by Tonya Plank
Unable to help myself, I pressed my lips to the back of her neck. She gasped but said nothing. I could feel her body asking me to continue. I moved my lips to the base of her head and trailed kisses down the length of her neck, stopping at her shoulder. I drew her more toward me and began tracing my lips down the front of her neck. She arched her back and bent her head over my shoulder. I slid my arms around her and circled her so I was now facing her. She cocked her head upward, toward my face. I wanted her so badly I could have devoured her right then. But I kissed her softly, gently.
My tongue rolled over her bottom lip, then slowly sought entry into her mouth. She completely trusted me now. She no longer protested the blindfold. Just as she began to part her lips, I released her, then receded just a bit.
She inched toward me, at least from the waist up. But her lips met only with air. She turned her head all about as if looking, then stood still and waited. Her breath grew heavier and her lips curled up. She liked the wait, the surprise. Otherwise she’d have whipped the blindfold off, her hands now free.
I grabbed her into a full embrace, both arms surrounding her, chest heaving against hers, heart beating into her. She wrapped her left leg around mine. My lips pressed harder and I tongued her lips open. She tasted like apples, probably from the juice. Delicious. She put her arms around my neck and brushed my shoulder, feeling my solid muscle. Her skin was like silk.
I took my mouth from her lips and moved my head back. But my body remained entwined with hers. She cocked her head toward my face, lips slightly parted, waiting for me to act. I needed to taste more of her. I brushed my lips against her cheekbone, then continued to her ear, before moving down to trace the bones of her breathtaking face.
I told her in Russian that she was beautiful, and that I wanted her. Badly.
“What?” she asked, leaning forward.
“Shhhh,” I said, pressing my finger over her delicious lips. Then I traced the other side of her face with my finger, ending under her chin, which I tipped and pulled toward my lips, making her think I’d kiss her more deeply now. But I brushed my lips along the soft skin of her neck instead. I was having fun, playing with expectations, making her wonder what I’d do next. I knew the surprise excited her. Her entire body clenched and bolted upward at least a couple millimeters as my lips brushed against the area behind her ear. She let a brief moan escape.
Realizing this was a sensual zone, I began making small circles with my tongue. She clawed at my rock-hard pec. I let up a bit and took a breath, then returned my lips to her shoulder, tracing her clavicle with my tongue, ending at the hollow of her neck, apparently another hypersensitive zone, I soon realized. As much as I wanted to devour her, I was enjoying exploring, finding these delicious erogenous zones that made her go wild. She lifted her head, opened her mouth and drew in a long breath. I took a step back. I was no longer touching her but she knew I was right in front of her. I knew she could sense my body heat. She didn’t need her sight to know exactly where my body was.
I gently placed my fingers on her abdomen. I untied the knot in front of her sweater. I opened the sweater to reveal the top of that hot, thin-strapped leotard. I could feel her muscles clench. I didn’t know why. If she felt self-conscious—I was about to remove clothes, after all—or if I was going too fast. I slowed down.
I returned my focus to her neck, brushing my lips from her chin back down to that small, sensitive area. But I couldn’t go too slowly for long. I just couldn’t. I placed both hands on her chest. I ran my fingers along the opening of the sweater, up to the top, and gently pulled the sleeves over and off each shoulder. Her entire body clenched again. I stopped, but only long enough to take off my shoes. She caught her breath. She didn’t protest. So I continued.
I traced her arms with my fingers. Now I saw just how sexy the leotard was. It had a velvet outer bra that cupped her breasts. I badly wanted it off. But jerking it off was too much, too soon. She needed slow.
I traced the bones of her face again, caressing her cheek, jaw, ear with my lips. At the same time, I brushed my fingers from the sides of her breasts down to her waist then her hips. Her entire body quivered with delight. As I kissed the base of her neck, I took my hands from her sides and wrapped them around her back, massaging her. I quickly untied the back of her wrap-around skirt, causing it to fall elegantly down her legs into a satiny puddle around her feet. I pressed my lips farther into the hollow of her neck, only briefly leaving it to kneel down and whisk the skirt away so she wouldn’t trip over it.
