Tired. Stone-tired, bone-weary, a long week behind me and what I hope will be a relaxing weekend ahead, I lock the car; draping my worn garment bag over my shoulder I leave the carport area. Crossing the yard, skirting the pool and the rows of chaise lounges lined up neatly on the pool deck as I head to our condo, I can’t help but appreciate the special beauty of the night despite my exhaustion.

Peaceful. Cool and mild, the full moon huge above lighting everything like mid-day. I'm alone in the privacy of night, the only sound a lone cricket calling for a mate. A gentle breeze moves the branches of the surrounding eucalyptus trees and shadows in shades of gray chase each other across the ground. The scent of eucalyptus and oleander perfumes the air and I breathe deeply, feeling the stress begin to slip away.

Silence. So quiet as I slip into our home, careful to not let the door slam, not wanting to disturb you. I’m late – very late – a last-minute meeting and then a flight delay, later cancelled, causing me to scramble to find my way home to you. Frustrated, impatient, knowing you wait at home for me and for our weekend together and all I could think of was the warmth of your body and the soft floral scent of your hair. I ache for you when I’m away and each minute stretches out to infinity, too long.

Needful. It’s more than wanting you; it’s a need, I know that now. You’re an addiction – my addiction, my only one. My obsession. The center of my universe, my life, you inspire thoughts of love and home, of warmth and joy, and yes, of sex and carnal things. My mind dwells on you and my body responds, even when thousands of miles separate us. I quietly lower my bag and computer case to the floor and, like a moth to a flame, make my way down the hall to our bedroom… to you.

Overwhelmed. As I enter the bedroom, your scent fills my senses. Gentle, feminine, of flowers and your soft sexual pheromones, the pure female scent of you sends sparks through my weary body and I feel my heartbeat quicken. That familiar tingle in my sex, and I feel myself begin to harden and thicken in response to the intoxicating scent of you; your mere presence consumes and overwhelms me, and a sense of rightness, of belonging, fills me.

Naked. You sleep nude, your body in gentle repose, long, silken hair splayed across the pillow. Arms and legs akimbo, utterly comfortable in your own body and not in the least self-conscious; you know how beautiful you are and how you affect me. I know you waited up for me, but that you finally gave up and lay down and that now you’re deeply asleep – dreaming of me, I flatter myself. I approach the bed, stripping off my tie and my jacket and dropping them on the cedar chest.

Movement. The curtains move gently in the breeze, the window open to take advantage of the cool night and the scent of flowers. The fan overhead turns slowly, on low, and the soft shadows of its blades slide across the ceiling. The only light in the room is from the moon and it spills across the floor and across the bed, the shadows of the curtains and the branches outside the window moving, creating a kaleidoscope of dark and light that plays across your body as the breeze caresses you. My breath catches in my throat, stunned by your beauty, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

Monochrome. You exist in shades of gray from silvery-white to black, the moon stealing the colors and replacing them with the purity of this image; one which, lacking the distractions of color and hue allows me to see you in all of your magnificent glory. Your flawless form, the graceful, sinuous lines of your body, the angle of your long legs, the exquisite plane of your cheek and the long, dark lashes lying upon it captivate me, and I drink you in. Wherever the moon plays your smooth skin is silver, black in the shadows and crevices, and your nipples, which I know to be an incredible rose color, are now charcoal gray on the silvered mounds of your perfect breasts.

Temptation. I approach you, drawn to you, wanting to touch. You seem to sense me despite your deep slumber and you move, stretching sensuously. I reach out to stroke your face but pause, my fingers an inch from your lips as they part and I feel your warm, moist exhalation as you sigh in your sleep. I trace the outline of your cheek and chin, my fingertips remaining a scant inch from your flesh. I move downward, tracing the graceful line of your throat, not touching, until my fingers hover over your breast. I move my fingertips across my thumb as if rolling your nipple between in the gentle pinch that never fails to draw moans of pleasure, and somehow you seem to sense me even though I’ve not touched you; your nipples slowly harden and pucker with arousal as I watch, enthralled.

Heat. I reluctantly leave your amazing breasts and continue my journey of exploration above your sleeping form, moving my fingers above the gentle ridges of your ribs and then over your taut stomach, careful not to touch. Your skin is so perfect, so alive, the tiny, almost invisible hairs glistening silver in the moonlight. Continuing, my fingers pause above the dark shadowed cleft of your sex; I want so badly to touch, to stroke your soft lips, that my hand trembles. I know I would find you hot and welcoming, slick with need and arousal, and my mind draws up the memory of the way your velvet embrace squeezes my fingers when they are within you. The heat radiates from your sex to my fingertips, and I shudder with desire.

Aroused. My cock is throbbing, engorged and straining against the confines of my slacks. I promised you that I would save myself all week, and now, six days later, I ache with need. I kept my promise but now I need release; my body, my manhood, aches with my intense arousal at the sight and scent of you, and I know I can’t wait. I unzip and free myself, lifting my balls out as my cock thrusts upwards in the moonlight, a thick masculine column of silver.

