Morning

You wake me with a finger trace across my ankle, circling the joint there. You know my skin is highly sensitive and a little ticklish; I like it when you take advantage of that.

You bend your head against the flesh there and murmur things; anything; I can’t tell what it is. You could be telling me that you don’t want to go to work tomorrow, that you don’t want to answer the phone; that you don’t want anything at all but me. You breathe there at my vulnerable ankle, while I pretend that I am sleeping. You trail your lips and cheeks along my shin, the back of my calf, and pause at the back of my knee. I feel you breathe my scent in; I know I still smell of the peach oil I dabbed there in preparation for last night.

I prepared myself for you yesterday afternoon; in the shower I scrubbed until my flesh was glowing. Under the lather, my skin absorbed the scent of sharp mandarin orange. I patted down my damp skin with terry cloth and then graced it with a similarly fruity body lotion; and after, the crowning glory - my hair perfumed with green apple, my body anointed with essence of peach. The backs of my knees, the nape of my neck, the small of the back . . . in all the secret tiny places I challenged you to find.
And you found them. In sleeping bliss I have no worries about work or anything else - we’ve slept in on a Saturday morning, it’s late in the day, and we don’t care. We’re naked. We smell like sex and fun.

You mumble again against my flesh; the hum of your voice thrills along the back of my knee and I shiver, and pretend to stretch and turn toward you. Through lowered lashes, I watch you, watch the way you proffer a tiny smile, leaning forward on your elbows and simply admiring. You’ve told me I’m beautiful and I half believe you; I frequently rely on your touch to prove it to me again.

To provoke you, I sigh and turn to face away from you on my side. I face my head away from you, and in the silence, wait for what you’re going to do. My hair is curly and thick against my temples; I stare up at the ceiling, the sun rays slicing cleanly across the bed, my skin, just missing my eyes. I smile, pleased at the prettiness of the day. We’ll spend it all in bed.

I begin to close my eyes, and just then, your tongue - against a tiny spot, at the corner of the inside of my knee, and I catch my breath, then let it slide out, sly. You’re testing me, I know it. I wait.

You slide your tongue down, deeper into the crevice. Your hand slides across the sheet to grasp my ankle; my lips part at the sensation of the cuff, your fingers wrapping around my ankle to take hold and move my leg away from you, down the bed, so that it’s straightened.

No words now; you make only occasional sounds. You return your tongue to my skin and trace circles, shapes, and the wet sound of your tongue, the sound of saliva, the brush of your tongue against me, are faint, yet grow louder. My senses are heightened; I hear our breathing, deceptively slow and deep, as if we are both asleep.

You release my ankle, and slide your tongue down, to the calf. You bite me, slowly, wrapping your lips around the flesh and gently pressing down with your teeth, harder, harder, until the bite is so hard that I grasp the sheets where you can’t see and bite my lip trying not to cry out. You hold the pressure for a minute, then release, and I feel the air rush coolly over the burning spot where you have left your mark on me. I feel you move onto the bed, and I know you are next to me, watching me. I keep my eyes closed, and breathe through my mouth.

The air grows electrified around me as I wait, and it finally sparks when you start with a finger, at the knee again, and then your whole palm, sliding up my thigh, to land on my waist. Then, you squeeze, and slide your hand down between us, a finger leading, to trace the line of my ass, my buttocks, to reach the part of my thighs. You nudge with your hand, and when I don’t move, you slide your fingers between my thighs and lift my right thigh away from us, so that I am forced to slide further onto my stomach. I press my face to the pillows, my face hidden in my unruly hair.

I’m open to you, but just slightly. I feel the pause, heavy, and then, your weight shifts on the bed. I open my eyes, anticipating, and then I feel you again - your tongue, your wicked tongue, is now tracing shapes on the left cheek. Then bites, then licks - you swirl, you nibble, and then you rise up, straddle my legs, and bend to pay attention to the right cheek. I remain dormant.

You are growing hungry; I feel your sex against the back of my thigh and can already smell us beginning to get sex funky. You fill both palms with an ass cheek and then slowly part them; cool air rushes in and mingles with the crossing streams of sunlight from the window. You make a low sound of pleasure at what you see and bend forward - your tongue runs lightly between the cheeks, and begins to run down, down -

You release me, pull back. You part my legs. You press your knees into the backs of my thighs. I feel you lean over me. My breasts are crushed into the mattress and they are aching, but the pain is worth the pleasure of what you’re doing to me.

Your hands return to my ass. They rest, then slide - then suddenly, your fingers trace quickly to my sex from behind, one hand parting what you can reach, to get me open. Then, your fingers again, and they slowly trace the line of my inner labia. I’m soaking wet, I can hear my slickness, hear your finger working through it. Then, you move me again - with one hand you press down on the small of my back while with the other you pull me up and toward you with a flat palm covering my sex. Now you’ve got better access, and I smile, push my face further into the pillows.

You part me with one hand again, and now you can reach my clit - you circle it lightly, sweetly, teasing the fat nub with your index finger. I close my eyes, receive - you circle again and again, kneeling behind me with endless patience, and I grow wetter and wetter. I hear myself and I hear you, breathing deeply, watching me, your knees hot against my flesh.

