Tantric Tendencies

Oya Calor
9 mins read
Published over 3 years ago

“Will you breathe with me?” he said.

Marissa had her period, and she hadn’t shaved or waxed, and it was their first time. 

She lay naked and freshly showered on his bed, on her stomach, whimsically propping her head up with her hands, feet in the air. She turned, straining a little, to look at him standing behind her, also naked—without moving off the plush red towel. It was a heavy flow day. 

“Sure,” she answered, a little amused. 

She didn’t exactly know what he had in mind, but she knew she wanted to be close to him, so breathing didn’t sound like a bad start. 

“Stay where you are. Don’t move,” said Diego softly.

She had broken up with Brian just two weeks earlier—“the end of an era,” all her friends were calling it. They’d been together five years. Most of her friends hadn’t ever made it past the two-year point. She was only 27, but had always thought she’d marry him, have kids with him, all that jazz. 

But she had grown tired of their petty fights and his workaholic tendencies and emotional unavailability. They’d had great sex for a while. There was no doubt about that. But he had always been far too… efficient. He always made sure she came—it wasn’t that. It’s just that she got sick of his very predictable formulas for pleasure (she knew that he would make her cum first, with his mouth, and then he would fuck her, and then he would pull out and cum on her chest), the very predictable time it took, and his resistance to her creative solutions, like doing it somewhere new, role play, or simply slowing it all down, and being in the moment. That was the most important one, and it didn’t only apply to sex, that was for sure. And then she’d met Diego. He was kinda the opposite of Brian in every way, which is precisely what had drawn her to him so intensely, and she knew it. 

“Close your eyes and relax,” he instructed her.

She slowly released her head from her hands and slowly allowed herself to let go. Taking a deep breath, she pretended the mattress was a raft on a calm lake, sun beaming down. She closed her eyes. She felt that he felt that she was feeling nervous, stressed about a million things, and that she still held a lot of sadness. 

Climbing onto the bed, Diego suspended himself above her with his arms. She could feel his weight hovering very close to her skin, but not quite touching. It felt warmer than before. It felt lovely. Very, very slowly, he lowered his body onto hers, letting his full weight press into her: his torso against her back, his cock on her ass, and his warm feet mingling with her cold ones. He was fit, large, but not too heavy, and the weight felt safe, and so warm, and just… good. Too good. He slid his arms down hers and brought them up above her head, gliding his fingers through hers and holding her hands there.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered hotly in her ear. The sensation of his heat hitting her ear was like a flood. A heavy flow from him to her. Together, they inhaled deeply, as deeply as they could, and then exhaled slow and full. And then, again. Perfectly in sync. With every breath, she felt closer to him, almost as though they were fusing, connecting, on a higher level. It was funny, she thought, that something as simple as lying naked, pressed together, and breathing could contain such magic. It made her wonder what other secrets her body contained that she had yet to explore. 

As they breathed, he exhaled into the back of her neck—hot, slow, controlled, and yet full of desire and appreciation. She could feel him grow hard, but he made no move to address it or start thrusting, or anything like that. He continued to grasp her hands in his, up above their heads. Breathing. Feeling. Marissa lost herself in him, as her worries and hang-ups miraculously melted away. Her pussy was wet too, very wet. But she found herself very patient. Simply reveling in the moment, she drew him closer to her with her body’s own warmth.

After a while, slowly rolling onto his side, Diego lay next to her, still touching, and began gently stroking her back with his hand. Very gradually, he moved, first just the tip of his fingers, all the way from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, lightly tickling. Marissa breathed, closing her eyes more deeply from within. She was thankful. Then, he continued, using the entire palm of his hand to caress her in circles, creating warmth all over her back. She didn’t know him that well, but he knew how to make her feel cared for, how to make her want to open up to him. She shifted, parting her thighs very slightly, and sorta hoped he hadn’t noticed, smiling to herself. There was blood between her thighs but it really didn’t matter. 

Slowly, his hands moved down to hold her ass. With one full palm on each cheek, he began again to caress, to knead. He gripped her hips, including them as well. Marissa moaned lightly. Here was a man who actually lived in his body. Even if he didn’t know her well, or love her, he was willing to truly connect. She realized all at once that she had never felt so respected, so appreciated, or so… wanted. And it was because he truly did respect her, appreciate her, and want her. What an incredible feeling. 

Slowly, always slowly, he parted her ass, stretching her open tenderly, and exhaled into her before continuing to move her, massaging her seat at its lowest point, the place where her ass met her legs. She’d had no idea how much energy she held there or that it could ever feel so good to be touched there. She felt her entire body opening to him.

