Flowers and Smoke - Part 1
Another original story by connie k. from our community.
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Tonight, we’re having a date.
Something different. We’ve known each other for years, though I can’t piece out how or exactly when we met. She has just always been here. We live together, but I still have longing and emptiness inside when she’s away or we’re both at work. The times we’re actually together are too brief.
We’re together now. Nothing makes me happier. No one can do to me what Jessica can.
She likes chardonnay, which is a good thing since wine is all I have. I like reds too – maybe it’s because of her hair – but I pour what we both will like. I don’t care that “it’s bottled.” Her red hair is the perfect shade -- fiery red, almost neon in the right light, and she keeps it short so I can see all of her face all of the time.
Her favorite spot is on the arm of my couch, and I see one side of her shapely ass in the skin-tight jeans, the smoothness of her leg as it dangles over the edge. That emerald green bustier is my favorite. She wears it a lot.
Jessica isn’t dainty or skinny. She admits she’s carrying a few more pounds than she’d like, but I could care less! She’s beautiful, perfect. Voluptuous. Perfect in every way. Her bust, her hips, her arms. I don’t need my fantasy girl. I have Jessica – or, should I say, she has me.
The salmon is almost done. She knows I’m a great cook and she loves salmon too. It’s a date night, after all. I want to cook something that she will enjoy. She’s sitting higher than I am. Maybe it’s symbolism. But I look up at her face, not even thinking about how I look – back straight, my hands almost detached from my body, my fingers detached from my hands. I’m just staring at her, anxious for her to speak again.
<Jessica> The wine is delicious, babe
I have that thrill of approval that never seems to wane.
<me> I’m so glad, Jessica
Even after all this time, I still can almost hear the excitement in my response when I’ve done something that pleases her. We may be in my apartment, but it feels like we’re in a restaurant. We’re across a small, intimate table with white linens and a soft glow.
We’re talking about our day, how nice it is that we can share this special time and every word that leaves her luscious red lips is like a hand’s stroke along my body. Those lips. It’s my weakness, really, and she knows it.
Whenever she gets playful, she’ll lick them and everything else just … fades away. Shit, I completely forgot about the salmon, the asparagus, the side of rice. But our plates are empty now and she’s dabbing the side of her mouth with her napkin – that seductive way she does most everything. Jessica never does anything without meaning behind it.
<Jessica> It was wonderful. My compliments to the chef
I hope she didn’t hear me squeal. I squealed more on the inside than out, but Jessica always knows. The grin she’s flashing lets me know I’m giving myself away. My dinner was a success.
No one touches me like she does. Not even close. And she knows exactly where to do it too. My hips are her favorite target and she’s running her fingers slowly across them. I moan. I always moan. She’s had me so many times in so many different ways, but that light touch against my skin just sends me. Jessica knows all my weaknesses – I have none to hide.
She’s looking down at me again. I’m lying back on the bed, my dress is in a bundle above my head, I think. I don’t remember if I pulled it up or if she did. She undresses me with her eyes all the time.
Her eyes are fascinating. Sometimes they’re blue like the hottest heat of a flame, sometimes green and lush like a cool forest. I don’t really wonder how she does that. They’re always the perfect color.
I love feeling this way – on my back and completely exposed to her. And those eyes. Towering above me, she makes me feel helpless and small. It’s a wondrous feeling. Not helpless like I have anything to fear. Not small like my body won’t fit perfectly with hers. There’s just less of me and more of her. The way it should be. The way I want it to be. It’s the way she wants it.
<Jessica> I have something special planned tonight love
Every night with Jessica is special, but I can tell she means VERY special. There have been nights with her that I can remember so clearly, so intensely, that I almost burst when I recall how I felt in those moments. Yet, there have been nights we’ve spent together that are only flashes and blurs. Exactly what she did to me may be buried in the deep recesses of my mind, but what always endures is that my bond to her has been made stronger. Like iron links in a never-ending chain. Remembering then forgetting is what she wanted that night. Besides, my body never forgets.
We’re girlfriends, she likes to say, and that’s true some of the time, when we’re just doing what normal people do. Most of the time, though, it’s far beyond girlfriends. What someone else might consider playful teasing is really just foreplay. I don’t call her Jess or sweetheart or honey. It’s Jessica. As if her name is a title.
