Telling stories, allegories, letting ourselves go

“Did you miss me, baby?”

I thought briefly about the million and one things I could or wanted to say to him when he asked me, all the little ways in which I had missed him, and all of the small ways in which I worried that things might be different or strange between us. I felt the hesitation I always feel when He returns from a trip or when I do… the small inkling that we are different people than we had been before our absence from one another. All the things that may have happened, all the words left unspoken.

“More than you could know,” I murmured. It was the truest answer I could conjure up. When I was away, learning and teaching in the neon desert, I had missed him terribly. “Did you miss me?”

“I did, Pooh.”

I peel off my clothing and stand before him in matching red and black plaid. He is amused and aroused. He loves red and black plaid. I climb onto the bed on all fours with my ass up and my back arched. My much shorter hair no longer hides my inked up shoulders.

His hands roam briefly before pushing my panties to the side and filling me with one sharp, deep thrust. I lose myself in the feel of him, and the sounds of his voice, gravelly and deep in my ear. His praises and his pleasure resonate deep within me. We are fervent and feverish. I need this. My core heats and spreads out to my skin. I feel the familiar fire in my belly early and quick. He makes me beg for the privilege. Reasserting our relationship. Reasserting that I am his and come at his pleasure. He lets me. He fucks me through my orgasm.

He talks to me through my moans and cries. He rides me hard and moans in my ear. I am wailing and praising him. How good he feels. How much I missed him. How much I missed the way he touches me. How much I need him to fill me, to mark me, to make me his again. As his climax builds, he is already working me to my second. In my haze, in my feverish little mind, my mouth keeps running and I am unaware of what I am saying. Dirty, lovely things. Baring myself to him in so many ways.

He asks if I’m going to come again. He wants me to come with him. He’s so close. Something he says, some words I can barely remember now send me over the edge for the second time. The clenching, roiling, vibrations of my body, some words that I speak make him groan from the bottom of his toes. He’s cumming, filling me  up, just the way I want. Just the way I need.

Our bodies break apart and he turns me over, onto my back. I quickly scoot my bum down the bed and wrap my legs around the back of his thighs. His hands peel my bra down and he pulls my heavy breasts out. His fingers stroke over my skin. He praises my tits: how soft and big and beautiful they are, such pretty nipples, such a sight. I blush beneath him as he admires me. We curl around one another like the fog outside the windows, curling round the city streets. I fall asleep before I know that I am tired.

Struggle Snuggles

I collapse onto the bed. Everything moves like molasses. I feel so ancient when I am so tired. My body does not want to work any more. Sleep, it cries, Sleep, please. I crawl on elbows and knees to the head of the big bed, curl around and under and against the numerous pillows that I keep.

You follow me on your knees and slide my leggings off of my hips, down my legs, pull them gently from my toes. I mumble something. Resisting every second that I have to have my eyes open. You carefully unwind my arms from around the soft mounds of fabric and I whine, a high-pitched, mewling little whine. My eyes are closed because I cannot take the harsh light any longer.

“Turn off the lights,” I whimper.

“First, your dress.”

Your hands move under the soft, flowing fabric and you tug at it until I move and comply and participate. I roll over and around, squirming, and whining the whole time. It too comes off of my head, and flies to some unknown destination.

“The lights,” I whisper. 

Continue reading

From the Tip of Your Tongue, Mercy Awaits


His hands slide up my hips, beneath the silky fabric of my panties and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband before dragging them down, past my thighs, my knees, my calves, letting them tangle briefly in my toes before finally ripping them from me. I move fast to cover my nakedness, to tug my dress down to hide my body. I cross my ankles and he tuts at me. My panties are against his face, and he inhales deep, smelling me; my anticipation, my desire, my apprehension.

He throws the cloth down on to the bed and wraps his hands around my ankles. His index fingers stroke the bones there before he rips my legs open. I whine. I struggle. He slaps the insides of my thighs until they are stingy and red and hot. Until I stop struggling.

“Lift your dress back up.”

I blush. I giggle. I close my eyes.

“Lift your dress up, girl.”

The word strikes a chord in me. My fingers wrap into the fabric of my dress, circle and knot until my hands are covered in the fabric, and all at once, I yank the dress up, over my breasts, letting the fabric loose to rest on the crest of them. I peek at him, watch his eyes as he looks me over. I’m wearing the lace bandeau bra he enjoys, black and so see through. I know he can see my nipples perfectly, pebbling beneath the soft cloth.

He presses his hand over top of my mound, heel of his palm putting a pressure against my clit, long, sinuous fingers tip-tapping against my pelvic bone. He presses and motions for me to scoot back, to wiggle until  I am nearly at the headboard. He climbs in between my legs, on his knees, lets his hand slide to wrap around my thigh, the second one follows. His thumbs stroke that soft, sensitive place where my legs and pelvis meet and I shiver for the first time.

His fingers dig into me, and he pulls me up by my legs. I yipe in surprise as he lifts my hips up and leans down simultaneously. I squirm in his firm grasp. The way he holds me leaves me helpless and vulnerable. I am wide open to him.

He breathes against the core of me and inhales deeply.

“Daddy,” I whisper, in a trembling voice.

“Mmm?”

“Don’t…”

“Oh? Don’t?”

My entire body is covered in a blush. He can taste the lie in the scent and sight of me. I say nothing.

“Don’t you want me to eat you, baby? Don’t you want me to lick you? To suck you? To drink down your sweet, sweet girly juices? Don’t you want to come on my tongue, Pooh?”

