She and You: Erotic Moments

Raising one exquisite eyebrow, she smirks at you. "Well?" she asks. "Aren't you going to undress me?"

[she-and-you]

Sailor

I want to move with you

Within you

The gravitational pull and push of you

Until I know your tides 

To me

To us

Like I wrote the almanac

To predict every future

Where I am the expert

And you are the ocean upon which I sail

[she-and-you]

Quod me nutrit, me destruit

I want to be pushed down

Unable to maneuver under your weight

Left to feel helpless, forced to be trusting

These desires are as much a part of me as the colour of my eyes

Integral and intricate

The ultimate suffering pacifist

I am a masochist; I've come to understand this

Tart

Whore

Only good for one thing

I have been made to repeat them

To believe them

Yet to appreciate the power behind them

Wear them as badges

Sex is not shameful, nor is the yearning

To want this thing

Precious and dangerous

Glorious and terrifying

Each bruise, each bite mark tells its own story

Visual reminders that I can offer ultimate vulnerability

That my body can be a canvas to be marked, abused and sacrificed

The shame that scratches in secret hallways of my brain

The tears that come

Should mean something

And yet

It's a powerful feeling to let go

To rely

Open up

Each one for its own purpose

To know these things are done for me because I’ve invited them

But what nourishes me also destroys me

And I welcome it with open arms

[she-and-you]

The Levvy

My heart threatens to burst from my chest. It expands and swells, threatening to break its dam.

It beats, it thrums, prickling with an electrical charge that jolts every part of my being

My temples pulse furiously with the rushing blood

Your gaze delivers me to dizzying heights, and often when I find myself floating back to Earth, I’m surprised I still live, and that you are real

You’ve made me this addict, and I will likely die with a needle in my arm, full of you.

[she-and-you]

Melted Wings

Your aura shines like that of a holy light; a divine luster that radiates out and confuses me into becoming Icarus who should not fly too close to the sun

But I spread my wings to take flight

I soar to bask in your heat

I drip; I lose elevation; I allow myself to descend

To Fall

In Love

With You

[she-and-you]

I envy those who claim eideticism. They would have lain an ear to your breast and put to rote the 3/4 rhythm of your heart. I knew the minute I stopped listening I would forget, and it pains me so that the soul of you, was so quickly lost to my memory

[she-and-you]

6:04

Every morning was the same routine: clip along the sidewalk, grab a coffee from the street vendor, move in with the riptide of bodies to the platform and wait for the rush of breeze that came in like a tidal wave to greet the stale air that was shared in a space that equated to an outdoor sardine can.

The doors opened and let yourself be pushed up against a pole. It was considered a good morning when that happened because it was a long ride, and although you generally managed to eventually get a seat, it was a long and jolting ride to stand in heels without something to lean on for what seemed like ages in the smell of bodies.

You put in your earbuds and then zoned out like usual. You didn’t do more than an occasion glance up when the train went round a corner because there was generally nothing to see, and if there was it would be something you did want to involve yourself in. Besides, there was something to be said about it socially acceptable to totally zone out. Today, however, you looked up and your eyes stopped dead at a navy and black brogue that was tapping up and down ever so slightly. 

You loved shoes. Not for yourself necessarily, because you always sported the same practical low heels, but on others they were a bit of a pitfall. A well-made leather shoe spoke about the person’s economic status, and where they chose to spend it, and a smaller foot, like the one you were currently looking at, could say more than needed about what sort of things interested them. The owner of this foot had taste, and the hem of the grey tweed pants that dusted along the top of those shoes had your eyes glued. You let them wander up slowly.

The legs were crossed. The pants tight on the thigh and the thighs shapely. Moving your eyes upwards, they stopped at a newspaper that had been cracked open in a sharp snap. The Guardian; a liberal; how interesting.

Peaking above the top of the newspaper was a high forehead that sported a salt and pepper pixie cut and the tops of thick framed black glasses that covered dark,dark eyes. Lord, the eyes. You were drawn to continue to stare without being able to rip your gaze away. The eyes that were slowly moving back and forth, absorbing the daily news, seemed to have no difference in colour between iris and pupil, which was memorizing; the darkest you’d ever seen. Suddenly they were meeting yours, and you jumped in your skin and quickly looked at your feet, your heart starting to pound in your chest.

The eyes stayed on yours just in passing and then resumed scanning over the newsprint.  You tried so hard to look out the window or at your plainly adorned feet, but again your eyes drifted over to the newspaper and took in the hands attached. Piano fingers with short manicured fingernails that made your belly turn into a knot. In a fleeting moment you imagined how deep those fingers could reach inside you and an involuntary shudder coursed through your body.

Through a thin sliver between the cramming of bodies you were able to catch a bit of her reflection in the train window and your breath caught slightly in your throat. You could see the profile of a snub nose and a bottom lip that pouted out slightly. She would not be considered a beauty that epics would be written about, but there was something in how she held herself that made her appearance gripping. You watched her suck in her bottom lip and chew for a moment before the people pushed together and your free view was hidden away.

The train came jolting to a stop in and today not many people got on, but a large glut poured out of your car, which meant a seat opened up. You sat and crossed your legs at the ankle, then stared at your hands for a bit. Someone older and who seemed put together and intelligent wouldn’t be interested in you, and besides, who made advances on others on the train, and especially this early in the morning. You looked over again and this time the newspaper was down and folded in her lap and she immediately caught your eye. Her eyebrow raised slightly and the corner of her mouth pulled up. Your eyes darted away and a blush crept up your neck and into your cheeks, but you felt brave enough to raise your eyes again and still she held your gaze. The newspaper was tucked under her leg and she raised her hand to undo the top button of her dress shirt, and without losing eye contact unbuttoned her sleeves and began to roll them up. All this was done fluidly, as if she was making herself comfortable for a job that needed doing.You blushed harder and looked away despite yourself. It felt embarrassing to get caught staring. It was likely she was trying to play you on your own game.

You looked up again slightly from under your eyelashes as you could feel the train coming to another stop. The seat where she had been seated was now empty. You felt a twinge of disappointment, but it was inevitable. It was simply a short but tantalizing way to spend the morning; staring at an intriguing woman. In another six stops, you’d get out and walk the few blocks to your office building for another humdrum day in front of a computer. Every morning it took an hour to travel to work on this train that, more times than not, seemed to move at the speed of a snail or break down. Still, it was cheaper than owning a car so you took the risk that you’d be late for work on any given day. 

For some reason you felt the need to look behind you and there she was, standing over your shoulder while holding onto a pole. It could have been your imagination, but it seemed all at once you could smell her scent. She looked down at you and smiled and you felt yourself shrink in your seat.

“Would you know where the washroom is?” Her voice, hinted at an Eastern European accent.

Of course you did, everyone did. They were at the end of every single train car, and then it hit you. You swallowed hard and sat up straighter, “did you need help finding it?” You couldn’t believe what was transpiring.

She nodded kindly and turned her body so you could go past her. You walked ahead and felt anxiety building in your chest. You pushed past some bodies, edging in and out and then without a doubt you felt a hand cup and caress your backside, then immediately stop. You looked over your shoulder to see her looking past you towards the end of the car, so you decided to move along. Suddenly the train bucked to stop again and she fell into you as you both bumped into a pole. Her mouth was pressed into your neck and she whispered so low that you could barely comprehend her words, “I hope your stop is not too soon. Care to join me for some quick maneuvering in a cramped space?”

A jolt shocked between your legs, but you tried not to let your body language follow suit. You suddenly felt like your first time at a lesbian bar when you were just of age: new and hunted by a predator that knew exactly what she was doing. 

Your hand seemed to reach out without your control and opened the washroom door, and with a gripping panic that everyone would notice you felt a hand at the small of your back push you inside. You were pushed inside until you nearly touched the wall with your nose and put on the breaks. Someone only used this bathroom if they were drunk or desperate, and you were neither. 

“Turn around and look at me.” 

You wedged yourself around and saw that you had to look down at her. She brazenly put her hand on your hip and inched forward, “I caught you staring. Did you know it is rude to stare?” She tutted at you and squeezed at the extra weight that protected your sides.

