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A/N: Just a couple of things I want to mention: First, don’t expect too much sex or kinky stuff. It’s there, but it isn’t at the forefront by any means. Second, this is my first time writing erotica. Just a fair warning.

*****

Colombe found her eyes studying the flared shape of a red plastic cup. Its origins, like her moments-ago thoughts, rippled hazy in her head. They were gone. Here she was.

She looked up at the clock, the heel of her foot making triplets under each tick. Five minutes until he’d arrive. But surely it lied; in an apparent thirty minutes the longer hand had traveled just as many degrees.

How long must she wait? It would be a mercy if he were here earlier than expected; to wait is to suffer. Why else would Odysseus’ sailors have dined on the cattle of the Sun? Left without food, they thought only of food; left without him, Colombe thought only of him. Specifically her mind harped thus: would she insult him? Come off as callous? Would she say something wrong, perhaps so wretched that he’d leave her forever, forsaking her to an impersonal limbo of passersby and pornography? Surely it was—

Two knocks echoed through the empty apartment. Colombe jumped and began to tremble; nonsense, she knew, to be this scared, but it couldn’t be helped.

Perhaps she could pretend not to be home? No, that’d be too cruel. And anyway, once relaxed, she’d be fine. That’s always how it went. No sense in making a big thing out of nothing.

Now three more knocks. No more delaying. She hurriedly pulled the door open.

And her heart skipped a beat. There he was; even now she couldn’t understand why he bothered with her of all people. As always, he looked impeccable: short, curlyblack hair styled into a fringe, light locks pouring out over his forehead, carefully careless. His darkbrown eyes sat underneath, studying her body. His smile left barely noticeable lines clinging to the corners of his eyes. Colombe, without knowing why, felt embarrassed.

“You look beautiful,” Wolfgang murmured.

Colombe couldn’t help but to blush and look away. She brushed her hair behind her ear, trying to think of an acceptable response, but no words would come. She settled for a soft “thank you.”

Then she felt a hand under her chin gently lift her head up, bringing his eyes to hers. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“A bit,” she admitted.

He let go. “Well, don’t be. We’ll have a great time!” He grinned.

“Oh, also,” he said, pulling his other arm from behind his back to present a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

Colombe’s face lit up, and she gratefully took the flowers. Their watery bluewhites reminded her of the ocean and night. She breathed in their scent: sunlight and cinnamon.

Wolfgang smiled. “Well, do you like them?”

Colombe inhaled again, eyes shut and a faraway smile on her face. She looked back to Wolfgang. “I adore them, Wolfchen. They’re wonderful,” she said, giving him a hug. “Let me put these in a vase. One second.” she said, hurrying back into the kitchen.

Soon, she came back to the front door, where Wolfgang stood patiently waiting. “Ready to go?” he asked.

Colombe nodded, beaming moonlike, and allowed herself to be led to his car.

*

Wolfgang pulled up to the curb next to the park, and the two stepped outside. The scene: a multicolored chromachord, each hue a note: lethargic brown, up a perfect fifth to soft yellow, up a major sixth to roughtender orange, up a diminished fifth to the shadow of green, up a major second to passion red.

They paired hands and began down a quaint path flecked with small pieces of sun, each of varying darkness, mixed among the cooler colors of the flowers silently swallowing autumn’s essence, withering groundward while weeks went by. The far-off, hadımköy escort quiet sounds of other couples could be heard.

“It’s lovely out here,” Colombe observed, losing herself in the reservedly ecstatic colors of the trees slowly baring their limbs.

Wolfgang looked to her, grinning. “True, but you’re missing the best part.”

Colombe turned to him, taken out of her reverie. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“You.” He fluttered his eyelashes.

Colombe rolled her eyes. Imperceptibly she also smiled and blushed.

Wolfgang chuckled. “It had to be said, you know.”

“Then say it more quietly, Herr Schwarz, lest I slap you.”

Wolfgang paused in consideration. “I will, Mademoiselle Journée, on one condition,” he said.

“Which would be?”

“You must kiss me.” He grinned mischievously.

Colombe giggled.

“Fine, but only to silence you.” She stood on tiptoe to take Wolfgang’s face between her hands, and, the scene bathed in the morning’s light, let light a kiss lightly on his light-red lips. When Colombe broke off, hunger had filled both pairs of eyes.

*

Colombe found herself wandering from faroff thoughts into a narrow path off the main trail, led still by Wolfgang’s hand. Here there were fewer people about, no doubt because it was hidden among the brush, visible only by the careful or ill-intentioned eye.

