Slick

31Aug12

I can’t remember how it started. All I have are flashes of memory, of feeling.

I knew I wanted to come, and that he would oblige me.

He asked which toy I wanted, then gave me no choice. Told me I’d have to use the slightly broken one – the one that cuts out. And if it stopped, then so did I. I pouted. He didn’t care.

Stripped, I lay on my back with him by my side. His hands and mouth exploring. I whimpered with want.

It had been days. I was wet and eager.

Fingers slid around my soft places, slow and tantalisingly gentle. They filled me, oh-so slightly. My body cried out for more.

He changed, then. No longer content to watch me squirm and want, he began to want. He told me he was going to fuck me.

I was so close, when he slid on top of me. So frustratingly close, my brain buzzing, my hips bucking to meet him.

He wouldn’t slip inside me. A favourite trick of his – to hold back. To make me ask.

His cock slid between us. I ground my clit against him, aching to be fucked. Did I beg? I must have.

He held firm. Such resolve. Such dedication to my torment. His face a picture of evil glee.

Whispering to me, asking me if I could come twice. “Yes Sir, I think so.” “You THINK so? Yes or no?”

His lips against my ear, my nipple. His words teasing and cruel.

His cock against my clit. Sliding. Slick.

Fuck.

Filed under: Uncategorized   |  2 Comments