Another Dance with Tango
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Posted:Oct 30, 2016 5:34 pm
Last Updated:Nov 6, 2016 8:56 am
8003 Views
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He let himself in as I was bent over the dishwasher in my pajama shorts, the hem just skimming each cheek. My lazy Sunday afternoon chores alone were about to be disturbed. “I brought in your paper,” he smiled, placing it on the counter just inside the door. “Thank you,” I replied in almost a whisper. It was already more words than we had exchanged in our last meeting. It was already too much conversation for either of us.
He steps into me, over me, his mouth quickly devouring mine. I find my back pushed against the counter, bracing my arms on the laminate edge as his hands roam from my hips up, pushing an old cut-up, 5K T-Shirt upwards to expose my unclad breasts. There’s no point in a bra on a lazy Sunday alone. I wasn’t planning on an interruption. I grip the counter edge harder, thrusting my chest towards his tongue as he flicks it over a nipple. I can’t stop the groan as he moves to the other. It’s important to make things even and all….
It’s two steps to the dining room and my shirt is stripped off completely. I bite his lip as I kiss him, furiously shoving his shirt up to place my skin on his. It’s two more steps to the table and I’m being spun around. My beautiful consignment store find, round with slate inlay, a cold stone pressing my heated flesh as I’m bent over and my little shorts wrenched down to puddle at my toes. I hear a crinkle of condom wrapper and he is in me, thrusting deeply. My 5’2” legs are too short and I have to lean up on my tiptoes, trying to find purchase as he takes me. I can’t push back. In this spot, in this moment, I am his willing puppet. He pulls my hair, lifting my head and torso enough that my nipples sway across the cold stone in rhythm with his pounding instead of being crushed into it. Sky rockets in flight. Sunday afternoon delight….
My open floor plan places our carnal scene in direct line of sight of a large cottage window in the living room, shorn only in a sheer white curtain. Anyone out for a Sunday stroll could see us at any minute. Logic Me doesn’t want to have to explain to my nosy German neighbor. In the moment, Last Tango Me wants someone to see. Wishes this was the moment the cute gentleman with his labrador would take their daily constitutional like they do every day. Stop and watch. Just for a minute.
His cock slips out and I seize the opportunity to straighten and spin, frantically probing his mouth with my tongue, raking my nails down his sides. We make it as far as the stairs before my back is to him again and his palm is pushing my torso down, my ass in the air. Hands grip my hips tightly, kneading. I’m fully hinged at the center, bracing my palms on the stair two above the step where my feet are widely planted. Here, I can push back. The acoustics echo, guttural groans ringing back. The slap happy sound of his flesh ramming mine, my tits bouncing against each other and off my own chin ricochets off the walls. A few involuntary fucks escape my lips and reverberate back. He slows and withdraws. He smacks my ass just hard enough to sting and my stomach clenches, wanting him inside me again.
He keeps the grip on my hips from behind as we race the remainder of the stairs and plunge right into my bedroom. I’m tossed on the bed in a blink and he yanks me to the edge, standing over me. He throws my legs onto his chest and thrusts deeply, piercing me. I close my eyes to enjoy the deep, full feeling only to have it withdrawn. Before I can groan my disappointment, his mouth is on me, tasting where his cock has been. There’s no slowness about it to make me wet. I’m already dripping. His tongue moves rapidly and forcefully, commanding my surrender. My own hands betray me, wandering over my breasts. Grasping, rolling, pinching. I can feel the tightening into the arches of my feet, the shuddering release as I cum over his lapping tongue. He springs up from between my legs and smothers my mouth with his, making me taste myself.
I am so hungry now. I bolt upright. Slide my own tongue down his stomach as he stands over me sitting on the edge of the mattress, fingers clutched in my hair. I rip off the third or fourth condom he’s donned. I’ve lost count. I flick my tongue over the head of his cock. I try to be slow, to seduce, but it’s too late for languid. I want him in my mouth. I take the head between my lips, swivel my tongue around. One hand is on the base of the shaft as I slide my mouth down further until his dick is crowding the back of my throat. I suck and glide in unison. Cup his balls with my other hand like a good girl. He gathers my hair to the side so he can watch me as I suck greedily. Then he yanks, pulling my head from his shaft by my hair. He stands me. Spins me. Pushes me onto the bed on all fours, spread and waiting as another wrapper rips open behind me.