“Where are we going, Wolfchen?” Colombe asked.

He winked at her. “It’s a surprise!”

She shrugged, and further they proceeded down the intimate trail, the trees brushing softly against her skin, silklike, tickling, squeezing her and palpitating with silent, steady power; when she listened with greater intention, focusing just on the sounds of the plants, the brush, she heard the softshallow breath of each single tree pushing her to a faroffaway destination, into the depths as the path shrank further and further, to the point that she hardly fit anymore, forced to stand sideways, and Wolfgang too, coaxed deeper in—here another breath—the soft fingers of the trees lethargically reaching, grasping, gasping to breathe her in, a smell earthy and musky permeating the air, vertigo seeping into her head, heavy, the hypnotic waltz composed of a chorus of trees softly swaying, eliciting a carefulhushed cacophony, and then—

Into the open. “Here we are!” Wolfgang sang, Cortés-like, to his queen, while she drowned in the picture around her. It reminded her somehow of Saeki-san in Kochi.

First, a small pond at the center; a few ducks crawled peacefully above its surface, chaotic gestures submerged below.

An army of trees stood sentinel on the perimeter; between this and the pond wound a narrow path to a wooden bench at the other end. Sunlight streamed in pieces through the breaks in the leaves above, dyeing, in daynight, this world of existence before essence.

Her eyes returned to Wolfgang. “This is a nice spot. Though more innocent minds than mine would question your selection. Quite secluded, wouldn’t you say?” She shot him an accusatory glance.

He smiled. “Ah, I wonder how that didn’t cross my mind! How foolish of me.” Here his smile became a leer. “But I can assure you, my intentions are only pure.”

Heat rose to Colombe’s face, accompanied by a smirk. “I suspect you might be lying” she intoned.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Wolfgang said. “But let’s not get too carried away yet. Follow me.” He led her down the trail to the bench.

Once there, Wolfgang sat on the center of the bench. Colombe made to sit next to him, but was stopped by his hand.

She looked at him; he patted his lap, smiling claudiously.

Although Colombe rolled her eyes at this, she still sat on his lap, and his arms snaked haramidere escort around her. Her head fell naturally into the nook where his neck and shoulder met. Wolfgang petted her hair, pulselike, each stroke a swell (pianissimo to mezzo-forte and back). She sighed eudaimonically.

“Well? Are you are enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice thrumming through his body blanketlike.

“I am, Wolfchen. This place is magical,” she breathed, and then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He smiled faroffaway, peace swimming behind his eyes as he looked into her everypresent gaze, though this was enough to bring him back. He said, “Well, you do deserve only the best.”

Her gaze returned forward. “Then it’s just just that I get you.”

He held her closer to his chest.

She let her attention light on those trees and flowers standing shyly by, feigning indifference; though of course they couldn’t watch not having had heart moved.

And as these swallowed her downdeep, Colombe could feel a heat growing within her, constricting thought in an anaconda of salacious, naturous fantasy.

Her breath and pulse quickened, and her hand slid stealthily southways into the folds of her skirt. Breathing fervently, she quickly scanned the area to ensure that they were still alone: no-one else to be seen. This done, she begins rubbing her clit through the thin fabric of her panties.

She feels Wolfgang chuckle behind her. “And what might you be up to?”

Colombe, pent-up, pleads, “Please, d- do it.”

“Oh? But what if we’re seen?” Wolfgang teases.

This comment only further inflames her passions, and she moves her hand behind her panties.

Wolfgang sighs. “Well, I wouldn’t want you coming without me. Stop that.”

Colombe stills with a moaning huff.

“Now, clean your fingers.”

She puts her fingers in her mouth and sucks, drinking down her bodywine.

“Good girl,” Wolfgang murmurs. As he pets Colombe’s head again, she feels a hardening mass under her, and she only barely resists the urge to touch herself again.

“Alright, off my lap a moment,” Wolfgang orders, lightfully pushing her off his legs. She turns to face him, standing erect at attention. He pulls down his zipper, fumbles about for a moment, and reveals his member. Colombe admires it, dazzled—some six inches, an impressive girth, and circumcised. Wolfgang begins to disinterestedly stroke it.

“Strip,” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” murmurs she, pulses of pleasure so sapping her strength, rolling and roiling until she’s left naught but the thought to obey.

She starts by rolling her shirt up, revealing, by inches, more and more of her unmarred skin, glowing coolly in the dark light. The smallwhite orbs of her chest wax halffilled, temporarily obscured by her black bra. A barely-noticeable blush creeps into Wolfgang’s face as he continues to carefully stroke himself.

