Smut, smut, smut - do not expect any form of character setup or development here and plot, dear ladies and gents, is an unknown factor in this equation. I have written this story in the honor of the month of May - the national Month of Masturbation. Though the Surgeon General still does not recognize such a form of entertainment as a valid and healthy way towards supporting abstinence (which in and of itself, if you ask me, is a ludicrous concept) - no further disclaimers are necessary since - from a purely technical point of view - there is no woman-on-woman action here. <air quotes>Technically <air quotes> speaking.
I would also like to thank JLynn for working
her magic on this piece o'smut, and helping me out with all the ...pertinent...
I owe you a bottle of Evian or two. ;)
When she walks in, I know the sight that will greet her. I have been looking at myself through her eyes for the past fifteen minutes. I know how she will be affected by seeing me naked on the bed, the mattress bare but for the taut red cotton of the sheet covering it, the material already splotched by the evidence of my excitement.
I hear her steps muted by the woven length of the rug in front of the bedroom, and I can almost feel the palm of her hand as it covers the doorknob, metal cool to the warm skin of her fingers. I close my eyes, head tilted back far enough to feel the wisps of my hair touch my back, but I don’t stop the movements of my hips above my hand, merely slow them to a more soothing, undulating rhythm. If I am to last past the first moment I feel her eyes on me, I need to concentrate on something else other than the two fingers within me.
I have been thinking of her the whole day, thoughts made insistent and maddening by the warmth and heaviness awakened between my legs. I had woken up to the pre-dawn shadows of our bedroom, a warm mouth on my nipple and a long finger enveloped in the warm cocoon of my cunt. The arching of my back preceded her withdrawal and she had left me half-awake and fully aroused, a whispered "Think of me", and the wetness between my thighs a prediction of the day to come.
The fever she started before the sun rose continued with daylight, want fueled by increasingly more wanton thoughts, and every time I sat down at my desk at the office I had to fight the urge to grind against the softness of the chair underneath me. Thoughts of that lean body underneath mine, visions of those long fingers hilted into me, memories of the strength of her tongue claiming me had me feverish and distraught by lunch hour. The hair on my forearms seemed to pick up every shift of air in the small office, and my nipples responded to the sensation dutifully, hardening into maddening, pulsating relays of pleasure.
I had claimed lightheadedness, being truthful but for the true reason of my agitation, and left work early, the drive back a blur of sun-refracting chrome and images of the curve of her back. Once inside the apartment the clothes themselves became tormentors with well-fitting creases and intimate snugness and I trailed them across the living room, through the hallway and into the bedroom. The bed covers were next, swept to the floor by an impatient arm and as I lay down I took a moment to revel in the stillness of the apartment and the coolness of the sheet against my heated stomach and nipples. Arms and legs spread out on the surface of our king size bed I took a moment simply to breathe, closing my eyes and willing the futile clenching and unclenching of my inner muscles to cease.
I knew she would be home shortly, dozens of minutes separating my eager flesh from her gaze, and the wait never seemed longer. Once the distraction of the chill of the bed sheet waned, I moved slightly, feeling the subtle coarseness of the material under me, acutely aware of the slow flow of wetness seeping from me and covering my clit. The sigh, when it escaped my mouth, made me aware of the circular motion of my hips, of the straining of my pubic bone against the mattress, hands clutching the sheet. It wouldn’t take much, it would take nothing to send me over, to make me jerk with release. Nothing, but the thought of her walking in, unsuspecting, finding my shoes by the door, shirt and skirt crumpled on the living room floor, pantyhose trailing the bra trailing the… And then she would stand before the closed door, hand on the doorknob and I would close my eyes and arch my back, knees drawn up high and digging into the mattress…
The thought alone almost unravels me. When I slide my hand under me and lower myself onto the waiting fingers I do cry out at the warmth and fullness and all that wetness of me and I want to move, I want to rise up and down and grind and rub and ride my hand hard. Instead I raise my knees a bit higher on either side, opening myself fully and imagining the sight I will make like this, facing away from the door, spread out on my elbows and knees, the wetness and the red need of me fully visible below the arch of my back, slowly riding fingers buried deep into my cunt.
