Steam      Steam by Viviana  
 

He sits between my thighs in the milk-colored water, hot vapor condensing
in translucent pearls on his golden skin. I kiss the shining drops, dab
them with my tongue, or trace them with a finger as they ripple and race
each other down his muscled, tapering back into the steaming depths. 

I wash his hair with the cut glass goblet that held my dinner wine,
pouring from on high to hear the rilling splash, letting the crystal
facets catch the light and cast their rainbows on us. He tips his head
back into the cradle of my hand and I let the silken strands of his
luminous hair glide, soap-slippery, between my fingers. 

Steam rises from the opalescent water, scented with our bodies, and
condenses on the walls, on the cool, green marble, turning to dewy
droplets that trickle down and gather in shaded pools on terracotta tiles.
Evening sun slants, heavy and golden, through the green shutters, filtered
through stained window glass and our bodies' mist to dapple in colored,
winking lights upon the floor. 

We left our clothes, the dust and the gunpowder, on the bedroom floor of
this, the old Grand Hotel of a faded colonial town, south of Buenos Aires.
The antique tub in the centre of this palatial bathroom took forever to
fill, by iron bucket, room service, but here we are, luxuriating finally
in the sweet, humid embrace. Our moves send wavelets rippling over the
edge, quickening the percursive drip upon the tiles, the only other sounds
the whirr of crickets from the gardens below and a distant, lonely trumpet
somewhere. 

The sultry heat makes sweat blossom on our skins and it evaporates along
with the steam. From behind, I trace the soft shape of his wet lips with
my fingers, gasping as he nips one with his teeth, then closes his warm
mouth round it. 

Here, I reclaim him intact, exulting, steering us back from the edge of
oblivion. Here, the shocks evaporate, exhilaration condensing to sharp
relief and aching renewal. 

I kiss his nape once, twice and linger, suckling the sweetness of his wet,
tender flesh and our mingled essences. 

I pull and he leans back, head on my shoulder, a glorious weight against
my chest, trapping my swollen erection at the base of his spine. He moves,
to ease the pressure, but my circling arm arrests him. Stay. I cup my hand
into the water between his thighs and pour it on his chest, again, and
again, bathing him slowly, my open palm stroking his smooth, soft breast
and the hard nubs of his nipples. 

I tip his head to mine, meeting heat-limpid eyes, and seal his
eager-opening mouth. Then I put my hand into the water, tenderly gather
the full, hard length of his penis, and milk him. 

 
DISCLAIMER: Not for profit. All characters are the property of their
rightful owners.  


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