hand on her hip, pouting.

"I have been remiss, you're right. It's best during the day. How about after breakfast?" He raised and lowered his eyebrows, Groucho Marx style.

She giggled and nodded her head, pleased with him he had invited her and pleased with herself for accepting. We're certainly moving this in an interesting direction.

He watched as she explored the room; her hesitancy at being too close to the glass, her inspection of the bookshelves. He busied himself at the fireplace getting it started within moments.

"I love to meditate in this room," he commented, standing up from the fire. She had stopped at a shelf reading some of the titles. He stood and looked at her, realizing his penis was rapidly rising again at the sight: her breasts were "perky" in a way that made him want to rush over and kiss them. Her neck. That neck. He so wanted to just stroke that neck, pushing her energy down to her groin. His eyes traveled down to her waist where he lingered on the line of her buttocks -- so tight and nicely shaped. He continued to marvel at her proportions -- how close to ideal they seemed to him. His erection was nearly full.

She looked up, realizing he'd said something but not catching it. She immediately saw his cock and tsked. "There it is again -- I thought you had calmed down a little, coming down the hall. What did I do this time?" She had pulled a book from the shelf, her eyes widening as she opened it to a page. "What is this?"

The fire lit the room with a yellowish orange glow. He looked down at the book in her hands and saw one of the Kundalini practices -- a specific Tantric position for novices. The woman in the photograph was spread open, her dark bush peeking out from the top of the man's head, his face buried in her. Her hands were over her head and her eyes were closed.

"Let's talk over there," he suggested, taking the book from her and pointing to a bean bag by the fire. He turned off the light and joined her; the two of them nestled together thigh to thigh.

"This is only one aspect of the Tantric practices," he said, stroking her cheek. He had closed and re-opened the book, this time to a page much closer to the beginning. She couldn't ignore his penis sticking up in front of the open pages; she licked her lips at the memory of it in her mouth.

The image was of a man and a woman, both naked, he with a large erection (not circumcised, she noted), she fully bushed with moderately heavy breasts. They were standing facing each other, hands open and at their sides, their eyes closed. The caption read: "The first exercise: Tantric Breathing and meditation."

"Tantra practices," he continued, "have a lot of mis-conceptions, especially after the 'free-love' period of the 1960s." He casually leafed through the pages with one hand, revealing mostly what looked like poetry to her, interspersed with diagrams, photographs, mandalas and other illustrations she couldn't quite make out. His other hand continued to stroke her face, moving down to her neck and breasts and then back up again.

Even though only moments ago he had pulled an overwhelming orgasm from her, she was getting aroused again. The fire, being naked in this glass room, exposed to the forest, the imagery in the book and his insane erection all worked on her arousal. She would have closed her eyes except she couldn't tear them away from the images in the book.

"It is a very complex multi-cultural tradition, bridging many centuries." He emphasized the word, stopping his hand. "I had the great fortune, or you might say, strange attractor, of running into Sundar when I did. Although he was disdainful of my use of hallucinogens, it wasn't because I used them per se, just the indiscriminate way I was using them."

She peeled her eyes away from another photograph -- this one of two men servicing a young woman and looked up at him. "Apparently Tantric practices think highly of sex?" She was starting to leak a little and felt self-conscious of staining the bean bag.

He noticed her shifting and looked down to see her pressing her legs together. "Open your legs. Let me see your yoni full of life."

She blushed at the thought of exposing herself to him and then laughed to herself. He's just shoved his tongue in me. What am I shy about? "I'm worried about staining your furniture," she said lamely.

"It's leather. It wants to be oiled." He let go of the book and gently separated her legs with his hand.

She lay back opening herself to his eyes; hoping his hands would follow. She was surprised when he returned to the book. The feeling of complete exposure -- to his eyes, to the forest, to the stars -- being naked in this room -- threatened to reveal more than just her skin; she consciously turned her thoughts to what he was saying.

"Yes. Sexual practices are key to some of the Tantras," he continued. "But most Westerners have mis-interpreted the ideas, or have only taken away the sexuality of the practices, leaving the deeper meaning behind. 'Tantra' in Sanskrit literally means 'weave.' But it is really about the interweaving of the totality of life.

"Sundar and I happened across each other...well, at that time I had chalked it up to happenstance...since then I've learned it had nothing (and everything) to do with luck." He stopped again and she looked at his face. "Are you in the slightest interested in this?"

