Tantra

Summary Ethan pushes Joyce’s envelope
Rating NC17
Disclaimer No asanas were harmed in the writing of this story. Any injured copyrights were unintentional
Notes Takes place immediately after the events of Results. Imagine getting this as a two part phone mail. Because that’s what I did to Mydeira. Who says she doesn’t suffer for my art?


The room was dark save for the soft amber light given off by the few glowing candles scattered about the room. They made his eyes glint, her skin glisten as he moved.

She had to work hard to breathe. She had lost all connection to her body hours ago, her shape defined now solely by his touch alone. Sweat ran in tickling threads along her arms as she lay slack, limp on the bed, held in place by the silk scarves loosely holding her arms above her head, her legs spread wide, pillows supporting her knees and lifting her hips.

She whimpered faintly as he bathed her exhausted limbs tenderly with a cool cloth before trickling fresh water into her mouth, soothing her parched, ravaged throat. “One more time,” he encouraged. She tried to shake her head, but could barely move. “Just one more,” he repeated, his soft voice intense.

The words had lost all meaning, he had used them so often. After the third time, she had begged him. After the seventh, had had wept with desperation. He had simply murmured soft words of sympathy and encouragement and begun again.

She had lost count after that.

His hands bladed over her spent muscles, pulling any last remaining tension out and away from her. She had no way to signal her pleasure, no sounds left to encourage him to stop. As he had already done dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, he slowly began building her back up.

Every time was the same. He stroked her whole body gently, lovingly, leaving not an inch of skin untouched. Sweet oil had eased the friction the first time, but quickly her own perspiration became all the lubricant eedeeeded. He slowly circled in, over breasts and thighs, spiraling in on her mound. Each time was the same, as he stroked with his palms and thumbs over her labia, between her lips, masng gng generously, comfortingly, drawing her desire higher and higher. Each time he slipped two fingers in to rub carefully along her inner walls with his fingertips as she writhed and twisted against her bonds.

And every single time, just as she was about to crash into blissful release, he pulled back, letting her frenzy recede like waves on the sand.

It was torture by ecstasy, and she was entirely at his mercy. She prayed yet again that he would release her, let her come finally so she could remember who she was again. But she knew what he was doing. He was showing her that moment he had told her about, that moment of bliss and terror where chaos ruled. She existed now only in that moment, formless except for the shape he gave her, insensate except for what he made her feel.

It was coming again, rising up along the column of her spine, squeezing her heart and lungs and muscles, soft guttural moans the only sound she was capable of. This time, oh please God this time she was so close she could feel it rising monstrous behind her eyes preparing to tear her asunder oh God yes this time NOW!

And his hands pulled away to coast gently over her stomach and thighs, easing her back from the brink yet again.

She let her fingers unclench from around her bonds, forced herself to draw in deep, ragged breaths. Opened her eyes to see him hovering over her.

“One more time,” he murmured gently, urgently.

“Ethan, no,” she managed to whisper, but his hands were already moving, coursing gently over her, down the length of her sensitized body and along her legs.

And she realized he was untying her.

His mouth joined his hands as he freed her ankles, slowly moving back up with soft caresses and lingering kisses at all her sensitive places.

The contact grounded her, brought her back into herself. She responded, albeit weakly, knowing that this time would be different.

He let his mouth linger on hers for the first time in hours as his deft fingers coasted up to untangle the knots at her wrists. She let her arms fall to drape limply around his shoulders as he moved between her legs, sliding into her as gently as he had touched her all night. She sighed in relief, rolling her hips in time to his movements as he built her climax quickly, his own need making him tremble. She felt him tighten, heard him groan a soft “Oh god, Joyce!” and shudder deep within her. Her own release followed immediately, no hesitation on the brink as she washed over into deep, liquefying ecstasy.

He helr clr close, protectively, stroking her hair gently. “That’s the moment,” he said quietly against her hair. “That’s what it feels like.”

And she thought she understood.