TupperTrek Six Inches by Kaki

(TOS, K/S, NC-17, 1/2, TupperTrek)

Title: Six Inches

Author: Kaki (kaki4@ipass.net)

Author's web page:

http://www.oocities.org/agentshymoon/tos/authork/kaki.html

Series: TOS (TupperTrek)

Pairing: K/S

Rating: NC-17

Archive: ASC*, Trekslash, my page. Anyplace else: please let me

know first.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, but this version of their

universe came out of my warped mind. Hopefully a saner set of K

and S will show up eventually, but for now I have these two

hanging out with me.

Warnings: This story contains a m/m relationship and sex, both

told from the TupperTrek perspective. If you don't like sex, m/m

content, parody, or gooey romance, please read something else.

Thank you to my beta readers who try to keep me on the straight

and narrow: Hafital and someone else sweet and dear. Also thank

you to the people who sat through my reading of a section of this

at Shore Leave and told me to post anyway.

Summary: Part of Kaki's TupperTrekiverse (which started with 'A

Printfan's Nightmare'). This PWP takes place about a year after

Kirk gives birth to their daughter and some months after

'Tuppertrek Saves K/S' (if you read at least those two stories first,

this will make more sense). The family is living on Earth as the

Enterprise is still undergoing retrofit. For a change, and because it

is possible, this story is told from Spock's perspective.

Six Inches

by Kaki (kaki4@ipass.net)

The following narrative has been produced at the request of my

bondmate. Truthfully, I undertook this task so that events such as

those described below will resume. I have found that I require

such interludes. His reasoning for the request is still illogical;

however, I have chosen such a mate and will abide by my choice.

Therefore, this account has been recorded in order that he may

assist those K/S writers who lack inspiration. He has promised

that he will not read my account, but will only share it with the

needy. My preference in this matter would have been privacy,

except that my primary preference is, and shall ever be, Jim.

Begin:

It was late on a chilly, rainy evening as I opened the front door.

As was my standard practice, I flexed my umbrella to dislodge

excess moisture, then stored it appropriately. I did the same with

my overcoat and overshoes. I stretched, relieving the strain in my

back muscles from fighting the weather. The warmer, drier air of

our home pleased me, beginning to soothe the trials of the day

from my mind. It was a pleasure I allowed myself within our home,

even though a strict interpretation of the standard Vulcan precepts

would preclude it. However, as T'Pau was wont to state, "What

is, is," and I did not believe this pleasure would harm my ability to

proceed in other matter with my usual faultless logic.

I had arrived home late that evening due to an experiment in the

botanical labs. I had called Jim to apprize him of my lateness. He

had assured me that it was acceptable, and further that he would

wait to eat dinner with me. As it was past her bedtime, I assumed

our daughter would already be asleep. I would miss her presence,

but silently I rejoiced that her newfound ability to sleep through

the night would mean an evening spent alone with my bondmate.

We had had too few of those special times in the last twelve

months. And I could spend quality time with our daughter in the

morning.

As I stepped away from the entrance, I noticed a significant odor

that had not been present when I left for work. I inhaled deeply,

attempting to sort out the various scents. In 2.1 seconds, I

identified the odor of a spiced, eggplant parmesan; my favorite

dish, as prepared only by my bondmate. I suppressed a smile at

the thought of him taking his time to prepare my meal, our meal.

He is truly a special bondmate.

Another inhalation and I detected garlic bread - the scent of yeast

indicating that even the bread was homemade. I could feel my

pulse rate increasing as I thought of the care he gave to me. Then,

after an additional 3.9 seconds, I noted a slight scent of caramel,

his favorite flan for desert, the one he loved to taste before.... I

made myself cease that line of thought as it was clearly my mate's

intention to feed me. A self-indulgent portion of my mind added,

'first.'