Her little nose flared slightly as she raised herself on her tiptoes to look you squarely in the eye, “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?”

You nodded dumbly, but then felt a smile creep up on your lips, “then maybe we shouldn’t talk?”

“I like how you think.” She leaned forward and kissed you hard on the mouth for a moment before going for your belt.

You couldn’t help yourself. Something about how scandalous this was, how fast and unexpected drove you into a bit of a frenzy. Your hands shot out and starting aggressively mauling her breasts through her starch-pressed dress shirt. She groaned low and quietly, then pulled your blouse up and tugged your bra down to expose your breasts. She was so short that she did not need to lean down to take one roughly between her lips, while the other hand shot up to pull at your long dark nipple. You groaned and began to fumble at her buttons until her shirt was open and her conservative bra covered any cleavage that you hoped you could glance at.

Her hand opened your dress pants deftly, then her hand squirmed down and found your clit that was already swollen and swimming in wetness. Your knees nearly immediately buckled as her hand milked you gently in the cramped space between your pants and groin. 

“I think you might be a little excited.”

You squeaked and pushed your hips forward into her hand as she used her index and middle fingers to pull at you. You gasped as she removed her fingers and put her hands on your hips to turn you around to face the mirror. You watched as she pulled your pants down over your ass and entered you sharply from behind with what felt like a single finger that then started a delicious assault on your g-spot. 

Your mouth swung open as you panted and took it from her. She drove into you while keeping eye contact through the mirror. Her teeth gritted and her eyes to slits as she watched your mouth make soundless moans.  She widened her stance and put a hand on the small of your back to begin a jackhammering motion that left your head in swirling state that made you feel weak. It did not take long for you come against the aggressive maneuvering that she had managed against a spot that had already seemed swollen and wanting to receive. You bit your lip hard enough that you tasted blood as you backed into her hand to let her know that she’d given you a small gift.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

She said nothing, but then reached into her pocked and produced a pen. She clicked the top then began to write on your exposed back. You thought to ask her what was going on, but instead you let your curious nature let her follow through. She clicked the pen again and put it back in her pocket, then began to button her shirt and tuck it into her pants. 

“I’m here for two weeks on business. Perhaps you can call me so we do not need to be strangers. Besides, I would like to be able to do that again with more room so you can really see what I am capable of. I have to go. I am pretty sure this is my stop.” 

She pushed her glasses up her nose, then gave your rear a little pat before letting herself out. You quickly spun around to see what she’d written: ten numbers and the name of a hotel in the city. You blushed again and quickly began to pull yourself together. You’d never done anything like that before in your life, but it was so thrilling. You didn’t even care that once you left the washroom, the fellow passengers would be made aware of what had gone on in that minuscule room.

You’d be sporting her handwritten tattoo for the rest of the day and would, of course, be calling her soon. You needed to know who she was, what she did, and why she was on the 6:04 commuter with no qualms about asking for directions to the washroom.

The robotic voice announced your stop was approaching, so you let yourself out and began the process of bottlenecking onto the platform. A new workday, but this time with a small smile on your lips, knowing your little secret and that you sported a secret in blue up along your spine like some divey bathroom wall.

[she-and-you]

Agape

She met your eyes when you walked through the door after work and saw immediately how deflated, defeated and exhausted you were. You’d had a grinding day; worn down and stressed out; looking forward to just coming home at the end of the day to her. Your partner, your confidant, your beautiful lover and friend.

She walked over and gathered you up in her arms and brought you into her shoulder. You inhaled her and let yourself have a little cry. She never judged as you wet her shirt and let out a little sniffle.

“Bad day?”

All you could do was nod into her and wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze. Your anxiety did not abate. Sometimes being held like this was all you needed, but today you needed something more to bring yourself to a state of calm. You broke the embrace and looked up at her with wide eyes that begged silently.

She smiled gently and cupped your cheek with a small nod. “Let’s go run you a bath.”

She held your hand and led you to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, tested the water, then poured in some bubble bath. 

“Arms up.” You immediately complied as she pulled your shirt over your head, then helped you with your pants and you stepped out. She took took your hand and let you sink down into the tub.

You let out a deep sign and understood that without a word she understood that this is what you needed. It was never a formal request, but a state of mind that could be slipped into, and sometimes it would happen when you needed it and sometimes it didn’t. 

She took a facecloth and began washing your back, then took an arm ran the facecloth up and down, and so on with your upper body. While you felt the soft cloth soap your tired and heavy body you began sinking into that space. She asked you gently to stand and washed your legs, your behind and belly.

“Wash between your legs, please.” You took the facecloth and did as you were told.

She used the shower head to rinse you off, then offered her hand to help you out, and towel dried you slowly, getting all parts of your damp skin before draping it over your shoulders like a cape and asking you to hold it.

You stood and stared in the mirror at yourself. Right now you were sinking into a space that made you feel small, weak and helpless, but safe. The safeness you felt was paramount to a shot of morphine for someone who was screaming out in pain for relief. You saw an adult looking back at you, but in your head you needed to turn off a little and let someone else make all the decisions for your well-being.

She came back with a pair of pajamas that were kept in a special drawer. Simple white cotton with a delicate baby pink floral design and Peter Pan collar. She slipped on the top and buttoned it up for you one at a time, then helped each foot in and pulled them up for you and tied the string at the waist. She cupped your face and planted a kiss on your forehead. You grinned as you felt a blush creep up your neck.

She took your hand and lead you to the vanity in your room and asked you with a sweet voice to sit and pass her the brush. She brushed your hair over and over until it gleamed, and told you in a comforting voice that she was going to make you look so pretty, even if you were still the prettiest thing she knew.

She met your eyes in the mirror and slowly blinked like a cat. “Feel better, sweetheart?”

You did. You were almost right where you needed to be and you knew it would come but you were patient. “Yes, Mommy.” You would wait like a good girl.

“Would you like a snack, darling?”

You nodded with eager anticipation and waited for her to produce some Hershey’s kisses from the top drawer of your nightstand. She passed you three with a peck on the cheek,

“Sweets for my sweetie.”

You sat and watched as she opened one for you from your outstretched hand, and you opened your mouth for her to pop one inside. She pulled your head to her soft belly as she stood behind you and you closed your eyes as she pet your hair and let the chocolate melt on your tongue. 

You were falling deeper and deeper into this comfort space you needed. This was consensual, and no matter how loud the small voice in the recesses of your brain said that this was odd and a kink that should have been left alone, you knew that feeling like this had to mean that it was right. Every other substance that brought this calm was illegal or addictive, and this was just love, even if it was perhaps addictive in it’s own small way. It was your special secret, and even if others didn’t understand or thought it was wrong, you didn’t care because it made you feel like the center of her universe.

Once the chocolates were eaten, she backed away and went to sit on the bed. 

“Come here, my pet.”

You went over and crawled up beside her, your neurons firing with joyous expectancy. She took off her shirt slowly, then her bra and let you put your hand upon her breast. Her glorious breasts. You left it there as her chest raised and fell with her breathing. Many other times you’d mauled at them with aggression while you both tumbled in bed,or buried your face in them in some silly moment, but right now they were a source of beauty in a state of pure nurturing. 

She laid down on her side and beckoned you to join her. You laid down and stared with lips parted as she put her hand to her breast and in an offering gesture guided it to your mouth. You latched and let out the deepest sigh, mixed with a groan. Your hands immediately went up and began kneading gently at her, while your eyes gently rolled back in your head before closing. Pure contentment in this moment. There was a sexual aspect deep within this of course, and your loins did stir when her breasts heaved gently in your face, but somehow the rhythmic sucking brought about the deep calm that was needed. All day this act was needed. You’d used drugs, you’d sported red scars on your body to move past the anger that boiled below your surface, or the stress that scared you in the past, but this, oh this, was something that was beautiful and pure. It’s very possible that somewhere in your childhood some Freudian step wasn’t met and this oral fixation was the blockage in your psyche that needed uncorking to feel more free and safe and unfettered. 

