Reprise: A Story of Reincarnated Love
folder
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
15
Views:
2,249
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
15
Views:
2,249
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Interlude: Sean Takes Things In Hand
Warnings: Male Solo
**10 May 2007, 6:00 a.m.-- Paris, France, Sean's townhouse near Quai d l'Hotel de Ville **
The return flight from Barcelona had for Sean been a study in vacillation. During the two hour and twenty minute flight, his mood and mind had swung wildly from moroseness to elation. One moment, his head would replay the horrible scene of Felicia's terrifying abuse on the Spanish plane; the next, his breast would flood with sweetness as he envisioned himself together with Dominique Vasser in Paris. There was no layover point for calm and quiet in this maddening navigation between dark and light, ugliness and beauty.
Sean knew, however, that his life's initiative now was to reconcile the two extremes, to somehow draw those separate poles within him to a unity that would also include Felicia, Dominique. It was all quite heady, and now, upon arising in the early morning in his townhouse, he dismissed it all. The day ahead would be an adventure, and it would step out a new life.
He had foregone cleaning up after the flight in deference to sleep. He had not even undressed or crawled under the comforter on his bed. It took all his remaining wakefulness to listen to the twelve frantic phone messages left by Angelo – shrill, panicked pleas to know Sean's whereabouts and the reasons for a Tuesday closure of the gallery.
Sean had made a return call to Angelo, calmed him,and explained a bit about his soujorn to Spain, and agreed to a detailed account next day at a Noontime light lunch and wine at a café on the Quai de l"Hotel de Ville. Then, Sean and his bed became the most intimate of slumbering lovers.
He puttered about the kitchen, still in rumpled travel clothes, doing the coffee things and other morning routines that most people everywhere did to start a day. Shave and shower topped the list as the coffee dripped.
He went to the large, opulent bathroom and peeled off his buttoned shirt and sleeveless muscle tee underneath. His massive, shapely, deeply cut pectorals flexed and quavered in waves of power with each movement he made with his hands. Cupping a hand under the electrically- warmed shaving cream dispenser, his chiseled bicep, as well, flexed, arcing and peaking in perfect geometry. He could have been a viable peddler of the "amazing body sculpting home gym" on late night promotional TV.
Sean loved the soothing kiss of the warm, silky shave cream as he slathered it carefully on his cheeks and under his chin and strong, commanding jaw line. There was not a great deal of shaving to do given his three-day-unshaven style beard that was so fashionable among men, particularly dark-haired men on whom the effect was most fetching, in the first decade of the 21st century. The cream was pleasantly aromatic – sweet, but not cloyingly so, mingled with the odor of freshly cut hair remembered in the collective consciousness of any man who'd ever had a hair cut.
After shaving, Sean pulled off his argyle socks, dropped his tight travel levis to his ankles and kicked them off, followed immediately by his form hugging glistening white boxer briefs.
The shower was a study in taste and expense. It was a large doorless walk-in with an "L"-shaped entry that prevented the escape of any showering water. It was all fashioned in buff with cocoa-streaked unevenly cut stone slabs that covered all the surfaces of the shower. Recesses for soaps and paraphernalia were cut into the walls. A settee bench abutted along the length of the far short wall. Two ornate brass shower heads faced each other on opposite walls. Sean could cross-fire himself with torrents of water, or share the shower with someone else. His thoughts were on Dominique Vasser as he strode gracefully, almost cat-like, into the shower – a sleek, bronzed, perfectly muscled, broad shouldered and slender waisted sculpt Adonis.
The stuttering arousal that he felt between his lean, contoured thighs as he thought of Dominique amused him, and he laughed. Spontaneous erections were uncommon for Sean, and he placed some significance upon this present reaction. He began his traditional showering ritual.
Sean always likened the first blast of water out of the shower head as the siren beckoning him to the depths of sin. The water first erupted onto his chest and torso, stinging and slicing at his flesh, only to then soften and seduce his pores to surrender to the gushing caress of the stream. He turned to wet his back, and turned again to
face the shower. It made him stretch and quiver through all his muscles, losing himself in the all-consuming sensuousness of heat and steam and wet upon his skin. He dispensed a dollop of body soap from the wall-mounted dispenser and slowly washed his neck, then his face, then rinsed off. He plunged his head into the stream and soaked his hair. Leaving it all asunder and wild, he pumped a handful of fragrant Biolage Matrix Shampoo Hidratante from the bottle and lathered his hair vigorously. He loved the prickly massaging feel of his fingers on his scalp, and the virile feeling of his biceps contracting tightly as he worked his hair.
The shampoo came streaming out of his hair as he rinsed, landing with a lurid plop on the shower floor, coating it with viscous white soapy stuff like some super-human male ejaculate.
