Emma's Recipe
by Damita SynAuthor's warning: Adult content
Steed quietly entered his darkened apartment, flicked on a lamp, and poured himself a brandy. He dropped heavily into a comfortable red leather armchair and propped his tired feet on the coffee table. It had been a long and difficult day. The morning had been spent at the ministry, arguing with assorted desk-bound bureaucrats over the handing of a difficult case by a junior agent. He had spent the afternoon in an attempt to assist that young agent, and had unexpectedly ended up in a wild, flailing battle against four burly traitors the young agent had been investigating. They managed to overcome the opposition, finally, but Steed was left exhausted and bruised. All he wanted now was to loosen his tie, take off his shoes, and enjoy the healing brandy.
With a sigh, he thought wistfully of his partner, Mrs. Emma Peel. Out of town for a few days, she was not expected to return to London until late tomorrow. He missed her, and resolved to bypass his usual reticence, and tell her just that upon her return.
Something rattled in the kitchen. The sound of an elegant china cup touching its matching saucer? The clink of a glass? Warily, Steed stood and padded stealthily in sock feet toward the darkened kitchen. One never knew in this business. Slipping quietly to the kitchen entrance, he reached an arm around the corner, over the counter, and snapped on the light.
He poked his head into the room, ready to draw back in an instant should he find himself face to face with the cold barrel of a gun. Instead, Steed was surprised to see the smiling countenance of his friend and partner seated at the kitchen table.
"Mrs. Peel!" he said, surprised and happy to see her. "You've returned early! And where are your clothes?
"Clothes?" she asked. "Aren't you happy to see me? Would you like some tea?"
Steed crossed into the kitchen, turning off the overhead light, and switching on instead a small indirect light to the side of the stove. He stopped at her side, took the teacup from her hand, and replaced it in a saucer on the table.
"I'm happy," he said softly, and bent to kiss her full red lips.
When their lips parted, Emma stood, her naked body shimmering in the half-light. She backed three steps away from him.
"Take off your clothes," she ordered playfully.
Steed raised one eyebrow in mock shock, then began removing his tie.
"I always obey a beautiful woman," he said, his voice deep and throaty.
When he had finished undressing and stood still before her, he smiled and said, "We're in the kitchen. What are we going to cook?"
Emma smiled coyly at him, her eyes roving over his tall, muscular body. "I do have a rather special recipe," she breathed.
Steed started toward her, his gray eyes glinting with anticipation. "The ingredients..."
Emma put out a hand, signaling him to stop his advance. "Hold it right there," she said softly, "and listen. I want you to come close to me, as close as you can get without touching, when I say the word." She paused, and said, "Now."
He looked at her with surprise, but did as he was told. He knew better than to argue with her at a time like this. He approached her, closer, closer. He could feel the heat rising from her alabaster skin and touching his manly nerve-endings. He stopped when their torsos were only two inches apart.
For a moment, they stood still and silent like a granite statue of Adam and Eve. "Now what?" he asked.
"I think," she said huskily, "just a fraction closer." She moved almost imperceptibly toward him. "But no touching."
They stood so closely, the mere act of breathing could result in heated skin touching skin. Without saying a word, they regulated their breathing, alternating breaths, so that they came so close, but never touched.
Steed looked down into her dark brown eyes, those twin pools whose depths knew no bounds. He felt himself sucked into those dual dark orbs, grew a bit light-headed, and wondered vaguely about things like undertow and hypnosis. Suddenly, he realized Emma's order was about to be disobeyed. He couldn't help himself. They were so close, and as his manly instrument became engorged with a life of its own, he knew they would soon be touching.
Sensing this, Emma looked down, and backed away just enough and just in time. "No, no, Steed," she whispered, "not yet."
He trembled slightly, still looking into those amazing eyes. His manliness quivered, mere centimeters from the smooth soft skin of her perfect stomach. He watched as she looked downward, her eyes gauging the distance, and she advanced, barely, until the tiniest fraction of an inch separated her warm body from his throbbing masculine organ. His breathing quickened and became ragged.
"Emma," he whispered in a tremulous low tone, "I've missed you. I don't know how long I can keep from...I can hold myself back."
"Wait," she said, her voice now trembling too, "just a bit."
He closed his eyes tightly, shaking even more now, breathing louder and quicker. The pure blessed torture of the moment almost overwhelmed him. He could anticipate, could already feel, the heated sizzle that would transpire when their flaming skin finally touched. He opened his eyes and looked down beyond her soft thick auburn hair, his eyes coming to rest on her exquisite matching peaks. He saw that she was beginning to perspire. The muted light from across the room reflected in the tiny droplets of sweat on her heaving breasts.