I entered the living room and appreciated the ambiance. My t'hy'la

had outdone himself. The lights were low, and there were candles

lit, not many, but enough to produce a glow. My mate's psyche

must have been in synch with mine; he knew the effect of candle

light on his skin and the effect of that glow on my libido. I

breathed in again, noting the scent of the dinner, and a tinge of

almond, perhaps the candles. I could sense his presence nearby,

but he was not in this room.

I strode forward, intent on finding him, my need for his presence

rising. I contemplated this need I felt and the fact that the scents

and decor were affecting me. Before I met Jim, I would not have

allowed either reaction. But my t'hy'la taught me an improved

way. No longer did I fear-- no, refuse to acknowledge-- such

things, now I admitted them, gloried in my response, and

permitted my reactions to show my love. Only with him could I

be whom he wanted at night and, yet, be a traditional Vulcan by

day. I allowed myself a moment of thanksgiving.

Then I took two steps into the dining room. There he was, placing

flowers on the buffet. The table was set beautifully, with

additional candles. His face glowed in the light, enhanced by the

deep rose color he wore. He looked up to see me, and his face

shone from the inner light of his love. It never ceased to amaze me

that that look was directed toward me. Indeed, it had become a

source of much pleasure for me. I stood, for 59.7 seconds, letting

that gaze surround me. I attempted to remind myself that a gaze

could not 'surround,' but my senses refused to listen, as they so

often did around him.

"Jim," I whispered, just to hear the name.

"Spock," he returned, perhaps for the same reason.

"The domicile is beautiful tonight."

He grinned at me, lifted the champagne flute he held, and silently

toasted me. I nodded my appreciation of the gesture and of the

fact that he did not offer me a glass; he was well aware that I cared

for the taste of champagne only on him. As I thought that

thought, I was compelled to be near him. I stepped carefully

around the table, so that I could approach him from behind; he was

still leaning over the buffet, his elbows resting lightly on the top

surface.

He turned his head at my approach, but stayed where he was. At

this point I noticed his shirt, one I had not seen before. Earlier I

had noted the exquisite color as it brought out the flush of his

cheeks, the highlights in his hair; now I became aware of the style.

He worked so hard to please me, to keep my interest, as if it could

ever flag when he was everything I desired in a mate.

"Jim, this is new."

"Yes," he smiled at me, seductively, "Do you like it?"

"I have rarely seen you in such a shirt, but this newest style flatters

you."

At my compliment, he beamed, as I had expected he would, and

lowered his lashes.

"It's called a tank top," he told me sweetly.

I reached toward him and stroked his cheek. "The rose brings out

highlights in your hair and enhances the color in your cheeks."

Before Jim I would never have thought to make such statements,

but the happiness they brought him made the nonsensical nature of

these, and similar, compliments seem logical. Indeed, he

responded with a deep sigh and a stronger flush.

"Do you like them? The highlights. I did them today."

"Your appearance is appealing either way." I was not sure I

enjoyed the change, but I did not want to upset him. And I had

learned much during his pregnancy.

"But do you like them?" He turned his face from me, rapidly. His

hair swirled slightly. Then he turned his head, looking at me from

beneath his long lashes. I knew this to be flirting and knew the

needed response.

"Yes, Jim. The highlights are flattering." He smiled. I suppressed

my sigh of relief. I did not wish his hair color to ruin our evening;

I much preferred seducing him to arguing with him. "They are

eminently suitable, especially with that color and the flush of your

cheeks in the candle light."

"And you like to see me flushed?"

"Indeed, it reminds me of your Human nature, the pinking of your

cheeks. In addition, the style of the shirt is fashionable." I knew

he cared to be stylish off-duty.

"Do you like the cutout design? It's new to me. The snaps with

the openings between running down each side."

"I had noticed, t'hy'la." I lowered my voice almost to a whisper as

I touched the fabric covering his back, then slid my fingertips

across his waist. My breathing rate had increased substantially,

and my uniform pants were becoming increasingly tight. I had no

wish to discuss fashion. Then it occurred to me that the discussion

could be part of the seduction. I lifted my hand from his back.

"More of you is flushed than your cheeks."

He flushed deeper, distinctly showing his pleasure.