You sucked and she ran her hands through your hair. She cradled your head and whispered sweet nothing to you. Sometimes your fingers rolled her other nipple and she’d let out a small groan, but eventually the calmness brought about the exhaustion and your closed eyes lead to a nodding head.

“My sweet girl. Go to sleep. You’ve had a hard day.” Her nails scratched your scalp and you melted deeper. 

You unlatched and looked up at her with the widest and most trusting eyes. Hers locked on yours and she smiled and cupped your cheek, then leaned down and put her mouth on yours. Her kiss was sweet and gentle.

“Calm? Ready for sleep?”

You nodded and bravely kissed her again. You nuzzled into her tender and warm bosom, inhaled her sweet scent and let yourself drift into unconsciousness. Your breasts rose and fell and the very last shred of tension you held all day left your body. This safeness was what everyone deserved. 

Just before you felt yourself fall into the blackness, you mumbled quietly into her, “thank you.” She hugged you tight.

You’d wake up tomorrow and this feeling of smallness, of weakness and helplessness would be gone, but you’d know that the love that you felt for each other would be just as strong as you greeted the day as equals. 

You were the luckiest girl in the world.

[she-and-you]

Speak

You had a house key but did not live there. She knew the safe word but not when she’d need to use it.

You came in after you knew she’d have finished up supper and be clearing the kitchen. The woman was predictable in her actions. You could guess down to a short window when she would be thoughtlessly going through her evening routine with her mind on auto pilot. It was a perfect time to strike.

Long ago you’d perfected the art of a silent entry. You could slip in and surprise her in bed with a coffee, or be waiting on the floor of the bathroom while she was in the shower, and every time she’d let out a little laugh that was fueled by the  shock that you’d fooled her again. She wouldn’t be laughing this time.

You came in through the garage door since the kitchen had a perfect view of the front door. You slipped your shoes off and closed the door so softly behind you. You’d worn all black, your hair tied back so it didn’t impede your vision at task at hand. From the door you began your quiet prowl down the shadowed hall, and your view of her back to you became clear. She sang under the breath, put away leftovers, looked out the window. You were waiting for a specific moment to pounce. You breathed shallow and appreciated how her body moved when she thought she was totally alone; so unabashed. Beautiful.

Finally, she leaned over the table to give it a wipe down and you approached, quickly and stealthily. Within seconds you were up against her, pushing her down on the surface of the table with your hand at the back of her neck. She gasped, but you did not let her see your face. You leaned, pushing your full weight down on her and bringing your mouth to her ear. You breathed hot and heavy but said nothing, and in moments the tenseness and fear melted from her body just enough that you knew she wouldn’t try and fight back. She could tell who it was and she was not scared.

You reached down in silence and undid her top button and with no work up ripped her pants and underwear down and let them drop to the floor.

“Off. Now!” You growled in a tone that did not sound much like you.

She stepped out with the speed of light then resumed her position over the table. Her body shaking lightly from the adrenaline rush. You spread your palm wide and pushed her cheek down so that her features contorted slightly.

You reached down and picked up her cotton underwear, then leaned over so you were with her nearly eye to eye.

“Open.”

She obeyed, her eyes widening at the thrill. Her sweet pink tongue wet in her mouth. Without delay you balled up what had been on her person moments ago and shoved them in her mouth.

“Don’t even think about spitting those out. Not. A. Sound.”

She shook her head fervently and closed her eyes in a silent sigh of delight. She’d asked for this. She wanted to be taken and forced because she knew she’d be safe. You’d never hurt her.

You stood back and admired her, then without warning with palm open delivered several sharp and quick-firing slaps to her delicious ass. A knot formed in your belly when you saw the raised and perfect handprints you’d left. You could see her jaw clenching to obey the command of silence.

From your pants you quickly loosened your belt and reached forward to draw her arms behind her. You had punched two small new holes in your leather belt so that her wrists could be bound together behind her like a common criminal.

And when she was bound and gagged you stood back and walked about the kitchen, making her wait. You got yourself a glass of water and with a bored expression, looked her up and down then shook your head like you were disgusted with what you saw. After a few sips and a nibble on some crackers from her cupboard, you watched her begin to sway her ass; begging for attention. You set the glass down and unzipped your pants, then pulled out what you had strapped to your leg. Her eyes glistened and her nose flared. What stood out proud and declared itself was small and thin. It wasn’t a hulking beast that would stretch her out and make her involuntarily moan. No, she’d ordered something specific and you would deliver.

From your pocket you pulled a small vial of clear silicone fluid and popped the top. It dribbled into your palm as you approached her and the sway of her ass became more pronounced. The rocket attached to your groin was well lubricated as you strutted slowly and stopped behind her.

“Do you see what I have for you?”

She weakly nodded.

You held the vial above the swaying pink flesh and let it dribbled down and out, not caring if it made her thighs shine.

You hovered just outside. Teasingly. You pushed one finger inside the wet and aching hole you wouldn’t be accommodating and let her dance for you. Just as her moves showed you what you needed to know, you removed the finger and slid it between your own lips, tasting her.

You lead the head in, slowly but firmly and her bound hands hit the small of her back repeatedly as her only way to express her feelings. You were so gentle until you were fully in, then grabbed her hips and squeezed.

“Spit them out.”

The underwear were gagged out and she coughed slightly and licked her lip, her eyes still closed.

“What do you have to say for yourself?.”

She shook her head but let out a weak and small whimper that was filled with desire.

“Tell me you want it. You naughty slut.”

She whined louder, her bound wrists hitting harder, and since she was not answering you began to move your hips in a steady but slow rhythm and her body accepted every single movement. You knew this was just a build up to what she truly wanted. She squeaked and moaned and writhed under you, doing something so completely taboo that it shocked her to get off on being so dirty.

With one final thrust you buried yourself deep in her and stopped dead, then with a coordinated dance you pulled out and quickly removed her bindings. You cast it aside with one swift release of a clip that let the hard protrusion fall to the ground and without missing a beat, sat her up on the table.

She eagerly spread her thighs for you, but you did not take the time to look down. You reached up to grab the back of her neck and brought her face to yours, then with the other hand squeezed her cheeks together. You breathed hot on her cheek, smelling her, then moved the hand from behind her neck to poise ready two fingers which would plunge into her. You readied to voice the one word that would allow her to truly enjoy herself. You squeezed her cheeks together tighter and growled.

“Shall I? Show me you were made to be fucked.” And you pressed the tips of your fingers into her.

She twitched but did not move.

You let go of her face, leaned in and licked from her neck to her ear then growled low and sure.

“Speak.”

She knew then she could let go. It took mere moments for her body to let go of a powerful moan and cry, “I want! I want! I want!”

The groan of desire you had been holding in was let go as well. You howled her name as you leaned down and readied yourself drive into her what she asked for.

An orgasm like no other.

[she-and-you]

I’m Right Here

It was as if your bodies somehow communicated in a silent language neither of your conscious minds understood. Somehow, without trying, she was able to read every motion of your body and every nuance was captured into what she delivered. 

Even after the two of you had laid out on the bed, intertwined and sharing a new deep connection, she did not understand how she seemed to be able to read what your body was telling her, because it was speaking in deliberate and articulate requests without saying a word.  

It had started as a request. She had mentioned it months ago that it had been something she’d done with previous partners, and yet you had no interest during the discussion other than to let her share her experience. You felt that it was a dangerous game, perhaps something painful and therefore you resisted. It wasn’t until you’d felt you needed to prove yourself for some reason, that you could be just as good as her previous conquests that you felt you needed to do this, that you needed to prove to yourself that you were brave enough.

She had taken great pains to pleasure you. Had made sure to remain in a position for giving for ages until you finished, hard and sharp, pulling her into you and gritting your teeth until it hurt. She was a master at drawing out pleasure, to string you along, to eke out the feeling that came just before an explosion, and for that you were grateful. And when your body was relaxed and your eyes opened to meet hers you smiled gently and nodded slightly. 

“I’m ready.”

