The Story- Part Two

I walked back into the kitchen, loosening my tie as the wine loosened my mind. I drained the beans, pureed half of them and put them back in the pot with more water. Every once in a while I look back at Astarte, still perched on the couch with Oscar, reading a magazine with a half smile on her lips. My breath catches for a moment as the realization hits me that she's actually here and we'll soon be in bed. If we make it that far. While I chop carrots, onions, celery, garlic and napa cabbage, I picture what will surely come later and what form it will take. I already know exactly what she looks like under that shirt, I know what she smells like, tastes like, I know how hard she can grip me, I can feel her nails scratching my back.... After our last encounter I almost needed medical attention. My back was raw and bleeding and I didn't even know it until the next day when I woke up stuck to the sheet by dried blood and torn skin. She shredded me, like a cat with claws. I loved it.

The veggies go in the pan of olive oil and begin to hiss. I leave them for a moment to refill my wine glass. Walking over to the couch I ask Astarte if she wants more. She's stopped reading the magazine and loosened her own tie, the top buttons undone on the shirt. She has one hand on her wineglass, the other inside the shirt lazily stroking her left breast. She looks up at me with wet lips.

"Sure. I'll take a refill."

I pour the wine. She puts her finger in the glass and then in her mouth. Then it's back in the shirt. I'm so hard it hurts. I just stand there, trembling.

"Don't burn the veggies, lover."

"Yeah. Ok."

I manage to make it back to the kitchen without dropping the wine and stir the veggies in the pan. They smell fantastic. I add smashed tomatoes with their juice and the mixture swells, boiling. In goes the prosciutto and now it's really starting to smell good. After it cooks for a few minutes it goes into the pot with the beans, puree and water. Now it has to cook for an hour. Excellent. I have time to change and see what develops. I wander to the bedroom to change. As I'm undressing I hear music from the other room. Anthony Hamilton is singing about how much his mother loved him. (http://www.anthonyhamilton.com/)

Changed into a fresh white tee shirt and olive cargo pants I head back to the living room. Astarte is back on the couch, eyes closed, humming along with Anthony. I tell Oscar to get down and he does, heading to his pad on the floor. The apartment is beginning to smell like fresh minestrone, the music is just right and the wine has really relaxed me. I light a few candles before sitting down. Astarte looks up at me through half-slitted eyes and smiles.

"Come over here, monkey."

I set my wine down and sit next to her. She turns me so I'm facing away from her and leans me back, my head against her chest. She kisses the top of my head, her lips warm. Both her hands come up my arms and on to my shoulders, rubbing, kneading, massaging. I'm smiling like an idiot and moaning. Her touch is electric, and raises goosebumps wherever it lands and I sigh as her hands move from my shoulders to my temples. My mind goes blank for a moment and then fills with one thought, one feeling: lust. I sit up and turn around to face her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Shut up. Whatever the hell I want."

I grab the shirt and tear it open, ripping buttons, exposing her smallish breasts and hard, pink nipples. I feel a moment of regret for my shirt but it fades when she grabs my head as it moves to her. I bite her right breast, softly just under the nipple, then harder and she moans, squeezing my head. Her legs move to wrap around me and, if it's possible, I'm harder than before. I move and grind myself against her and can feel her heat through my pants. I move up and kiss her neck, bite it, I kiss behind her ear and breathe into it, hot, and whisper her name...Astarte.... Her hands are on my head, my back, my ass, squeezing. We kiss, deep, tongues moving and she bites my bottom lip, pulling it back, staring me in the eyes, hers blazing, hungry, hard and deadly. I pull up my shirt and press myself against her, flesh on flesh, her hard nipples two beads of desire. Her hand snakes down between my legs, probing, squeezing as we kiss, and I return the favor and move my own hand down. Oh my...she is so wet, so warm, her panties soaked through. I slide two fingers underneath the cotton and feel...smoothness. She shaved.

"Do you like that?"

Do I? Oh yes. Very much. My fingers are wet and I bring them to my mouth, tasting her. My head is swimming, Anthony still singing but I can't hear the words over my moaning. Her hands are in my pants, grabbing my cock, moving back and forth, stroking, flicking the head with her thumb. She speaks, guttural and low:

"I want you in my mouth."

I'm happy to oblige her.



Part three tomorrow


M. PotPie