"I, uh, yes! I mean, I'm really a little confused what we're doing here...you've got me kind of turned on, and now I'm feeling left a little hanging, and I'm not sure what Sundar has to do with anything...and I...yes...I'd like to learn more about this stuff. It seems pretty important to you."

He smiled briefly and turned back to the book. "I'm not being fair. Let me try again." He moved his finger against her, where her legs joined, separating her lips. She felt a slight pressure on her clit and involuntarily pushed against him.

"The 'universal life force' I mentioned before. Let's say one of the pathways to tapping into it was orgasmic sex. Let's say each time you have an orgasm you touch this life force. It sometimes feels that way, doesn't it? The French expression for orgasm says it: la petite mort -- the little death." He pulsed his finger just so, sending a small wave of pleasure into her. Her eyes rolled back slightly.

"But let's say each time you touched that life force you exchanged a little something with it. It is an even exchange -- just like in accounting: a little liability offsetting a little asset." He pulsed his finger again and she mewled quietly, pushing against him.

What is he doing to me? I've never felt anything like this! "Okay," she breathed. "That feels nice, by the way. You don't have to stop."

He smiled and adjusted his finger just so, sending another small pulse into her. "And by the way," he said confidentially, "I really like offsetting your little asset." He raised and lowered his eyebrows again. She giggled.

"Anyway," he continued. "That's the 'normal' way of the world. Humans fuck, they orgasm, they touch this life force, there is an exchange and we go about our day. But what if," he pulsed, she moaned, "what if instead of an even exchange we got a little more out of the force than we gave back? What do you suppose would happen?"

She had laid her head back on the bag, sprawled open to him; her legs spread wide, her hands at her side. She turned to look at his cock, impressed again at its stiffness, and reached for it with her fingers. "I don't know," she said quietly, hoping he would just keep finger fucking her. It felt delicious, made all the more intense by the hidden eyes in the forests staring at her spread legs, the stars looking down on her naked breasts.

"It's been debated for several centuries, ever since an early Hindu figured out how to do it. The hope has been, and it really has been nothing more than hope, that the small imbalances caused by a few individuals over the years are lost in the noise. The thinking goes, small drops lost from the ocean will not upset the overall balance of life. That of course has been the rationalization. The reason there's been any rationalization at all, however," and here he tapped her clitoris as he lifted its hood. She rotated her pelvis in response. "Is the incredible power even a small amount of life force has imbued in the properly trained and receptive practitioner."

Suddenly she could feel a heat building up inside her, something different from her usual orgasm -- a fire, not a burning but a glow -- she wasn't sure what it meant but it suffused her entire core. Each pulse of his finger added a drop to it, like a growing sun inside her.

"What...what are you doing to me?" She barely whispered it as she felt his finger continue to pulse against her.

He pulled away, abruptly but gently. He brushed her hair away from her forehead, wiping sweat in the process. "On a scale of 0 to 10," he said softly, "where 0 is Shopping at the Grocery Store, and 10 is My Most Violent Orgasm, where are you right now?"

It caught her by surprise -- so much of this was coming out of left field -- but she was feeling so good, if it meant he'd continue doing it, she'd play along. "Uhhh, 6?"

He slid both hands up her legs from the inside of her knees to her thighs stopping just as his thumbs barely touched her outer labia. He moved away with her as she moved to push against him until she stopped.

"Please?" She begged slightly, hoping he was teasing her for a reason.

"I had been smoking this incredible hashish." His thumbs grazed her lips, opening them just slightly. She felt the moisture there. "A woman walked into the room where we were smoking. I'd never seen her before. I'm not sure to this day if she was real or not, although she certainly seemed, and felt, all too real. I was so high I wasn't even horny anymore, so when she casually undressed in front of us I barely registered it. When she unzipped my jeans took out my cock and started playing with it, I was surprised only that I was getting hard."

She didn't know where the story was leading, but she had given into him, letting him take her wherever it was he needed to go. His thumbs were spreading her lips open and letting them close, open. Close. Open. Close. Slowly, infuriatingly slowly. But with each stroke she felt the glow build slightly.

"She had skin the color of roasted marshmallows -- a golden brown -- like the light came from inside her. She knelt down in front of me, her breasts at my eye level, her fingers so small and delicate wrapped around my cock. She stared at me the entire time, silently as she serviced me. I'm sure I was grinning from ear to ear, but I was so out of it I didn't have a clue what was going on. She could have been sent to distract me while a bunch of muggers took all my money. I had no idea.