She knelt and pushed your knees apart wider, to open you up and you let them drop. All your muscles now were softened and relaxed. You were nothing but putty in her hands for her to mold. As she stared down at you with such tenderness, she made sure that you were prepared and set to work at making sure everything was slick and receptive. 

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply. Making sure to bare down, to marshal your breath and focus on nothing but a blue light that was glowing in the center of your belly. Watching her would only distract you, but you listened and you felt and you were ever present in the moment.

She started softly and used the other hand to gently run up and down your thigh.

“That’s it sweetheart, you’re so beautiful right now.”

Her patience was a strong suit and her languid movements showed it. You felt nothing but an increased sensation of fullness, all the while she murmured words that dripped with sweetness, keeping you calm and feeling centered. 

Being silent, and blind gave you the ability to hyper focus on what was happening. Your body’s muscles clenching and relaxing. Asking to be left alone and resisting, then with careful coaxing, giving up and allowing in another inch.

More. More. More. It did not hurt. It did not make you writhe in pleasure either, but there was a general feeling of giving and taking even though you were the one with eyes clenched shut, with your hands touching nothing. 

Your body became a vessel. You wanted to receive her and in a moment that preceded a primal groan that came barreling involuntarily from your lips she warmly spoke,

”I’m here, my darling. I’m right here.”

That statement was obvious and true, but it’s not what she meant. It was a way to let you know that she knew you were allowing her to be a part of you. You needed to submit your total willingness to trust her every movement, and in that moment you understand what she meant when she had previously said that this had the potential to forever change your relationship. 

The moan that burst forth had happened in a surprisingly moment of pure bliss. There was nothing until her gentle movement was everything. There was a heated feeling that was warm with a delicious ache, and as soon as it came it was gone and you lay there with a realization that you’d crossed the finish line without knowing you’d finished the race.

You reached down and rested your hand on your belly. There she was. A part of you. It was not painful, or scary, or something smutty that cheapened you. 

There she was, and there was you. 

Her hand ran down your thigh again and she exhaled a breath you didn’t know she’d been holding. You opened your eyes and her expression was both wildly turned on but completely controlled. She noticed you and smiled, then slowly ran her tongue over her lips. 

“You’ve done it, my sweet girl, you’re there.”

You smiled too. So proud. Feeling so completely connected to her in a way you didn’t think possible.

You had no way to judge time, but you closed your eyes again as she slowly slipped away. Your body not resisting her escape, but feeling strangely empty. 

She carefully removed herself and crawled up to lay on your breast. You reached down and kissed her on the top of her head. You felt a swell of affection for this woman that wanted to initiate you into something you’d only feared, but had delivered it to you with nothing but tender kindness.

”I love you, you know” she murmured into your hot skin.

”I know.” You smiled to yourself stupidly and felt the butterflies that swarmed everything she mentioned it.

“Good, now go to sleep, my sweet. Sleep. I’m right here.”

You closed your eyes and obeyed. She seemed to know everything about your body. You drifted off, exhausted, sated and loved.

[she-and-you]

Under The Sun And Moon

The light from the sun begins its slow rise from behind the horizon. The sky is barely pink. A thin beam pushes through the curtains and falls to the floor. The alarm will go off soon but your body knows to try and chase the last remaining seconds before you’re forced from your slumber.

Your body is naked under the sheets, a light sheen of sweat from the humid and blazing hot summer night. Behind you the mattress shifts ever so slightly but in your semi consciousness you do not react to it. You are drifting between the state of light and dark when you feel a warm body curl into yours, a hand placed tenderly on your naked hip.

She knows you are not a morning person. Many times, when woken up before the shriek of the alarm, you grump and complain. It is not an endearing quality, and yet she always smiles in an odd way as you always groan and list off the reasons why you slept so poorly. Why she finds certain things about you charming, you’ll never know.

The hand moves up and rests upon your rib cage to feel the rise and fall of your breathing. You can’t help but arch your body into hers as her soft lips decent and brush against the back of your neck. Her mouth is a medicine against all morning ills, and she knows how much your body craves a tender touch when your eyes are still heavy with sleep.

Her fingers dance down your spine, her tongue tracing and mouth closing down upon the sensitive skin at your hairline at the back of your neck. Her long fingers moving your hair away to reveal a spot that causes shivers. She knows every part of you that is your Kryptonite to her touch and of course, in an early morning, she greedily exposes all of these parts to herself. When you let out a tired sigh, you can feel the curve of her mouth curling against you in a smile. She is proud. She know she has you now.

Her fingers move down and caress the thick flesh of your backside and move back up again to the small of your back. Her need more apparent, her splayed hand telling you to turn over and you, in your need to please her, obey without even turning to look into her eyes. You press your face into the pillow and part your thighs slightly, giving only the tiniest glimpse, the smallest access.

There have been not a single utterance in the early morning. She kisses up your spine, shoving her face into your hair and breathing in deeply, then leans oven and switches off the alarm. You can hear the click. The two of you have yet to make eye contact, and yet her body has caused a deep stir within yours.

She does not wait for permission, she does not wait for anything other than a strained breath from you as her fingers move down and hover between your thighs, tickling them gently to coax them further apart.

The tip of her middle finger brushes along the creases of your outer lips and it is not amiss that her breathing has quickened now that she has you, and with the pad of her finger can tell of the already pooled wetness waiting there for her. A strangled groan escapes her and her other hand shoots up and grips the back of your neck, pushing your face down hard into the pillow. Now she has you and now she wants to control you. You love this part about her best. She is the most tender and gentle lover, but sometimes she is unable to hold restraint and the animal part of breaks loose. A woman who looks at you most times with such softness, can also transform herself into a wolf and that will never cease to amaze you, that you can be on the receiving end of both parts of her.

Her fingers move around on the inside of your lips, spreading around your wetness while gripping and massaging the back of your neck. You squirm under her touch. She knows you want it hard and fast and yet she holds back, even in this state where her predatory self has escaped. Her finger brushes your entrance and you find herself wanting to move into it when she leans down and growls out the first words in the low light of the morning, her voice low and gravely.

“I love you”.

The words have not finished pouring from her mouth when her fingers thrust deep inside you in one fluid motion, and you are unsure if the hitch in your breathing is caused from hearing her say that or the sureness of her fingers, or both.

You barely make a sound as you can hear the palm of her hand slap up against your backside with each stroke. A tiny gasp sometimes crawls out, other times a muted groan, your hands full of curled sheets, as you solely focus on receiving all she has to give, and right now she wants to give all of her energy and force to you.

In the seconds before your hips begin to move in such a way that you both recognize what is about to happen to your body, she with gritted teeth, begins to voice the thoughts in her head.

“Last night...” she closes her eyes momentarily, “last night you filled me. You made me feel whole.”

The urgency of her movement cause a low moan to fall from your mouth as she forces out, “I can’t believe we’re here in the same time and space. It’s insane, and it doesn’t make sense. How did you find me?”

Last night you had made tender love together, and afterwards you had held her while she wept against your breast. You are both broken souls, wearing masks to appear functional to the outside, but alone together in bed you are able to tell her why she will be able to hold on. Holding her close you’re able to list off the millions of reasons as to why she is lovable and beautiful and someone you want to know forever. You had kissed her forehead and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. You both know how unimaginable it is to have found each other like this, and yet you have, and in this crazy world you will take every opportunity to hold on to a person who makes you feel the way she does.

Last night was about her and filling her up to make her feel whole again, but now her urgent focus is in pleasing you. She can sense your desperate need for a release. You cannot see but her eyes have closed, while her fingers drive relentlessly into you in rhythm with your hoarse breathing.

You cannot help but raise your hips now to meet in time with her force and begin to claw at the mattress, a single hiss of air curling forth from your lips. She can tell you are there and her fingers grip into the back of your neck, where it has never left, digging in to leave small, red crescent moons. She no longer fears the consequences of leaving marks upon your flesh, not anymore, now that you’re hers and hers alone. She owns this orgasm she has delivered, short and intense and perhaps a little shocking to you that she’s able to do this to you nearly every single time you are together.