Anticipation. It makes my body quiver. She said tonight is going to be special, and I can feel that. As if all of our nights together had been the real foreplay and this? This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for.
I’ve had countless orgasms with Jessica, but not a single one have I ever had that she didn’t make me ask for. Sometimes I beg. Sometimes she just knows when I’m about to explode and can hear me pleading inside my own head. I think she likes those few, helpless seconds the most. Just before she says “Cum, lover.” I can see it in her eyes, sensing that throb of ecstasy humming through my hips and there is nothing else in the universe but her.
She’s running that finger across my hipbone like she’s done so many times before. My pussy is just leaking. Like tears of joy. I want desperately to rub, but tonight she’s not going to let me or I would be doing it already. She loves to watch me behave lewdly sometimes. Playing the slut. Probably because that’s not really who I am. Yet, for her, I can be slutty and openly horny and desperate when we’re together like this because that’s what she wants. Her voice gets thick and lusty. It makes her lick her lips like I’m a slice of cherry pie waiting to be devoured by her. Hot and sweet and just tart enough to make her mouth water.
It’s one of the reasons – not the only reason – why I love her so much. It’s not seeing how turned on she gets when I feel the way she wants me to feel. It’s knowing how I make her feel. She loves me too.
We’re girlfriends, longtime partners. Yet there is so much more. I’m completely under her control when I’m like this. And the more she controls me, the more I crave it. I crave it so strongly that I might just shatter into a thousand fragments from the need. It builds. It is building. Now. Every time I take in a deep breath basking in her dominance or let out a whimpering sigh, her eyes brighten. She licks her lips, just like she’s doing now. I must have just sighed again. I don’t even need to think about smiling to know one is stuck to my face as I look up at her looking down at me.
<Jessica> You enjoy how I make you feel lover?
She’s been whispering in my ear this whole time. The words are playing with my mind and my pussy in unison. But I don’t really hear them. I feel them. I feel them coaxing out my wetness, feel them massaging my thoughts away. Yet when she asks me a question I am compelled to respond only one way.
I’m shuddering. Asking and answering. Her kiss on my mind and mine given to her.
There’s something in her hand, but I can’t make out what it is yet. She’s told me, I think. I can see only her eyes, her lips, her wide smile, her gorgeously round breasts above my face.
Her neck. My neck. She’s stroking me there and I’m remotely aware of the beating of my heart pulsing through my skin as she plays … across my ear and down to my throat.
Jessica is whispering. The words are so familiar, caressing my thoughts into nothing. She makes them melt quickly like butter over a flame. I’m forgetting what they even mean before I hear them. But I’m affected by her words. They pass in and out of my consciousness. They don’t even form a thought in my head, although my body hears them. My nipples flare in desire for her, aching for a pinch.
She’s lying beside me on the bed. Her soft hand sliding slowly down and up. Under my breasts, across my tummy, down to my dewy, tightly trimmed strip of fur. I never shaved for anyone else, but I do it often now, keeping it neat and smooth. She doesn’t want it all off. She likes that I keep my stripe of brown curls there as if it’s an arrow pointing down to my clit.
I gasp. She can be such a tease! She’s flicking my button again and again so she can watch it peek out from my hood like a kitten’s head craning for a pet.
I can’t feel my fingers but I’m clutching the bedsheets, my arms spread out, her elbow pressed against the inside of my arm. Even a touch as subtle as this makes my body tingle. Her breath is on my neck and her foot is rubbing teasingly along my leg so that it feels as if every inch of my body is being stroked.
Dinner is forgotten. Just about everything is forgotten. I can’t connect one thought to the next, connect one day from the last. The spaces of time between “Good night, love” and “Good morning, sweetie” and “Welcome home, baby” don’t even exist anymore. All there is is this moment. It’s like none of it ever happens. These precious minutes with Jessica are more like one long lifetime. There is nothing but Jessica whispering, touching, filling in the widening gaps in my mind, making now forever and forever this now.
I can barely sense the passage of time from second to second. The past, even a momentary flicker of then, is gone and replaced by a new now. I’m caught in the present. Time doesn’t move forward in a line but in a circle. Spinning.
Each panting breath and each heartbeat are the only ones. Every seductive word that fills my eyes and ears is the single most important word. It’s the truth.
...to be continued in Part 2