I moan at the last, unable to help myself. My fingers rip into the sheets and hold there, anchoring me.

He dips his tongue between my folds, tasting the sticky sweetness he finds there. I bend to his will beautifully, twisting and writhing beneath him as he laps at me, as his tongue circles the powerful ring of muscle, the entrance to my body. His tongue slips inside of me and I can feel my cunt spasm around it. He groans into me, and it reverberates through me. His powerful arms pull my legs to his shoulders as they snake around my hips, palms resting flat on my abdomen. He creeps closer to the bed, burying his face against me, nuzzling in my slick juices, my warmth. My thighs squeeze, trying to pull him tighter to me, force him deeper.

I lose control like I never had any to begin with… and truthfully, I did not. I come undone beneath him. I can barely recognize myself in the sounds that leave my lips. I am desperate. I am needy. I need him like this. I can feel my body reacting, throbbing, pulsing, gushing. I am a trembling, crying mess. The sweet torture makes me sob softly and his fingers tighten around me.

His tongue cups and strokes my clit, and it aches beneath the tender ministrations. I want more from him, but he’ll have what he wants of me first.

“Please,”I begin to whimper. “Please… no… no…”

He growls from between my legs and I can feel him grow hungrier. His touch becomes savage as he digs into my hips with one hand, the other slips in beneath his lips and presses against me. Three fingers push inside of me and he strokes my inner walls before building a rhythm. My cries grow loud, uneven. I fight him now. I struggle. My legs shake. My toes stiffen and flex. My nails dig into the mattress.

I don’t know the words coming out of my mouth. I am talking in streams of consciousness. I am begging for him to stop or for him to never stop. I’m not sure which. My eyes are closed tight. I cannot take the arresting, erotic look of him between my thighs.

A flip in me switches and I can feel the heat coursing out from the center of me, warming my blood, making my skin flush. Something in my movement, or maybe something in my voice, my taste… something sets him off. He knows. He picks up the pace and I writhe beneath him as I fall over the edge. My tears flow freely as my body gushes around his lips. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, and, as promised, drinks me as I come. His groan sends me shivering again. I can see the universe behind my eyes–bright and dark, all at once. I am panting, and trying to ward off the little hiccups and tiny tears. My lips are trembling.

He slides my legs from around his shoulders and I feel his body crawl up against mine. I roll into his arms and regroup there. Trying to find myself behind the roiling of pleasure and of emotions. He kisses me on the mouth, and I taste myself there. I marvel at the intimacy I feel in this moment with him, as we breathe for each other, lips locked, the thick taste of my orgasm shared between us.

When our kiss breaks, he nuzzles his cheek to mine.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I can only have this with him.

Drown Me, You Make My Heart Beat Like the Rain

He calls me Pooh in the sweetest, most endearing tone of voice. I can’t explain the complex web of emotions it brings about in me. When coupled with his beckoning me to his mouth for sweet kisses, I can barely breathe. He cups and sucks and lathes my breasts, showering them with attention. His eyes meet mine while he does and I can do little more than pant and squirm against him. He groans against my nipple and nuzzles the pale flash.

“I could spend a whole day here, just sucking and kissing and nibbling your beautiful tits,” he mumbles into my skin.  Continue reading

Past All Thought of If or When, No Use Resisting

It is 4 am and I feel the warm cascades of sleep threatening to envelop me, but so too do I feel aroused, in need. We’ve talked all night and it’s miraculous that I’ve kept my hands to myself until now. I am feeling pliant–no, more than pliant, I am feeling subservient, submissive. How strange the subtle difference between being willing to be used and wanting to be of use. Not just to be of use. I want… pleasure. Of a kind that only he can bring. Like reading my thoughts, maybe reading the tension, reading me, suddenly warm and fidgety and doe-eyed, he speaks up first.

“What do you want, baby? Anything your sweet little heart desires.” Continue reading

If We’re Talking Body, You’ve Got a Perfect One, So Put it on Me

The long fingers of one hand wrap around my throat, his other arm snakes around my waist and he hoists me up and pins my back against the long line of his body. He growls in my ear; wordless, a raw, animal sound. My fingers automatically close around his wrists and stroke at his skin. His body is vibrating behind mine; he is heat lightning and raw thunder and energy. I feel small and vulnerable in his hands. His teeth close around my earlobe and he drags the flesh into his mouth. His thumb at my windpipe slows my breathing down until all I can take are deep, slow breaths, fighting for the little air he does allow me. His hand at my waist forces its way in between my skin and my clothing, sneaking past my skirt and rubbing against the outside of my panties, stroking me between my thighs.  I can’t help but rock my hips, but let my fingers snake around his wrists. There is heat inside of him, an urgency born of jealousy and a fire that’s been simmering all day. Continue reading

Caught Your Eye, Across the Room

“There’s a certain decadence,” he opined. “In reading something and listening to your woman pleasure herself, just… enjoying the noises she makes.”

I suppose this is especially true when you’re doing it for the sake of his pleasure, and he knows it. You could be doing it anywhere else: in the shower, in the next room, not in ear shot, not right beside him, not so close he could smell your pussy. But you chose for him to hear you, to listen to you come while you touch yourself.

Then you come.

“Did that feel good, baby?”

“Yesss… yes,” you pant.

“But I think you need another, because you got my dick hard,” he murmurs. Continue reading