The Maestro's Symphony

As she felt his hand glide up her thigh, she couldn't help but wonder if this is what it was supposed feel like? Was this what she had been missing all those years? The trail of electric fire burned ever so sweetly as he continued his gentle assault up her hip. Was this fiery torment what her mother and sisters warned her about? If so, why? How could something that felt so good be so bad?

His large, warm hand, never stopping, stroked the gentle curve of her waist, very nearly engulfing its tiny expanse. A new, even more puzzling sensation assaulted her, a tightening and throbbing pulse felt in her very core. True, she was no stranger to the knowledge of the functions of a woman but to experience it, intimately, for the first time cast such knowledge into a pitiful light. She had been taught that only a woman could truly know what a female's body needed and that a man sought only to use, conquer, and receive pleasure from the feminine form. While she never engaged others, she did know her own body thoroughly and knew that an explosion was building.

Yet, how had such soft caresses led her to this place? What magic did this man possess to have her wanting, needing so quickly and easily? Was it because, for the first and only time in her immortal existence, she could truly feel everything? She wasn't impervious like him, but she was close. Close enough that the touches of most men, well truthfully, most everyone barely registered with her.

As she continued to ponder this strange development, his hand pressed ever forward to cup her breast, sending a shiver down her spine. It was only when his lips joined the battle that she allowed her body to react. In all honesty, she could do nothing but react as his lips pressed warm, wet kisses across her chest till he captured the tight pink bud in the center and proceeded to suckle. Ah gods, the sensation was exquisite torture! Her hands, of their own accord, sought to bury themselves in his silky, black locks. Glancing down she noticed his eyelids had fluttered shut, hiding his cerulean eyes from her own.

Could he possibly enjoy giving her body, and hers alone, such pleasure? Where was his selfish need to possess, conquer, dominate? As ambassador of truth, she knew the answer. She knew the man above her was her best friend and the best of men, so could he seek to pleasure just her, forgoing his own desires? The answer was a resounding "yes…" Wait, was that moaned aloud or was it merely in her head? His soft chuckle answered her unspoken question.

His mouth drifted northward to rain kisses upon her neck while his hand, hardened and calloused from years of hard work on a farm, drifted south to further enflame her blood. Again she arched. Again she moaned. Her thoughts began to swirl in her head. Would the heat she felt continue to build? If so, how could she possibly survive it? His gentle, almost reverential, worship of her body doing what no manor god could do. Could the fire he ignited in her burn her alive? Could he literally love her to death?

Her mind wandering its own paths never expected his next move. True, she was aware of the heat of his palm as it cupped her femininity. True, she knew something was about to happen but in her wildest fantasies she never imagined anything close to the feelings he inspired in her. His seeking touch was soft, careful, almost tentative, as if he believed she were the fantasy waiting to be dispelled. She wanted to laugh at the thought that a man as powerful as he could be hesitant in this most intimate of acts. She wanted to scream triumphantly that she, a novice needing guidance, could bring him to such a state of vulnerability. But she did neither, for, at that moment, his fingers slid between her wet folds. His thumb stroked upward to find the little button of nerves as first one then a second finger tested her very core. Her body bucked up to the welcome visitors as she gripped his broad shoulders with enough strength to crush marble; her voice uttered a cry full of want and need. His only response was a moan of his own.

As his fingers stroked her and plunged in and out of her body, her heart sped up while the winding of her core tightened to almost unbearable measure. Her body acknowledged what her mind was only beginning to grasp; this man, harder than steel and stronger than a god, was a master musician playing her, his instrument, with such grace and care that none who heard the music could doubt his skill. But, as only a true master could, his devotion to this singular instrument bordered on fanatical. His fingers continued to play a song that she knew was destined for her and her alone. A woman of power, strong enough to hold sway with the man hovering over her, could do nothing but softly beg, "please…," as she neared the coming crescendo.

Softly his lips found hers as his fingers are replaced by his manhood. She sighed in grateful satisfaction as his body entered hers, stretching her, filling her, completing her as she completed him. The pause lasted but a moment as the music called forth hard, swift notes. This was what she was created for. This was truly better than the halls of Olympus or the Fields of Elysium.

Now she knew why her mother and sisters feared this. It was not the trust required to give power over oneself to another. It was not the fear of pain or betrayal. No. It was the knowledge that once would never be enough. It was the understanding that such pleasure could never be achieved singularly. It was the wisdom that no amount of sisterly love or dutiful worship of the gods could ever compare to the moment the music reached its zenith.

She wished she could smirk now that she was armed with this newfound information, but she could only gasp loudly and call out his name, "Kal...," and listen as he reached his own understanding, screaming, "Diana!"