She was so stunningly gorgeous standing there in high heels and a leotard. I whispered to her in Russian how breathtakingly beautiful she was, how I’d waited for this moment for so long. I sat at her feet, gazing up at her. She was breathing too hard to ask me what I said. She knew I wouldn’t tell her anyway. Right now.
I lightly ran my fingertips up her legs, from her ankles to her knees. I stood as I continued tracing on up to her hips. I placed one palm on each hip and kissed her earlobe, whispering more Russian terms of endearment—captivating beauty, my love, my soul—into her ear. I angled my hands so they were resting on her pubic bone. I slowly began tracing the leotard’s elastic with my fingers. With a finger on each leg, I pulled the elastic up and traced her skin underneath. I felt the need to do this ever so slowly with her. She held her head down now. I felt her self-consciousness like a weight over her head, her body. I desperately wanted to lift it. As I brought my fingers closer and closer to the front of the leotard, I felt her muscles spasm, a shiver snake its way up her spine. She threw her head back again and opened her mouth, issuing a quiet but heavy breath.
Then I let go of her. The air was still and silent. I wanted her to wonder what I’d do next. I could feel her heart pounding though we were no longer physically connected. She raised her head, angling her lips toward mine.
“Sash—” she’d begun to call out when my lips landed on hers. I kissed her deeply. I wanted to drink in all of her.
I couldn’t help myself anymore. I placed my hands on her shoulders, fingered the narrow straps of the leotard, then pulled. I felt her shiver with anticipation. I pulled them over her elbows, revealing two absolutely perfect breasts, round and full with large pink nipples. Her breasts jiggled a little as I pulled the fabric completely below them. Immediately, she placed her hands over her chest. And when she did so, she brought the fabric back up, since the straps were still at elbow’s length.
I whispered in her ear, in Russian, demanding she stop covering her beautiful self; that her body was a work of art. Using Russian made my words less harsh and direct, but I knew she could infer their meaning. I gently tugged her hands from her breasts. Before she could re-cover herself, I cupped her breasts in my hands, caressing her splendidly pebbled nipples with my fingers, tracing each as if sculpting it. Her breathing calmed. When I finally trusted her not to re-cover herself, I wrapped my fingers around the straps and pulled the material down quickly, till it was at her belly. She flinched. She was so self-conscious of her body. I told her, again in Russian, that she was far too gorgeous for this bullshit.
“You are so breathtaking, Rory. Exquisite. I don’t know how you don’t know. My angel. You are so worth the wait,” I said, now in English.
She gasped as I rolled the leotard, along with its built-in thong, all the way down, past her waist, past the thin wedge of blonde—yes, blonde—pubic hair, leaving it to fall at her ankles, puddling around her still high-heeled feet.
She was shivering. But not because she was cold. There were no goose bumps anywhere on her body.
“I think you’re going to have to take those nasty stilettos off now,” she said, voice shaky but excited. “I mean, if you don’t want me to trip and kill myself!” She shifted her weight from one side to the other and I became afraid she’d do just that if she took a step.
“Shhhh,” I said, kneeling down at her ankles and looking up at her. She looked even more spellbinding, like a true goddess, from this perspective.
I forced my eyes to focus on her feet, and unbuckled the strap of her right shoe.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, kind sir, for removing my foot-binding!” she teased, giggling, finally beginning to ease up on herself.
I gently arched her foot, took it out of its shoe, and placed it on the floor, making her now a little off balance.
“Sash—” she called out.
“Just trust me,” I said, wrapping one hand around her thigh to steady her while I unbuckled the other strap. “Here.” I removed my hand from her leg to hold her hand. I lifted her ankle out of the shoe and guided that foot to the floor. As soon as she was firmly on her own two feet, I released her hand and knelt again.
I wrapped my hands around her ankles and began massaging upward to her calves.