As the peak ebbs and you let out a low puff of air, she releases you from her grip and turns you over slowly to look upon you. Her tongue tasting the sweat that has poured from you in the heat and from the orgasm that shook you. She kisses your lips and your eyelids then cups your face before she curls in and lies upon you, resting in the hollow by your collarbone in silence while she lies her hand upon your stomach and watches it rise and fall as you collect yourself.

She waits until your breathing has evened and you lay a hand upon her head before she eases out from under you and leaves. You watch her legs and her curves drift away and you close your eyes and drape your arm over your face. How did you ever get so lucky? How?

She comes back shortly carrying coffee mugs and crawls back beside you, passing the newspaper she had tucked under her arm. She is wordless. This is now a Saturday morning routine, still new and fresh and exciting. Your old lives left behind, becoming foggier by the day. She smiles at you with her lovely eyes and you hope that this is your future forevermore. You barely care to know how things will change because right now being together like this is just enough.

The sun has risen. The day has begun. This is now your wonderful life.

[she-and-you]

Burn For You

Every word from your lips, every gaze, is like kerosene that drips slowly from you until every cell of me is saturated, heavy and perilous. At times I feel I am a walking danger. A spark, a single friction could ignite the whole of me in an all-consuming wildfire that could burn me to ash, and yet I still return and standby to await for another drip, another dose from you. You will end me, and I have not the will to stop you.

[she-and-you]

Winter Beast

The hue of her eyes cause your heart to slow to a still. When you look into her, there is a relaxation of your large muscle that can be akin to hibernation. There is a draw for your being to slow to standstill like that of a tranquil winter beast within her blues, and drinking from their pools will nourish you for the times when you are apart. Staring long enough into those eyes will sustain you through a drought.

Each time your eyes lock you find yourself bewitched by her spell, the one without words, that draws you to her and you want nothing more than for her to pull out a small part of your soul. To take a speck of yourself each time until she owns all of you and you have nothing left to give. You give freely and wantonly and openly, you want her to have everything you have to offer.

When you stand close, your fingers want to dance at the hollows beneath those eyes. To draw each line on her skin that have come with age, and stress and laughter. A life full of pain and delight have been carved there and your hands work like an artist to put each subtle nuance to memory. Sometimes you do this with eyes closed to better appreciate your favorite part of her.

With your hands on her face, you match intensity. Within her lies a silken bag that holds the pieces of you she collects, shred by shred. You get so close that you share the same breath. Selfishly taking the oxygen for the other until you both feel a dizziness, a lightheadedness that is addictive.

The thumb that once traced the hollows now dip down and run along her lips, soft and warm. It’s in times like this that there seems to be a competition for who will look away first, and neither of you is willing to lose. You want to see every pupil dilation, every glance. Looking away means losing a moment in time being this close and connected to her. Her breath puffs small release onto your skin. Your shiver is not caused from the cold.

Finally, when looking into her actually causes you to hurt, when it’s at its fiery peak, you lean in and take her to your mouth. The kiss that breathes life to you both, also kills a small part of you. She sees into you, she knows you, her mouth upon yours eats away at you until you wished you could die in her arms.

You love her. You are her winter beast.

[she-and-you]

The Sweet Summer Grass

You stare over your cup of tea as she stands at the sink. Her kimono barely covers her rear and as she reaches up to put away a glass, you can see the very edging of her off-white lace panties. The last time you called them off-white, she looked at your with annoyance and huffed, “white panties are for grannies, these are soapstone.” Her hair is still up in a towel from a post-supper shower. A few stray tendrils curl out from beneath and grace the back of her swan-like neck.

She puts away the last of the dishes, as you sit at the table and pretend the read the paper. You bought her that kimono and when she wears it, it reminds you of a spontaneous trip you took together. You’d packed her bags and had bought her that silk robe. You’d rented a by-the-hour room in a seedy part of town; pretending to be strangers. When she wears that kimono, your blood pulses because it brings back thoughts of that night where there had been bodice ripping sex with vulgar words and over-the-top moaning and fake names in the register book.

Finally you can take no more and approach her from behind, running your hands under the robe to touch the skin of her hips, pressing your chin into her shoulder. She reaches back to caress your face and you lean into her touch.

“Come to bed,” you whisper. 

“I’m not done yet,” she replies sweetly,  “and I’m not tired.”

You let your hands run down and grasp the curves of her lower flesh. “Neither am I.”

“Oh,” she breathes then sighs are you kiss the spot just under her ear. “Oh.”

You turn her around and grab the belt of her robe, bringing her close. “I’ll work on making you tired.” You smile slowly as she blushes.

She sits at the vanity, and you slide the robe off each shoulder, leaning down to kiss the tender flesh beneath. You toss the silken fabric aside and take the brush she holds out for you. This ritual is something you both enjoy. Her hair is one of her best features, and brushing it out to a high sheen is both an act of relaxation and arousal for the both of you. 

As you brush, you watch her in the mirror. Her eyes close as her head pulls back slightly with each long sweep of the brush. Her low-moans of enjoyment give you a light twinge. It does not help that underneath her robe, she wore no bra, so now you can watch her delighted face, along with her gorgeous bare breasts rising and falling. They are weighty and tear dropped, and sometimes self-control around her is a heroic task.

Finally she reaches up to ask for her brush. She’d had enough and her hair glisten, which means she wants to move to the bed. There is tenderness and familiarity in this ritual you both own. There is comfort in knowing what the other wants, and how to go about it so that both feel nothing but ease and desire.

She stands and you watch. She smiles coyly in the mirror and when she sees the subtle hint of tension from restrained arousal, she spins to face you. She leans in and kisses you, her hands wrapping around the back of your neck. The pores along your hairline constrict, and her fingers curl into the short hairs and run up slowly so that every remaining trace of touch tingles in her wake. You groan low into her as her tongue parts your lips and invites itself inside you.

The kiss, as always, creates a fire in your belly that spreads like a slow burn into your chest, and down each arm into your fingertips. When you touch her, you worry that the fire within may burn her, but instead it just ignites her skin like summer grass and each touch alights her skin until you both stay aflame.

She removed herself from invading your lips and retreats to the bed, lying down and running her hand over the curve of her waist, then her hip, looking at you in such a way that creates a jolt. She is displaying herself. Showing you what is available to you, and that she wants you to take from her what she’s offering. The low moan that emits from her mouth as you crawl up to her and run your fingers from her ankles up her legs, sounds like a sonata to your ears. Her solo, her vocalizations are never the same and yet they come as expected, and they are honeyed in their reverberations. Every sensual noise of want from her as you begin kissing up her thighs, send shivers within you. Every careful movement from her contracts your stomach. As ever, careful control to maintain her comfort, to deliver her pleasure is a delicate process in self control. You always want to see her writhe beneath you, and want nothing in return. She knows this, she lets you delight in this. She holds power over you in knowing you always want more from her than she’s able to give.

When you have moved up to between her thighs, you stare and swallow hard. Her taste has always been a craving since the first time you laid your tongue upon her delicate being, and when you breathe into her and allow your taste buds to familiarize themselves, her sharp breath unleashes your desire.

You begin to ravish her. Allowing yourself to trace into her curves and folds and gathering up every bit of liquid offering she delivers to your mouth. And as she groans in appreciation, her hands goes down and grabs the back of your head, her fingers digging into your scalp. You now know that your respectful deliverance is wanted and that she is close. Your own need throbs within you. Her pleasure is your pleasure, and only then do you allow yourself to reach for the tender, swollen nub that aches for attention. Sucking gently, allowing it to glide over your tongue. She arches and presses you harder into her, and your devotion continues until finally her quick pants turn into shudders and her lips part to emit a glorious and beautiful chant of your name until finally her breath stops and she stiffens. You ride it out, you continue until you know she can take no more and only then, do you slow down and caress her and cool her warmed, glistening folds down into a relaxed state of bliss.

Her grip loosens and begins to stroke your hair instead. She glides her fingers along your ear and then reaches down with both hands and grabs your face to pull it to her. She kisses you deeply, this time less demanding, more softly and appreciative. She wants to taste herself on you, and let you know she loves you and loves what you do for her. No words are needed for this. This ritual does not need words.  The look in her eyes after you have given yourself to her is beyond words. The look you both share every time after is something like magic.

