The flight attendant interrupted his concentration, "More coffee, sir?"

"Yes, thank you. Just black," he replied, anticipating her next question.

Questions concerning relevance bombarded him, "Why get so hung up on this? Why care about measuring the power of a kiss?" No real significance to the betterment of humankind would result in defining such things. Nothing would change with respect to global warming, or the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. So what was the basis for his quest to find this illusive measurement? "Maybe it was not so complex of a question after all," he rationalized to himself, disregarding the lack of significance. Maybe he just wanted to know how many special kisses she could stand before plummeting from the edge of the highest place. Maybe he wanted to conduct this most pleasurable research because a very desirable outcome would result – discovery of a measurable component of pleasure notwithstanding. Maybe he just loved lying between her silky thighs and kissing that sweet pussy of hers. Truth became clearer as his motivation for discovery evolved from analytical tendencies that were a part of him to something much deeper. He had a raging desire to take her back to the highest place, and as his style demanded of him, to take her on this wondrous journey along a different path.

The idiot in front of him reclined his seat with no warning. Sharp edges on the arms of the tray table dug into his kneecaps, snatching him abruptly from the silent reverie of his lover's thighs, returning him to the cramped quarters of another flight from hell. "God, how I hate flying," he thought to himself, and with a touch of sarcasm added, "Indianapolis to Denver was always such a treat." United Airlines managed to fill the 4:53PM flight to the rafters every time he had to fly that leg. Invariably, some idiot in front of him would have to recline their seat to take a fucking nap. There must be an unwritten law that flights over two hours in duration require a fucking nap. He checked his watch, looking for a reprieve. "Damn, another hour and twenty minutes," he cursed under his breath to no one.

Shifting to ease pressure on his knees, he recalled discussions they had regarding their next meeting. Each was either a detailed email or an arousing phone conversation. During their last live encounter, she confessed that she loved the tender kisses he planted on her sweetest place. She loved his oral nature, and knew he loved it when she told him so. That was motivation enough for him to dream up a plan that would exceed her wildest expectations. He remembered the instant he shared his plan, and the gasp that erupted on the other end of the phone line. A secret smile of satisfaction spread slowly across his face. "One hundred kisses," he had said. "That’s how many times you will have to endure the soft touch of my lips and the generous stroke of my tongue." Her reaction was exactly what he wanted to hear. He loved knowing she was stressed with desire, aching for her favorite attention from him. The distinct sound of her breath catching was proof that he had successfully planted seeds of an instant anticipation deep within her. "How many kisses would it take before she plunged into the fiery abyss of her first of many orgasms?" he wondered. That question remained as he slipped into a restless sleep, wary of another assault on his knees from the disrespectful fuck seated in front of him.

* * *

The taxi ride from the airport seemed to take forever. Stacks of interstate highway, typical of the Los Angeles area, slid past his window as he stared absently without really seeing. An active imagination had already placed him in the lobby of the Marriott downtown. She would be waiting for him there, pretending to read a magazine, and most likely sipping her favorite Chardonnay. The smell of her cologne already teased him with the enhanced taste that would linger on his lips after kissing her neck. The combination of smelling her and tasting her offered a smorgasbord of variation when he explored her - nose to toes. Another smile crossed his lips, as he envisioned the special kiss she would share with him at first sight. The warmth that spread through him was but a prelude to the inferno that their passions would soon supplant.

The taxi driver handed a receipt through the opening between the front and rear passenger seat, as he collected his belongings to exit the cab. A uniformed valet opened the car door, offered a warm profession greeting, and asked if assistance was required with luggage. Declining the offer, he stepped from the cab, slung his computer bag over his shoulder, and headed for the front door of the hotel with wheeled-luggage in tow. The front desk was busy, but his Platinum Marquis status gave him upgraded service from a special desk position at the end of the counter reserved for those who spent way too much time on the road.

"Good evening, sir. Checking in?" A beautiful young Japanese woman asked cheerfully.