"Indeed. You are flushed here and here," I whispered as I stroked

the skin revealed down his sides. Two fingers on each of my

hands, one hand on either side of him, gently touching first one

bare spot, then the one lower, continuing until I could no longer

reach, below his hips. Each opening revealing silky, bare skin to

my touch he was wearing little or nothing beneath the shirt. I

attempted to control the increase in my pulse due to this

revelation.

He shivered. "Kiss me, Spock." He turned his head to mine as I

leaned into him. I chose not to remove my fingertips from his

skin. I touched his lips gently; he turned his head slightly,

caressing my lips with his soft, closed ones. I parted my lips, slid

my tongue along his lower lip. His gasp opened him to me, and I

slid my tongue inside. My body moved forward with my tongue,

my torso against his back, my groin only a fraction of an inch from

his buns, as he called that portion of his anatomy. He tasted sweet

and fruity.

"Ah," I whispered against his lips, "the champagne." We kissed

slowly, tasting each other. Then more passionately. I lifted one

hand to stroke his hair. "So soft."

"Yes," he agreed, as he turned his head from me, revealing the skin

of his neck. I touched him with my lips, licked along the sensitive

vein, then across his shoulder. He moaned and pushed back

against me. As his buns pushed against my groin, my penis

hardened and moved, fitting itself between his rounded buns. I

lifted my head as I groaned, opened my eyes to see his beauty. As

I looked forward I caught his reflection, and my own, in a mirror

in front of us. My mate had stationed our bedroom mirror on the

dining room wall near the buffet, apparently for this precise event.

When we purchased the furniture, I had doubted the usefulness of

the buffet, an illogical design, barely coming to my waist, but it

had proven itself over the course of time: holding replacement

candles, so needed for our long romantic dinners; holding the

effluvia of a household with a child when unexpected guests chose

to visit; setting off a flower arrangement; and now positioning my

bondmate for my viewing in the well-placed mirror.

I pushed the lower portion of my body closer to him as I ran my

hands to his shoulders. "Thou art beauty."

He flushed again and leaned forward slightly. It was then that I

noted the dip in the neck of the tank top. So low. As he moved,

one rosy areola was laid bare to my gaze as the shoulder strap

shifted. "Jim!" I cried out as the vision stirred my passions. "Jim,

you are my love."

"Show me, Spock. I need you tonight." He stared at my image,

his eyes taking on the sheen of love-driven lust. I lowered one

hand, trailing the fingers slowly over his bared flesh. Neck,

shoulder, collarbone, soft smooth skin of upper chest, then over

the beginnings of the bulge of his pectoral muscles. "So smooth,

so hard." He was proud of his musculature in ways he had not

been before. Months of toning after our daughter's birth had

defined his muscles beyond what he had previously known.

Indeed, he felt firm, yet yielding, beneath my fingers.

He smiled at my words, his eyes meeting mine. Then we both

watched my fingers as they slid lower. His nipple, already

beginning to pucker, visibly hardened as I watched, leading to a

similar reaction on the part of my own, unwatched though they

were. He smiled. I used my other thumb to caress his shoulder

again, drawing his attention for a moment. Next, I lowered my

fingertips, lightly stroking across the exposed peak, then tracing

circles in the softer, surrounding rose-colored flesh.

I heard him moan, but kept my eyes on where my hand touched his

skin. I continued the circular motions, but began an approach to

his neglected areola. My other hand began a slower downward

trail toward this now-hidden secondary erogenous zone. I slid one

finger along his skin, the other down the edge of his vestment. Jim

twisted in my grasp, trying to get my hand closer to him more

quickly.

"No, Jim. Steady. I need you, too."

He returned to his previous stance, his hips moving against me

provocatively before becoming still. He clenched his fists, but

made no further obvious attempt to hurry me, although his panting

and groans may have had the same effect. My left hand continued

to circle his left areola, but my right hand I returned to his

shoulder to continue teasing him. His breathing was heavy, his fist

clenched, but he remained still.

