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It was Saturday evening. He was late coming home. I had expected that. He had been overwhelmed with work in his construction company and had been busy six days a week and was often out solving problems on Sunday. I delighted in his success and welcomed the increased income from his business that made our lives quite comfortable.
But I craved his attention and had not been getting enough of it. In my head, I knew that it wasn’t his fault – it wasn’t anybody’s fault. But my body didn’t follow the logic of my head. It wanted him and wouldn’t accept excuses or explanations. And I was in the time of my cycle when my body especially demanded relief and release.
Our sex life had become entirely too predictable. We would tumble into bed and each of us would climax once and then we (or at least he) would sleep. The next morning we would be off to work after a little kiss as we parted.
I decided to ignore my head. I let my body guide my preparation. I spent two whole hours at it. First I took a long, hot bath. I couldn’t resist stimulating myself as I washed my clitoris. The little orgasms were nice and certainly welcome but didn’t substitute for the real thing. They helped me to anticipate his arrival and his attention.
I toweled slowly and languidly and dried and combed my hair. I finished drying with the perfumed (and expensive) powder that I had bought on impulse at a fancy boutique in the mall. I breathed deeply and filled myself with the scent.
I selected a black bra and matching panties. They were each bordered with lace. I put them on and admired my reflection in the mirror. I covered them with a sheer and tiny nighty and admired myself some more.
I piled the bed with all the pillows I could find. I laid out half a dozen little candles. I found a box of matches. I put a stick of sandalwood incense in the little jug of sand that was there for the purpose. I put in a second one in case the first didn’t last long enough. I put soft music on the little stereo we kept in the bedroom. I turned out the lights and went into the front room to wait.
He was there before very long. When he saw me in my lingerie and nightie he put his arms around me and began to nuzzle my neck. I wriggled away from him and said, “Not so fast, Mister, first get cleaned up so that you can be a proper lover.” He looked surprised but he submitted meekly and headed to the bathroom.
He started to enter the shower but I told him, “No. Get in the tub and take your time.” Again he sheepishly complied and started to draw the water as he stepped in. I could see him visibly relax.
I sat on the closed toilet seat and parted my legs and crossed one over the other. “Tell me what I look like,” I asked him in a voice I intended to be coquettish.
“You look lovely,” he replied.
“No, no, no, silly,” I scolded, “Tell me what you Travesti really see. Start at the top and work your way down”
He hesitated a bit and finally said, “Your hair is nice. I like the way you did it.”
“More detail,” I demanded. “What color is it? And how did I fix it.”
“You are honey blond and you have done it in a pony tail.”
“That’s a little better,” I told him. “What would you like to do with my hair?”
“I would like to undo it and bury my face in it.”
“Maybe you will get lucky and I will let you,” I said archly. “Look lower and tell me what else you see.”
“I can see your bra through your nightie. It has lace on it.”
“And what would you like to do with it,” I asked.
“I want to take it off and bury my face there, too,” he told me. “I want to nibble your nipples and suck them, too.”
“You should get so lucky,” I told him. “What else do you see?”
All the time he had been slowly scrubbing himself. Now his cock was erect and ready.
“I can see your panties under your nightie. They are lacy like your bra. I would like to take them off and nibble and suck there, too.” He was breathing heavily, now, and had an abstracted look in his eyes.
“We’ll see,” I told him primly as I washed his back. “Tonight we are going to do things my way. Dry off and meet me in the bedroom.” I abruptly left.
I lit the candles and incense and laid back on the pillows. I put a couple of them under my bottom. I could see the reflections of some of the candles in the big mirror on the dresser so there was the illusion of more flames than there actually were. The mirror also reflected just a glimpse of my lace panties where my nighty had lifted up to my hips. I leaned back and let my senses fill with the sensual pleasures of candles and reflection and sandalwood and the soft music.
He was there soon. He was naked and still wet in places. He was on me at once but I pushed him away. “Undo my nightie, and look at me” I demanded. He complied. Then it was wide open to reveal my bra and panties and me.
The light and shadow and reflections of the candles played on me and on him and off each other. The top of my bra was in the shadows. Under my breasts the candle light played on the lace and flickered orange on my belly. My navel was a little round shadow in the middle of the dim light. Then there was more play of lace on my panties. I half closed my eyes. The candles were inside me, too, with the music and my husband all moving together in my belly. When I opened my eyes, the reflection of my panties in the mirror was inside me, too.
“Take my panties off,” I told him. I felt them slide over my thighs and then my knees and calves and ankles. Then they were gone. I stayed him from touching me there.