Sean finished the shower slowly, working each quadrant of his body with the liquid soap in circles and long vertical strokes. First his chest and shoulders and solar plexus and abs. Sean's six-pack was more a massive four-slab, with the taut, defined musculature exuding supreme masculinity and athletic power. His broad, strong back came next, always a chore to reach thoroughly with his hands. Then his thighs, first one, then the other. He massaged the soap over his prominent quads and long, tight hamstrings. Moving down to calves and feet, he rested each leg in turn on the bench and massaged up and down the shin and bulging, hard calves. He washed carefully between each toe and back up the front length of each leg in a final run.
There remained only his privates, and his ass. Sean filled his hands with body soap and assaulted his toned, round, tight buns first. His glutes twitched happily as he rubbed over them and kneaded them with the slick soap. He refilled his hands and slathered soap onto his pubis, working it in lazy circles out to his hips and down to the thick base of his Dominique-smitten slab. Taking a new handful of soap, he gently wrapped one hand around the full length of his cock and softly, but with purpose, stroked up and down, lathering it, topside and underside, glans and foreskin. The abundance of lather dribbled to the juncture between his upper thighs and torso, and he worked the soap into that crevice as well. Finally, with a new handful of soap, he caressed his sac, washing it thoroughly and then trailing between his ass cheeks into his crack.
Finished. He took a long time to rinse thoroughly, his thoughts on Dominique.
Toweling down in the vestibule entrance to the shower, Sean took a bit more time than really necessary to dry his genitals. The swipe of the soft cotton towel across his mass felt ticklish good, and it intensified the hardening already there. He moved into the bedroom and used the towel as a sling, pulling his meat upward and pressing it hard against his pubis. He saw Dominique, virtually undressing him with her eyes on Saturday … he saw himself with Felicia that last time in Tarragona.
He dropped the towel and drew open a dresser drawer, pulling from it a silk suit coat pocket handkerchief from his enormous collection of them. He dropped onto his back on the bed and wrapped the silk `round his shaft, snuggly, but loosely enough to stroke up and down. It felt good. Like in a silken tunnel So good.
He closed his eyes and stroked the silk up and down his now raging hard-on. He covered the silk with a hand and pressed the mass up against his lower abs again. He was with Felicia. In his officers billet. Under the lazy ceiling fan. Naked. Pressing her hard up
against the cool stucco wall, her back to him, he pressed on to her, holding her wrists up onto the wall above her head, rubbing his hot hard cock on her humid sex from behind….
Sean sighed and stroked himself with his fingers now wrapped around his silk-sheathed tool. Slowly. Deliberately agonizing it, sending it into twitchy, itchy tantrums inside the silk.
He pulled the silk away, let his hand take charge. Pointed himself straight up, ramrod due to the ceiling. Felicia. She crawled, slithered up his enflamed body like a python scoping her prey… covered him with her body and bit and lowered her head and bit his ear while she eased her long svelte legs outside his…
Sean gripped his meat more tightly and gently ringed the flare with thumb and forefinger touching, squirming and writhing under his own hand.
She mounted him without rising … slicked herself right onto the head and lay her chest heavily on his as she took him -claimed his thick piston for her searing smooth cylinder.
Sean slowed his strokes…then accelerated… slowed… accelerated. Milking with the signature moves known only to him and his cock… remembering how she rode him at length… slow, then fast, then slow, so sweet…
Sean stroked harder and faster now, moving beyond warm up toward meltdown. He sat up and mounted the middle of his bed, sitting erect on his heels as if astride a phantom Felicia, and grasped his cock now tightly, jacking it in earnest, breathing in deep gasps.
He saw her beneath him, trapped willingly between his thighs, pressing the underbelly of his hard, burning cock down firmly against her midriff with her hand covering the top of it, rubbing and fondling it, keeping it ever in motion on her smooth fevered skin… he reached behind himself with his Legionnaire riding crop and playfully swatted her inner thigh… then the other… relishing the writhing friction of her flesh under his cock…
Sean threw his head back and pulled downward on his erection, increasing the tension on it as he stroked faster and faster…
He fussed the handle of the crop between her legs and on to her engorged lips, rubbing then with finger-tip kisses of the crop, coaxing more and more juices from her subterranean stream…
He grasped his sac with his free hand and massaged it roughly, feeling the pressure building in his shaft…
He threw the crop aside and slid down… down between her trembling legs… lay fully atop her supported by elbows and knees… drove into her with ardent force and decisiveness, impaling her possessively…
Sean cried out with a laugh and a scream as a torrential outburst spewed from his cock, hosing his thighs and the bed and his hand… a spasmodic series of sneezing thick white cum that relieved his dammed up congestion with finality…
Later, after a second shower, he dressed to go to the gallery, feeling the glow of good sex gone best. He crammed the comforter in the oversize washing machine but didn't bother to turn it off. He hustled out to the gallery, lunch with Angelo at 12:30 fast on his mind.