You eventually move me toward you, down, and then, a slight pressure - you push in, and unable to stop myself I let out a tiny gasp -

“Shhh,” you murmur, hushing me, and I shudder, hold my breath, as your finger moves deeper, deeper, is joined by another, both sliding, exploring, tracing the inner limits of my labia, stretching me to see how far I’ll open. You tease, sliding in, then out, and when my hips begin to work against your fingers you pause, stop, confuse my rhythm. You want me to be still, to do only what you want me to.
You begin your explorations again, your two fingers pushing deeply, and I hold my breath, fight like hell to hold the sounds in, breathing fitfully into my pillow. You eventually slide them out, and the air hits my pussy, so that she misses you. But not for long.

You move between my spread legs and then I feel your lips brush my thighs again - and then your hot breath rushes against my sex and, panicked, I suddenly reach out for you - your hands take mine, and hold them fast. You don’t let go; in fact, you won’t let go. I can’t move. Held in stasis, I can only concentrate on the sensation, as your tongue slides forward, and in; I feel it at first as a light tickling, then a seeking fulness, and then the whole of your tongue fills me, so far in that your nose presses against my ass and I can feel the top of your chin.

You murmur, groan, and the rumble of your voice throbs through my sex; you work your tongue inside of me without pulling away, and the wetness multiplies, fills, pours, until I am one syrupy mess of pussy and can only imagine being eaten for the rest of my life.

Eventually, you start a rhythm, pulling back and then forward, a seesaw where your hands hold tight to mine as you thrust your tongue in and then out, tracing the line of my inner lips, teasing them, raking them, flipping the tip of your tongue against them. My breath is absolutely fretful now, and I start to moan, but you make a forbidding sound, and I falter, press my face into the pillows and try to quiet the moans without suffocating. It’s difficult, and you know it; you work at pleasing me but won’t let me show my enjoyment, and suspended for you I cannot move, I cannot speak, I can only be.

Eventually, you slowly release my hands, but I know I must remain silent. You shift again, and I feel the backs of your knees; I stare at the window, knowing what is going to come. The sun outside is blazing, and my retinas are imprinted with white light, but I do not close them, as I feel one hand grasp my hip.

I feel the visitor - he his hard and ready, scalding hot, and he wants in. The head of your cock presses, seeks, and placed against the entrance begins to burrow its way in. I groan, a deep low guttural noise for which I am punished - the hand on my hip squeezes me roughly, and I am silenced, biting my lip as your sex pushes deeper, deeper, both hands on my hips now. You reach the hilt, and pause, then, you begin your rhythm, a slow plunging rhythm with the tempo of our heartbeats.

My hands released, I now grasp the pillows, spreading my legs wide as I can to receive you, your hands raising my sex to meet yours. You thrust, your fucking sweet, deep, relentless; you always take me like this, you always want it all. Covered, housed, sheathed fully in wetness, in the dark that is my womb, you refuse to play lightly - you want thoroughness.

Exploring, you push left, right, deep, deeper; up, down, deep, deepest; and eager to please you I clutch around you, my inner muscles working you, urging you, milking you, our breathing in tandem now, our mission evident. I rise up onto my elbows, the better to push back against you, but you press me down again with your left hand, and I lay still, open to you, a wide-open pussy for you to fuck.

Your grunts are low, but occasional; I can tell you are trying to play fair with the rules of silence. Eventually, you pull out, with a slick pop, and then you press against me again, run the juicy head along the inside of my outer lips, against my clitoris, tickling the bud. I press my pussy out and toward you, and you push down, rub the entire wet length of your shaft against the parted lips, then press the head to me and slide in again, the sucking sound echoing between us, the soaking wetness filling the air with a musky sweetness.

You pull out again, and then slap the length against my spread lips, and then push in again; you alternate, rubbing your shaft and cap against me, then sliding back in. But then, suddenly, you pull out, pull back, and your hands are on my waist; you grab me and pull me toward you, then turn me over onto my back. You take me by the knees and spread me open; surprised, I stare at you, but your look is sharp and commanding - close your eyes. I do.

I wait. The bed shifts; you pull away from me. Then, a hand parts my sex, and the rush of cold air again - but then, your mouth covers me, your tongue presses fast against my clit, and you are rubbing, licking, and then, the move that makes me shudder and reach for you, my hands tangling in your hair - sucking, sucking, you pull and suck on my clit as if it were a little dick and I press against you, shuddering again and again. The noises you make are wet and sloppy; you eat me messily, with no care to the juices covering your face; you part my lips wide and then rise up suddenly over me, to grasp me delicately, gently, with your teeth.

Frozen, I hold still for fear of pain and in anticipation of pleasure, and then you give me the slightest pressure, just enough to feel good, running your teeth carefully from the base to the tip, and down again; maddened, I fling my arms out and clutch the bed sheets, and then, somehow, you go further - the tip of your tongue comes down between your teeth and plays with the captured clit. It’s too much; I am gone; I begin to whimper, unable to stop, growing louder with each flicker, each tickle, each press, and then you return to the sucking -

You build me, sucking, teasing, nibbling, running your tongue down to dip lightly into my vagina then up again, until the orgasm comes and I spread my legs wide, one hand tangled in your hair. When it comes you rear up, throw my hand off, and plunge your cock in, your rhythm fast to catch up with my orgasm, and you fuck me, hard, fast, deep, my body racked with the ripples of my first orgasm overlapping with another impending one. I am tugged on by the friction of your determined sex, my own dripping wet and spread wide, and we pant into the silence, as I lay prone against the bed and you lean back on your knees above me. My eyes are open now, wide, watching you reach orgasm, wrapped in my own ecstasy, in our sweat and come and funk, as you bring us bliss.


©.2001, Miriam M. Wynn
http://www.worderotic.com