Again, I ran two fingers down his side, one touching flesh, one on

fabric. Slowly I slid them lower, gradually shifting the fabric as I

went. I watched him in the mirror. His eyes were intent on our

image. Finally his covered areola was revealed, the fabric scraping

across its surface. His breath caught and held. With my thumb, I

rubbed the tender spot, softly then firmly. Then I took the

hardened nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed

gently; he did not care for pain, not there. When I was certain his

concentration was secured on what my right hand was doing, I

withdrew my left hand, wet my fingertips in my mouth, then traced

the moisture over that same nipple.

He gasped again. Then complained, in a voice beloved to me that

some would have called a whine, "Spock, you are torturing me."

"Indeed," I replied quietly, although my voice shook as I said it. I

loved that two-syllable pronunciation he used for my name when

he pleaded with me. He shifted his weight causing his crevice to

move away from my aroused organ. I followed him with my hips,

then moved back again as he pushed against me. My eyes met his

in the mirror. "You desire this?"

"Please, Spock. Yes."

I placed my hands on his hips, pulled back from him an inch or

two. I bent my head and traced a pattern on his skin below his

nape. He laughed. "You know you're tickling me, don't you?"

I did not respond in words, rather I shifted my lips an inch lower

and applied suction. Now he moaned. I knew he enjoyed this

caress, this marking of him. His back was sensitive, but this felt

good to him. And he could wear my mark easily concealed. I

sucked for half a minute, no more, then licked the discolored area.

When I raised my head, I examined the spot. "Deep rose, Jim."

"Fashion fanatic!" He giggled between quick, excited breaths.

I shifted my hands to his center back, then slid them, palms flat

against him, fingers pointing toward the floor. Slid downward

over the curve of his buns. I held the masses, one in each hand,

and squeezed. "Soft, yet firm, Jim. Perfect."

His eyes showed his pride in my approval.

I began bunching the fabric of his shirt up, lifting it. Baring the

fleshy portion of his buns. My fingertips met him where the swell

of his buns met his thighs. I rubbed him gently. His legs were

lightly furred and firm. I lifted the fabric farther, felt snaps give

way. Soon his buns were bare beneath a cascade of rose-colored

fabric pooled at his waist. I kneaded his posterior firmly as he

leaned forward giving me better access.

He leaned over the buffet, resting his torso on his elbows, his shirt

hanging low in front, still revealing his areolae in a pleasing

fashion. He was all that I desired. "Mine. Thou art mine."

"Oh, Spock, yes. As thou art mine." He had taken to using my

phrasing to satisfy my need for his acquiescence to my

possessiveness, but at the time I only noted his aroused tone. The

slight whine beneath his words, the gasping for breath when he

remembered to breathe, all told me he was as aroused as I. "I love

you, Spock." The Human phrase followed the more traditional

Vulcan words.

I leaned my forehead against his back, as my hands spread his buns

apart. A faint scent of almonds struck my olfactory nerves. We

had recently begun to enjoy the smoothness and even viscosity of

almond oil in our baths, massages, and more. "Jim, almonds? You

smell of almonds. Did you bathe in it today? Your skin is so

smooth, I had wondered."

"Urm, ahhhg," he responded, as my penis brushed against one of

his buns.

"Verbally, t'hy'la, that I may understand."

"I bathed, but not in almond oil," he barely whispered, "Tell me

you love me." Almost a cry.

"I do love you," I replied as further words came from his mouth.

"Now, please. Do not make me wait."

I slid my penis between his buns. He growled, a deep aroused

sound. He wiggled his hips, dislodging my hands and forcing my

penis against his tender opening. "Jim, wait. The oil." I desired

only to force my way into him quickly. My arousal had become

painful. "I can not hurt you."

"Do it now," he pleaded lifting his hips, then lowering himself

forcing a small portion of me inside him.

I felt it, then, the slickness inside him. "The almond oil, Jim?"

"In me," he gasped, "Already. For you."