My clit grinds against my palm and I groan, bucking, the touch spasming my muscles in a near-orgasmic convulsion. I am so ready to give up, to give in, to grind once, twice, and spiral out of control and I already feel my cunt twitching in response when I hear the front door open. With a deep sigh hitched with need, I slow my movements, almost stilling my hips and try to calm myself.
I can hear her footsteps now and calm is a long time in coming, spread out on the bed as I am, fingers up my cunt, hand glistening with my juices, my ass and cunt exposed, posed for her perusal, for her desire, for her fingers and tongue. The lock clicks and only the movement of air on my back tells me the door is swinging open. Then there is only silence and stillness save for the staccato pulsing under my fingertips and the harshness of my wanton exhales against the cotton of the sheet. I feel her gaze upon me, literally feel the trails her eyes burn upon the skin exposed for her pleasure, but when I hear the tell-tale rustle, I speak.
"No. Stay there." It comes almost as a growl, but what little self-control I have is not wasted on modulating my vocal cords.
I hear a sharp exhale of breath behind me, almost feel it sweep across my back, but she stays put. I will make her want me the way I wanted her today, make her feel as though she is being consumed from the inside by the power of her desire – even if only for a short time. For I know the tenuous hold I have on my own desire for release will not last too long. But it will have to last long enough. And I know my lover. I know the animal inside, straining at the leash and loving the feel of it cutting into its flesh. With that thought I slowly, carefully, retract my fingers, letting them slide out of me and I whimper when I lose that fullness, the lack of stimulation only making me crave release that much more.
But I will not give in, not yet, not until I have her gasping under the weight of my lust, not until she remembers the feel of me around her fingers this morning and wishes, pleads to be given a chance to take me like that, to fill me, fingers, lips, tongue - all craving for the taste of me. I straighten up, still kneeling and slowly turn around to face her.
Her hair is loose and falls around her face and despite the brightness of the early afternoon sun bathing the bedroom, her eyes are in the shadow, but I know the half-lidded way in which they are taking in my body. She is closer, much closer than I thought she would be, hands fisted around the metal of the footboard, and across the short distance that separates us I can see the perspiration along her lip. Her breathing is still deep and measured but, as I let my gaze take in the nipples straining behind the brown shirt of her uniform and the ripple of clearly outlined muscles of her forearm, I know she is far from unaffected by the display.
I sit down, still kneeling, and spread my knees wider, making sure nothing is left to imagination. I can catch my scent clearly now and I know, even before I see her nostrils flare, the effect it has on her. Leaning back, I support myself with my left arm braced against the bed, and softly drum the fingers of my right hand against the knee it's resting on.
"I have been thinking of you today." She is listening, but the point is not to have a conversation with her, but keep her distracted, her attention divided, for long enough to get her to do what I want. My fingers caress the sensitive side of my knee, lingering slightly before continuing their unhurried ascent. "I did. The whole day today. In bed, before I got up." A lone finger trails all the way up my thigh, and I can't help the shiver that follows it, before I retrace the imaginary path back to my knee. "In the shower, before I went to work, " the wetness still coats my hand and I splay it across my stomach, glistening under the soft afternoon sun, "in the office, among my co-workers, and, hon -" She is leaning forward now, lips parted, but her eyes are riveted to my pubic hair and fingers I’m running through it. "I swear I could feel you inside, the whole day, could feel you deep, deep, right…" I slide my middle finger deep inside, and the arch of my back and the moan that follows it are not simply for the benefit of teasing her. I am so close again. "…there, oh, right there, hon, - so, so deep…"
I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them, and still the movements of my hips again – her harsh breathing and the words I have just said have compounded into an almost unbearable stimulant. When I look at her again, the pulse point on her neck is visibly pulsating and her jaw is, I can tell, painfully clenched. This time she meets my gaze and the look in her eyes sends another shiver down my spine. I know that look. I have seen it so many times; her breasts swaying above my face, air expelled from her lungs with every thrust of her hips against mine, the palpable urgency of the pending release, both of our movements made jerky with focused pleasure. And then, right as I would go rigid underneath her with the first wave of the orgasm, she would open her eyes and look at me and I would know how close she was and that the next convulsion of my muscles around the dildo inside me would take her right with me.