“Mmmmm,” she moaned. I worked my way to her milky, heavenly thighs, and kissed her abdomen. She flinched again. This must be a sensitive spot.
“You are superb,” I whispered.
“So are you,” she whispered back. “I mean, I think. I mean, I know. Well, I mean, your face, your face is. You haven’t let me see…” she faded out, then giggled nervously. “Seriously, am I going to see more of you? Am I going to see, period?”
I held a finger gently to her lips. When she took the hint and stopped talking, I caressed her cheek and, cupping her chin, kissed her slowly and deeply again.
“Plié,” I then commanded.
“What?”
“We will do the cradle lift.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I bent down and took her left arm, wrapping it around my neck. Her left breast now lay firmly against my chest, sending a bolt of electricity straight to my dick. I pulled her closer, till her bare hip aligned with my now engorged cock.
“Rrrready?” I asked.
She nodded, swallowed, and jumped into my arms. I held her, one arm under her legs, the other around her back, grazing her breast. Her whole body pulsed. I carried her up the winding staircase, down the hall, into my bedroom, and lay her down on the bed. She immediately gathered the red velvet blanket, bunched it in her hands, and pulled it over to cover her. But then, as if sensing my annoyance, she let it go.
“Good girl,” I whispered. I stood away from the bed and just looked at her. She was like a Manet painting, sheer perfection.
“Sasha?”
“I’m right here.”
“What’s taking so long? Hurry up!”
“Maybe…I just want to look at you,” I said slowly, after a pause.
Now I began to see some goose bumps. She moved one leg across the other, covering her glorious sex, and gathered more cloth at her sides, though she left it bunched in her fists.
“Well, maybe I want to look at you at some point,” she whispered.
“There will be plenty of time for that.” I quickly threw off my clothes, tossing them on a side chair. Then, I lay down next to her, without yet touching her. I knew she didn’t want to see me yet. I knew she wanted to prolong the splendid agony of wondering what I would do next, of not being able to see me as climbed atop her, thrust deeply into her. I arched my chest over her, so she’d know I was above her, without letting my body touch hers yet. She smelled of the sweet juice along with a lightly sprayed-on rose perfume that I hadn’t noticed until I had her completely naked.
“Do you want me to remove the sash?”
“No!” She giggled. “I mean, not yet.”
As I knew. I tongued her lips, wetting them, parting them, then gently bit at her lower lip. I remained balanced on my hands, doing an extended plank position. I really didn’t want to touch her yet. More sublime agony to prolong.
She giggled as soon as I withdrew my lips from hers.
“What?” I whispered.
“You’re very strong,” she whispered back.
“I am glad you think so.” I raised one hand off the bed and trickled my fingers up and down her right leg, which was still raised over the left to hide her sex. I went higher and higher with each stroke, until my fingertips reached her belly and began their ticklish descent downward. I lowered myself, licked the hot space between her beautiful breasts, and placed my hand right at the top of her still mostly covered pubic hair. When she began to breathe heavily, I lifted both tongue and hand. I wanted her to lift her leg and uncover herself of her own accord.
The air was still. I could feel her body throbbing under mine. Her leg was going nowhere. Fine. I pressed my lips over her right nipple, circling the areola slowly with my tongue, then lightly sucking. I opened my mouth and took more of her breast in. I fingered her left nipple, then cupped the whole delicious breast.
“Magnificent,” I whispered in Russian.
She breathed deeply and arched her back, making her beautiful breasts rise. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled myself off of her, then rushed into the bathroom for a condom.
When I returned she was breathing heavily, arching her back and squeezing her legs together. I cupped my palm over the top knee, then lifted her leg, uncrossing it from the other. The blanket came completely off. Glorious.
I knew she was flexible. I spread her legs into a wide straddle split, opening her. I’d never seen anything so gorgeous. Her breaths quickened and I could feel her heart palpitating, blood flushing her whole face.
I hovered over her, propping myself up with one hand while rubbing the other gently but aggressively along the inside of her thigh, my fingers inching higher and higher until I couldn’t resist pressing on the crown of her sweet clit, making tiny circles, applying just enough pressure to make her moan, until plunging into her glisteningly wet opening.