"Ahhhh," was my only audible reply as I forced my way into him,

overcoming the minimal resistance easily. I sheathed myself

completely in him, then paused to savor the sensation and,

truthfully, to make it last. My bondmate inflames my passions and

often I must control myself if I desire to make love to him 'long

and sweet' as is his preference when he chooses to prepare himself

for me. When my heartbeat calmed, I opened my eyes to find his

staring into mine, in the reflection. His eyes were heavy with

unshed tears, tears I knew to be from overwhelming emotion.

"Spock," he whispered, then his eyes closed, as he slowly clenched

his internal muscles around me.

"Jim," I gasped as my penis hardened further within him. Then he

wriggled his hips, thrusting against me. I placed my hands on his

hips, framing his white, rounded buns. Slowly I withdrew 4.5

inches of my penis as I held him still.

"Tell me!" he pleaded, knowing I would know what he needed.

"Thou art yielding and pale; I am hard and dark. I disappear

within you, piercing you."

He groaned and tilted his hips upward. Still I watched.

"I am hard and full. Your Human-blood-red flesh surrounds me. I

an Vulcan, green, alien to you, but needed." He moaned.

"As are you." I thrust hard into him again. Then I set a pattern.

For 11.2 minutes I slowly withdrew from him and, as slowly,

entered him. At first I watched our joining, then I watched his

face, his ecstasy. Then it became too much, and I began to thrust

hard as his hips moved against me. He pulled my hands up to hold

him and clutched my arms. I attempted to grasp his penis, but he

denied me as he occasionally does preferring the purity of the

sensation coming only from my hardness inside him.

I leaned forward, lay my head against his back, sucking gently on

his sweat-salty skin. I thrust hard and held him tight. I felt the

quivers in his body signaling his climax even as he cried out, "Oh,

Spock."

I joined him, pumping my semen deep within him. I moaned and

lay limp over him.

Soon, though, his wiggling dislodged me, and I lifted to allow him

to breathe.

"Oh, Spock. That was wonderful," proclaimed my sated lover.

"Yes, Jim. It was wonderful. Thank you for preparing yourself

for me. I slid so easily within you. It was a perfect fit."

"Ah, Spock. Yes, it was perfect. I think it was the 6 inches."

With that he kissed me and sent me to change, my uniform pants

being somewhat disarrayed at this point.

Thus he welcomed me home that evening. It was truly fortunate

that our daughter slept soundly and did not awaken in an untimely

fashion.

/End Part 1

Notes and Disclaimer in section 1.

Begin Part 2/

When I returned in my robe several minutes later, he had tidied the

buffet and served dinner. In my state of sexual satiation, I was able

to enjoy the flavors and conversation. Jim sat across from me, still

flushed from our lovemaking and from the candlelight. The look

in his eyes as he gazed at me led me to assume that my features

bore a resemblance to his. He is indeed beautiful in the aftermath.

When we had consumed our eggplant and fresh bread and I had

complimented him on it, Jim placed the dishes in the cleanser while

I took our flan to the living room and poured our after dinner

aperitif in the living room. Waiting for him, I had time to mull

over a previous statement.

When he entered the room, I was seated on the couch positioned

such that I might view his entrance. I looked up to watch him

enter. He walked strangely, awkwardly, but there was a smile on

his face as he paused to make sure I was watching him. He set

two plates on the coffee table, then came closer to me.

I handed him his drink, then apologized to him while expressing

my question at his previous remark. "I am sorry, Jim. I did not

intend to leave you so uncomfortable. I regret that my

considerably more that 6 inches has caused you pain. It is possible

that I inserted too much of my length, although I do not recall it

being a problem for you in the past."

"Oh, Spock. Don't feel bad. I'm not sore and your size is just

perfect." He walked around the coffee table to stand in front of

me, then looked pointedly at his feet. "It's these 6 inches," he

proclaimed proudly, "I haven't quite got the hang of walking in

heels yet." I let my gaze travel from shoes, to calves, to thighs,

shirt, and the bare flesh of his chest, neck and face above.

