by Waya Bennett
(03/31/04)
I imagine you naked and languid, lying on your stomach. Creamy pale skin is slightly flushed from wine and from an earlier session with the flogger and the crop. The sounds you made then were sweet. The arch and gasp of your body luscious and transcendent. And now I am soothing you, the purrs and whimpers just as sweet in their own softer way.
Oil, warmed between my hands, is smoothed across your back, kneaded into your arms and shoulders. As I move down along the line of your spine, I find that I cannot resist the urge to brush my lips across the welts left by the bite of the crop. My eyes closed, breathing in the scent of you, my tongue traces the marks.
It is almost as if I can feel the places that the leather has kissed and the thought brings a low moan from my throat. It escapes against your flesh with a soft susurrus of breath, fingers clenching around the full curve of your hips. Those sweet, squirming hips that were arching off the bed earlier, a million years ago. I meant to be good, to be tender and sweet, but the memory of the crop and the feel of you warm and yielding under my hands clicks in my body and brain, bringing back hunger, recalling need.
Rising to my knees, I reach toward the bedside table, fingers clumsy in my eagerness. The sheets rustle as you move, starting to ask a drowsy question. Your head is craned around, your hair spilling across pale, oil-glistening shoulders. I answer the question with a kiss that is more rough than I mean it to be, the building need stripping away some of the gentleness, leaving a starving species of tenderness in its wake.
"Shush, sweetness. Lie back down..." I push against your back, moving to settle with one knee between your thighs, sliding up to press tight against your body. The heat of your lips just piles fuel onto the need that has started the tight, hot ache low in my belly. I can feel the hints of wetness against my skin, the same sort of wetness that answers in my own sex.
Finally, my over-eager hands snag what I need and I shift away from you. Leaning down, I nip at the lobe of one of your ears, tongue tracing the curve of it as I whisper for you to roll over, guiding you with my hands just for the sheer joy of your hips sliding against my palms.
On your back, you are even more delectable. Ignoring the supplies I was so eager for just moments ago, I lean over your instead, my stomach pressing softly against your own, breasts sliding against yours as I rein myself in and kiss you. I savor the feel and taste of you, my tongue tracing your mouth, sharing breath with you. And then I move, forcing myself to hold back, taking tiny nibbles when what I want to do is devour you.
Inch by slow inch, I move down, tongue and teeth and fingers drinking you in. The delicious mounds of your breasts must be appreciated, each sweet nipple lapped and kissed and suckled. Every little whimper and gasp from your mouth making it harder to stay in control.
Lower now, tracing neolithic spirals on your belly, my teeth leaving marks, red against the white.
And finally your thighs. Nestling between them, I bite, lick, kiss, breathing in your scent, but not yet touching you so intimately. My lips barely touch your folds, just enough to get your scent, just enough that the taste of you is on my lips as I sit up and reach for the gloves I had been so eager for earlier.
My eyes lock on your face as I pull the glove on, drizzling the slippery lubricant into the palm. Just as with the oil, I rub my hands together, taking it the chill from it before I touch you. One finger only at first, gently trailing around your clitoris before moving down and slowly entering you. The other hand rests on your mons, my thumb teasing around the apex of your labia.
I work very slowly, feeling you warm and snug around my fingers as I push them into you one at a time. My thumb never stops teasing you, knowing that the distraction will be welcomed as the sensations get more intense. Long moments later, I can fit all four of my fingers into you, just the fingers, moving slowly, letting you relax into the feeling of fullness.
The muscles of your sex flutter around me as I lean down, lapping at your clit, tasting the sweet musk of you as I pour more of the lube onto my hand, making it almost frictionless. Despite that, there is incredible pressure as I fold my thumb against my hand and push.
I can feel you clench around my hand, muscles twitching, your hips lifting off the mattress as you envelope me. My lips are locked against you, moaning against wet flesh as I feel you spasm and thrash. The transcendent, ecstatic flash and thrust of you as you come around my hand spinning through my brain and leaving me gasping as if it were my own orgasm.
Millennia pass by in instants as you catch your breath and relax, going limp against the bed. I withdraw from you, stripping away the glove before sliding up alongside you, gathering you into my arms. The sweet soft tangle of female bodies is a warm melding as I hold you, basking.