I smile and shake my head again. I didn’t know she would like this so much. The knowledge of how close she is boosts my lagging self-resolve to see this through. The finger is retracted again and I scoot back, straightening my legs out but still keeping them spread wide apart, and lean against the headboard.
"Baby, take your clothes off for me." She closes her eyes and shakes her head, much like a dazed boxer would, and then unclenches her hands from the bed and starts taking her uniform off. Her movements are almost comical, frantic as they are, but for the fact I recognize the devouring need that fuels them. I barely have time to toss a pillow across the bed for her to lean on before she is done.
She sees it and pauses, giving me an inquiring look. She only has her briefs on and the sight of her tattoo tracing the plane of her stomach and disappearing below the edge of black cotton makes it difficult not to imagine getting up, kneeling before her and following the jagged line of it with my tongue past the barrier of underwear. Not to think of all the times I’ve done exactly that. If she were to reach towards me now…
"I want you to sit back and watch, baby." My voice is sounding hoarse and unconvincing even to myself and I have to swallow against the sight of her breasts, the line of her waist and hip as she bends to slide the underwear off, the long legs than carry her to the bed. God, what a sight of this woman does to me! To distract myself this time, I keep talking. "I want you to see what you miss out on every time you leave for work early in the morning."
My palms are molding themselves against my breasts as I watch her settle herself across from me, back against the footboard, pose mirroring my own. She is looking at me, spread before her, open and wanting, and her hands move from the mattress and this time it is I who is riveted to the sight of those long fingers moving across flushed skin. Under the touch of her hands her thighs spread and then fingers of her left hand are spreading her open for my view as the middle finger of her right hand slowly dips into the wetness revealed. The drawn-out hum this causes her to make is an almost physical thing as I feel it travel across the small space between us and thrum against my clit.
I am moving against the mattress now, impotent little shudders and the unconscious tug I give my nipple ring shoots a line of pleasure straight between my legs. As I watch, a long finger begins circling the entrance to her cunt, slips in barely knuckle-deep before withdrawing and circling again, and it’s wholly unclear to me why my mouth is not substituting the inappropriate finger, making her hand retreat from there and bury itself in my hair. Maybe I actually start moving towards her, maybe she knows the look in my eyes as well as I know the one in hers, but she stills her movements as she speaks to me.
"Go on baby, show me. Show me what you could see me doing to you. Show me, baby."
It's the sound of her voice that adds to my fire as well as my determination, somnolent, deep, vowels elongated and drippy with want and I take a deep breath and look at her. She is reclining against the sturdy lattice-work of the footboard, one knee up, the other leg opening the view to the prize I intend to win soon, but the her hand is cupping the dark thatch of hair, hiding it from view, When I look up, I face a raised eyebrow and a challenge. My beautiful lover, strength and scars and all that sweetness and love inside and it is up to me to coax out the former and revel in the latter.
Now, somehow, with the teasing look and the gentle smile, we acknowledge the levelness of the playing field and the trenches we occupy in each others hearts and the dynamic changes and the fervor is banked. Banked, but not gone, and I return the smile with a slight nod of my head but then I let my tongue slowly erase the curve of it from my lips. I keep my eyes on hers and when my fingers trail from my breasts, slowly, torturously, down to the plane of my stomach, her eyes follow. I am almost calm now, the need to dominate, to arouse, replaced by the need to give and know that she is disinclined to take now, and ready to receive.
"You want me to tell you what I imagined you would do?" It's barely above a whisper, unused as my vocal cords seem, dried out as my throat is, but there is no doubt she hears me. She looks up, but I make the eye contact brief by recapturing her attention with a hand that strays lower.