She lays your head on her chest and runs her fingers over your shoulders and back, kissing the top of your head. You know without looking she is smiling slowly to herself. You wait, listening to her heartbeat, letting her come down from her heightened state before you look up and her and smile. Her face is soft and welcoming as she smiles back.

“Thank you,” she whispers finally.

You lay back down and smile, finding yourself tired when you weren’t before. After each orgasm, it is like the wildfire has burned itself out, but after each extinguished smolder, the growth comes back quicker and more strong than before. Next time will be better. Next time always seems to be better than the last. How you ended up with this woman, you don’t know, but as your eyes close and you enjoy her smell and the touch of her hand upon you, you know you are beyond a doubt, extremely lucky to know her and for her to have you and love you maybe more fiercely than you her.

[she-and-you]

Essence

Sometimes you’d be at a party and she’d be there. People flocked to her because she was always so charming, such a good story-teller. At times you would talk, but it would always be within a group. She was simply amazing, and she knew it, which made it better. She was handsome, painfully so, and sometimes when she’d look at you, it was like she was burning a hole. However juvenile that was, having a crush like that, didn’t concern you much because you tried hard not to get caught up in your wanton gazing. Especially not around others.

Tonight though, you’d had enough to drink that you couldn’t help yourself. You gazed long and hard and imagined all the things you wanted her to do to you. How easily you’d give over your power for her, even if was just for a fleeting moment.

After a while you found you needed to escape to the washroom. You couldn’t help it. You needed to find a release from what pulsed from between your legs, because the very essence of her and her aura was making you uncomfortable.

As you walked down the hall you didn’t hear her and she caught you from behind, spinning around and pining you against a wall. Her eyes fierce and hungry. She put her hand over your mouth hard and put her mouth directly on your ear,

“You’re going to shut it, and I’m going to make you come with all your little friends right on the other side of the wall. You dirty, dirty girl.”

Her eyes bore into yours and you nodded weakly. She scared you, but it was in a way that made you wet. She didn’t need to ask you to spread your legs.

She put her forearm up against your throat to pin you and took the hand away from your mouth. You ran your tongue over your lips and suppressed a groan as she smiled in an evil way that meant she had plans.

“I saw you staring all night. You thought I didn’t see? You thought I didn’t notice you giving me that look as you left the room? Well, girl, your eyes were telling me things your lips weren’t.”

She didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed your thigh, bringing it up high against her leg. She held you up. She was very strong. So strong and intense that it made your knees weak.

She ran her hand up your thigh to your ass and gripped it hard. You knew not to yelp, and yet you felt your wetness ever increasing. She let out a low growl, then leaned in and took your mouth on hers. Your trembling lips opened up and let her devour you. Her tongue clashed on yours and in that moment your keen ears listening for an interruption shut down. You let her take you.

She crept her hand up your dress and your hot skin begged for her touch. She ran her hand down the back of your panties and dragged her nails from below the curve all the way up to your back.

“You want this. You want me to fuck you right here. Tell me,” she growled against your neck in a whisper.

You could only weakly nod and she bit hard, “tell me!”

You shook and she slid her hand down your front and spread your lips. She stopped and waited, her eyes boring in hard with a small nod of encouragement.

Finally a weak, “yes” escaped your mouth; a fragile whisper of a word, “I do.”

She wasted no time and slipped two fingers inside, a low chuckle edging out of her as she noticed how absolutely wet you were. Because of her. Because of the surprise and the ultimate danger, and her. All of her made you this way.

Your knees gave way as she pumped hard, her thumb bumping against your clit. Not being gentle, not waiting to build a rhythm, because all while you hid around the corner of a hallway and a strangled groan waited at the back of your throat, the laughs of your friends floated to meet you both.

“You’re my bad girl”, she whispered into your ear. “You’ve been so patient for this. I know you’ve wanted this a long time.”

A deep shiver went through you, because she was right. You were not the one to make the first move. You had watched and waited and figured nothing would ever happen, because it seemed you were too beneath her interest. You didn’t want to be romanced by her, you wanted to be taken by her, and that seemed too strange to request. She had noticed you though, she clearly noticed all the long gazes and smiles with blushes. She must have known the whole time how she made you feel, because now your insides held her fingers and she was pressing herself into you so hard that it hurt.

You gasped and she dropped your leg and put her hand again over your mouth. She could tell you were almost there, and she would not give it away.

“Do you want to come?”

You nodded weakly, wanting to bite into her palm.

She smiled, and pressed her thumb firm then again brought her mouth directly on top of your ear, “then be a good girl and come for me. Quickly, before I change my mind.”

And you obeyed. You shook and clamped down hard on her fingers, wanting to entrap them within you. You wanted to keep them there to prolong whatever this was. She chuckled softly against you, in an arrogant way and let go of your mouth, and you moaned low and deep.

She coughed to hide your noise then removed her fingers and slid them into her mouth to suck off all your juices.

“I’m not going to wash up. Hopefully they won’t notice, but I want to keep your smell on me.” She patted your face gently and then walked back out towards the party.

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s feeling very well. I went in to check on her in the washroom. Must have been something she ate.”

You blushed and smiled. Now to wait in the bathroom and think up an excuse why you needed to go home, because being in the same room as her after that would be excruciating. That arrogant, gorgeous butch would likely keep her eye on you, knowing your secret all night. That look from those eyes would definitely kill you.

[she-and-you]

Palm Reader

You entered the room fully expecting to see her, but actually having your eyes connect with the length of her body, even from behind, made your heart rise in your throat.

You spent the night trying to make eye contact, and when it finally happened she smiled at you pleasantly, but turned back to her conversation. You felt crushed. You didn’t expect recognition, but you hoped for even a morsel of her time and it looked like that would not happen. She was too important here, and you were a shadow in the background. Still, no one stopped you from watching her every movement. Gathering data. Her legs encased in leather,  her shoulder blades and back calling for touch. It could be shadow, but it seemed even from where you stood that under that crepe de chine halter she wore no bra. It would be her brazenness to come to a function dressed like that and shoot daggers at anyone who made comment. You caught yourself smiling when you saw her laugh heartily with her companions.

Only when you had finished the last of your martini and placed the glass down on the bar, did you see her walking towards you, a small smile on her lips. She approached the bar and stood beside you. She held up two fingers, then caught your eye in the mirror behind the bar. You caught her watching you, watching her; you couldn’t even look away and she mouthed, “hi”. She pushed the martini glass across to you, then took hers between her long fingers.

She looked over her shoulder and winked, “bye.” She returned to crowd.

You finished that drink and waited for her to return but she never even turned to look at you again. You left a tip, and headed out to the busy street.

Before long, a taxi had pulled up the curb. You slid in, and while making polite small talk with the driver before he pulled out in traffic, the other door blew open and long, leather clad legs slid in and there she was, sitting in your taxi. The driver looked at you through the rear-view mirror and shrugged.

As soon as the car began to cruise along, before you had thought of anything to say, she grabbed your hand and opened it palm up in her lap. She smiled at you coyly and began tracing letters on your open palm with her manicured finger.

Dont talk

You frown a bit, but leave your hand open and waiting.

Happy To See You

She moved over slightly and put her open palm in your lap then motioned with her chin for you to start the silent messages.

Me too, you wrote.

You took her hand and placed it facing down on your thigh. You checked the rearview mirror. The driver only looked ahead. You allowed the hand to slip slightly higher and when she squeezed, you couldn't help but sigh. 

Come to mine? she wrote, then squeezed harder and higher up, right near your groin. She skirt was beginning to bunch up dangerously close to having your delicates showing.

You shook your head, but when she looked questioningly back at your to grabbed her hand and traced,

Mine

“Driver” she suddenly burst out, “we’ll both be going to where she’s being dropped.”

The driver looked at her in the rearview and nodded slightly. He’d surely been witness to much more perverse matters than the silent dalliances taking place in the back seat.