The length plunges into me again. Deep and forceful. Slow and torturing. Until I beg for faster. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Oh Please. The sound of slapping flesh fills my ears again. The musk of bodies and lust fills my nostrils. Just when I think I’ll be split in two he withdraws again. I lose track as we change positions, me straddling him, him entering me from every direction on the compass. Our skin is slick with sweat. My sheets are saturated with our mingled exertions.
I ache momentarily with the emptiness as he extracts once more, until he throws me on my back again and drives his tongue over my sensitized clit. Fuck. Oh Fuck. I don’t know what I crave more, his tongue or his cock. I lay back and give in to whichever he wishes to grant me. I quiver and shake and break under his mouth and his hands until I have to beg him to stop. Orgasm upon orgasm. Shatter. Please. FUCK.
Finally he relents, looks up with his face glistening with my wetness. He straddles me across my hips and finally prepares his own orgasm, gliding his hand over his cock as I run my palms over my breasts for him, squeezing them together. Hot liquid spurts onto my skin, one final act of owning me.
He goes to the bathroom and leaves me heaving on the bed, waiting for my heart rate to slow. My hair is plastered to my neck with sweat and my entire body is flushed pink. He returns with a wad of tissues and cleans himself off me gently. I make a vague comment about our clothes being on another floor. We trot downstairs to retrieve them.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say at the door, my fingers folded into the edges of his shirt. We part from a final exchange of lips and saliva and heat. “I’ll let you get back to your chores,” he says as he exits. I turn back to the dishwasher with a smile on my lips…..
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Spreading Instruments: Why Sir, That's No Spatula
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Posted:Sep 11, 2016 3:17 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2016 2:13 pm
11217 Views
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He strapped the padded cuffs around my ankles, the furry lining tickling the inside of my foot as he slid it up. I twisted in the wrist cuffs, testing their strength. Testing my leeway. A long tie was looped through the wrought iron rails of my headboard, the wrist restraints attached. So far I was relatively free.
That's when he pulled out the spreader bar. A small smile played over his lips. I bit my own lip without knowing it, my pulse quickening. He had brought a big bag of fun and told me I could pick but I wanted to be his toy in this moment. "Be creative," I said. Fucking own me, I thought.
A palm slid down my leg, spreading it out. "I'm going to test your flexibility," he murmured, the click of the carabiner echoing in my ear as he hooked one ankle cuff to the bar. My other leg quivered as he kissed it before hooking it in. I tried to push my feet in, always the testing the boundary. Always the obstinate girl. My legs were locked open. I was growing damper by the second wondering what was next.
He grabbed the smooth dowel bar between my ankles and yanked, throwing my legs in the air. The command comes, "Stay." Deftly, he snapped the wrist cuffs to the bar, each wrist trussed just inside each foot. He looped another tie through the footboard and to the bar. I was completely restrained and exposed, held tight in the middle of my own bed with my toes pointed skyward.
I wrapped my hands around the smooth wood and gripped tightly as he poured lubricant over my open pussy, felt it slide down the slit into the crevice of my ass. I was already dripping with anticipation but the Astroglide was warm and surprising. I tried to pull my arms up, my legs down, straining the ties. I was stuck open and vulnerable. Heated to the core.
I heard a rustle, an unzipping, from the bag. Out came a small purple vibrator and a large glass blown cock. It was a work of art. The light glinted off the colored curved edges spiraling around the long shaft. He pushed the smooth head between my slit slightly. Slowly. Working it up and down with the warm wetness. A hand came through my outspread legs to touch the vibration to my nipple, rolling it over. I could do nothing but moan. My only free motions were to clasp and unclasp my hands from the bar, a small allowance for the slightest rise and fall of my hips.
The vibration rolled downward. Slid along my thigh and in. I felt the warm glass head push inward, filling me. He twisted it back and forth slowly, the curved raised spiral encircling the shaft pushing on the vaginal walls, sending shock waves through me. He probed it in and out, testing my response. Added the vibrator to my clit. All I could see when I tried to lift my head was the top of his, through my thighs, bent in concentration. I threw mine back down to the sheets and let the sensations overtake me. "FUCK," I growled, gripping the spreader bar again. My breath was coming so fast I thought hyperventilation was next. I wanted to explode. I could feel the jolts through my legs straight to the arches of my feet. My toes began to curl reflexively. Waiting for the shatter.
