Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.

Tender Hands by Jason It always pleased him to feel her hands on his
cheekbones, the delicate fingers playing over the damp, sated planes of his
face.  The feel of her lithe, beautiful body tucked against him as he lay
there smiling in the afterglow never failed to brighten the smile on his
face, even after all this time.  When her legs hugged him, he felt like he
was gifted with greatest present of all, even the trickle of his seed from
within her to slick his skin pleased him immeasurably.  Her voice, though,
still jarred him sometimes, though, bringing back memories of another who
he had loved too much, but she should not be touched by that sadness.  With
all the happiness she gave him, he made every effort to return the same to
her whenever he had the chance.  Now, as before, he put thought to
motion--lifting her til her knees pressed into the mattress at his
shoulders, her pinkness spread against the matching pink of his tongue. 
The flavors of himself and she mingled together drew moans from him that
matched her own.  The night closed over the rustles of the sheets and the
gentle creaking of the bed as she tossed her head and writhed the sweet
strong torso that tormented his thoughts, waking or sleeping.  He knew that
his dreams were nice enough, but they were merely appetizers compared to
the delicacies she served him night after night.  What was a man to do ...
... ... ... ... ... ...  He watched as she made her way from the house the
next morning, the taste of her goodbye kiss on his lips still, drowning out
the honey from his toast that was still his favorite, even as a man grown.
She smiled that killer grin, giving him a knowing look as he watched her
hips moving beneath her short skirt.  He saw the promise of her laughing
eyes as she flicked a glance at his lap, the bulge he sported a testament
to the power she had on him.  When he was alone again--as he felt whenever
she was gone, even with a roomful of people surrounding him-- he watched
the hands on the clock move, thinking with all his will that they seemed to
move slower when she was away.  After two circuits of the larger hand
around the face, he cursed silently to himself for sitting there like a
twit when he had such great plans for today.  Scooting his chair back from
the table he stood and walked down the hall, whistling to himself as he set
about his day.  It was fun in a strange sort of way, cleaning after her. 
She left little mess, just subtle signs she had been here and there- a
discarded slipper, the toilet seat down not up, her brush and comb lying on
the bed instead of her vanity table.  But ah--there it was!  What he had
hoped to find to while away the time til she returned to him, to hold in
his hands and dream over-something she had forgotten in her rush to leave
but would need later.  He would hold it in his lap and wait for her to
realize it was missing, and then he would take it to her and he would get
to see her again.  Sometimes when he was thinking clearly he would realize
that she left these things on purpose for him to have a reason to visit her
so often, but it was nice to feel needed and he dismissed her scheming as
sweet and helpful to his ego.  He smiled when the phone rang later that
morning.  Sure enough the call was from her, or rather someone calling him
on her behalf.  He was whistling as he walked to the car, dreaming of that
evening when she would return to him til the next morning.  He barely
noticed the little tablet in his hand he was absently slapping against his
thigh, the cover of it bouncing against the denim of his pants. He didn't
think the cartoon unicorn minded its face rubbing against his leg so very
much.  After all, she never did, even when she hugged him when she got home
every day.  *** End *** 
  
tenderhands