Spent But Not Overdrawn

She came through the door carrying her overnight bag, every ounce of exhaustion evident in her posture. Her body was carried upright and shoulders back from years of rigid discipline. Once through the door, she kicked it shut behind her, dropped her bag next to the nearest chair and turned the key in the deadbolt. She was alone and wanted no interruptions; she intended to sleep for two days. Well, maybe not two days; her children were due tomorrow afternoon at four. Her former husband, their father, had taken them while she attended a writing workshop/seminar and would be returning with them the next afternoon. She would have time to unpack, unwind (if she could), slip back to 'Mommy mode' after the draining efforts of the workshop which spent her for the last four days.

As she made her way to the bedroom, she shed her suit jacket, then her skirt as she walked slowly through the house, discarding them where they were doffed. At her bedside, she slipped out of her silk camisole, pulled it over her head, dropped it on the floor. Her laundry would be neatly sorted and washed tomorrow, but not tonight. She shed her bra, garter belt and hose, then lay down on the bed without even pulling the spread back. All she was wearing was her thong panties and only because she was too tired to remove them. She quickly fell into a twilight dream state, that place where dreams are still tangible. She lingered there for an instant and was gone.

After a while, she didn't know how long, she woke slowly, sluggishly, with an intuition that she was not alone. The room was dark now, with only distant street lights illuminating the window in a grey haze. Once her eyes adjusted, she could make out the shadow of the chair, the armoire, and the dimly lit window's reflection in the mirror of the dresser. Even though she sensed another presence, she had no fear; this presence was as familiar as her own in solitude, silent, waiting, knowing her as she knew herself. She drew herself up from the bed, crawling to the end of it first, then sitting and dropping her feet to the floor. As soon as her feet touched the floor, he was standing before her, his silhouette, unmistakable in the shadows. He was right in front of her, yet she did not speak. Nor did he. He knelt before her, and in whatever light the window offered, she saw the flash of his grin, that smile that spoke of intimate challenge, ultimate victory. That smile that spoke volumes, whispering to her, "I know you and you know me and there is nothing more that needs to be said," and "You are mine, because I love you and I love you because you are mine."

She looked up at his darkened silhouette, daring him to see the desire in her eyes, the challenge to take her, to fully command her body to meet his own, to satisfy her completely and to take his pleasure from her. She rose to her knees, slipped her arms around his neck and drew him to her in a kiss, tender, and then fully blossoming, desire unleashed, the full impact of it draining his senses. He returned her kiss, in spades, and her knees were weak with the reciprocated need building force on its return. He took her shoulders in his hands and gently, while continuing this kiss, laid her back on the bed. At first, she was bent in an arch, still on her knees yet her shoulders touching the bed beneath the gentle pressure of his kiss. His lips traveled down her neck, over her chest, stopping for a moment to suck each hardened nipple. She writhed with pleasure at the sensation his lips brought to her. Her hips softly began to undulate in anticipation of the satisfaction she sought, the satisfaction that only he could give her.

Unbidden except by her inviting caresses, he kissed her across her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel as he traveled south to his ultimate destination. When he reached her pussy, she urged him, thrusting upward toward his lips, needing his tongue inside her, stroking her, stoking her, kindling for what was to come. Yet she pled not, except with her body and the involuntary sounds he pulled from her, incoherent and animalistic in nature.

In a quick motion, he pulled her feet from beneath her, placed them on his shoulders. Then he went to work on her, tearing down any defenses she could possibly have left, leaving bridges and footpaths in their place. As he tasted, feasted on her, desiring more, she too, became impatient. Fully aroused, she loved what he was doing to her, she began to fuck his mouth, sliding her pussy up til her clit bumped his nose...then back until it traveled over the stubble on his chin, the roughness arousing her more than ever before. Holding his head in her hands, she continued with this until he, needing to match her, traveled her netherworld, front to back, dipping his tongue in her pussy, then in her ass, briefly tongue-fucking both along the way.

