This is a growing collection of my stories. I appear to favour writing about sex and death, not always together. I'm also writing two books. Some days it feels like most other people inhabit a world where you can aimlessly wander into vendor-created wonderlands and purchase things you never knew you needed - for entertainment. The mind boggles. I believe it's because I wasn't allowed to watch television as a child. I just don't get some things. I'm ok with that
Monday, November 1, 2010
A warm breeze on her cool body, raking over naked, voluptuous breasts. Each is like a perfect jam bun, a perfect, perky nipple sits atop, budded in desire. She's lying on the bed, a sheet between her legs. The thin material offers a tantalising pressure, bringing pleasure to her freshly showered form. Excitement builds in her secret place, thanks to the whisper of fresh, cool sheets.
Perhaps the feeling of refreshment won't last long in the warmth of such an evening. Already night is pressing closer, teasing her nerve endings. Darkness closing in around her offers a seductive solitude, the chance to play. She flicks on the bedside lamp and plonks back onto the bed, smoothing her supple body against the satin sheets, curling a cushion towards herself, cat-like. After a minute of squirming she replaces the material between her legs with a finger.
Sighs, running a finger about her intimate curls. Her body's response is a silent plea. She can hear her breathe catching but resists the urge to delve into her own warmth. She aspires to keep the fire kindled, without a burst of flame, yet. She rubs her lips, wandering a finger over the fleshy planes. Reward is a glorious rush of desire, trickling through her limbs. It is building into a welcome wetness pooling just below her fingers, just outside her reach, luxuriant torment.
One, knowing hand seeks her breast, fondles the nipple and knows the quick joy of a pinch. She squirms, fondling a handful of softness, licks her finger and runs it across a rosy peak.
"Oh..." she says softly to no one.
Her sex must have called to him, somehow, in her desirous stupor. A door creaks on its hinges in their bedroom. Knees akimbo, a rumpled sheet still at work on the juncture between her thighs, she glances over her shoulder. He meets her eyes. She can hear the sound of his bag being dumped, the impatient thump of shoes onto floorboards, a zipper and the dull thud of cloth. In a moment, his arms are either side of her splayed form. Body heat reaches out to cover her, even before their skin can touch. She feels him radiating warmth.
He kisses her neck, a newly formed 5 'o'clock shadow makes prickles on the softness. She sighs. Squirms. He supports his own weight so as not to displace her, gently coaxing the sheet from between her thighs, replacing it with a head. In a sweet moment of recognition she feels the weight of his cock, pressing at her smooth, wet labia. A doorway to bliss. She finds his actions hot and forward. He reaches around to her hip, slides a warm, large palm over the flat of her stomach and into the folds of her pussy. He wants to know she wants this. She turns towards him for a kiss.
The bedside lamp is hidden by a cloth, bathing the room in a warm, red glow. The colour catches her imagination as she shuts her lids, feeling him enter her. She moans. He caresses her clitoris and she could die from it. So full. Still there is more pleasure to come. He drives her to distraction, with each stroke his thighs press her buttocks, and as there is no cause to rush he takes his exquisite time. A finger flutters at her budded nerves, over and over, pushing her towards orgasm. When at last she can feel him quicken their strokes and his glorious, digital stimulus, it's because she feels him engorge within her. It's hard to bear the fullness, in a moment without air or separateness.
He stiffens and they both fall from the precipice, into the magic of a selfish moment. Together.
In a further minute they will begin to feel the humid evening again. The stillness will be as pressing as the night air. For now, they breathe. Her damp hair sticks to her nape, and he has collapsed upon her. He kisses her shoulder and rolls onto the mattress, one arm still protectively splayed across her body.
She is still breathing hard.