Her hand slowly curled under the fabric of your skirt and you let your legs spread every so slightly to give her fingers a chance to get close. 

Do you want me? she traced.

You let your legs spread wider and let out a little cough to hide the fact that you wanted to groan. Her fingers ran up and down the damp fabric of your panties and then she immediately retracted them, then pulled down your skirt and patted your leg.

What? you wrote.

“Can we go a little faster?” she asked the driver, her voice tight. 

Oh, you thought. I see now.

You forced yourself to wait until you were both in the elevator to back her into the wall. You pressed down upon her lips with a fierce intensity for all the waiting you’d both had to do until this point. Your kiss was like an insatiable hunger, you wanted all of her, to know every angle of her lips upon yours. Your tongues fought like writhing snakes, and when the elevator doors opened at your floor, you had to pry yourself off her. It was nearly painful to separate yourself from her delicious mouth, so frightfully adept already at sending jolts of pleasure to your core with just her lips.

The second the door closed behind her, she pulled you close and kissed your shoulders, your neck, anywhere her mouth felt needed attention. You closed your eyes and let your head tip back, letting you a deep moan. You’d wanted her so long, and now you had her and it was bliss. What made this better, is that you had almost not gone to the event this evening. She had let you know she’d be there. She did not invite you, but there was somewhat of an open invitation to engage when you felt ready. You had been ready. So ready. 

“Your breasts. I want...” Her tongue ran over her lips. Those gorgeous lips. She couldn’t even finish her sentence. She dragged her hands down your shirt and with a bit of a shocked expression, like she was surprising even herself, pulled it forcefully open, popping a few buttons. You tutted her, but really, that action had made you want to throw her to the floor with desire. She was not the timid kitten at all. This woman ,who in the past seemed hesitant and shy, clearly was none of those things. Maybe it had been an act, but finding she knew exactly what she wanted without hesitation was such a complete turn-on. She reached around to take off your bra but you grabbed her arms and forced them down. 

“No. Not now.” 

She’d worn the shirt you’d mailed her. There had been a chance you would not show  to this evening at all, but she’d worn the shirt. You reached forward and fingered the daintiness of the fabric. 

“Go sit in that chair,” you ordered. 

“Please,” was just an afterthought.

She sat and looked up semi-questioningly. You stood with crossed arms for a moment, then lunged and dropped to your knees in front of her. You grabbed her knees and forced them apart, then took up residence between them.

You leaned in, rubbing your face along the silky sheerness of the shirt. The cool fabric kissed your lips as  you drew closer to the nipple, clearly visible. An erect soldier waiting for instruction. You kissed it at first, sweetly, teasingly, then deeper kisses, tongue circling and responding in kind to every hitch in her breath. Her guttural moan made you need to restrain yourself from snapping at her. You could bite, but not now. Now was for exploring.

The fabric dampened. It clung and each rosebud was proudly there, aching. You pulled back and took the corners of the fabric, then slowly dragged it back and forth, the wet fabric grazing against the hot skin, sticking and wanting the caress of your tongue.

“Arms up,” you groaned into her skin.

You undid the knot behind her neck, while kissing up and down. You bit her shoulder, licked along her collarbone, then pulled the shirt up and over her head. Her breasts stood out, nipples contracted and obvious targets for attention.

You resumed your worship and as she arched into your mouth you let your thumbs dig in underneath the waistband of her leather pants.

“These,” you said hotly, “they need to come off.”

She raised her hips, and slowly you pulled them down her long, sleek legs. When they were discarded on the floor and you could see all of her, you reached behind you and let your breasts fall free from their restraints. You caught her with gaping mouth.

“Like what you see?” you smirked. Clearly she did.

She tried to reach down to touch you, but you shook your head with a minor scowl, “not now, I said.”

She groaned and threw herself back in the chair, her hands rubbing her face with the frustration of sexual tension. Just when you saw that she was in a moment of lost control, you pushed your face forward and lapped from her entrance up to her hard nub. That action got exactly the reaction you wanted. She howled like an animal. You grinned right into her, your nose wiggling against her as you smiled but for a second. The smile stopped the second she put her hand on the back of your head and pushed it forward.

“More....” she moaned. “More.”

You happily obliged. With your tongue you wrote an epic on her. You traced her fortune. She squealed and groaned and you repeated every action that made her force your tongue harder against her. She had said once she was silent during sex. You finally proved to her that she wasn’t quiet in the throws of it all. Not anymore.

As her breath quickened and her hips began to grind into you with steady rhythm did you stick one finger within her. You did not pump, you just left it there steady, and as she came you added another. Just having them there as her muscles seized, made her feel full and the extra action of pounding would be too much. You seemed to know this without even asking. 

As she stilled, you kissed her clit delicately, then each thigh, then up and let your tongue circle each nipple. She let out a feeble sigh, and you reached up and kissed her swollen mouth. 

“I needed that,” you whispered into her ear, then you sat back down and allowed yourself to lean back. You opened your legs, wretched your own panties off then looked up to her with a sly grin.

“Now,” you smirked, “Now you can have your turn.”

Her groan was music to your ears.

[she-and-you]

Simon Says

“It’s like that game—Simon Says,” you inform her.

“What?” she asks, startled. “That idiotic child’s game?”

“That’s the one,” you reply, grinning.

“This is… this is ridiculous,” she splutters. “I’m not doing that!”

You pout. She rolls her eyes. You pout again, this time leaning forward and showing off a bit of cleavage.

You watch as her eyes are immediately drawn to the revealed skin.

“It’s idiotic,” she repeats, but this time there’s less force.

“What if I play along?” you offer.

Her eyes snap back to yours. “Play along?”

You nod. “Mmm-hmm.” You lean back in your chair. “Let me see… Simon says ‘unbutton your shirt.’”

She stares at you as you slowly unbutton your shirt, forcing each button through its hole, allowing the shirt to fall slightly open.

You notice that her lips have parted. She’s gazing at the sliver of skin you’ve exposed.

“Simon said,” you note insistently, pointedly glancing down to her own shirt.

She glares at you. “This is—”

“Idiotic,” you say, cutting her off. “I know. But Simon said.”

With a huff, she brings her own hands to her buttons. Instead of looking down at her fingers, she stares into your eyes as she slowly opens her shirt. Your breath catches.

She smirks.

Well. Since you’re playing games anyway… “Simon says ‘remove your shirt…’”

She rolls her eyes again.

“‘While biting your lip,’” you add, knowing full well that she’s entranced by the way your teeth catch your lip, the redness suddenly blooming when you let go, the plumpness begging to be bitten again—by her.

She complies quickly, her shirt now lying abandoned on the back of her chair. Yours lays forgotten on the floor. She moves forward intently, eyes fixed on your lips, ready to devour them.

“No, no,” you say, putting a hand out to stop her. “Simon didn’t say!”

She growls at you—actually growls. You smile guilelessly back at her while you stare at her perfect skin, the long line of her neck, her elegant collarbones, her surprisingly full breasts.

You sigh, mesmerized. “Simon says ‘take off your bra.’”

Her smirk is back. She knows that you love her breasts. She reaches behind her back, unclipping her bra. Released, her breasts fall slightly. She is no longer a young woman with the perkiness of youth, but you love her breasts as they are now: fuller, softer, the breasts of a woman.

She appears to be equally fascinated by your own breasts, watching avidly as you pull your own lacy bra away from your body.

“Simon says ‘feel them. Play with your nipples.”

You watch as her hands gently cup and then massage her breasts, circling her nipples. Your own hands do the same, your fingers brushing ever so softly against your nipples, then firmly pinching them, twisting them.

She gasps, and you feel a shot from your clit fire throughout your body.

“Simon says ‘pretend that your hands are on my body,’” you whisper. “Do to yourself what you want to do to me.”

She moves her hands all over her torso, caressing her soft skin. As one hand comes up to her neck, she holds her jaw, moving her finger across her lips, dragging her lower lip to the side.

You, always the more impatient of the two of you, move your hands down to the fly of your pants. Pausing, you stare into her eyes before licking your lips.