Suddenly, unable to take anymore teasing, her hands dropped to his shoulders, and with a gentle tug, she urged him up to kiss her...and to urge him to give her his cock. Once his face was level with hers, her hands behind his head, she pulled him down for a deep kiss, tasting herself on him, his face fragrant with her perfume. At the same time he is tongue fucking her mouth, her hips are dancing an inviting tango, her pussy ready for his cock. He draws back slowly from the kiss, stands at the side of the bed, pulling her near to him. Slowly, he places her feet on his chest and leans into her. With his cock in his right hand, he strokes her pussy with his left and she moans; she is wet, waiting for him. He places the tip of his cock at the entrance to her and slowly begins to move into her. He is large, rock solid and her breath stops as she feels the shocking pleasure flood her once more. She is amazed every time at the riptide of desire that courses through her; she is amazed at the love harbored inside her for him. She wants to give him everything, so she moves with him, taking his cock, taking all he can give her, finding a way. At the same time, feeling the instinctive pressure well up inside her to seek her own pleasure.

Joined together, she watches him enter her and nearly leave her, all in shadow, but older than time. She looks up at his face, and even in shadow sees him, slack-jawed with emotion, as awed by her love as she is by his. It inspires her to give him more. With the strength in her back she draws back into the mattress, comes up with a deep thrust that takes him even deeper than he was before. This surprises him; he wasn't expecting it, usually being the one to set the pace, usually holding her at bay. She did it again, once, then twice and then he couldn't stop it... he had to give it to her, had to fuck her for all he was worth. He is grunting, cursing, throwing his weight behind each thrust, eight, ten times, then...he crawls up onto the bed, crawls more into her, still fucking, but leisurely now. He is drawing away then rejoining her, as in slow motion, moving in and out of her, and suddenly its that ageless love taking over...they are making love, eye to eye, face to face, head to toe. They are joined in the most basic but most sublime nature, speaking of their love with no words. He knows that whatever he needs, she will give him; she knows that whatever he gives her she will take. And though it has always been like this, it is ever new, ever renewed with the rejoining of their bodies--highest love and most basic desires fulfilled.

He takes her head in his hands, and for the first time speaks. "I love you, I LOVE YOU, iloveyou...", he whispers, as if driven by an instinct that is stronger than that of thirst. She responds, welcoming him more, into her soul as well as her body, offering herself for his pleasure, absorbing his need, vibrating with it, perfectly in time with him, and he begins to move to the summit. She climbs with him, linked physically, emotionally, spiritually, with this man who has made her a goddess, her god of love, whom she MUST please. They climb together, a steep and delightful path, created by themselves, for themselves, to find their way home.

Moving now, quickly, frantically beneath him, knowing that this pleasure must end for another to begin, she is wringing from him all that he can give her. She is beating against him as hard as he is against her, and in doing so, she drags him to that jagged peak and he cries out, ecstasy, pain, pleasure; it feels like he is dying but in the most glorious of swan songs...he flies, and she is with him. Feeling his release, she is untethered, free to take the peak as well. Her cries match his own and as he empties himself into her, she is pulsing around him, her pussy drawing all there is from his cock, their sex momentarily the center of their universe.

She is filled with the rush of emotion that only comes to a woman well loved, well used, exhausted in love, totally spent. Her tears are falling, tears of joy, the joy of giving and receiving in full measure. He catches her; she rolls into him, feeling the strength of his arms as they wrap around her. Her tears subside and nestled in his arms, with her head on his shoulder she sleeps.

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The next morning when she woke, the sun was streaming into the window through the shears. She struggled against the covers, throwing and kicking them from her body, to sit up in bed. She didn't remember pulling back the spread but probably did it during the night blinded by sleep, but feeling chilly. There was a faint, but familiar scent just on the edge of her consciousness. It nagged at her till finally, she covered her face with her hands and inhaled deeply through her nose. Unmistakable...but how?

She quickly fled her sheets and stumbled into the bathroom. She pissed then patted herself dry, flushed the commode. She noticed that the cabinet was ajar and started to shut it, but decided to look inside. His razor and toothbrush sat there, both in a cup he carried with him when he traveled. Did it mean he was still here? For how long? She put on her robe then thought, "My thong...?" She walked back into her bedroom and there it was, wadded up as though it were rolled off of her hips and down her legs by impatient hands. Her memory returned gradually and she had sudden flashes of the events of the night before storming through her head. Hewashere...perhaps he was still here. Quickly, she walked to the kitchen. As she approached the French doors between the kitchen and the living room, she heard him say, "I love you, too. Have a good day at school." Then he hung up the phone and turned, hearing her come in. "Sleep well?" he asked with that sensual, double entendre manner that always kept her on her toes.

"I died...think I went to heaven", she said. And then she gave as good as she got. "What would you like for breakfast...or need I ask?"