Without restraint this is the moment I would typically kick a man away, the sheer intensity almost too much to bear. Now I could do nothing but let it come. The waves flooded over me, a physical clenching and release in every fiber. Through the surge I heard Breathe.
I exhaled. The only reason I'm not a melted puddle is the restraints keeping me bound in position. My body twitched. He unlocked me and I unhinged, immobile in a very different way. My heaving slowed. The sweat began to cool.
"My turn," he whispered in my ear. A grin crept across my face. Hmmm. I rustled through the bag of fun and hold up the red handcuffs.....
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Dawning (A 5 AM Vignette)
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Posted:Aug 28, 2016 3:52 pm
Last Updated:Sep 4, 2016 9:20 am
10117 Views
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There’s a hand on my hip. It traces down outer thigh and dances back. The hazy, barely there morning filters in through a naked window, through an eyelid cracked open by the hand’s journey. It grazes over crest of hip. Skims small of back. Traces a map around ribcage and up, plucking a nipple to awareness and submission.
I turn my mouth to yours, a reflex too late to stop. You taste like home twice discovered.
At 5 am there is no thought. It still slumbers. There is no asking if you said yes last night because of the whiskey still lingering on your tongue. There are no questions. There is no pause. There are only the fingers between my thighs. Only a few first streaks of light glinting over the horizon. Only a beard lightly scratching my neck.
Only your breath upon my ear, quickening with my own.
There is only this. Only this moment. Only a turn into you. Only a blur of hoist and straddle, only an instinct from below the surface to take you in. To spread my fingers through the soft nest of hair upon your chest and push up. To breathe you in. To swallow you whole.
Then the moment is over.
You call me sweetheart and I swallow the lie for a second, like I swallowed the “Pretty Lady” lie last night. Because I needed the solace. I needed the moment. Then it clicks you’ve said “Sweetheart. You don’t want this in you right now.” I bolt from atop you as logic bolts awake, disoriented and disheveled. An alarm screeching through a nebulous dream deferred. You wipe yourself with a tissue. I roll to the naked window. Sun glares in to accuse me.
Day has broken.
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Tinderbox (Verse in the Key of Explicit)
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Posted:Aug 28, 2016 3:49 pm
Last Updated:Sep 4, 2016 9:20 am
8126 Views
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He is crackling heat
behind blue eyes
and furrowed brow,
a tinderbox
waiting to ignite.
I want him
to gather my hair
tress by tress,
sweetly lull, and
yank
to expose
crook where shoulder
meets neck.
I want him
to have me pinned
to kitchen counter,
held by hair
wrenched tight and
cock against my back.
I want
his lips
poised over crook,
breath hot and patient,
making me wait until
my nipples are hard and
I’m already wet when
he grants my release,
lowers mouth to skin.
I want him
to own me,
piece by piece,
undone.
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Last Tango
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Posted:Aug 28, 2016 2:55 pm
Last Updated:Oct 23, 2016 12:31 pm
12109 Views
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I don't know why I said yes. My heart races as I reach for the door handle. His name isn't really Will. Maybe it was his large, kissable lips. Maybe it was the leap to fulfill this fantasy to have a stranger fuck me without a word. A desire I don't speak out loud, only dream, to leave me wet and aching when I awake.
I chose to agree to a stranger that claims he wants to recreate Last Tango in Paris, two people without names knowing each other through carnal intimacy only. I am rolling the dice in this, one of the biggest sexual risks I've taken. I've had men to my house before on a first meeting. A chat. A glass of wine. Make sure everyone feels comfortable. This isn't that. This is hunger as soon as I open the door. It is lips and tongue and hands spread over me. This is 6+ feet towering over me, sweeping me, turning me, groping me.
This is primal and I can't lead him to my bedroom fast enough. He strips me deftly. In the frenzy I didn't even realize his pants were gone and the condom is on. He throws me to the bed and enters me, a groan escaping me. It's been less than five minutes and this man is inside me. The rest is a fever dream of kissing and hands over me and being penetrated by tongue and cock, cock and tongue. It is a tumult of limbs and breaths and sweat, being tossed to my back and to my knees.
He leaves and I still don't know his name. The only words spoken were More, Harder, Don't Stop, Juicy Pussy, Sexy. Thanks for coming. Thanks for cumming. {=}
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