He smiled at my perusal, then sauntered to the couch. His pace

was slow, his hips swayed gently and I caught a glimpse of

satisfaction on his visage; my t'hy'la loved to walk after I

penetrated him. He often mentioned that the slightly swollen

tissues and the unusual moistness made him feel as though our

love stayed with him. My bondmate is fanciful at time. In spite of

my acceptance that his thoughts on this issue were illogical, I

found that the idea of him enjoying that feeling frequently aroused

me. Additionally, I often found that I wished to leave him with

that sensation when we would be parted. Many mornings he left

for work with that same look of satisfaction on his face and the

same slowness to his step.

Thus I found myself staring into his eyes as he stood before me.

"But it sure was nice to be just the right height for you to bend me

over and take me without your having to flex your knees so

much." He smiled at me so proudly and so happily that the

correct response was clear. I pulled him onto my lap, kissed the

top of his head, cuddled him close and repeated to him, "It was

perfect. I love you greatly."

He giggled and nuzzled my neck.

After 3.7 minutes, we separated enough to consume our drinks. I

watched his face as the ethanol flush crept up his cheeks. Since

the birth of our daughter, he reacted more strongly to quantities of

alcohol than in earlier days and reported feeling warm and light

upon the consumption of a single drink. The rose color was quite

flattering and moved me to stroke his cheek. He turned to my

thumb and sucked it into his mouth. He created a vacuum with his

mouth and lips while tracing circles on my flesh with his tongue.

My mate, in my arms wearing little, combined with his erotic

ministrations, quickly aroused me. He felt my reaction and

wriggled against me. I ran my other hand up his thigh, under his

shirt hem.

"Ah, Jim. You are still almost nude."

"For you," he replied, as if it was only natural.

Slowly I reached for his penis, finding it already tumescent. He

gasped and my thumb slipped from his mouth. He attached his

mouth to mine, sucking my lip between his and biting it, not hard.

I flinched and he giggled, "Oh, Spock." He always liked to say my

name. "Did that feel good? You know I wouldn't really hurt

you."

"Yes, it felt good. Everything you do feels good to me." He

loved to be flattered in this manner; this need of his was easily

fulfilled as such statements were simply the truth. I pulled his lip

between mine and nibbled; he had apparently tested the flan as he

served it, he tasted sweet. He wriggled on my lap again, coming

to rest with my penis placed between his buns, separated from

them only by the thin layers of fabric of my robe. I thrust upward

desiring to be closer to him.

He groaned, "You feel so hard."

I caressed his erection. "As do you. Hard and enticing."

"Enticing?"

"Mmmm." I murmured against his mouth. I moved against his

buns as I licked his lip. "You taste good, amaretto and custard."

He shivered in my arms. "Oh yes, I do taste good. Taste more of

me, Spock. Please." He struggled to his feet, stood in front of

me. "Oh yes, love. Taste me," he implored in that whiney tone of

his that so often accompanied our best love-making. I pulled up

his shirt, revealing him to me. With the added height his testicles

were at the perfect level. I turned my head and began to nuzzle

him, then to lick him. Shortly I sucked one round gland into my

mouth as I knew he enjoyed the heat of my mouth against his

relatively cool flesh.

"Do I taste good?"

"Mmm," I answered around him. He held my head to him, toyed

with my ears. He loved the tips of my ears and had studied long

and carefully to develop his technique; he could arouse me with

each touch. "Jim, I need...."

"Don't stop. Please," he begged me, then continued, his speech

disjointed. "You....next. Ohhh. Your tongue is so hot. Oh yeah,

touch me there. Mmmm."

I licked up his length tasting his emissions dripping down from the

tip, but with his new height and my position on the couch I could

not engulf him. Thus with my hands I parted his thighs and

cupped his buns, tracing over his sensitive skin following the path

my penis had taken not so long before.