She moans, her voice low and husky.

You pull the zipper, opening the triangle of your fly, revealing the lace of your underwear. Without warning, you plunge your hand beneath the flimsy garment, burying your fingers within your folds.

“Off! Off!” she growls imperiously, pointing to your pants.

“Simon didn’t say—”

“I don’t fucking care!” she yells. “Get them off! I want to see!”

You love her greediness, her imperiousness. Removing your hand—but only for a moment—you quickly rip your pants and underwear off, throwing them onto the floor.

You watch, transfixed, as she does the same, pushing the material down her long, long legs.

Those legs…

You could write epic poems about those legs.

At last, her legs are free.

Everything is free.

She sits up straight, knees together, posture perfect. As you watch, she puts her hands on her knees. She smirks again, raising one eyebrow. Then she slowly opens her legs, revealing herself to you.

You can’t help yourself. You groan, the long, slow sound broadcasting your desperate desire for her. You lean forward, reaching out to touch her, but this time it’s her stopping you.

“Nu-uh,” she says, shaking her finger at you as her smirk widens. “Simon didn’t say!”

You glare, then ruthlessly plunge your fingers back into your vulva. You gently tickle yourself, lightly skimming between your swollen lips before rubbing harder around your clitoris.

Her panting, as she watches you, is loud and desperate. You can hear her gasp when, running your finger down to your entrance, you slowly push one finger inside yourself.

Her own fingers rub frantic circles around her own clitoris. She won’t insert a finger—she dislikes penetration—but you can already tell that her clit is firing on all cylinders. Just watching you, she is close.

You insert another finger, pausing every so often to rub your clit. You lean back against your chair, then slowly—very slowly—insert a third finger. You pump.

Seeing that third finger pushes her over the edge, and she comes hard, emitting something between a scream, a gasp, and a sigh. Her head falls back, and you watch as her entire body tightens, then spasms, shaking, falling bonelessly against the chair, her legs still splayed apart, revealing the glistening wetness throughout her curls.

The beauty of her release, of her body as she falls against her chair pushes you to your own release. Pressing hard on the side of your clit, you feel that elusive sensation—like the most exquisite itch—before your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of heat throughout your body. You clench your eyes shut, trying to hold onto those waves, going absolutely still to prolong the pleasure. At last, as your inner muscles stop fluttering, you, too, lean back against your chair, sighing deeply and contentedly.

You look across at her, finding her gazing at you, a smile on her full lips. She languidly reaches a hand toward you, and you catch it, entwining her fingers with your own.

“Simon says,” she whispers, her eyes twinkling devilishly, “‘let’s go again.’”

[she-and-you]

Caïssa

It is a tall long-legged redhead this time. This other woman comes home without a hint of resistance. The rules have been laid out in plain language. You brought them champagne and you smiled as they flirt. You are anything but jealous. You like to watch like a sociologist, gathering data on what intricacies factor into the human relationship. At times she looks over at you, but you remain slightly detached.

The other only had one question, "Is she part of this too?"

You chuckle as you filled their flutes and she looks up at your with tenderness, "No, dear. No, she likes to watch. She'll just watch."

Like a shadow you allow yourself to leave the room and retreat to the bedroom. You set up the candles, move the pillows from the bed and lay out two robes. When the room has been set you make your way to where you will hold court and sit. You wait in the dark, the candle flames licking the glass, their shadows creating creatures that will join as spectators. Patience is your friend as you stay away from the art of seduction that is happening in the other room.

You unbutton the top two buttons of your shirt and sling your arm over the back of the chair. They have come. You cross your legs, squeezing them to keep a tab on the warmth that is beginning to spread. You are nothing but a captive audience in this scene. Your eyes never leave the bodies, intertwined and moving like a slow tango.

The crumbled clothes on the floor litter the room. The fingers that fumbled at the clasps and zippers desperate with want to shed the other of their fake skin. A shirt is peeled off, a dress, shoes already kicked off far before reaching the threshold of this space. Finally, it's down to the finer things and you take it all in. The intricacies of lace and sheen. What women wear to make themselves attractive always interests you. The expensive delicates are always hidden, but the woman wearing it knows the power they hold. It is always a surprise what will be presented within these walls.

You unbutton another button and the very tops of your breasts are exposed to the pheromones that builds in the air. The two bump up against the foot-board of the bed and she turns back to look at you. You part your lips and let your teeth clack together in a sharp bite. She nods and turns back around, sinking her mouth against the others neck. She leaves her mark, which is actually your mark. You can have control of what happens to the both of them tonight. Sure, she has physical control and she can easily do everything she wants to the other body, but she looks at you for direction. 

The two resume kissing as you let your gaze escape so you can take out a small tin from the antique table beside where you sit and roll a joint. You lick along the paper, wetting it, wishing you could be trailing your own tongue up her back instead. The red embers punctuate the room. You let the smoke sit in your lungs. With each drag you hold it while the two get to the next action. First: removing bras, you exhale. Second: hands on breasts, you exhale.

They fall onto the bed and you let out a small groan as you see them fight for control. Their hands exploring each other, with the intensity of discovering something new in another body. You let your hand trail from your neck slowly, working into the tense sinewy muscles and then with two fingers let them glides down between your cleavage. She happens to catch your eye and your penetrate her gaze with the heat you feel. She keeps an eye on you as you slide you entire hand inside your shirt and over your left breast. You lick your lower lips and grasp a handful of yourself, and immediately you shiver as she puts her full attention back on the other, her mouth lavishing the large, round nipples.

The other allows her to pour attention over every inch of skin. Each small kiss, each grasp and movement rings out a triad of sighs. Yours much quieter and repressed. You take a final drag and hold it until your heart beats in your ears. You wait, every atom in your being waiting for a release and when she puts her mouth on the tender being of the other you exhale slowly and painfully. You've witnessed a new claim. Another mark for her list, and it exhilarates you to be a part of this. Every time it is new, and every time you wait until the arch of the back before you find yourself seriously invested in this partnership.

You remove your hand from your shirt and stub out the joint, then wrap each hand tightly around the vintage Italian wooden arms. You grasp until there is a familiar tightness in your fingers and the joints begin to ache. The two in the bed lost in each other as you watch from the sidelines. Generally you are always in silence. You find it best to be the voyeur and not a participant, but something about this time has caused you think twice about your personal rule. Still, you allow your knuckles to whiten as you bide your time.

"Perfect," you whisper. You will say no more.

The other, a pawn in your relationship, has little knowledge of what she is. It does not matter in this circumstance, however, as you will never see this long, worthy creature again. You know that she and you are a being of two bodies in one soul and there never will be anyone who can come between you. This, all of this, is for each other. It is a game, and you are veteran players. You know all the moves, like planning ahead in a game of chess and at times playing a game with a new player can bring problems, yes, but experts know when you bow out. You have been playing this game together so long. You the black knight, her the white queen. There never has and never will be a stale mate.

Finally, she looks up again at you. She is so gorgeous. She loves you so much and watching her get and bring pleasure is what makes you love her the more still. She eyes you with expectation, and finally with desperation and you think about what you want. With a glint in your eye, you finally raise two fingers, then curl them around in a knowledgeable swoop. You deliver the subtlest of nods and she smiles back at your, her beautiful mouth wet and hungry. She always delivers on your requests.

The moans and mewls come quicker and louder. You squeeze your thighs tightly together, and let out a large puff of air through your teeth. You can feel the tension rise in the room. It is a palpable noise and you are getting to the part where you wait in expectancy for the finale. Your pulse quickens, your joints ache from their tight grip. You shift and cross your other leg. Waiting. Waiting. The sweat and legs and hands dance and you mime the dance, putting yourself in like a ghost here and there. When a familiar growl punctures the air, you raise your hand and remove the long pin holding up your chignon. Your wait for your thick hair to fall around your face and shoulders. Your eyes close and you sigh, your own pleasure rising. You had washed your hair with her products. As their orgasms ring out deliriously you bring your hair to your nose and inhale her scent. She is here with you in this moment. You are a part of it all.