Next Colombe pulls her skirt to her feet, revealing similarly black panties. The remaining clothing on her body is thus as oil in milk.

This done, she stands before Wolfgang, head up and eyes down.

“Did I say to stop? Take it all off,” Wolfgang demands.

Colombe nods and lets the rest fall away, revealing smalldark areolas and a moistpink vagina. She shivers as Wolfgang’s stroking hastens—

But only to stop.

“Ride me,” he commands.

“Right h- here, sir?” Colombe asks.

“Yes, right here. Hurry, I haven’t all day.”

“Yes, sir.”

Colombe saunters back to him, legs trembling under the weight and wild of expectation, straddles him, and moves with agonizing slowness (all deliberate speed) to envelop him; once her netherlips kiss his tip, impatience reigns; he lets loose a primal atakent escort growl, holds her tightly, and impales her in a single, fluid motion. A million thoughts burn through her thereat, all fleeting and contrary to reason, though each one with the power to bring a small forest to ashes, so deeper, downdeeper, deepdowner she sank; submission: it rages its way through her flesh. Cruelwretched thoughts loving and falling (deepdowner) and deep within moaning and begging for something fleeting and faroffaways. The first and second overtone of her thoughts cry out; at an octave: purpose; at a twelfth: security. The rest were too silent to be read at the moment, though powerful all the same. Colombe’s hand can’t help but return between her thighs, and this time nothing can be done for it, Wolfgang’s mind fogged blind by her heat.

“Get to work,” he has, does, and will breathe, (light)years away.

So she does, letting her body rise and fall, a living cocksleeve for her sir. Immediately his ragged breathing loudens and lab’rens behind her.

“Harder… faster…” he declares, the words dripping downward, eximpressing themselves in Colombe, heating her everywhere. He grabs her waist and begins thrusting back into her, creating a counterpoint.

Colombe yields to his request without delay; she edges back to the depths once more. She feels the wings with which she sees before and after yield beneath the so-great weight of he as he and she as she. Downdeep presentward she fell, the stuff of now flying fast and flying faster toward her her, until she sat far down in the valley, every breath around her utt’ring, heavylike, “Now.”

A faraway voice forbids her climax. She disobeys the will to life and lets her fingers fall.

So contrary the harmony of pleasure, (in truth become a piano solo: liberal rubato, dynamic range pianissimo to fortissimo, early Chopin), resistance reigns and Colombe keeps herself immersed within the virile, raging boar of just-not-climax. Wolfgang grunts (bass), doubling the impact of each thrust (pedal point), interspersed with lewd murmurings (tenor) into Colombe’s ear. His cock twitches within her as moans (alto) take wing from her lips.

“I’m… cumming…” Wolfgang gasps.

Colombe rushes to resume rubbing herself—now with greater vigor—intent on mutual climax. And so it is.

At the seams of her mind she can feel a growing pressure, sinful pleasure, coaxed on and on by pleasure-driven nameless things, at the heart of her her, deep past the surface, the light and the fish and the sharks and the milesawhaledeep mourningsound cries, and then past the deepdark and creatures translucently glowing with rage, so deeply disturbed by their odds, and then further coldward: the deep of the deep, in a place ‘void of life, excepting those things yet unseen, more loosely-bound thoughts than conceptual wholes, those things at the center of myths, more felt than observed; and then at long last to the bottom, the place where fall dregs and lost thoughts and those mem’ries of birth, that limbo, that jumble of sex and desire and unconscious drives, the root of the roots of the great tree of life.

So deep within buried, she cannot tell whether her imagination or voice is the source of the deafening scream (soprano). All that is felt is the heat of the semen that floods through her body. Wolfgang clings tight to her waist as he accompanies her from climax.

Slowly the hot darkgreen of pleasure is overcome by the orangeyellow of afterglow. Colombe falls back into Wolfgang and feels his arms snake around her body and her eyes, tired, settle on a group of flowers.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He gently kisses her neck.

*

At length the grey of dawn became the blue of afternoon. Wolfgang breathed a sigh.

“Well, I hate to say it, but we should get going. Still plenty left to do.”

Colombe hesitated, too comfortable, but eventually stood. She dressed as Wolfgang cleaned himself up.

When they both were more or less back in order, Wolfgang held his hand to Colombe. “Shall we go?”

She nodded, smiling.

The two, her hand in his, returned outside.

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