Small Change
Standard disclaimer: not my real life, this is a strict work of fiction, from the fertile and twisted brain of a very horny woman...
Usually I am the dominant one - the one who cannot sit still or wait to touch. I approach, reach out, capture and still with my body. Impatient to feel, craving the silken burn of his hands and lips, I rush to begin and take the aggressor's role. Rarely is satisfaction so pleasingly wrought as when I work for it thus. The control of it calls to me, the power and mastery of the situation fulfill me. Almost as rewarding as my own climax is the knowledge that I caused another's.
This day, though, he made me wait. Not physically restrained, but held off by his regard and posture, I waited, wondering what lay unsaid between us. Head to the side, I stood in my delicate heels, attending his desire. An eyebrow arched, a devilish smile, his hands lifted and caged my jaw, angling my head and drawing me forward to meet his mouth. One hand slid further into my hair, firmly anchoring my mouth to his. The other hand traced down my back, pulling me closer to his promise of pleasure. My own hands flew to his shoulders, seeking balance, and searched for his shirt buttons, fumbling ineffectually at my attempts to uncover his body. Breaking the kiss, shaking his head, he murmured a playfully disapproving "no." He slid his hands around my waist and untied my dress. As it unfolded and slid noiselessly to the floor, he slipped my lacy camisole over my head, tossing it carelessly on the puddled dress.
He stepped back to survey his work, and I ducked my head and fought to keep my hands by my sides instead of crossing them protectively over my scarred midriff. Two fingers on my chin raised my face. his gentle "stop it" rang loudly through my head - loud enough to straighten my spine and square my shoulders. "We'll keep the heels," he stated decisively. "Everything else goes." My eyes, shocked, flew up to his. Never had I bared myself completely to him. I had always covered part of myself. My fingers trembled as he stepped behind me to unhook my bra. As it slithered down my torso, he cupped my breasts from behind, feeling their weight, teasing their sensitive tips with his thumbs. My head fell back against his shoulder as I absorbed the caress. his lips cruised my shoulder up to my ear, leaving a tingling trail that tightened those peaks further.
His palms flattened on my ribcage and slid inward and down, firmly pressing my soft abdomen, feeling the scarred ridges left there, holding me immobile. As his one hand quietly made its way under the elastic of my panties, the other cupped my jaw and twisted my head, granting him access to my mouth. I welcomed his tongue as I welcomed his long fingers, both thrusting inward, invading my body. My hips gyrated with the rhythm he set, brushing his hard length behind me. I sagged back against him as he withdrew his fingers, but jerked upright when he knotted his hand in my lacy underpants and ripped them from me.
"The bed," he muttered and tilted his head toward the snowy duvet, soft as a cloud. Not sure of his intent, I perched my bottom on the edge of it. "Further back," he instructed softly. I watched, fascinated, unsure, as he sat on the edge of the bed and slid his hands from my ankles to my knees. As he parted them, arranging them akimbo, I fell back, supporting myself on my elbows. The delicate, tentative swipe of his tongue against my most sensitive flesh raised gooseflesh and pulled a moan from deep inside me. Murmurs, pleas, exhortations to the supernatural passed my lips in no random or coherent order. I could only feel his mouth and hands on me, lips sure and firm one second, soft and tender the next, slowly building the pressure within me.
The burn began at my knees, slowly surrounding me in torpor. The slide of two long fingers inside me released the burn, and it streaked like wildfire up my legs, coalescing at the juncture of my thighs. My head thrashed on the pillow, my body convulsed helplessly, consumed completely by the stark, sheer pleasure he brought me. As I regained enough strength to lift my head and peer down at him, I saw more of that impish devilment in his eyes and wondered idly what more he could have in store for me...
Usually I am the dominant one - the one who cannot sit still or wait to touch. I approach, reach out, capture and still with my body. Impatient to feel, craving the silken burn of his hands and lips, I rush to begin and take the aggressor's role. Rarely is satisfaction so pleasingly wrought as when I work for it thus. The control of it calls to me, the power and mastery of the situation fulfill me. Almost as rewarding as my own climax is the knowledge that I caused another's.
This day, though, he made me wait. Not physically restrained, but held off by his regard and posture, I waited, wondering what lay unsaid between us. Head to the side, I stood in my delicate heels, attending his desire. An eyebrow arched, a devilish smile, his hands lifted and caged my jaw, angling my head and drawing me forward to meet his mouth. One hand slid further into my hair, firmly anchoring my mouth to his. The other hand traced down my back, pulling me closer to his promise of pleasure. My own hands flew to his shoulders, seeking balance, and searched for his shirt buttons, fumbling ineffectually at my attempts to uncover his body. Breaking the kiss, shaking his head, he murmured a playfully disapproving "no." He slid his hands around my waist and untied my dress. As it unfolded and slid noiselessly to the floor, he slipped my lacy camisole over my head, tossing it carelessly on the puddled dress.
He stepped back to survey his work, and I ducked my head and fought to keep my hands by my sides instead of crossing them protectively over my scarred midriff. Two fingers on my chin raised my face. his gentle "stop it" rang loudly through my head - loud enough to straighten my spine and square my shoulders. "We'll keep the heels," he stated decisively. "Everything else goes." My eyes, shocked, flew up to his. Never had I bared myself completely to him. I had always covered part of myself. My fingers trembled as he stepped behind me to unhook my bra. As it slithered down my torso, he cupped my breasts from behind, feeling their weight, teasing their sensitive tips with his thumbs. My head fell back against his shoulder as I absorbed the caress. his lips cruised my shoulder up to my ear, leaving a tingling trail that tightened those peaks further.
His palms flattened on my ribcage and slid inward and down, firmly pressing my soft abdomen, feeling the scarred ridges left there, holding me immobile. As his one hand quietly made its way under the elastic of my panties, the other cupped my jaw and twisted my head, granting him access to my mouth. I welcomed his tongue as I welcomed his long fingers, both thrusting inward, invading my body. My hips gyrated with the rhythm he set, brushing his hard length behind me. I sagged back against him as he withdrew his fingers, but jerked upright when he knotted his hand in my lacy underpants and ripped them from me.
"The bed," he muttered and tilted his head toward the snowy duvet, soft as a cloud. Not sure of his intent, I perched my bottom on the edge of it. "Further back," he instructed softly. I watched, fascinated, unsure, as he sat on the edge of the bed and slid his hands from my ankles to my knees. As he parted them, arranging them akimbo, I fell back, supporting myself on my elbows. The delicate, tentative swipe of his tongue against my most sensitive flesh raised gooseflesh and pulled a moan from deep inside me. Murmurs, pleas, exhortations to the supernatural passed my lips in no random or coherent order. I could only feel his mouth and hands on me, lips sure and firm one second, soft and tender the next, slowly building the pressure within me.
The burn began at my knees, slowly surrounding me in torpor. The slide of two long fingers inside me released the burn, and it streaked like wildfire up my legs, coalescing at the juncture of my thighs. My head thrashed on the pillow, my body convulsed helplessly, consumed completely by the stark, sheer pleasure he brought me. As I regained enough strength to lift my head and peer down at him, I saw more of that impish devilment in his eyes and wondered idly what more he could have in store for me...
Labels: amour
posted by Peevish McSnark at
9:16 PM
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