I stand for a moment, balls hanging heavy and full outside my slacks as my cock strains and throbs, and then I begin to slowly stroke myself, masturbating above your beautiful sleeping form.

Intensity. The urge is powerful, overwhelming. I know I should wake you but I don’t, rationalizing that it would be pointless, that I’m not going to last, that I’ll be unable to hold back long enough to please you. It proves true as I feel the rush to climax, the intense singular sensation of release building and bursting forth in a knee-buckling orgasm. I come in several massive spurts of glistening white, my semen showering down across your sleeping form in shimmering ropes and splashes. Across your thighs, another across your lower stomach and the dark valley of your sex; a third across your taut belly and then a fourth that strikes your breasts, white pearls gleaming on those silver mounds and your erect charcoal nipples. My cum is warm, the heat of my body matching yours as my semen covers you. A few more small spurts and I’m dry, my cock continuing to throb and pulse with the aftershocks of my climax.

Awareness. Rousing from sleep, you sense the touch of something on your skin; despite the matching warmth of my cum you feel the wetness and the sensation of something new touching your flesh, and your eyes slowly open. My load was massive, pent up for days, and as your fingers explore the new sensation of whatever has awakened you they instantly recognize the thick, viscous slipperiness of my semen and you are immediately aware of what has happened. You moan softly as you look up at me, your fingers playing in the glistening white bounty of my sperm as you stroke the slipperiness across your hard nipples.

Wordless. In the moonlight you see my cock still thick and erect, pulsing with the final spasms of my orgasm, and you beckon me forward. Wordlessly you reach out and take my dripping hardness in your fingers, milking the last drops of cum from the tip of my cock. Still silent you motion me closer, and when I bend down you stroke my lips with your semen-slick fingers before pushing them into my mouth, and I suck and lick the slippery fluids from them. Moving your hand you cup the back of my neck and pull my face to your breasts. I know what you want, and I’m happy to oblige; it’s the least I can do after painting your body with the fruits of my weakness, of my overpowering urges.

Taste. The slick muskiness of my own semen fills my mouth as I lick my bounty from you, but also the soft saltiness of your skin, the faint floral flavor of your cologne, hours old, and the feminine taste of this woman that I know so well. I linger over your nipples, licking them clean while savoring the way I can make you writhe with need and with the sensations I can create in your body. I move down, marveling at the sheer volume of cum that I seem to have produced and how liberally I’ve painted you with it. You gleam and glisten wetly in the moonlight, my semen and now my saliva on your skin as I swallow again and again, striving to make amends and to please you, all at once.

Response. I move down your body, my lips and tongue on your skin, until I come to the juncture of your thighs. Your body responds automatically, your legs parting and your hips lifting to give me access to your most secret places. My cum has trickled down between, in the crevice of your sex, adding to your own slipperiness and arousal. The intoxicating scent of your need fills my nostrils, and my heart pounds. I pause to look up at you, the perfect lines of your face cast in light and shadow, in shades of gray as your eyes meet mine, and you speak the first words either of us have spoken all night; “My turn?”

Pleasure. Yes, it’s your turn; your turn for pleasure, your turn to experience release, to come, your turn to feel your body vibrate and come alive and for powerful orgasms to consume your every thought. Your turn for the kind of pleasure that I know I can give you – but my turn to experience the pleasure that brings to me. You always seem puzzled, perhaps disbelieving when I try to tell you how intense my pleasure is at your orgasms. It is though, deep and satisfying, almost better than my own orgasms in some ways; to know that I can drive you to that kind of ecstasy, that I can give you such intense pleasure, is soul-satisfying. That I am able to do that for you, to show you how much I love you, is a deeply intense experience. Every time.

Climax. I part your lips with my tongue, quickly finding your hard clit, which demands my attention. You taste of me and of you, and of nirvana, a combination so pure and powerful that it almost brings tears to my eyes. You come quickly as I knew you would, your arousal intense and my teasing trip over the slick, sensitive parts of you leaving you at the threshold. You come again soon after as my tongue flicks and explores, and when I push two fingers into your tight heat you come yet again. You are blessed with the ability to have orgasm after orgasm, and I plan to test your limits tonight, to drive you and pleasure you until you are limp and gasping and begging me to stop.

Together. Then it will be our turn, as I am once again erect and throbbing with need, the taste of us and the sounds you make igniting my arousal. The feel of you against my lips, the sensations of your body writhing with need and with the power of your orgasms overwhelms me, and my cock aches to be within you. When at last you disentangle your fingers from my hair and push my face away from your sex I will rise over you and enter you and feel your body form perfectly to mine, the hot, slick velvet sheath of your incredible sex embracing me, meant for each other. At that moment we two will become one, together, the moment of perfection when I’m truly home with you, filling you as you fulfill me.