My room

My room
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Eyes Open

(WARNING: Sexually explicit material below and not for children under 18 years of age)

I keep my eyes open while he kisses me, trying to commit every second to memory. I want to remember the way he feels, the way he looks so that I can remember him later, when I am alone and thinking of him.

I am mesmerized by his skin, the curve of his nose. I notice he has a small scar on his cheek and I touch it instinctively, wondering how it got there, wondering if he remembers the story, if he’s willing to tell me, but then I remember he is kissing me and I've stopped moving, so I close my eyes for a second, just for a second, until I am following his rhythm. 

And I moan.

Somehow I’ve lost track of myself and I notice his hands are in my panties. I don’t remember how he got there and I mentally kick myself for zoning out. I can feel him navigating his way through the folds of my pussy, and the thought of him finding my clit and wrapping his fingers around it sends a shiver down my spine.

“What?” He asks, noticing.

“Just cold,” I tell him, kissing him back. I don’t tell him that he drives me crazy; that I know my panties are drenched and that I’m slightly embarrassed because I have no control over my body right now, that I’ve been half in love with him, half confused since the day I met him.

Instead, I tell him, “Touch me,” and he runs his warm hands up my body in response.

I can feel my nipples tighten as he runs his fingers across them. I look down; my round, smooth areolas are now tight and wrinkled. He takes a nub in his mouth and I gasp.

“Bite,” I tell him, and he does, just a nip, and it feels like lightning. I throw my head back, losing myself again, but before I am gone for too long he picks my head up and draws me up to kiss him.

“Fuck me,” I beg, tugging his pants down. He knows I am impatient. He could choose to be cruel and hold back, force me to wait, but my impatience must mirror his own because he simply nods.

We are both half dressed. Maybe another time we will take our time, tease each other and play before sex, but I want him inside me now. So he complies, pulling that magnificent cock out of hiding. And my mouth waters.

I touch it; its curved in all the right places, wide so that whenever he fucks me it stretches my insides to the limit; I once came just from the feeling of it rubbing my clit.

He enters me. “How does it feel,”he asks. He loves hearing me talk dirty; I am more candid in writing. So I blush, and I hesitate, too shy to say it out loud even though I’ve written dirtier things to him in my sleep.

He chuckles, noticing my hesitation. “Tell me.”

“It’s so hard,” I exclaim. And it’s true. His dick feels like a club. I've been tight for so long it takes a few seconds for my pussy to adjust and mold itself to his dick, so that for those few seconds I am experiencing a state of exquisite pain that I don’t want to end.

“It feels perfect,” I tell him, and this is true too. I can ride him for hours. His dick is big enough that it stretches my insides pleasantly, but not too big that it hurts. He could be as rough as he wants with me and I keep wanting more. More. More. More.

He rides me, on all fours so that my clit only has a passing acquaintance with his body. I groan in frustration, trying to pull him down to me but he ignores the hint. He is afraid to put his weight on me, afraid that he will hurt me when the truth is it’s exactly what I need. To feel his weight on me. To know that its him.

Instead he gets on his knees and cups my butt cheeks, pulling me towards him without pulling away from me. I wrap my arms around his neck and continue kissing him, so that I am half hanging, half sitting on his lap. And here my clit is in full contact with that spot on his pelvic bone right above his dick. I could marry that spot. That spot right above his dick that fits perfectly on top of my clit has made me come more times than I can remember. I want to draw arrows pointing towards it; a bulls-eye, maybe. Something that says, Press Here For Orgasm So I know exactly where to go.

I am ready to come. My pussy is softer now, tense with the pending orgasm but molded perfectly to his dick. As I feel the orgasm building somewhere in the bottom of my belly he takes the opportunity to sneak a finger towards my asshole and taps it.

I gasp, jumping slightly. He chuckles, deep in his throat, but he doesn’t stop, slipping two fingers in my ass before I can protest, a reminder of what is to come.

In response, I clench my pussy around his dick tightly so that he growls, pulls me tighter with his other hand as he finger fucks my ass harder, and I come. I come. I come.

And boy, do I come; as I feel his knuckles inside my ass I can feel an uncontrollable wave of convulsions let loose. My clit is so sensitive by now I’m not sure how long this orgasm is going to last; I’m hoping for forever.

“Enjoy it,” he tells me. And then, and only then, do I close my eyes. 

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