My hand tugged at little tufts of my pubic hair giving me little Konya Travesti shivers each time. I could glimpse my hand in the mirror. The light was there, too and I seemed to glow. He took this as a signal to kneel between my legs. I grasped his hair. “No,” I said, “We’re doing this my way.” I brought his head to my breasts and laid it to one side so that we could watch the play of the light. “See there are shadows on the tops of my breasts and light below?” I asked. He murmured. “Kiss my shadows,” I said softly and drew him there. I used my hold on him to make him go slowly and to caress every inch of the tops of my breasts with his lips and his tongue. I watched my hand in the mirror as the light and shadows played on us.
I think that we both actually fell asleep for a few moments that way. But, I was beyond distinguishing between sleeping and waking dreams. After some time I said, “Notice how the light plays on the lace underneath and guided his lips there. I held him there for a long time. Then I let his tongue explore the deep shadow of my navel. Then I guided him higher again. I did not want to relinquish my hold on his hair or on my own. So I said “undo my bra so we can see my breasts in the candlelight. He undid the center clasp in the front and stroked the cups of the bra to the sides. “No,” I said softly, “No hands. Not yet. Let’s just look for now.” Obediently, he dropped his hands to his sides. “Tell me what they look like,” I told him.
“They’re beautiful,” he stammered.
“No, silly, tell me what the lights and shadows are doing.”
I continued gently to play with my pubic hair and to watch the mirror as he haltingly began to describe what he saw. “Well, the tops are still in the shadows but underneath they are the color of candle flames and seem to flicker with the flames. The candle light makes a path between them and seems to spread them apart.”
I continued to pluck my hair and the fire inside me flared up again. I held him where I wanted him to be and asked “What about my nipples? What do they look like?”
He went on, “They are in shadow on the top, too. And they cast long shadows themselves. They are alight on the bottom and seem to glow orange pink.” I watched in the mirror as my fingers continued to play.
“Can I trust you to do what I tell you if I let go of your hair?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said meekly. His voice was husky.
“Then kiss the places where the shadows meet the light. Slowly!” I demanded.
His lips brushed slowly across my right breast. He traced the boundary across the nipple and let his tongue linger there. My free hand traced the same pattern on his chest. Then his tongue followed the light that divided my breasts and slid up the next mound and circled the glowing nipple. My other hand sent little shivers through my body.
“Thank İzmir Travesti you,” I murmured. I took his hair again and made him linger.
After my shivers subsided a bit, I guided him lower. “Tell me what my hair looks like.”
“It is glowing like polished brass. I can see the shadows of each hair around the edges.”
“Please breathe on them,” I asked. His breath caressed me. “Now, pull them just a little with your lips.” His tiny nibbles brought more shivers and I forced myself to stop him before my climax and said, “I think we can find my spot tonight.”
We could only do that some of the time. I guided him lower and his tongue brushed my clitoris. I shivered again and said, “No, I want your tongue inside me.” Then he was there and both my hands were tangled in his hair.
“I want your tongue inside me,” I told him.
He complied and I guided him with the pressure of my hands. His saliva and my juices lined the way. I struggled to postpone my climax.
“Not deep yet. I’ll show you. Like this. Lick along the back.” My hands shook and I let go of him and clutched my hair again.
“Now on your right. Now on the left. Slowly. Yes, like that. Now in the front.”
I’m telling the story as if I spoke clearly and coherently. In fact, my voice came in gasps and murmurs. But I made myself understood and he followed my lead flawlessly.
“Now come deeper,” I guided him. He followed and I stopped breathing. After a few deep strokes, I forced my voice and gasped, “Now. Find … find the place.” His tongue penetrated deeper and stiffened. I could feel the tip curl into the exact spot that I wanted and flit there like a hummingbird.
My body, the light, the shadows, the sandalwood, the music, my reflection came together and were sucked into a rushing whirlpool. Then all the sensations circled and jumbled together in a whirlpool. Then they rushed and roared out the other end of the vortex. Someone shouted. His face and hair were soaking wet and sparkling in the candle light. My hands roamed aimlessly over his head and his face and over myself. My eyes refused to focus. My legs quivered. My belly burned. My breath came in short gasps and moans.
Then, time lost its meaning. I can’t tell what happened next. I remember only a jumbled kaleidoscope of image and sensation that I cannot fit into an organized story. His lips were everywhere. I inhaled the musk of my own juices on his face and hair. He was in my every opening. My fingers were all over him and in him, too. I think that we must have explored all the permutations of play and pleasure and perversion. Even as uninhibited and adventurous as I am, I think I would blush to tell it all if I could remember. I am glad to leave it to the reader’s imagination.
Eventually we slept. I awoke and then drifted off again. Sometime in the night I asked him, “Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“I have to check a couple of construction sites,” he said sleepily. “Why don’t you come with me? I can clean out the front seat of the truck to make a place for you.”
I snuggled closer to him and we slept again.
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