Oral History Comission
Light. Sudden and flickering, it illuminated the warm room with its glossy walls and made its contents alternately shine and blink in the light, depending on their level of animation. As rooms went, it was comfortable but sterile, well-carpeted, but without a stitch of decoration on the walls, and practically devoid of furniture, but for the bed and the desk and the chair. While the desk and chair were simple affairs, suited to their functions, the bed was the exact opposite. Brash in its elegance, it pushed the rest of the room into the background, shimmering in silks and satins and soft enough to swallow any unwary body part. So resplendent was this grand, becanopied monstrosity, that it reduced its occupants to mere afterthoughts. Two figures, a man and a woman, bland in their brunette beauty, lay a chaste distance from each other, apparently lost in their own thoughts, though their lips moved and their fingers occasionally twitched, but otherwise silence reigned.
This was suddenly broken by the arrival of a woman, almost as well-upholstered as the bed she cast a cursory glance over, dressed as she was in some fevered imagination's dream of an office worker. Needle-pointed heels shot up long inches from the floor, thrusting into black boots of matt leather that clung tight and sensuous to her pulsing leg muscles, rising up to mid-thigh and driving her skirt's hemline before it, revealing only a few, tantalising strips of garter before the brief stretch of pin-stripe that gave a very slight semblance of modesty to the swelling arc of her buttocks took over. After this pleasantly brief interlude, the outfit continued into a remarkably formal shirt that would have been proper and prim, were it not for the flimsy sheerness of the fabric and the way in which most of the upper buttons were undone and spread to reveal a voluminous cleavage, its ruling enbonpoint seductively nestled in an ornate turquoise corset. Above the breastbone, the salient details of her smooth, aquiline face were delicately picked out in scarlet, black and gold, while slender fingers that tapered into carmine nails tapped against a clipboard.
At her entrance, the man and the woman swung themselves off the edge of the bed and rose to a relaxed, unselfconscious kind of attention. The overseer looked them over once with a practised eye and seated herself at the desk, setting the clipboard before her and drawing a silver pen from the depths of her cleavage. She put some preparatory remarks on the paper and then looked up, looking with sharp, businesslike eyes at the pair, absurdly at odds with the wet dream of her attire.
“You may begin.”
Both nodded, the man ever so slightly later than the woman, and they turned to look each other in the eye, standing in silence for a while. His hands rose hesitantly and curved through the air around his companion from the hips up, swinging up and out in a crude approximation of the earliest ideas of womanhood, approximating impossibly broad hips, a deep, cleaving waist, then out again for a grandiose and imaginary pair of dugs. The woman, not to be outdone, brought her own hands forward, one making a deep, low groping motion for some vast and pendulous balls while the other swept the length of a towering phallus in the air. So they remained for a while, looking for all the world like they were practising some arcane martial art, carefully turning round each other while drawing grand, infantile cocks and tits in the air.
Suddenly, the woman saw her chance and thrust herself forward, shoving the man backwards onto the bed and diving at his face, thrusting her hot tongue down between his unresisting lips. The man, to his credit, acted surprised for a few long moments, arms flailing, then gave in and wrapped his arms around her, pushing himself up, deeper into the kiss. Slowly, as nostrils flared to draw hot breaths through clenched mouths and the two tongues danced and swirled around each other, the pair's arms began to move. One hand curved up and under, gripping the woman's breast and sliding experienced fingers across it, rubbing and tugging while he toyed with the hardening nipple, sending shotgun bursts of joy up and down the woman's spine, as she arched her back and lifted herself on her elbows to give such meandering touches better access. Meanwhile the other hand went south, playing over the curves of her arse and sliding slow fingers down into the cleft. Assaulted on two fronts, she shivered and murmured, sending languageless professions of joy with meanings older than the written word down her partner's throat as she propped her self on one elbow and sent the other hand searching and groping downwards, alternately caressing and lightly jabbing at his manhood with her nails. Incensed, the man ceased teasing and jabbed one finger straight down, thrusting it through her pucker and deep into her fundament. Instantly, her head flew back and she gasped, sucking in vast gasps of air and whimpering out a low prayer to Ishtar, last heard in the dark places of Babylon, as the questing finger sent waves of joy pulsing along her ribcage and crashing against the depths of her mind. As they slowed, she slumped back down, murmuring words that were equal parts Babylonian and pure gibberish into the hollow of her partner's collar as her wetness ground unconsciously against his leg.