"I had gone to the hash den on the recommendation of a buddy who said it would blow my mind. There were several guys in the room, as I remember, but all I could do was focus on her. She never said a word, but she handled me like a pro. In a few strokes I was hard, in a couple more, she had my sac in one hand, the other stroked the underside; the feeling was so intense, it was like a small super-nova was building inside me."

She understood completely as his fingers now separated her inner lips, the index finger of one hand lightly opening her hood exposing her clit to the air. "Ahh, ahh, ahh, Monty. Ohh, please. Please, please." Her own glowing orb was expanding, filling her abdomen and moving up to her chest. And then he tapped her. Once. "Ahhh!" Twice. "Ahhh, ohhh, Monty." And then he gently pulled away. "Nooooo....please don't stop. That's so mean!" She jerked her eyes open and looked at him.

"Imagine you had the most amazing lover," he ignored her pleas, "bringing you to the brink and just letting you hang there. Not for a moment...like now, but for days. Weeks. A year. Imagine each time you came this close," he put his finger and thumb almost together, "you weren't allowed to peak. Imagine I was so hard and so ready to explode you could have hung a towel on my cock."

She imagined it; she looked down and saw it. She looked up at him.

"She was just the 'fluffer' as they say. She got me prepped and left me there. I had no idea how long we had been together, but the entire time she brought me to the brink and backed off, brink, off. For what seemed like hours, but probably was only for a few minutes. When she left the room I was pleading with her to come back and finish me. I was so numb from the cannabis I couldn't move my hands to help myself. And then, with my cock harder than I'd ever felt it, Sundar walked in."

He leaned over her and kissed her, stroking his tongue between her lips. She reached up to hug his back, stroke him, caress him, urge him to penetrate her. She tried to get him to mount her, but he held back, just stroking her tongue with his, an imitation penis far distant from where she needed it. He pulled away leaving her panting.

"'If you don't climax', Sundar said, 'you might find an answer or two to the questions you've been asking.' I had no idea what he was referring to, or better said, I had no idea how he knew what questions I had been asking or how my not coming would in any way address them, but he got my attention. He got my attention, I might add, because he sat down next to me to have a philosophical conversation while I had a boner harder than steel." He paused, looking out to the forest.

"Is that why don't you come?" She wasn't sure how to get him back on track, but it seemed like the right thing to ask at the moment.

"In a word, yes. But Sundar's counsel didn't get through the fog in my head for several months. I was so taken aback by his approach, I just listened. He told me several stories, each one more hypnotic than the last, until by the end of the evening -- the sun was coming up, he had convinced me to visit his ashram and get a better feeling for what he was saying.

"I had nothing to do and nowhere to go at that point in my life. Six months later I had become initiated into his following. Two years later I decided to leave. I had consumed everything he had to offer me in the way of printed text. I hadn't mastered anything by then, but I had seen and discovered enough that I was confident I could find my way without him. He didn't disagree.

"I had come very close to the life force on several occasions with novitiates at his ashram. The practice was to have sex, but not to climax, often for hours at a time. Near the end of my stay there, the week before I decided to leave, we had a long meditation practice -- three days of fasting and deep visualizations. At the end three new novitiates were introduced."

"Girls?" She was intrigued by the story's exoticness. She tried to attract his thumbs with a small wiggle.

"Young women. All of age. I wouldn't have sat still for it. All from university, all interested in pursuing a deeper spiritual path. These three in particular I can still remember. Slight, beautiful figures, skin as clear as polished copper. Dark hair. On their heads, under their arms and on their groins."

She made a face.

"I have a thing for unshaved women, but don't feel you need to do anything different for me." He ran his fingers across the slightly stubbled surface of her pubis. "You really want to hear about this? It's not entirely germane."

"Ummhmm...it sounds like it's going to get exciting. But don't let it stop you from whatever you were doing." Please fuck me!

"Well, let's just say I had my next religious experience that day. Remember, we'd be fasting and meditating. We were dressed only in loin cloths, the weather was mild -- warm and wet. The room was comfortable -- pillows all around, a little incense if I recall. They all came in at once. Naked, completely unihibited and sat down, cross legged in front of us.

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