“Sash—!” She reached up to me.
I lowered myself down onto her, kneeing her legs even farther apart. I rubbed the tip of my rock-hard dick around her soft, silky outer, then inner folds. She bent her knees to open herself more and, turning out from her hip, like the true ballerina she was, angled her leg toward me, her toe skimming my calf teasingly like a feather. I entered her, gently but deeply, filling her tantalizing body completely. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly in my arms, and licked her scrumptious lips as I moved inside her. She put her arms around my back, caressing my aching muscles. She arched her swanlike neck as I traced my lips down her throat, thrusting deeper and deeper into her as she arched her whole back and pointed her toes around my thighs.
“Rory,” I whispered. “Oh, Rory.”
She pulled the pillow from underneath her and arched that amazingly flexible back even more—it was as if she was all muscle and flesh, no skeleton—and angled her hips so that my pelvic bone met her pulsating clit with each thrust. Great way to make use of that hyper-flexibility. She raised her knees higher, her toes now curling toward the ceiling as her whole body trembled with an almost violent intensity. I lifted my chest and propped my hands around her, then exploded into her.
We both breathed heavily, exhausted together. I lowered my chest again, so I now lay right on top of her, my arms caressing her shoulders. I stayed inside her for a few moments, before pulling out and lying side by side. We continued to lie there, just breathing for a while.
Suddenly, she lifted herself and moved toward me. Since she was still blindfolded, she didn’t know my exact body position. I saw her knee coming dangerously close. I jumped up off the bed.
“Rory!”
“What?”
“Nothing. You just…almost got me in a bad place.”
She cocked her head, as if confused. Then, getting it, she teased, “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what happens when I, you know, CAN’T SEE!”
It was finally time to take it off. “Okay, lie still,” I said, returning to the bed.
I pulled her close to me, breathed lightly on her neck, traced my fingers around to the bow, and freed her from the sash. She squinted. I got up and walked to the door.
“No, stay,” she shouted, reaching toward me, her eyes narrow slits.
“I’m going do
wnstairs to get us something to drink. It will give you time to adjust your eyes. I’m thirsty. Aren’t you?”
“Fine, but don’t put anything on. It’s totally not fair that you’ve seen me naked for hours and I haven’t seen a millimeter of you.”
“Hours?” I laughed. “And you wanted to be blindfolded.”
“What, no—” she began. I walked away before she could launch a full protest. “Promise!” she called out as I walked down the staircase.
I made my way to the kitchen and filled two crystal long-stemmed champagne glasses with Frangelico. She was angelic. What could suit her more?
When I returned, she was completely covered by the blankets. She was looking around the room, seemingly admiring the spaciousness, the minimalist furnishings, perhaps thinking how she could decorate it.
I stood in the doorway until her eyes, now fully opened and operational, found me. She emitted a brief gasp, which was cute, then did a long, slow up-and-down. I gave her a second to eye-fuck me, feeling I owed it to her after I’d spent so much time absorbing every detail of her beatifically naked body. Then I walked over, handing her a glass.
“Why are you covered?” I said in an admonishing tone.
“Just shifting the tables.”
I squinted at her, then flashed my wily smile.
She lifted her hand to take the glass, and when she did so, I pulled the cover down to reveal her spectacular right breast. She couldn’t protest since she was currently mid-sip.
“Whoa, what is this?” she said, after a swallow. I was glad I hadn’t had to convince her to imbibe this time. “It’s like sweet and nutty and…um, probably very intoxicating!” she said, holding the glass away from her and examining it.
“Like you,” I joked.
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what is it? It’s not some weirdly thick version of champagne?”
She clearly wasn’t a drinker. “It’s just a little Frangelico, my angel,” I said, trickling a finger from her bottom lip down her neck, then her chest, then to the tip of her very hard, still magnificently exposed nipple. “I thought you’d like it. Do you?”