-------
Authors' Notes: Sean and I thrive on reviews...
**10 May 2007, 6:00 a.m.-- Paris, France, Sean's townhouse near Quai d l'Hotel de Ville **
The return flight from Barcelona had for Sean been a study in vacillation. During the two hour and twenty minute flight, his mood and mind had swung wildly from moroseness to elation. One moment, his head would replay the horrible scene of Felicia's terrifying abuse on the Spanish plane; the next, his breast would flood with sweetness as he envisioned himself together with Dominique Vasser in Paris. There was no layover point for calm and quiet in this maddening navigation between dark and light, ugliness and beauty.
Sean knew, however, that his life's initiative now was to reconcile the two extremes, to somehow draw those separate poles within him to a unity that would also include Felicia, Dominique. It was all quite heady, and now, upon arising in the early morning in his townhouse, he dismissed it all. The day ahead would be an adventure, and it would step out a new life.
He had foregone cleaning up after the flight in deference to sleep. He had not even undressed or crawled under the comforter on his bed. It took all his remaining wakefulness to listen to the twelve frantic phone messages left by Angelo – shrill, panicked pleas to know Sean's whereabouts and the reasons for a Tuesday closure of the gallery.
Sean had made a return call to Angelo, calmed him,and explained a bit about his soujorn to Spain, and agreed to a detailed account next day at a Noontime light lunch and wine at a café on the Quai de l"Hotel de Ville. Then, Sean and his bed became the most intimate of slumbering lovers.
He puttered about the kitchen, still in rumpled travel clothes, doing the coffee things and other morning routines that most people everywhere did to start a day. Shave and shower topped the list as the coffee dripped.
He went to the large, opulent bathroom and peeled off his buttoned shirt and sleeveless muscle tee underneath. His massive, shapely, deeply cut pectorals flexed and quavered in waves of power with each movement he made with his hands. Cupping a hand under the electrically- warmed shaving cream dispenser, his chiseled bicep, as well, flexed, arcing and peaking in perfect geometry. He could have been a viable peddler of the "amazing body sculpting home gym" on late night promotional TV.
Sean loved the soothing kiss of the warm, silky shave cream as he slathered it carefully on his cheeks and under his chin and strong, commanding jaw line. There was not a great deal of shaving to do given his three-day-unshaven style beard that was so fashionable among men, particularly dark-haired men on whom the effect was most fetching, in the first decade of the 21st century. The cream was pleasantly aromatic – sweet, but not cloyingly so, mingled with the odor of freshly cut hair remembered in the collective consciousness of any man who'd ever had a hair cut.
After shaving, Sean pulled off his argyle socks, dropped his tight travel levis to his ankles and kicked them off, followed immediately by his form hugging glistening white boxer briefs.
The shower was a study in taste and expense. It was a large doorless walk-in with an "L"-shaped entry that prevented the escape of any showering water. It was all fashioned in buff with cocoa-streaked unevenly cut stone slabs that covered all the surfaces of the shower. Recesses for soaps and paraphernalia were cut into the walls. A settee bench abutted along the length of the far short wall. Two ornate brass shower heads faced each other on opposite walls. Sean could cross-fire himself with torrents of water, or share the shower with someone else. His thoughts were on Dominique Vasser as he strode gracefully, almost cat-like, into the shower – a sleek, bronzed, perfectly muscled, broad shouldered and slender waisted sculpt Adonis.
The stuttering arousal that he felt between his lean, contoured thighs as he thought of Dominique amused him, and he laughed. Spontaneous erections were uncommon for Sean, and he placed some significance upon this present reaction. He began his traditional showering ritual.
Sean always likened the first blast of water out of the shower head as the siren beckoning him to the depths of sin. The water first erupted onto his chest and torso, stinging and slicing at his flesh, only to then soften and seduce his pores to surrender to the gushing caress of the stream. He turned to wet his back, and turned again to
face the shower. It made him stretch and quiver through all his muscles, losing himself in the all-consuming sensuousness of heat and steam and wet upon his skin. He dispensed a dollop of body soap from the wall-mounted dispenser and slowly washed his neck, then his face, then rinsed off. He plunged his head into the stream and soaked his hair. Leaving it all asunder and wild, he pumped a handful of fragrant Biolage Matrix Shampoo Hidratante from the bottle and lathered his hair vigorously. He loved the prickly massaging feel of his fingers on his scalp, and the virile feeling of his biceps contracting tightly as he worked his hair.
The shampoo came streaming out of his hair as he rinsed, landing with a lurid plop on the shower floor, coating it with viscous white soapy stuff like some super-human male ejaculate.