"Yes ma’am," he replied, "Sellars. Grayson Sellars."

After handing his American Express Card to her, he looked around for the lobby bar. Several large potted plants, native palms and thick fichus trees blocked his view beyond the marble-floored reception area. Despite not being able to see into the lounge from where he stood, he knew she was there waiting for him. He could feel her presence. No doubt she could feel his as well. It was that way when they got together. Energy, sexual electricity passed between them every time they were close enough to see one another. They did not have to touch or kiss; they merely had to make eye contact. That single visual connection released a flood of adrenaline that fueled mutual flames of an already blazing lust, turning their passion into an inferno that threatened to burn them to ash.

"You will be in room 2412, Mr. Sellars," the desk clerk said. "Do you need assistance with your luggage?"

"No, thanks! I can handle it," he replied absently, half listening to her.

Hiking the computer bag to his shoulder, he grabbed the handle on a week’s worth of luggage and walked toward the bank of elevators. Part of him demanded he check the lobby bar before going to his room. The logical side of him prevailed, overriding the eager-beaver impulse telling him to schlep his burden into the bar and search for her. Elevator doors closed, and he continued toward the twenty-fourth floor. The ride up in the elevator was the longest ride he could recall. The anxious lust that swirled within him kept reminding him that every minute spent on his current task, no matter how logical, was a minute not spent with her. As a result, the trip to his room seemed like it took an eternity.

The electronic snap of the door lock disengaging when he inserted his key card echoed in the quiet corridor. Anxiousness urged him to drop the luggage and return to the lobby immediately. Again, logic interfered and demanded that clothing be unpacked and hung up. Somewhere in the middle of this internal power struggle, the disciplined part of him kicked in, leveraging the logical and flirting with the anxious. Answering to discipline teased him. Submitting to discipline stoked the fire of anticipation. The burn of adrenaline spread subtle warmth through him, assuring that every second invested in a patient journey with her would be redeemed for pleasure that measured ten-fold beyond his wildest dreams. Every second of delay, every second demanded by the strict discipline that was a part of him, was an additional second of investment in a pleasure both of them wanted to share.

* * *

The elevator door slid open with a soft hush. A different perspective crowded into his thoughts. Every motion he made was an event, a singular experience; each marked by a sensory explosion. The click of his brown lace-ups echoed with crispness accompanying each step that he took. The swing of his arms as he strode toward the lobby bar had the feel of independent weights swing from pendulums attached at his shoulders. Scanning the lobby, he looked for the entrance to the lounge. On the opposite wall he spotted polished brass letters that arched over the entrance to the Atrium Bar. A surge of sensation flipped in the pit of his stomach, the familiar anticipatory rush that always preceded the moment right before seeing her smile.

His earlier prediction of her sitting with a magazine and sipping a Chardonnay was only partially correct. The wineglass was nearly empty, and no magazine was in sight. With remarkable fluidity, she rose from her chair, smoothly uncrossing what he felt were the most incredible legs on the planet. Their smiles collided in a shower of sparks that reflected privately in their eyes, missed by everyone else in the bar. Everything shifted into slow motion. The unconscious ability to walk became a serial process of each muscle responding to a command from his brain. Every beat of his heart thundered in his ears like a cannon volley. Each breath rendered a brush of friction across his lips; a cool inhale followed by a slow hot exhale. Every single cell of his body was alive. They approached each other like two drops of mercury, destined to meld into a single seamless puddle of oneness.

Both of them thrived on the opportunities that their first kiss represented. As much as they both wanted to rush each other and crash together, giving in to the hunger that dwelled within them, they chose to flirt with what they desired. Theirs was not a flirtation with each other. It was not a teasing where one denied the delivery of pleasure to the other. It was an unspoken agreement that the first kiss would be an event that lasted longer than what most lovers would deem ordinarily appropriate. Their first kiss would be a dance of desire, a restrained courtship of two animal lusts anxious to embrace mere normal, anxious to rush with abandon and settle for ordinary. But neither of them wanted to accept ordinary, especially when their hunger demanded the taste of extraordinary.

