hotstry1.txt

If you looked at the room, you'd think it was from ages long gone by...and in
essence, you'd be right.  The massive four poster bed stood directly in the
middle of the room and looked soft enough to sink into FOREVER!  The floor was
hard wood, with scatter rugs strewn about.  Huge windows allowed the flood of
sunlight to enter the room, suffused only by the sheer curtains adorning them.
There were two overstuffed, massive chairs, a straight back from the days when
woodworkers knew how to make furniture, a small walnut stand with a pitcher and
basin on top, and a half desk.....

Outside, the previous nights snow had adorned the grounds and trees with a
fresh blanket of white, and in the stillness, the rays of the bright sun
twinkled off each twig and branch and bush.  It was beautiful, and story book
like. And there was a silence, a hush, as if any harsh sound would break the
magic.

The couple had just arrived that morning, and even to the nonchalant viewer,
they had an electricity that shimmered and wavered around them like the fog of
breath which folded around your face as you exhaled on this crisp morning.
They were silent and intense as they registered in the inn, and walked arm in
arm as they were escorted to their room.  HE knew what the room looked like,
but it was obvious that she did not, for when the steward opened the door, she
let out a small but audible gasp at the beauty of the furnishings...  The
steward was generously tipped and sent on his way, smiling; for he knew that
this was something special and long awaited for the two of them, and he
wistfully thought of the day when he too could have something like this.

They entered the room; he getting the baggage and day to day stuff arranged,
she in wonder, walked about the huge room, looking at the furnishings and
adornments.

"It is beautiful!" she gasped...

"Thought you'd like it" he said, smiling.  He was a man of few words, believing
that actions and deeds proved far stronger that words.  He continued to unpack.

Done, he stood, hands in pockets, and watched with a bemused look on his face
as she scurried from closet to window to desk, peeking in drawers, testing the
softness of the bed, and running her fingers over the ornate woods.  Noticing
him watching her, she rushed over to him.

"Thank you...Ohhhh Than.."

He placed his finger on her lips, cutting off the words.

"Hush.." he said, "don't thank me...."

She did as he bidded, smiled, and leaned up to his face and they kissed,
deeply, slowly.

"Come on......." he said, grabbing a small satchel from the bags on the floor,
"and dress warmly."

Not knowing what was going on, she pulled on her down parka and mittens, linked
arms with him, and they left the room.  They walked briskly through the lobby
and outside, where the crisp winter air hit them, pulling taut their skin and
billowing their breath.  The sun was strong, but no match for the chill.  He
led her to the far side of the parking lot where the plows had done their work
during the previous night, piling banks of fresh snow high along the pavement.
Dropping the satchel he bent, unzipped it, and produced numerous masons tools;
trowels, shapers, small shovels and the like.

"This morning, we create..." he said, and without further comment, picked a
tool and began carving the hard packed snow.  The woman stood and watched, not
really knowing what he was beginning nor what she should do.  After about 10
minutes, he turned from his task;

"Are you just going to watch?"

She look puzzled...didn't know what was expected of her. She didn't answer...

"Look, it's easy...." he said.  He grabbed a trowel from the pile of tools,
placed it in her hand and began to work with her, explaining all along the
image held in his head, and how that image was REALLY there in the snow, just
buried, and that all they had to do was remove the outter covering to reveal
their project.  He was patient, and a good teacher, and she a quick learner.
Before to long, she was working on her own, discovering that indeed, the image
did lie buried in the pile.  As the shape slowly took it's form, other guests
of the inn started to wander by, stopping to watch the two as they created.
Time was lost, as it usually is during the creation process, and the two, now
working in harmony, lost all interest except that which they were focused on.

The hum of conversation by the onlookers, now numerous, grew as the shape
imerged from the snow.  Speculation ran from person to person as to what the
final outcome would be.  Working from the top down, the turrents and
battlements slowly emerged, and the castle took form and definition.  The two
worked furiously now, as the reality of their image slowly came forth.  For
some inexplicable reason, they worked now as one, and no task was
misinterpretted or wrong.  The removal of the snow had created piles around the
shape, and some of the spectators went to get shovels, returning to remove the
debris, helping the two.