Sean finished the shower slowly, working each quadrant of his body with the liquid soap in circles and long vertical strokes. First his chest and shoulders and solar plexus and abs. Sean's six-pack was more a massive four-slab, with the taut, defined musculature exuding supreme masculinity and athletic power. His broad, strong back came next, always a chore to reach thoroughly with his hands. Then his thighs, first one, then the other. He massaged the soap over his prominent quads and long, tight hamstrings. Moving down to calves and feet, he rested each leg in turn on the bench and massaged up and down the shin and bulging, hard calves. He washed carefully between each toe and back up the front length of each leg in a final run.
There remained only his privates, and his ass. Sean filled his hands with body soap and assaulted his toned, round, tight buns first. His glutes twitched happily as he rubbed over them and kneaded them with the slick soap. He refilled his hands and slathered soap onto his pubis, working it in lazy circles out to his hips and down to the thick base of his Dominique-smitten slab. Taking a new handful of soap, he gently wrapped one hand around the full length of his cock and softly, but with purpose, stroked up and down, lathering it, topside and underside, glans and foreskin. The abundance of lather dribbled to the juncture between his upper thighs and torso, and he worked the soap into that crevice as well. Finally, with a new handful of soap, he caressed his sac, washing it thoroughly and then trailing between his ass cheeks into his crack.
Finished. He took a long time to rinse thoroughly, his thoughts on Dominique.
Toweling down in the vestibule entrance to the shower, Sean took a bit more time than really necessary to dry his genitals. The swipe of the soft cotton towel across his mass felt ticklish good, and it intensified the hardening already there. He moved into the bedroom and used the towel as a sling, pulling his meat upward and pressing it hard against his pubis. He saw Dominique, virtually undressing him with her eyes on Saturday … he saw himself with Felicia that last time in Tarragona.
He dropped the towel and drew open a dresser drawer, pulling from it a silk suit coat pocket handkerchief from his enormous collection of them. He dropped onto his back on the bed and wrapped the silk `round his shaft, snuggly, but loosely enough to stroke up and down. It felt good. Like in a silken tunnel So good.
He closed his eyes and stroked the silk up and down his now raging hard-on. He covered the silk with a hand and pressed the mass up against his lower abs again. He was with Felicia. In his officers billet. Under the lazy ceiling fan. Naked. Pressing her hard up
against the cool stucco wall, her back to him, he pressed on to her, holding her wrists up onto the wall above her head, rubbing his hot hard cock on her humid sex from behind….
Sean sighed and stroked himself with his fingers now wrapped around his silk-sheathed tool. Slowly. Deliberately agonizing it, sending it into twitchy, itchy tantrums inside the silk.
He pulled the silk away, let his hand take charge. Pointed himself straight up, ramrod due to the ceiling. Felicia. She crawled, slithered up his enflamed body like a python scoping her prey… covered him with her body and bit and lowered her head and bit his ear while she eased her long svelte legs outside his…
Sean gripped his meat more tightly and gently ringed the flare with thumb and forefinger touching, squirming and writhing under his own hand.
She mounted him without rising … slicked herself right onto the head and lay her chest heavily on his as she took him -claimed his thick piston for her searing smooth cylinder.
Sean slowed his strokes…then accelerated… slowed… accelerated. Milking with the signature moves known only to him and his cock… remembering how she rode him at length… slow, then fast, then slow, so sweet…
Sean stroked harder and faster now, moving beyond warm up toward meltdown. He sat up and mounted the middle of his bed, sitting erect on his heels as if astride a phantom Felicia, and grasped his cock now tightly, jacking it in earnest, breathing in deep gasps.
He saw her beneath him, trapped willingly between his thighs, pressing the underbelly of his hard, burning cock down firmly against her midriff with her hand covering the top of it, rubbing and fondling it, keeping it ever in motion on her smooth fevered skin… he reached behind himself with his Legionnaire riding crop and playfully swatted her inner thigh… then the other… relishing the writhing friction of her flesh under his cock…
Sean threw his head back and pulled downward on his erection, increasing the tension on it as he stroked faster and faster…
He fussed the handle of the crop between her legs and on to her engorged lips, rubbing then with finger-tip kisses of the crop, coaxing more and more juices from her subterranean stream…
He grasped his sac with his free hand and massaged it roughly, feeling the pressure building in his shaft…
He threw the crop aside and slid down… down between her trembling legs… lay fully atop her supported by elbows and knees… drove into her with ardent force and decisiveness, impaling her possessively…
Sean cried out with a laugh and a scream as a torrential outburst spewed from his cock, hosing his thighs and the bed and his hand… a spasmodic series of sneezing thick white cum that relieved his dammed up congestion with finality…
Later, after a second shower, he dressed to go to the gallery, feeling the glow of good sex gone best. He crammed the comforter in the oversize washing machine but didn't bother to turn it off. He hustled out to the gallery, lunch with Angelo at 12:30 fast on his mind.
-------
Authors' Notes: Sean and I thrive on reviews...