Composition in Cream and Chocolate

You walk into the small room with its vaulting ceiling. The
lights dim automatically as you take your seat in the comfortable
green chair. A blond man walks across the darkened stage, and a
spotlight hits his face, casting sharp shadows across its pale lines.
He smiles at you, the sole patron of this most elegant club tonight.

“A private show?” he asks. You nod, waiting for him to
announce the act. His smile deepens, as he steps back, gesturing
grandly at the room around you. “Welcome to Wench Works! Tonight for
your entertainment and…pleasure…we have a very special
performance. Please sit back, have a drink, and enjoy the show!”

The spotlight abruptly cuts off, and the man disappears into
sudden darkness. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, and even when
they do the stage appears black. Music swells in the background, an
invisble orchestra playing an unusual theme. It is slow, controlled,
and somehow subtly erotic. It leaves you with the impression of
massive power, chanelled into a thing of great beauty, and trails
off tantalizingly, unfinished.

A golden spotlight hits the bare stage, near the front. It
moves slowly backwards, up the center stage, and focuses on a pair of
black boots. Ever-so-faintly, you can make out silver tracery on the
boots as your eye, and the spotlight, follows them upwards. The spot
outlines tight black pants, clinging to clearly-defined muscles in
long, lean legs. The pants hide nothing. They caress strong thighs
and narrow hips before disappearing under a midnight blue silk shirt.

The shirt is very thin and slides gently in the breeze from
the ceiling fan, turning lazily on this hot night. You are sweating
as you follow the light, and a drop of perspiration slides down your
collarbone to fall into the crevice between your breasts. You almost
regret wearing black tonight, as even a light chiffon dress is too hot
in this small room. You take a drink from the glass on the table,
tipping your head back as the cool liquid slips down your throat, careful
to keep your eyes on the stage.

The spotlight has paused, as if waiting for you to put down
your glass, and as you do so, it starts moving upwards again, and the
music returns softly. It thrums a gentle counterpoint as the light
plays over a dancer’s body. There is little mass here, but there is
power in the shoulders, in the chest, in the arms. The silk shirt is
buttoned all the way to the top, and a loose black vest hangs over it,
also buttoned. You feel sorry for the man in all of the layers, and
feel a desire to relieve his…discomfort. You restrain yourself
though, and your only movement now is your foot tapping in time to
the music.

The light refuses to move above his neck, though it expands
down to include his entire body, a sword of midnight and black lit by
the golden glow. His hands slowly rise from his sides to the top
button of the black vest, which is also traced in silver. He starts
to unbutton the vest, oddly caressing each button, sliding his hands
up and around, his fingertips circling before he tugs gently at the

Your nipples are growing hard as you watch him, pressing
through the fragile fabric despite the heat of the room. You re-cross
your legs, feeling the chiffon damp against your thighs, folds of
fabric trapped between your legs. You continue to tap to the music,
the motion rubbing one leg against the other in a slow, steady rhythm.

He does all three buttons that way, slowly teasing. He shrugs
out of the vest in one smooth, practiced motion, leaving it to pool
behind him on the floor. He reaches to undo the top button of the
silk shirt, and freezes as you lift your hand. Evidently, he can see
you clearly, even if you can’t see his face. You crook a finger and
beckon him towards you. He comes.

He walks slowly off the stage, disappearing for a moment into
unlit darkness. The music begins to increase in tempo, a slight
change that perhaps only a musician would catch. Or someone
concentrating very, very hard. The room is still black.

Then the flicker of candlelight coming towards you. A tall,
white candle, welcome against the darkness. He walks around the
circular room, lighting similar white candles hung in wall sconces.
He then brings his to you, and places it on the table near your glass.
He stands silent, awaiting your pleasure.

You can finally see his face, barely lit by candlelight. Pale
blue eyes glow out of a pale face to match. Silken blond hair falls
forward, obscuring one eye. You reach up to brush the hair aside,
coming half way out of your chair. He catches your wrist, smiling,
and shakes a silent ‘no’. He releases your hand and you let it fall
as you sit back down. You slide down the silk shirt, damp in the
heat, pressing your small hand against his skin through the thin fabric.

You slide it further, to the bulge in the tight black pants,
cupping your hand around quickly hardening flesh. You run your
fingers up and down his inner thigh, moving up to caress his balls,
then between his legs to squeeze a firm buttock. He stands motionless
throughout and only because he is so close can you hear his quickened
breath above the music.

You then lean forward and gently breathe on that space just
inside his hip. Reaching out with your tongue, you trace a path to
his now hard cock, nibbling gently through the fabric. Your hand
between his legs pulls him closer and he sways forward, extending one
hand to the table for support. The other finds its way to your hair
and wraps itself in long, black waves, pulling your head closer as well.

You give him one more kiss and pull away, though. His hand in
your hair is still, exerting no force. You stand up, coming only to
his chest, and deliberately begin to undo buttons. One, two, three,
four…using that same terribly slow movement that he taught to you
from the stage. His chest is smooth, as you prefer, almost hairless.
You rub your cheek against it as you continue to undo buttons. Five,
six, seven…and eight. Finished, you reach up and slip the shirt of
f his shoulders. It slides off, until caught at the wrists. You
hadn’t undone the buttons at the cuffs, and he is trapped within the
shirt. You leave him that way.