And then he gently pushed her legs apart—wide enough so her toes were hanging off both edges of his double bed. His fingers traced her inner thigh, from her knee all the way up to her pussy, and then retreated. Again, he traced the other side in the same fashion. And then he began to stroke her with his hands, massaging her inner thighs. He worked his way up to massage that place where her pussy met her legs. She could hear his breathing grow very heavy, almost like a panting animal, and it filled her with desire. It was a challenge for her to lie still, and simply receive pleasure. But she knew that’s what was happening, and that he wanted to give to her.

Crouching between her legs, slowly, daintily, he parted her lips with his fingers. Menstrual blood and all. He slid his finger back and forth along her sticky wet slit. A rush of pleasure flooded her entire body as she moaned loudly. 

“Oh my god,” she said.
“May I?” he said.
“May you what?” she gasped, looking back to connect her eyes with his. They locked: his deep green ones with her rich brown ones.
“Taste. I really want to taste you.”

Marissa was not an inexperienced gal, by any means. But never, in all her life, had a guy wanted to go down on her when she had her period. She never worried about asking for pleasure or making sure she got hers, but even she had drawn a line at ever expecting any man to want to taste that.

“Really?” she asked, in spite of her relaxed state.
“Yes, please,” he whispered, spreading her wide with his fingers and looking inside. “You have a fucking gorgeous pussy,” he said. “And your smell is intoxicating.”

With that, he kneeled down and kissed her slowly and lightly on her clit—so slowly that she felt his breath, again, as he inhaled and exhaled her swollen, sticky pussy. And he kept kissing: her lips, her inner thighs, just as slowly, just as joyfully. Savouring. She felt like a delicious, messy fruit, and she stretched herself wide for him. All she knew was she needed him deep and full inside of her. It was too much, the way he had unlocked her so intuitively and so naturally. Nothing urgent, nothing forced. Every touch, every breath—part of one seamless arc of pleasure and connection. 

She arched her back involuntarily, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him as he fully went there, her shape guiding his, and vice versa. He was circling now, using his tongue to trace her into oblivion. Her clit, her slit, and then he was inside, actually tasting her. She felt like a river in the sun.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Diego stood up and looked at her. His cock was sticking straight out, pointing at her, hard. She sat up on the bed, on her towel, and sat herself at the edge of the bed, beckoning him with her eyes. He was breathing hard. 

She took his cock in her hand (which looked three times more massive than she remembered it from their shower), and slowly stroked it with her hand, all the while looking straight up and into his eyes. He looked back, and as though her gaze had sent him over the edge, he let out a low moan, letting his head fall back and his eyes roll back in his head. Running her tongue along the ridge of his head, she tenderly sucked him. Just his tip, kissing and licking, and even a gentle bite, which almost made his knees buckle.

Opening his eyes, she could see they held a lot of fire. He gently but firmly held the back of her head as he slowly, very slowly pushed his cock inside. She felt like a virgin. A mouth virgin, to be quite honest. Opening slowly, welcoming for the first time. He didn’t get all the way in because he really was massive, but he fucked her mouth, holding onto the back of her head for a while. She parted her legs more, rubbing her swollen clit against the towel as she bobbed back and forth. And again, she felt like a river in the sun—one that wanted so desperately to splash.

She pulled her head away and looked at him. His incredibly thick cock was throbbing, engorged. She leaned back, never breaking their gaze.

Diego leaned forward, into her, and then he was inside of her. It happened fast. She expected not to feel him as much with all the added wetness, but she worried for a moment that he might be too large for her. What luck that would be. He truly filled her, wall-to-wall. And he hit that spot with ease. You know, that spot deep in the back, the one that makes you groan and strain and twist toward the sky. She grabbed onto the back of his neck and pulled him into her. Falling forward, he reached down to grip her by her ass and hips as he pushed in further. 

Something about his size, their long lead-up, and their exact positioning was stimulating her clit and her g-spot both at once; she could barely contain herself. 

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Right there. Right. There.” 

“Mmm. Yeah, right there,” he answered, softly, awe-struck, taking in her face with his eyes. She took his in too and felt a deep connection with this man she was still just getting to know. She thought cursorily of the entire world, all the life going on around them. But here, now, was just them. She threw her hands around the back of his neck, held on to him tightly, and breathed him in. She felt love. They could be anywhere in the world, at any time in history. But she felt love. It must have been love.

The sound that escaped her then can only be described as a roar. What was remarkable was how slowly it happened. He was slowly thrusting, being sure she felt it all, and then her pussy was tightening slowly around him and squeezing so tight she pushed him right out of her. Her whole body seized, slowly, fully, catapulting her backwards. She fell back, unable to catch her breath, head hanging upside down off the bed.

“Holy shit, Diego,” she managed, after a few moments.

She sat up and caught his smile. “Come here,” she said. She wanted to make him feel the way she did.

“Just relax for a while and enjoy it,” he said, cozying up to spoon her from behind. He cupped her pussy in his warm, large hand and they both closed their eyes to revel in the mess. Breathing.