angela146
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,347
This is the beginning of a story that grew out of this thread. It may seem over-written, but that's what happens when I think about Eric (or his brothers).
"This is quite strange," he said.
I closed the door behind him and gently touched his arm. "Strange because it's me?" I asked, "or strange to be in the Royal Suite?"
He turned to me, put his arms around me and held me as a brother might hug a sister - but soon the hug became an embrace.
The scent of a gentleman mingled with the fragrance of the dozen roses that now rested behind my shoulders. Little thorn-pricks scratched a bit, encouraging me toward him.
A slight murmur into my ear, "No, not you, Angie... although I never thought I would be doing ... this with you..." He kissed my cheek, then gazed into my eyes. "I've spent the past dozen years or so trying not to get women pregnant. I'm going to be working against muscle memory."
My knees wobbled a little at the reminded of our purpose. Turning inside his arms - not yet ready to give him my lips - I felt a little more scratching of thorns.
With my back to him, but still inside his embrace, I gathered the flowers into my arms. "Three orange, three pink, four yellow and two red," I said.
His arms released the roses to my care, which left his hands wondering what to do. With my back to him, the natural place for them would have been on my breasts, but he slid his arms underneath and let his hands rest in somewhat-neutral territory.
There was something familiar about the way he held me - a kind of gentle strength that I recognized from somewhere.
"I had a hard time deciding what colors," he said. "You're more than a friend, technically a sister, but I've never really felt like a brother to you..." He paused for a moment, "I guess I've always thought of you as what a wife is supposed to be like."
"You were sixteen when we met." I regretted the words as soon as I spoke them. The three years between us were trivial at this point in our lives. There was no need to remind him that he had been a child when we met.
A small chuckle eased my concern. "Bill brought you home from college a year before you two were married." His voice was wistful. "Seeing you made it real. Marrying a woman was something I could maybe do some day."
"Oh, so that's what a wife looks like." I echoed.
"Um hm," he replied.
It's difficult to describe the feeling of being someone's gestalt, except to say I was deeply honored.
He tightened his arms around me slightly, reigning me in, reclaiming a leadership I hadn't been fully aware of - and taking in my scent. It made me nervous. It had been a long time since anyone other than my husband had treated me this way. I liked it, but wondered if I should allow myself to be...
Looking again at the roses, I considered their meaning. "Yellow for friendship. Orange represents desire," I said. "Pink can be appreciation or admiration... or you can give pink roses when you shouldn't give red ones..." I took one of the two red roses from the group, held it to my nose and breathed deeply."
He let his arms loose, releasing me. I took it as encouragement to enjoy the flowers.
There was an empty vase on a small table in front of a mirror next to us, no doubt placed there by the hotel staff just for such occasions. I stepped over to it and arranged the stems inside, noticing as I did that there was just the right amount of water already inside.
In the mirror, I could see the crestfallen look in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. He thought I was chiding him, but that was certainly not my intent.
"Eric," I turned to him, "these are wonderful... and I understand what you're saying with them." His expression turned hopeful. "If you're going to be the father of my child, you're entitled to include a couple of red roses in the mix, don't you think?"
He smiled again - but was he toying with me? Was he tweaking the unease he knew I must be feeling? There was that feeling again - so familiar but not quite tangible.
Although I could see a lot of Bill in him, Eric is his own man. He didn't have Bill's confidence with me, but he new how to romance a woman. His jacket, slacks and mock turtleneck were informal but stylish. His hair, his smile, the hint of mystique in his eyes - no, he fit with the surroundings. He was the finest of men in the most elegant place one could imagine.
There was something missing from his ensemble. What was it?
Noticing my admiration of him, he cocked his head. I had tipped my hand - given him the advantage. "Seducing women is kind of a hobby for me," he said. "I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Yes," I said, looking down at my hands, "I shouldn't have expected you to be awkward..."
"Oh," he said, stepping toward me, slightly to the side, like an expert horseman approaching a mare he's never ridden before. "I'm a little bit out of my element."
That was it - the "gentle strength" of an equestrian! He was mastering me, the way a dressage rider would take to a new mount - one borrowed from another rider. The only thing missing from his ensemble was a crop.
Ah, but they don't use a crop in dressage. They rely on the mount's instinct - its willingness to perform. And, after all, I wanted this. I had initiated it - humbly requested it of him - and he had graciously consented.
I turned toward him, not quite sure what he would do next, but not backing away. He'd said he was "out of his element." Perhaps...
"You're not quite sure how a married woman is going to react?" I asked.
As mistaken as I was, he didn't correct me, nor admit his lie. As I was about to learn, Eric was not the slightest bit out of his element. He could mount his brother's mare as easily as one of his own young fillies.
He touched my cheek with his fingertips and let them continue toward the magic spot below my ear. My neck, my shoulders and then my breasts rose to the beckoning of his hand.
"May I?" His words were more than a formality. They required an answer.
I managed a slight nod as my lips parted.
The other hand of this fine gentleman - my brother-in-law - slid into position at my side. Together, his hands brought me into his kiss, causing my arms to circle his shoulders and neck as I surrendered myself to him.