You begin to drop tiny kisses on his skin, following a long,
slow path down one arm. You nip gently at the elbow as he tries to
remain still, and spend an endless time licking and sucking each
finger of his left hand. You enjoy this immensely, circling the tips
with your tongue, biting very gently with your teeth, humming in the
back of your throat in time to the swelling music.

You then let go of his hand and return to his white body. You
pause to mark him, sucking hard at the tender juncture of neck and
collarbone until a violent red mark appears. You pull back to admire
your work, then pull your fingernails down his chest, just hard enough
to leave clear red lines, beautiful against the white skin. You look
back up at him, and he is smiling.

You go back to dropping kisses down his body, curving over his
chest, sliding down his stomach, your tongue licking at the sweat
coating his skin. You nibble at his ribs, and his right hand, still
caught in your hair, pulls you sharply away. Your head is pulled back
so you are forced to look at him briefly. He shakes his head again.
You nod in agreement and he relaxes his grip.

Now your fingers undo the button on his pants and unzip them.
He wears nothing underneath, and his cock is caught against one side.
You reach in with your right hand and grasp it firmly, pulling it out
of its prison and into the open air.

The air in the room is cooler now. A cold breeze is blowing
from up in the rafters, and the sweat is cooling quickly on your body,
chilling your skin. You move closer to him and kneel down, your hair
falling around you. You are an elegant line of black, your body
silhouetted in candlelight.

You unlace his boots quickly, growing impatient. He lifts
each leg so you can pull off the boots and toss them under the table.
Black socks go too, and it only takes a moment for you to reach up and
pull down the black pants, unpeeling them from his muscled legs. He
steps out of those as well, and now stands clad only in the blue silk
hanging from his wrists, one hand still entangled in your hair.

He is beautiful in the candlelight, glowing lion-gold. You
rise to your feet again, and stand before him, still fully dressed
yourself. You shiver in the growing cold, and lean forward to press a
chaste kiss on warm lips…but the kiss doesn’t remain chaste for
long. He captures your mouth in his, and the kiss turns almost
violent. His tongue probes your mouth, exploring, as his hands clasp
your waist and pull you towards him.

He cannot embrace you fully with his arms constrained, but his
fingers hold you firmly, the thin chiffon no barrier as strong hands
slide down your hips to cup your thighs and pull you to him. His
warmth is welcome against the cold of the room. His eyes glow pale
blue in the candlelight.

You suddenly notice the music crescendoing, and you are
somehow sinking down to the lushly carpeted floor, underneath him. He
is kissing you fiercely now, and you moan, arching up to meet him as
his fingers dig into your buttocks. There is the faint sound of
fabric tearing and his arms are suddenly sliding up your curving back,
tangling once more in your hair, scratching down the dark brown skin
covering your spine.

Your own arms are wrapped around his at first, but as he pulls
down the straps of the black dress, you relax your arms and slip them
free, curving up so he can pull down the top of the dress. He quickly
unsnaps the front of your lace bra, freeing your breasts into the
chill of the room, their dark nipples firm and erect in the bracing
cold, and your own heat. He drops one last quick kiss on your lips,
and then begins to tease your nipples with his tongue, tracing inward
spirals on your breast until he has almost reached the nipple and then
suddenly changing to the other breast, leaving you gasping.

You only tolerate this for a few minutes before you reach up
and pull his head towards you, whimpering softly as you do so. You’ll
never know whether it was the whimper or your movement that caused him
to take pity on you, but soon his mouth is warm and wet against your
right nipple, sucking and pulling and nibbling gently while he rolls
the left in practiced fingers.

He then begins to nibble the skin of your stomach, your ribs,
pushing the dress down until it just covers your hips and he can taste
the salty skin near your hipbones. Your moans are almost covered by
the rising music. You are writhing beneath him now, begging under
your breath for him to please fuck you now, sliding your legs down his
sides so the chiffon rides high on your thighs. The fabric inches
upward until you can finally rub your cunt against his skin, bare flesh
against flesh.

At that he seems to break, and lifts his head from your body
long enough to look at you one more time. Then he slides his hands
down and at first he seems to be removing your dress but he’s actually
sliding it up and lifting you higher and he is suddenly plunging in
you, his long hard cock enveloped in your warm wetness. The music
swells to a grand crescendo now, and the room is echoing as he moves
back and forth inside you. Your legs wrap around him and you pull him
closer, using his body to pull yourself deeper and harder against him.

And you are splitting inside and out and you are both sweating
now despite the cold, your slick bodies sliding against each other and
your long black hair sprayed out behind you like a fan against the
dark green carpet. He bends down once more to a breast and bites and
your fingers are digging deep into his shoulders. Your legs are
clenched tight against his body trying to hold him still but he is too
far gone for that and pounds deeper and faster and you are suddenly
screaming above the music and you are both curving into a sudden
frozen arc and the spotlight suddenly comes down on you both, blinding
white. As you collapse into a pile of cream and chocolate skin, limbs
wrapped around each other, his head resting on your shoulder, a solo
flute arpeggios its way up into ending.

As the spotlight fades to black, restrained clapping is heard
from the gallery up in the rafters. The clapping swells as more of
the audience joins in, until the room is thundering with applause.
You relax, finally satisfied.

M.A. Mohanraj

August 29, 1993