The man smiled at this next step in the dance, his grin at once both professional and gleeful as he rolled the pair of them over, eliciting twin oofs and a disparaging look from the overseer. Both seemed to sense this without looking and hastened their pace, the man sliding himself down her sweat-slicked curves, either kissing every detail he passed across or whispering lines from Anacreon or Sappho into it, sewing her sweet skin with endless comparisons to the world outside the room as he slid downward. All the while the woman lay back, letting damp lips and gentle breath alternate on her skin as she closed her eyes and let her fingers play through her opponent's hair, murmuring gentle Egyptian verse from the Middle Kingdom in counterpoint to the Greek rising up from her own flooded delta.
Down below, the man's grin had been cleared of its professionalism as he got down to the task ahead of him, running his tongue slowly along the dark crease of her vertical lips, interrupting the recitation in front of him with a shudder and a low moan. Smiling like a boa who'd half swallowed a Cheshire cat, he followed his tongue with a slow finger, slicing open her cleft with the blade of a fingernail, driving it slowly deeper as it moved up the length, then yanking out at the top and delivering a light flick across her clit, eliciting a gasp and a hand clenching at his hair. Encouraged, he dived in, gliding and twisting his tongue along her cunt, murmurring obscene Latin into the darkness.
“Filius salax quot mulierorum difutuisti... Cunne superbe vale... Hoc quoque fututui... Pone tunican rogo redes pilosa co...”
His opponent formed a smile at the words plunging into her depth, familiar old shapes illuminating and pleasuring the very warmth they sung odes to. Mustering as much awareness as she could over the torrent of joy being teased from her , she lifted one hand from the man's head and gave a light shove against one shoulder. Obediently, he paused in his ministrations and recitations and shifted his legs up, ponderously swinging himself around 180 degrees until his cock dangled thick and heavy over her waiting mouth like the Fruit of Eden. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and pecked the very rim of his foreskin, then continued with her own recitation. This time, the tongue that reached out and slid down the length of his keel vein spoke in Aramaic, caressing his manhood with the opening verses of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. This onomatopoeia-filled speech was soon muffled by the cock that she slid down her throat, though she continued to speak, the minute vibrations amplified and sent buzzing down the shaft, drawing a humbled, heartfelt groan from its owner, even as he shifted to delicate preMuslim Arabic to accompany his own ministrations.
So it went back and forth, each accompanying their delicate, tender tonguework with progressions of time and love, lost Viking sagas comparing some lost maiden's eyes to the unknowable depths of the frozen fjords shifting to raw European bawdy filled with tricks and nuns through to the overseas, the last loves of the Aztecs nipping at each others' crotches, each leapfrogging the other while keeping him or her on the perfect edge, preserving the endless, burning moment of balance with the lightest of touches and nips while both spoke the history of human love to each other's hearts and heads. Across the desk, the overseer watched breathless, all thoughts of note-taking forgotten as the ritual whispered, moaned and groaned its way into the modern, Donne's does and songs shading into Shakespear's shafts and deaths as those too passed into memory. Almost unconsciously, she slid the cold metal of her pen downwards, gently teasing at her nipples and coaxing them to life as her other hand brushed aside the thin curtain of her skirt and drove three fingers deep into her own pussy, desperately thrusting as her thumb furiously flicked and tweaked at her clit.
At last, there came a point when nothing more could be told, and all love had been brought to bear, infused into the heart of each other's being, a shred of consciousness lit within the supervisor's pleasure-fogged brain and she brought her pen down on the table as hard as she could. Instantly, both of the pair jabbed out their tongues, hitting precisely the spots needed to drive the moment into raw ecstasy and for an age, the room was filled with ecstatic screams as juices flowed and eyes rolled back in their sockets as far as they would go, the man, the woman and the supervisor all plunging into great, boiling oceans of joy. For long minutes, nothing was heard in the room but hollow panting until the supervisor refocussed her eyes and attempted to restore some sense of order to her attire. Realising this was a frankly pointless endeavour, she picked up her clipboard, threw a loose, wobbly salute to the pair collapsed in each others' arms on the bed and staggered towards the door, one hand still distractedly rubbing at her crotch. Alone again at last, the man turned himself round and lay by his partner and opponent in perfect silence as the shaking retreated from their limbs. Long, peaceful minutes passed, the pair doing little but laying embraced and gazing at the ceiling. Finally, the woman opened her mouth, and with the same elegant diction that had described the history of a feeling, spoke the traditional words that would close the procedure.
“So... Was It Good For You?”
Happy Valentine's Day