Author's note:

This is a work of erotic fiction, and my entry into the Dulcinea Memorial Writing Festival. If you're not of legal age to be reading it, then please don't. The story is copyright by me, Souvie, so please no reposting unless you've gotten permission from me first. Archiving at the Dulcinea Memorial Writing Festival website is allowed. In the spirit of the Blow Job Principle, I welcome any and all comments. In fact, I get off on feedback. Email me at souvie@netdot.com

"How can you see those tiny little holes? I'd be blind by now if I did that needlepoint." He walked in between her and the television and sat down beside her, peering over her shoulder just because he knew it would drive her crazy.

Sure enough, she put down her cross stitch with a huff. "You know I can't work with you staring over my shoulder. I've got to get this done for your sister- in-law's sister's baby shower, only a week away." She picked her work back up, then put it back down. "And you should know very well that this is cross stitch, not needlepoint."

He moved to his small space of the couch in among her needlecraft magazines, thread, and various other sundries. Her, "Don't change the channel, I'm watching that," halted his reach for the remote control!

"Watching that? I thought you were cross stitching?"

"I'm doing that, too."

He shook his head. "You can't possibly do both at the same time."

"Yes I can." She looked at him with a superior smirk. "Contrary to what you might think, I can concentrate on more than one thing at a time."

He brooded, staring at the insipid talk show host on the TV, arms folded across his chest. He stole little sideways glances at her, watching as she divided her time between the stitchery and the talk show. She was dressed in her bath robe, hair still damp from the shower. The white terrycloth would never be considered sexy by his standards, but the bare length of leg showing through the slit in it would. A thought came to him then. With a wolfish smile he said, "So you can concentrate on more than one thing at a time?"

"Uh huh."

"And whatever else you're doing doesn't cause you to mess up on your stitches?"

"Nope."

"I see." He licked his lips in anticipation. "How about we put that to the test?"

"What are you talking about?" Her exasperation was obvious.

"Do you contend that you can keep concentrating on your cross stitch, no matter what I do to distract you?"

She wrinkled her brow, clearly not following him. "Ye- e-s."

"Good." He sat back and closed his eyes.

She gave him one last puzzled look and then bent back to her thread and material.

When he got up off the couch she didn't notice.

When he knelt in front of her and ran his hands from her ankles to her bare thighs, pushing the robe out of his way, she *did* notice. "Wha--?"

"You can concentrate on more than one thing at a time," he interrupted, mimicking her earlier words. "No more talking -- unless you want to forfeit."

Lips clamped shut, she picked her stitching back up and stared at it intently.

He continued to caress her thighs, slowly edging her legs further and further apart, until he could just see the dark shadow of her pussy. His hands urged her to sit closer to the edge of the couch, and she sighed deeply, like she was put out, but she slid to the edge.

The robe was fanned open, and he could see that she was naked underneath, at least from the waist down. Good, it would make it easier for him.

He could smell just the barest hint of her musk now, and it aroused him. His whole hand brushed tenderly over the dark patch of hair above her lips, then moved downward. The contrast of feeling her wiry hair and then her smooth shaved lips excited him even more. He kept his hand resting there on her outer lips, delighting in their softness, until slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

Her juices had moistened her inner lips, causing them to look like petals caressed by the morning dew. His middle finger slid deep inside her, and he smiled as he felt her body tense. He drew his finger out, slippery with her juices, and ran it across his lips, then licked his lips. Tangy, as always.

He glanced up, but she was still working on the cross stitch, though her breathing wasn't as steady as it had been just five minutes earlier. Satisfied that he was getting to her, he turned his attention back to her pussy. He dipped his finger into her again, and then ran his finger lightly over her clit. It hardened instantly. Slightly spreading two fingers, he ran them along either side of her clit and back into her pussy. In and out, again and again, each time pressing tighter against her clit.

He bent forward, and starting at her tightly puckered ass, licked her all the way up to her clit. He heard her gasp. He kept his two fingers inside of her, as his tongue danced in tight circles around her clit. He switched then, his fingers pressing and rubbing on her little button, while his tongue plunged in and out of her.

Her breathing was ragged, and her hips were moving just the slightest bit back and forth, in time with the movements of his tongue.

He slid his other hand beneath her, one finger pressing against her ass - not sliding in, but putting enough pressure that she couldn't help but feel it, and wonder just when he *would* slip it in.

She spread her legs even wider, and he knew she was about to lose it. He didn't quicken his pace, just kept it nice and steady.

She came with a tightening of her thighs and a flow of liquid honey on his tongue, her hands gripping his head, pressing it against her pussy.

After the last wave of pleasure had left her spent and sated, she untangled her hands from his hair, and leaned back on the couch. He grinned up at her, his the look of the cat that ate the canary.

"What does your cross stitch look like, dear?"

"I'll be ripping stitches out for at least a day." She smiled back at him. "But I don't give a damn."

"Still say you can concentrate on more than one thing at a time?"

She stood up and dropped the robe to the floor. Looking down at him, she held out a hand. "Why don't we go upstairs and find out?"