Birth

Chapter IV: REJOICE AND RENEWAL

Chapter IV: REJOICE AND RENEWALHe entered her room, calming jasmine and lavender scents assailing him. Still immersed in the tub, Witon saw only her bare shoulders, her thick abundant hair, wet, and pinned atop her head. Steam wafted from the water and her body, a haze of thin, white vapor as if a magical cloud enveloped her. In his mind, in his heart, it surely did.

Belamay smiled when she saw him. “He is well?”

Witon nodded. “He sleeps… a restful sleep.”

“'Tis good,” Belamay said, rubbing a soapy cloth on a raised arm. “Are you hungry?”

Witon sniffed, amused. He prowled toward her, his appetite increasing with every step.

“Oh, indeed. I am ravenous.” He stood at the very side of the tub now, and now he could see through the water, seeing every curve of her n***d body, the thatch of dark hair at the 'v' formed by the joining of her long legs. “But not for food.”

His eyes narrowed, glowing, a small smile tickling one corner of his full mouth. The pink bloom on Belamay's cheeks spread, not solely from the warmth of the water.

Witon reached out and took the cloth and the lump of soap from her hands. As Belamay rested her arms upon the rim of the tub, Witon rubbed the sweet-smelling square—a mixture of her favored herbs, oil of olives, and soda powder—till the concoction coated the cloth with a thick, foamy lather. Kneeing beside the tub, he began at her neck.

With slow, luxurious strokes, he swiped the cloth from hairline down, sweeping along her lithe form, down across her collarbone to her buoyant breasts, stopping just at the tips of her large, beige n*****s. With each caress, Belamay's breath hitched, gained speed, her full breasts heaving each time. Mesmerized by the sight, Witon's gaze flicked from their bounty to his lover's face. She had closed her eyes and opened her mouth with the pleasure he brought her, and the sight sent his already hardened p***s straining against his breeches. He would give her more, so much more.

Now he brought the cloth down her shoulders, lifting her arms to lather them top and bottom. His other hand followed, the slick skin of his palm rubbing each arm, up and down, his sinewy forearm grazing each n****e as it passed up, then down, each nub hardening at the touch.

Belamay moaned and Witon knew she needed more, as did he.

He touched the cloth to that exquisite space between each breast, a hollow where all manner of comfort waited. With a slowness that set them both trembling, he lowered the cloth inch by inch along the curve of her abdomen, toward first one hip and then the other and then, finally, to the thatch of hair between her legs, to the swollen lips waiting impatiently for him there.

Witon tossed away the cloth; he needed—he must—feel her for himself. Still kneeling beside the tub, he brushed back the curls falling around her face as Belamay rocked her body, thrusting her pelvis up in need and hope. With his left, he touched her, explored her. The lips slick with her wetness, the clit so engorged, so in need.

“Witon, please…” Her breath a harsh whisper, and he looked up to find her staring at him, the same l**t thumping in his heart writ all over her face. He smiled and reached for her hands. One he set to the laces of his breeches, eliciting a low groan in the back of his throat each time she pulled one loose, each time his hardness felt a brush of her fingers. Her other hand he lathered and placed upon her own breast, guiding her to tease her own n****e with her fingers, to draw circles round it, to pinch and squeeze it gently.

Belamay set herself to the task of her pleasure, spinning her taut n****e tween thumb and forefinger, the hand on his laces trembling and shaking.

Witon continued his exploration with his other hand, stroking her c******s now, back and forth, knowing precisely where to flick, where to press. Belamay groaned harder as she pushed herself against him.

“Oh, Stars, yes,” Witon heard his own impassioned voice.

Belamay released the last of his laces, releasing his long, engorged p***s and lathered it with her hand, stroking it with the smoothness till it flinched with need, till it began to dribble with the coming explosion.

He looked down at her, their eyes locked in their pleasure. How it enticed him to watch each other as they brought their bodies to ultimate bliss.

Belamay moved her hand from her breast, reached down and took his from her clit. Without releasing his gaze, she took his hand, grasped his middle finger and plunged it into her. Together they groaned, surrendering completely to the pleasure. She helped him as he pumped it in and out for a moment, then moved her own fingers to her abandoned c******s. Witon broke their gaze long enough to see their hands upon her beauty. Their moans deepened; love and l**t burning together in their once again fixed and locked stare.

The small smile reappeared on Witon's lips as he took his right hand and wrapped it around the hand of hers clasping his pulsing member. Together they stroked him. Together they pleasured her. Together they stroked his p***s in rhythm with the pumping of his hand inside her, the flicking of her fingers on her clit.

Together they cried out as their fluids of satisfaction spurted forth, wringing every ounce of it, every moment of pleasure, till neither could stand any more.

Witon dropped back on his heels, his head dropping back on his shoulders.

And he began to laugh.

Looking up, he saw her smile, saw her heavy-lidded eyes, both askew and drunk with physical delight and satisfaction.

Witon leaned over the tub and kissed her, languishing in those smiling lips with his own, with his tongue. He kissed her until all the words of love unspoken were spoken in the gesture. He pulled away, laughing again as she slowly opened her eyes, ever more dazed by the love he plied so divinely upon her.

He stood then, though weakly. Depleted, satiated, he kicked off the breeches bunched about his ankles, and climbed in the tub with her, splashing the now tepid water upon the stone floor, the sloshing a lovely accompaniment to her sensual giggles.

She wiggled into the space of his spread legs, as they entwined in each other's arms, heads resting on each other's shoulders as if in surrender.

“Do you ever think we shall make love in any normal way?” she asked against a shoulder that immediately began to shake with laughter.

“By the Stars, I hope not,” Witon guffawed.

Together, they finished cleansing each other of the detritus of the battlefield once and for all.