Before we leave, she stops me in the hall. She spins me around, pushes me up against the door, and in her special voice she commands me to get on my knees.
She slowly lifts her skirt; I see the tops of stockings, I see soft flesh, I see a gentle thatch of hair. I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.
My nose presses against her fur, my lips meet her lips and I place a delicate kiss.
I push against her, feeling her hips move slightly to allow me to make better contact. I slip my tongue out and taste her. She moans, and lifts her leg over my shoulder. I can move my tongue inside her now and I do, with greedy enthusiasm.
You may use your fingers.
I carefully reach up. Making sure only to touch her when my fingers are at the apex of her thighs. She taught me well - I only touch what I’m allowed to touch. What is given to me.
She moans as my fingers glide up inside her and I hear her counting off loudly. I kiss her again, my lips encircling her clit, my tongue dancing around and over it. I can’t hear her counting, I’m too far lost.
She pulls herself away. Quickly readjusting her skirt, straightening the lines and brushing the hair from her flushed cheeks.
Get up, you look ridiculous.
I snap back and realise I’m on my knees, mouth open and hand raised, fingers still curled. She reaches out for my hand, the dry hand, and helps me up. She straightens my tie and fixes my hair, tutting at how easily I became dishevelled.
But but… You didn’t get to…
Silly boy. It wasn’t about that. Now all night I’ll be all you can taste and smell.
She sees the panic on my face and laughs.
Good boy, now open the door and let’s go dancing.
I open the door, taking in a deep breath. And there she is in my nose, a deep bouquet… A leash on my senses.
blakekathryn
titsay
romaincrisis
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