Soon, as I had predicted, he could no longer remain upright due a

condition he called 'weak knees.' As expected, he leaned forward

bracing himself on my shoulders. At this point he was positioned

perfectly and I took him into my very willing mouth. I eagerly

anticipated the taste of his semen. Such was my level of arousal

that I reached for myself. Even in his driven state he noticed. He

moaned and slowed.

"No, Spock. I wanna do you, taste you. Save it for me. Please,"

he groaned deep in his throat. So very much my bondmate,

wishing to give me pleasure even as I gave it to him. Indeed I am

a fortunate man.

I moved my hand back to his buns and gently encouraged him to

move into my mouth again. On his third stroke, I inserted one

finger into his nether opening, causing his climax. He erupted into

my mouth, warm, salty, bitter, so male and so Human. Two more

thrusts and his spurts finished. I swallowed hard as he slid out of

my mouth, sinking low before me, his head coming to rest in my

lap.

"Wow," he murmured, "Wow."

"Jim?"

"So, good. I think half of me just went down your throat."

"Perhaps somewhat less than half, but a sufficient quantity for me

to enjoy your flavor."

"Aww. You always say the right thing," he simpered, happily.

He rested his cheek on my thigh for a moment, his thumb grazing

my penis gently as his breath stirred the fabric.

"Jim..."

"Yes."

My penis twitched, nudging him. Finally, he moved toward me. I

lay my head back prepared to savor his touch. He parted my robe

and blew on my heated flesh.

"Yes, Jim."

"Good?"

"More."

He held my thighs apart and I felt him lift his torso, knew his

mouth was close. "Jim."

"You smell good, Spock. Sweet."

"Yes, Jim," I answered, too aroused to think.

"Like almonds." He blew on me again, then his head jerked back.

I looked at him, saw the horror on his face, and was confused by

it.

"Spock! Yuck!" he yelped. "Almonds? You didn't wash up, did

you?"

I flushed as I realized what I had not done.

"You didn't clean up and you want me to put you in my mouth.

Totally gross!" He stood up, flounced over to the easy chair, and

plopped down. He grabbed his plate and began to spoon the flan

into his mouth, fast enough that I feared he might be unable to

swallow one spoonful before the next was added to his mouth.

"Jim, please. I am sorry. I forgot." I stood near him, my robe

parted around my needy protrusion. "I would be pleased with

other attention." I gave him the look he had deemed my 'I need

you look.' Assuming he would capitulate as usual, I took a step

toward him.

"You want to put _that_ in me? Again. Just because you can't

remember to bathe," he yelled at me. "I thought you loved me."

His eyes teared up as he spoke.

"I do love you." I used one of his tricks and stared down at

myself.

"Won't work, Spock. No sympathy sex. No way." He took

another spoonful. "You shower, right now. And you better not

touch _that_ yourself. Except with the soap."

Finally I realized that I would get no satisfaction and no

forgiveness if I did not redress my wrong, I turned away from him.

Minutes later, showered and in a fresh robe, I approached him

again. He pulled me to him, nuzzling his face into my covered

groin. He breathed deeply. "Clean and fresh, but little."

I knelt before him, "Forgive me."

"Always."

I kissed him gently. "You taste of flan. Delicious." I looked

toward the coffee table and discovered two empty plates.

He noticed the look and grinned up at me. "Yep. I ate your flan,

too. I deserved it as I didn't get to eat you. Now I'm full." He

laughed, the cute laugh he used to get his way.

I nodded. "It is acceptable."

At first he smiled at me, then his face fell and he whined, "You

didn't want any. I thought you liked my flan."

"I do indeed. I shall have some later. I am certain you made a

sufficient quantity for seconds."

He smiled again.

I stood and took the dishes to the kitchen. When I returned I

carried an additional serving of the flan. I settled on the couch and

looked across at him. I picked up a small amount on the tip of my

spoon and tasted it, licking my lips in a gesture he enjoyed to show

him my pleasure. My eyes met his as he watched me. "Thou art

beautiful," I said to him, "and this tastes delicious."