Neither of them spoke, but both silently mouthed the words, "Hey baby!" in perfect synchronization. Only inches separated them as they touched hands, fingers lacing perfectly to interlock. Lips parted and heads rolled slightly in opposite directions, aligning them for the special kiss of greeting they both craved. His head leaned down to her mouth as she tilted her head back to look up at him. Their eyes remained open as they hesitated, only fractions defining the space between their lips. Both of them exhaled; the rhythm of their dance of desire permitting warm breath to mix like the mercury they were becoming. The presence of another body’s warmth, the sweetness of a lover’s breath caressed them, appeasing the animal lust that shrieked at them to kiss, driving the intensity of their dance into a crescendo of shallow breaths marking the point of final submission.

Energy flowed between their souls, coursing through the coupling of their hands and fingers. They moved even closer, appearing to give into the magnetic attraction of the kiss only to back away slightly and roll their heads opposite of each other once again, noses slipping softly across one another. This time shallow breaths became entangled with the voice of uncontrolled passion. Each moaned as if on cue. Lips finally touched, eliminating the separation that completed yet another portal through which energy rushed between them. Eyes finally closed, as they slipped away in the seamless puddle of silvery, liquid metal-lust that was their destiny. Bodies were bursting with evidence of arousal. Time stood still as the surroundings of the lounge joined everything else that no longer mattered. They had become one once again.

Sounds of wet lips separating snapped like a gunshot despite making no more sound than the whisper of a summer breeze. They were so deep into their dance that they could hear their eyelids opening and closing, sharing the amazement that their first kiss always left with them. His hands released hers and slid around her waist, coming together behind her, locking in the small of her back. Evidence of his arousal pressed into her center, as he pulled her tighter to his body. He spoke into her mouth, "Hmmm, baby, I’ve missed you."

"Oh God," she replied weakly, responding to his thrust with her one of her own.

He drew a deep breath, looked deeply into her soul, and then stole what breath she had left in her chest like a remorseless thief. "Come upstairs with me. I have one hundred more of those waiting for that sweet pussy of yours. I know you're aching for me right this second."

As he spoke those words, he pulled her tight to him, thrusting his hips to emphasize his desire to pleasure her. The melding of the mercury they had become was complete. They would be connected for the duration of their time together, always touching, always holding each other.

"Now," she spoke, her voice hoarse with a lusty thickness, "take me with you and give me those hundred kisses. Give them to me one at a time. I want them slow...and perfect...so I can remember each and every one."

"Baby, you know I'd not have it any other way."

* * *

They waltzed through the ritual of undressing. Every button that slowly slipped through its companion buttonhole sounded a silent report, representing another volley traded between their lust and the discipline that tempered their desire. The battle to submit raged on, as they fought to make the investment necessary to reach extraordinary together. She clung to his arm, as if releasing him for a single second would diminish the hundred kisses by one. Ninety-nine would not do when one hundred were promised, even though the prospect of that many kisses was the equivalent of having all the money in the world. Secretly, they both knew that a hundred kisses caressing the swollen ache between her thighs was well beyond her ability to withstand before being hurled from the high place.

Standing naked, facing each other, she shifted her feet, parting her legs slightly, permitting his rising cock to slip into the gap at the top of her thighs. They kissed lightly at first, then progressively moved closer to the power of the submission that pulled at them, mouths consuming mouths with a new sense of urgency. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her waist toward him, his erection slipping, sliding into the slick destination where he would soon place a century’s worth of kisses. The moans they exchanged spoke the language of lust, begging and pleading to continue toward completion.

"It’s time," she whispered, her voice still thick and full of lust. "It’s time to give me your kisses. I. . .I've not been able to think of anything else since you told me that was what you wanted to do to me. God, how you make me spin with just a suggestion."