Sweating with the task almost completed, and with the fever of completion, the
two worked furiously.  Word had gotten out of this project, as onlookers came
and went and told their story, and the crowd was quite large now.  Their
creation was almost complete.

The two added the final windows, buttresses, and stairs, dropped their tools in
the satchel, and stood back to look at their creation.  It was a castle,
standing almost 12 feet high, with turrents which seemed to defy the medium in
which they had worked.  Stairs weaved in and out of the archways.  Flying
butresses and support beams, delicatly carved, were everywhere. One could
almost see the laden knights and fair maidens laughing and contesting in the
snow courtyard.

The crowd applauded the two, and the man, ever bashful, grabbed the satchel,
and his lady's hand and scurried back to the inn.  They were both soaked from
the work in the snow, and the hurried to their room.  Once there, they began to
remove their outter clothing and the woman shuddered in the cool air.

"We should shower, you know." he said.

"Yes, I think we should." she answered and she began to remove her shirt
quickly.  He went in and started the shower, and the steam began to billow out
of the bath.  Still in the bathroom, he began to undress.  There was no
question as to who would shower first; it was understood in silent agreement
that they both would.  She entered the large bath, fully naked, and shivering.
They entered the shower, and relished in the warmth of the steaming water,
letting the cold slowly seep from their limbs.

After the initial warming, they began to wash each other, in slow languid
caresses, which in turn increased their inner warmth even more.  The man
postioned the woman so that his back was to the water and she was standing away
from the stream, and began washing her, lathering her from head to toe.  This
was not the task of cleaning, this was the task of passion, and he ensured this
by using long, slow gentle strokes with his hands, ever slippery with the
lather.  His strokes were that of an artist, and he played his instrument well,
for small moans escaped the womans lips as his hands found just the right
movements to please her.  He fondled her massive breasts with the lightest of
touches, and moved his hands to both her nipples, now extended with her heat.
Using his thumb and forefingers, he gently rolled the taut nipples.  Her moans
increased, in a husky, throaty way, and he knew he was pleasing her.  He turned
her around, and began to work on her back, starting at the shoulders, then
working his way down the curve of her spine, then to the fleshy part of her
ass, where he gently but firmly massaged there.  He ran his hands down in the
valley of her cheeks, and with soft, light flicks, lathered her opening, then
placed one finger there and began small circles on the puckered, pink opening.
His other hand reached around her body, and began the same ministrations on her
mound, working again in ever decreassing circles, his target obvious.  With
great care, he open the lips of her pussy, gently spreading them as far as they
would go.  His fingers found her clit, now extended from its hidding place,
awaiting sensation, needing it, and almost moving toward it.  Her moans
increassed in tempo as his fingers found their target, and he rolled the little
button in his fingers like a oiled marble.

"ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.........." she gasped, incapable of any other coherent
words.  His other fingers busied themselves in the folds of her flesh as he
worked her clit like a master.  The finger on her backside increassed in
pressure, and worked its way into her tunnel, gently, soliciting even more
response from her.  In a few moments, she climaxed, deep, slow and tremendous,
flooding his hand with the product of her passion.  He slowly tuned down his
actions, and let her subside, taking her in his arms, hugging her, keeping the
contact of flesh to flesh as much as he could, knowing the importance of this
just after fullfillment.  They rinsed, and now completely warm, dried off.

Leaving the bath, he took her to that glorious bed and sat her down.  Going
over to the dresser, he removed a small porcilin crucible and stand, squat
candle, matches and a bottle of mineral oil.  Returning to the bed, he placed
the crucible in the stand, lit and placed the candle under it, and poured in a
generous portion of oil.

"Lie on your stomach, please..........."