He simpered for a minute. Then replied, "Oh, Spock. You are,

too." He crossed the room and settled on me, astride my lap. He

pulled my head to his, kissing me deeply, but not passionately.

"Hold me."

I held him with my free arm for several more minutes as he rested

against my chest, his head on my shoulder. But true to form, he

was not content for long. Soon he looked up at me with longing.

I found myself intrigued and allowed it to show in my expression.

His eyes turned to the flan. I understood his hint and fed him a

spoonful of the dessert. As he parted his lips to allow the spoon

entry, I knew he intended to arouse me again. I was not averse to

the idea. As he sucked the custard from the spoon, I imagined that

his lips were on mine, my tongue entering his mouth. But as he

licked the spoon, swirling his tongue around the spoon, under,

then over...and again, my reaction moved lower as I envisioned his

tongue on my yet soft penis.

I took another spoonful of the custard and teased him, parting my

lips with the spoon, sucking the treat into my mouth, making a

small sound of pleasure, all the while running my free hand over

his back, one thumb carefully brushing the bare skin about his

neckline.

Then I dipped the spoon again and fed him another taste, watching

that tongue closely. As he swallowed, I touched his lips with my

own, ran my tongue over his lips, tasting the flan. Then I thrust,

quickly withdrawing, only to slowly swirl my tongue around his.

He responded avidly for a mere 37 seconds, then insisted on

additional custard. Soon, my tongue, and his delicious desert,

convinced him to move on to a warmer dessert. He tugged at my

robe, opening the neck, as I set the plate aside and used both of

my hands to hold him.

Soon his fingers slid inside my robe, teasing me. He tugged my

chest hair, then looked up at me innocently when I protested. I let

him have his way; I knew he needed to be appeased.

Again he tugged my chest hair and looked up at me. Still saying

nothing, I allowed my love to show in my eyes. I slid one hand

lower reaching his hem as it rode up over his bare hips. My

handed rested there on his bare, curved flesh.

"Oh, Spock," he said, lovingly, then slid both hands into my robe,

palming my pectoral muscles, then rubbing my nipples, all the

while looking into my eyes.

"Jim. I will desire you soon."

"Mmmm, Hmmm. I hope so." He said as he tweaked me.

"But your stomach is full."

"Only my stomach..." he teased. I was becoming aroused, as was

he, He pressed hard against my abdomen; I pressed lower on him.

He leaned back and opened my robe, pulling my sash off and

baring me to him. He stared at me for 1.3 minutes; I was still

aware enough of time to note the passing. He often enjoyed

looking at my body; I understood this, as I enjoyed his. He was,

and is, beautiful to me. What he sees in me, I do not know, but I

accept that he believes me to be attractive.

Next he leaned against me, rubbing his bare skin over mine. When

he moved our penises came into contact, hot, as if electricity shot

between us, only without pain resulting. He moaned and laughed.

"I can't get enough of you tonight." He reached over, retrieved

the bottle of almond oil. As he pored the oil over my penis, I slid

my other hand along his calves to his feet.

"Perhaps it is the shoes."

He lifted up and centered me beneath him. "They do make me

feel sexy."

He lowered himself onto me, tight and slick, pleasure, perfection.

"Perhaps it is your six inches," he moaned as precisely that amount

of me filled him.

Suffice it to say that I did not stand a chance against his charms

that evening. We both climaxed quickly once he began to move. I

then took my satiated mate to bed, stopping only to wash myself

carefully and to remove his six inch heels.

Thus ended a satisfying evening and my story for this narrative.

He received a new zine today. I saw the packet on his desk when

I stopped to see if he was available for lunch. It was not quite

hidden beneath a tellingly high stack of documents. His cheeks

were slightly flushed and he refused to stand to greet me. I can

only assume the new zine met his erotic expectation. It is now six

hours later. I took the afternoon off to prepare this recording; on

the assumption that it will please him and add to his desire for me,

I shall now prepare for his arrival at our domicile.

The champagne must be chilled and the almond oil, warmed. And

he will expect me to have taken a cleansing shower.

/End

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