"Oh - my - oh - Emma," he gasped, feeling the control over his own body quickly abandoning him. He shuddered involuntarily, as he felt her hot breaths quicken, each breath traveling the short gap between them, touching the sensitive skin of his neck.
Emma whimpered as if in pain, closing her eyes and visibly shivering. "Just a few more minutes," she gasped, barely able to speak.
Steed called upon all the forces of self-control he could muster and stood in place, naked, vulnerable, and shaking, his powerful body glowing with sweat. He felt dizzy and confused, and wondered how much time would pass before he began to beg pitifully, unintentionally. He felt like crying. In his training as an agent, he had been taught to withstand torture. He had, in fact, on several occasions in his momentous life, been called upon to use that training. He had never broken, never given away secrets, no matter how harsh and unrelenting the pain had been. There had been two times when he had come close, when the anguish had become more than even his steely resolution could bear. He had been rescued, in both cases, barely in time. He had been at the edge of snapping.
Now, in this moment of pleasure and torment, he realized if his enemies really wanted to break him, to sap him of his resolve, this is what they would subject him to. His desires welled up, incredibly, his senses aflame, and a long deep moan escaped his lips. It felt as though the massive rocket that was his manhood would soon explode skyward.
"Emma, please," he moaned, almost wailing.
Emma's eyes were swimming with moisture and passion. Gently, she took his vibrating hands into hers, and led him a few paces to the table. Positioning him with his back to the table, she moved teapot, cream and sugar containers, and cup and saucer aside. She put her soft hands on his virile shoulders and pushed him gently backwards.
When he was supine on the table, she flicked off the small light by the stove, and looked at him in the pale glow coming from the other room. His masculinity stood proudly erect, like a lighthouse by the shore. Moonlight entering from a kitchen window glinted teasingly on his huge member. Hardly able to restrain herself, the swelling female mounds on her damp chest rising and falling with each thick breath, she moved back to the table. Taking the small creamer in her right hand, she slowly began to pour the contents onto Steed's chest. Emma moved her hand downward, pouring the thick white liquid in a stream down his abdomen, and then lower, spilling the cream onto the top of his tall tower, and watching the rivulets make their way down.
Steed remained as still as humanly possible, but every inch of his male body was quivering. He felt as though he was on fire. His powerful stomach muscles involuntarily contracted, and spasmed. He let out a long low groan, and his neck arched backward. Sensing what was coming next, he tried desperately to steel himself for the task.
Emma bent over him, her luxuriant hair reflecting the dim glow of the distant light. She held her hair back with one hand, and started with his chest, slowly, sensually licking up the white liquid. Steed's breathing became more erratic. As Emma moved her lips down his abdomen, gently lapping the cream, his quaking intensified. At least he now was able to touch her smooth milky skin. His hand ran urgently along her side, down to her hip. His sinewy muscles twitched as though a current of high voltage electricity ran through them. Still, she did not relinquish the feminine power she held over him. Torturing him, her lips moved downward, further, closer to his phallic monument.
And then she was there, softly licking the thick cream from his most private, most masculine place. Steed yelled aloud, what remained of his control flagging. By the time she reached the peak of his quavering rod, he was almost howling, and then, in a massive spasm of his entire body, he convulsed and released the sweet proof of his potency.
He lay flat, breathing heavily, for several minutes afterward. Emma looked down into his lovely gray eyes. They looked flat, as though he had been blinded. She rubbed his stomach, until he focused on her face, his breathing gradually slowing.
"Steed?" she inquired.
"I...I...can't move, Emma," he whispered. "I think I'm paralyzed.
"Oh, I don't think it's as bad as all that," Emma said with a slight smile playing around her lips. "I do think you'll recover. Eventually."
A few more moments went by. She could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock.
Finally, Steed took both her hands in his, drew her down, and kissed her softly on the lips. She stood straight again, and he struggled to sit up.
He rose from the table, turned to her, and easily picked her up in his arms, his strength renewed. Emma held onto his shoulders with long athletic arms, and kissed his cheek.
Steed turned, and, still carrying Emma, strode purposely toward the spiral staircase. "My turn," he said, grinning, "or should I say, 'your turn'."
THE END
© Damita Syn 1999
No aspect of this story may be used elsewhere without the expressed prior written consent of the author. These stories may not be altered in any way or sold; all copyright information must appear with this work at all times. Please read disclaimers and warnings on top of each story. Feel free to send constructive comments to the author.. :o)
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