Retreat.

There's a place in my mind.

We have our own cabin to ourselves. It's one room plus the bathroom. When we check in, someone is dispatched to light the fire in the stone fireplace. By the time we walk down the short path and open the door, we can feel the heat radiate. There's a bear-skin rug on the floor and antlers over the mantle. Other than that, the rustic touches are few. There is a large four-poster bed covered with a silk-covered feather duvet. One wall has a large six-foot mirror in a gilt frame. In it, we can see a reflection of the entire room. The bathroom has a whirlpool tub to fit two. There's a towel warmer. The soap smells like cucumber.

Waiting for us, on a table along the wall, is the midnight feast we ordered. We knew it would be a long drive to this mountain resort. There are two dozen oysters on ice. The Hawaiian ones. There's a bottle of chilled Sancerre and the same of champagne. There's a cheese plate. If we want more, we can still walk over to the lodge and order a skirt steak with frites, or the bone marrow.

We can stay for days, even weeks. No one needs us. In my imagination, I have no other obligations. All there is to do is sleep and eat and read and fuck.

So what does my mind want first?

We're undressed. I'm kneeling before him. The fire toasts my back. He can see us in profile in the mirror. I run my hands up the back of his thighs and over his sweet ass. I lean forward so my forehead is against his stomach, and breathe in the scent of him. This is a moment of fulfillment as also of anticipation. We're here in a safe place, and this is what there is to do. Now it starts. It's the pivot point between being separate and together, of letting him inside my body in more ways than one.

I caress his penis with my cheek, one side, then the other. I look up at him and he's watching us in the mirror: the play of firelight on our skin, the way my arms wrap around him. He strokes my hair. I look down to see one glistening drop of pre-cum on his cock. I lick it off tenderly; the briny taste of it salts my entire mouth. I circle the glans with my tongue. I'm pratically drooling. I cover my teeth with my lips and slowly take him in all the way. I nudge his stomach with my nose. He gasps with the sight of it even though it isn't the first time. I catch his eye and smile as much as I can with my mouth full of his cock.

My mouth knows him in a way my cunt never can. The taste of him, for one thing. He tickles each tastebud: sweet, bitter, salty, savory. It's this primal animal thing I'm tasting, untouched by anything but its own scent. There are remnants of soap, denim, sweat, and what? It's not unlovely but deeply personal. That he lets me do this, to take this vulnerable piece of him into the sharpest part of me, is both touching and lusty.

How could my pussy ever caress him the way my tongue can? I can be lively and brisk, or meticulous and thorough. I can trace every vein, every line of him. I can suck or blow. I could take a cold drink and change everything.

But what I do is continue to slide him in and out of my mouth. One hand hefts his balls gently; the other hand cups his ass to pull him farther into me. He twines his fingers into my hair. He runs his other hand down my cheek and to my jaw and traces the muscles of my throat that exert to do this. The wet seam between my lips and his cock is a marvel to him, and I love him to trace it. Mmmmmmm I moan, my mouth full.

I reach down between my own legs and feel how wet this makes me. My hand is instantly soaked. Raising it, I slide it between his legs. He bend them apart to let me caress that tender sensitive spot between. Then I move onward to the sweet pucker of his ass. I know he likes this. He relaxes so I can slide my wet finger into him, just a little. I match it to the rhythm of my mouth. Now the other hand holds the base of his cock. Here I am on my knees, in total control.

It's a heady rush of power, pride, and love. I'm good at doing this with him. Very good.

When he begins to thrust against me, I let him. He wants to. I can feel the build of tension in his legs and the unkind urgency with which he grabs my hair. After a minute, I forcefully draw back. Hold on there. Not so fast. I let him slide from my mouth a little and tease him with my tongue. I'm hungry for it too, but I want to draw it out. I want to relish the desperation in him and know that only I have what he needs. Finally I relent. Now it will happen. One hand strokes him into my mouth while the other finger fucks his ass. I'm working hard and furious. He thrusts into me so hard it's all I can do not to gag. My eyes water and my nose runs. I am a mess and I love it.

At the moment he comes, we are almost in the same state of oblivion. Sometimes I can't exactly say that my mouth is full of his cum: I just swallow it all reflexively. It's sweeter and saltier and weirder than any man would think. I don't mean bad weird, just unlike anything else. Unique to itself. Like whiskey - you have to drink it a few times to acquire a taste for it.

He's been shouting Oh! Oh! until now. It retreats more to an Oh of surprise and delight. He lets go of my head but I don't let go of him. I slowly lav his penis with my tongue, sucking as I go. I don't want to spill a drop. I kiss him one last time before retreating completely.

He sits down next to me on the bearskin rug. He puts an arm around me and pulls me so we are laying full-length together.

Soon I will make him open one of those bottles and feed me oysters. If he wants to eat any, he will have to do so off my ass as he fucks me from behind. But that's a story for another day....