"Lie down, baby!" he said. "Let’s see how high you can count."

The king-sized bed welcomed them with crisp cool sheets. He loved watching her wriggle onto her back, searching for the perfect spot. A smile crossed his lips as he watched her place her arms over her head, feeling for the headboard, no doubt checking to see if she was close enough to push. They were both experts at this kind of thing, experts at working together to go to the highest place.

"Spread your legs for me," he said softly. "Reach down with your hand and point to where you want the first kiss. Take your time, lover. Pick the perfect spot for me."

"Mmm," she moaned, as her knees rose slowly. With the beauty of a morning flower opening to the warmth of an early sun, her thighs parted for him. Delicate petals unfolded, glistening with the dew of anticipation, poised to offer him the secret nectar of her love for him. Slipping one hand under her bottom, he settled into passion’s garden, like a bee hovering over clover in full bloom. He leaned close and drew in the scent of his woman, savoring her, permitting her heady richness to swirl in his senses like fresh honeysuckle. A slender hand slipped down, and with a pretty finger, lightly touched just below where the bud of her clit was growing in anticipation of many kisses to come.

"Here," she said, "right here. Just like the first one we always share."

He placed his free hand low on her belly and slowly dragged it down, slipping lightly over her mound. Her hips rolled up to accept the sensation of his warm hand. Without hesitating, he edged past her reaching hips and slipped his hand under her bottom, cradling her like a storybook. The story held between her thighs would be read by him, read by the tender touch of his lips and tongue, read word by word, page by page with the deftness of a blind man’s feather touch over delicate Braille script.

"Lift yourself to my mouth," he said, "show me how much you want this first kiss."

With gentle support with his hands under her bottom, she planted her feet and pushed herself toward his waiting mouth. He bent down to meet her efforts, stopping short, exhaling into her warm center.

"Mmm, the feel of your breath on me makes me so crazy," she whimpered.

It amazed him that something as warm as her sweet pussy could actually feel the warmth of his breath when by comparison she was so much hotter. He looked up at her and saw her head pressed back into the thick down pillows, hands clasped together over her head, anticipating the rush of his first kiss.

"Count for me, baby!" He instructed softly, his lips close enough to graze the edges of her swollen labia.

Parted lips and a delayed tongue descended on her most special place. Pressure of his lips against hers was light, yet firm enough to not be mistaken for anything other than a kiss – one kiss of a hundred. His tongue was slow to make contact, hesitating while he relished the feel of her hips swiveling, rotating to receive the touch of his lips. Just like the first kiss they shared downstairs, he searched with a shallow stroke of his tongue through the soaking spot she selected.

A battle raged in his head as he lingered with his first contact, part of him wanting to open his mouth and engulf her womanhood, licking and sucking with unrestrained hunger, while part of him fought the urge, demanding the discipline necessary for ninety-nine more kisses.

Her hips quivered as he passed the five-second mark of his intentional lingering. "Oh, mmmyyyy," she said through tightly clenched teeth.

With a quick flick of the tip of his tongue, he broke away from the first of many. She relaxed into his hands, sinking back down on the bed. Again he moved down to her wet warmth and spoke softly, vibrations of his deep voice washing over her. "Hmmm, how many is that, lover?"

"Oh, God," she whispered hoarsely, "I. . .umm. . .was it. . .was it. . .twenty-six?"

He burst out laughing only a second before she did. Her hands came down and grabbed handfuls of his hair, as her legs came up, thighs caressing his cheeks, bicycling in celebration of the personal pleasures he so generously shared. There was no way she could endure one hundred of those despite counting them in her sleep for months prior to his hot breath really being between her legs.

The next kiss landed deeper into her wetness, as she pulled her knees up, giving full access to her sweet morning flower. Number two was quite French, his tongue dipping deeply into her silken secret, synchronized with lips that parted to take more of her into his mouth. The response was exactly what he wanted. A deep groan of satisfaction floated from her mouth. Emphasis was added to her satisfaction with a shuddering stretching motion as she lifted herself to him, pressing toward the source of her delight. Pulling back slightly to survey his next delivery, he hesitated, looking at her glistening lips and protruding clit. His voice was smooth and thick with evidence of his hunger, "Hmm, baby. I love kissing your sweet pussy. But, you know? There is something I like even more than that."