"It's not what I imagined you would do, love, but what I would get to do to you." My left knee is raised, foot resting on the bed, and I am resting my left hand on it, but it is my right that is drawing her attention. "I imagined you prone beneath me, tied." Her eyes cut to my face and I smile benignly to the sharpness of her look. "Yes, tied and unable to control, unable to deny yourself any of the pleasure I would make you experience."
I let my head loll back and rest against the headboard, and close my eyes, letting myself enjoy the images I am conjuring. "I would crawl above your body on my hands and knees, letting you smell me, letting you see me, but commanding the luxury of touch. I would let my breasts," my hand has drifted up to my nipple ring again and behind my closed eyelids I enjoy the fullness of the sensation as I tug at it, "brush against yours. My nipples drawing lines across your belly, your breasts, your cheeks, suspended…" I draw two fingers into my mouth, peering at you below my lowered eyelids and I can see your eyes are closed as well. The hand cupping you moves in a steady rhythm, a finger or two lost deep in your cunt, but then your eyelids flutter open at my silence. You see me withdraw the fingers from between my lips slowly, wet and glistening, and as I trail them down to my nipple, you bring your other hand up to cup your own breast.
"I would have you where I want you, open for me, ready for me." My nipple, when I pinch it, is a conduit of raw pleasure and I have to pause to adjust to the sensation. "W anting me, wanting me to fuck you, needing me to fuck you, just like you are." Your eyes are closed again and you are moving against your hand, two fingers filling you with a steady rhythm and the moans - I can hear you moan now - are getting more audible, and they set me on fire. "I want you baby, I would want to fuck you and I know…" I have to feel more than the empty desire and I reach down strong and fast and the three fingers that fill me seem hardly enough. "I know the way you'd want me to have you. Oooh, I know how I'd fuck you love, hard - hard and deep, and…" God, I see you, and your hips are jerking, meeting every thrust of your fingers and the thumb your have pressed against your clitoris is increasing the level of urgency in your movements. "And I would take your dick, baby, I would take it and strap it on and I would fill you with it."
The image, as it appears behind my closed eyelids, is the same fantasy I have had for months now and still has the same potent effect on my cunt as it always did. "God, you are so hot love, so fucking hot." My fingers are frantic now, pumping in and out of me, but the friction, the pleasure I get out of it is dwarfed by the jolt of the needy pull from deep within my cunt at the imaginary sight of the big black dildo slamming into you. You are incoherent in my fantasy, under me, your skin is slick with the sweat only desire can bring out, and even as you thrash your head left and right, I can hear the gasped out words that you can't help but let out with every thrust of my hips. "Fuck baby, fuck… fuck me just like that… Ha-harder, fuck, harder… oooh, baby, god…"
I can feel it now, drawing in, all the sensations of my pleasure-distended body are collecting at the tips of my fingertips, reaching the bottom of my cunt. I know, when it comes, this orgasm will shatter me, render me disjointed and oblivious and I want to share these last few moments of lucidity with you.
I open my eyes and look upon you, but you are on the edge of your own precipice, your fingers twitching deep inside of you. I realize then the words I heard, the words I hear right now, yes baby, god… god, baby just like that… fuck it hard, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it… are not imaginary, but are falling from your half-open lips, playing out behind your closed eyelids. With that, with that final thought, I let myself fall into the savage rip of the orgasm that doubles me over and makes me cry out your name.
You are there right along me. I can hear you keening through the ringing in my ears, and I wish I could open my eyes and feast upon the tremors of your body, but every thought I send in your direction seems to come back amplified and honed for the sensitive parts of my anatomy, and I convulse again and again.
I don't know how much time passes when I open my eyes again, but the sweat has cooled on my skin and my breathing is deep and measured. Deep and measured until I open my eyes and find you looking at me, observing me, taking me in with a kind of hunger I never thought I would see reflected in your eyes.
"I think," you say, reaching towards the drawer of the nightstand, and I shiver at the low timbre of your voice, "it's time I make your fantasies come true."