"This is quite strange," he said.
I closed the door behind him and gently touched his arm. "Strange because it's me?" I asked, "or strange to be in the Royal Suite?"
He turned to me, put his arms around me and held me as a brother might hug a sister - but soon the hug became an embrace.
The scent of a gentleman mingled with the fragrance of the dozen roses that now rested behind my shoulders. Little thorn-pricks scratched a bit, encouraging me toward him.
A slight murmur into my ear, "No, not you, Angie... although I never thought I would be doing ... this with you..." He kissed my cheek, then gazed into my eyes. "I've spent the past dozen years or so trying not to get women pregnant. I'm going to be working against muscle memory."
My knees wobbled a little at the reminded of our purpose. Turning inside his arms - not yet ready to give him my lips - I felt a little more scratching of thorns.
With my back to him, but still inside his embrace, I gathered the flowers into my arms. "Three orange, three pink, four yellow and two red," I said.
His arms released the roses to my care, which left his hands wondering what to do. With my back to him, the natural place for them would have been on my breasts, but he slid his arms underneath and let his hands rest in somewhat-neutral territory.
There was something familiar about the way he held me - a kind of gentle strength that I recognized from somewhere.
"I had a hard time deciding what colors," he said. "You're more than a friend, technically a sister, but I've never really felt like a brother to you..." He paused for a moment, "I guess I've always thought of you as what a wife is supposed to be like."
"You were sixteen when we met." I regretted the words as soon as I spoke them. The three years between us were trivial at this point in our lives. There was no need to remind him that he had been a child when we met.
A small chuckle eased my concern. "Bill brought you home from college a year before you two were married." His voice was wistful. "Seeing you made it real. Marrying a woman was something I could maybe do some day."
"Oh, so that's what a wife looks like." I echoed.
"Um hm," he replied.
It's difficult to describe the feeling of being someone's gestalt, except to say I was deeply honored.
He tightened his arms around me slightly, reigning me in, reclaiming a leadership I hadn't been fully aware of - and taking in my scent. It made me nervous. It had been a long time since anyone other than my husband had treated me this way. I liked it, but wondered if I should allow myself to be...
Looking again at the roses, I considered their meaning. "Yellow for friendship. Orange represents desire," I said. "Pink can be appreciation or admiration... or you can give pink roses when you shouldn't give red ones..." I took one of the two red roses from the group, held it to my nose and breathed deeply."
He let his arms loose, releasing me. I took it as encouragement to enjoy the flowers.
There was an empty vase on a small table in front of a mirror next to us, no doubt placed there by the hotel staff just for such occasions. I stepped over to it and arranged the stems inside, noticing as I did that there was just the right amount of water already inside.
In the mirror, I could see the crestfallen look in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. He thought I was chiding him, but that was certainly not my intent.
"Eric," I turned to him, "these are wonderful... and I understand what you're saying with them." His expression turned hopeful. "If you're going to be the father of my child, you're entitled to include a couple of red roses in the mix, don't you think?"
He smiled again - but was he toying with me? Was he tweaking the unease he knew I must be feeling? There was that feeling again - so familiar but not quite tangible.
Although I could see a lot of Bill in him, Eric is his own man. He didn't have Bill's confidence with me, but he new how to romance a woman. His jacket, slacks and mock turtleneck were informal but stylish. His hair, his smile, the hint of mystique in his eyes - no, he fit with the surroundings. He was the finest of men in the most elegant place one could imagine.
There was something missing from his ensemble. What was it?
Noticing my admiration of him, he cocked his head. I had tipped my hand - given him the advantage. "Seducing women is kind of a hobby for me," he said. "I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Yes," I said, looking down at my hands, "I shouldn't have expected you to be awkward..."
"Oh," he said, stepping toward me, slightly to the side, like an expert horseman approaching a mare he's never ridden before. "I'm a little bit out of my element."
That was it - the "gentle strength" of an equestrian! He was mastering me, the way a dressage rider would take to a new mount - one borrowed from another rider. The only thing missing from his ensemble was a crop.
Ah, but they don't use a crop in dressage. They rely on the mount's instinct - its willingness to perform. And, after all, I wanted this. I had initiated it - humbly requested it of him - and he had graciously consented.
I turned toward him, not quite sure what he would do next, but not backing away. He'd said he was "out of his element." Perhaps...
"You're not quite sure how a married woman is going to react?" I asked.
As mistaken as I was, he didn't correct me, nor admit his lie. As I was about to learn, Eric was not the slightest bit out of his element. He could mount his brother's mare as easily as one of his own young fillies.
He touched my cheek with his fingertips and let them continue toward the magic spot below my ear. My neck, my shoulders and then my breasts rose to the beckoning of his hand.
"May I?" His words were more than a formality. They required an answer.
I managed a slight nod as my lips parted.
The other hand of this fine gentleman - my brother-in-law - slid into position at my side. Together, his hands brought me into his kiss, causing my arms to circle his shoulders and neck as I surrendered myself to him.