"I know," she replied, "you like to fuck..."

He cut her response off by licking her with a slow, deep draw of his tongue from the top of her soaking opening, across the velvet smoothness of her crescent, to the bursting ripeness of her erect clitoris. His goatee followed closely behind his tongue, adding a brush stroke of perfection as he confessed, "and I love licking you most of all."

Before she could say anything, he went back to her, kissing softly and quickly – three – four – five – six – each successively deeper, each with a scooping motion with the tip of his tongue. Seven – eight – nine – in a row was enough for her to pick up on a rhythm, her hips responding in perfect syncopation. Just as she settled into her perceived tempo, he drew another slow lingering lick through the length of her velvet wetness. Neither them counted aloud, neither focused on sequence nor on quantity. Hips quivered - gyrating abruptly, as his tongue dropped into her tunnel on its deliberate trip to her clit. She was his puppet. Every motion she made was in response to the strings pulled by his patient tongue, and tender, kissing lips.

They wandered in passion’s fog as it set in thick, blinding them from all aspects of the realities they escaped together. He was somewhere between heaven and the edge of the universe. She, on the other hand, was lost in a maelstrom of intense oral stimulation, a swirling chaos of ecstasy that was hers for the taking. Who could possibly count? Who wanted to count? Nothing mattered. Nothing ever did when they were together.

There were two things happening in that bed – delivery and acceptance. His earlier musings regarding scientific significance were lost in the musky evidence that she wanted him there, his face buried between her thighs licking and kissing her pussy. Somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-three his kisses changed. There was more mouth involved, more sucking, as each kiss delved deeper into her secret place. His lips became more aggressive, pulling at her swollen labia, sucking first one then the other into his mouth, still licking quickly with the tip of his tongue in the midst of each kiss.

"Baby, I can’t get enough of this sweet pussy," he exclaimed, coming up for air, his beard soaking with her participation.

Her reply was mostly nonverbal, as she clutched at his head and pulled him back into her center. Thighs spread open flat, as her hips rolled up, ankles hooking behind his shoulders. Another moan of wanton approval crept from her lips, originating deep in her throat, flavored with the primal timbre of the animal only he could release in her. Evidence that he awakened the beast inside of her prodded him onward, kissing deeper – forty-nine – fifty – lingering longer with each kiss. The flat of his tongue pressed on her clit as sixty-one gave way to sixty-two, then three. With each following kiss he bit into her, teeth gently closing on her soft mound that filled his open mouth. Sixty-eight – sixty-nine – seventy.

Her pelvis began to gyrate; shifting under his mouth with a slow vibration that built steadily. With a gasping finality, she stretched to her full length of woman, arms pushed overhead, legs extended, toes pointing, arching into the beautiful hawk that was her animal, and leapt beyond herself. She plunged into the nothingness that surrounded the highest place; wings unfolding to catch the hot updrafts of extraordinary, selfishly devouring the thrashing climax he orchestrated for her. Seventy-five kisses to reach perfection, or was it ninety-three?

She gave up her prize, and he took his reward. Each contraction that pulled at his tongue offered a sweet reminder of her gratitude. He held himself tightly against her, lips sealing the last lingering kiss, feeling every subtlety of her orgasm, relishing the way her body reacted to his touch. The heartbeat that pulsed in her clit twitched beneath the flat of his tongue. Patiently, he waited for her delirium to release her, relaxing rigid muscles in her body, returning her to the puddle of mercury they would be for the next two days. Her hips spasmed once more signaling her arrival at completion.

Somewhere between the first kiss and the last he lost track of how many he'd delivered. But then, who was counting?

* * *
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