You start to rub your cock again. I keep my skirt where it is so you have a good shot of my pussy which is getting wetter by the minute. I tell you to take your shorts off. You unzip your shorts and pull them off. I can see how hard your cock is now. My pussy is starting to ache me badly. I tell you I want to see you rub your hard cock. You take off your underwear and I get the first glance at your beautiful hard cock.
You start rubbing it up and down. I can see how good it feels by the look on your face. This is driving me nuts. I turn around and lie on the floor with my legs spread wide for you to see. I take my finger and start lightly moving it over my panties. I am so wet now you can actually see it soaked through my panties. This turns you on so much, you start rubbing your cock harder and faster. You tell me it isn't fair, if I get to watch you, then you should be able to watch me.
I pull my underwear off. You look at my shaven pussy and see how glistening it is from all my juices. I take my finger and split apart my lips. Then I move it up to my clit and let out a really loud moan. All I can think about is you there rubbing your cock for me. I am so ready to cum from the excitement of watching you but I hold off.
You can tell I am close and decided that you are going to do something about it. You stop rubbing your cock and lean down on the floor between my legs. You take my finger from my pussy and put it in your mouth, licking off all the juices. Then you take your tongue and shove inside my shaven pussy. I let out a scream of pleasure. You move your tongue up to my clit and start licking it very fast while you put your fingers deep inside me. I am going nuts, grinding my cunt hard against your fingers.
Finally my orgasm comes crashing down hard, juices rush on your fingers, muscles clamping them, arching my clit against your mouth. My body is shaking. I finally relax and you start licking my clit again, immediately I cum again and it feels incredible. For some reason the second one always feels better than the first.
The next thing I know, you are putting your hard cock in me. I have wanted that cock in me all night. You thrust it hard and deep in to me. I cum again screaming. You feel the hot juices run straight down your cock. A few more pumps and you cum deep inside me. I am telling you how I can feel you cumming and how it is going to make me cum again. I start to cum again, the wav of ecstasy goes through my whole body. My cunt muscles are pumping ever last bit of cum out of your cock.
You stand up and pick me up off the floor and carry me in to the bedroom. You remove the rest of my clothes. Then you lean over and kiss me deeply. I have never been kiss like that before. It gives me shivers up my spine. Your lips caressing mine, your tongue circling mine. I want this kiss to never end.
You turn me over and straddle my hips and start massaging my back. Your hands are so strong and feel so good caressing my back. You lean over every once and a while to kiss and nibble. I just keep thinking in my mind, is this really happening.
I feel you lean over a bit. I can't see what you are doing. Then I feel this vibration on my back. You have gotten a vibrator and are rubbing it all over my back. You move your body down and trace my spine with the vibrator. You move it all the way down between my ass and to my pussy. My hips arch up to get it closer. You put it against my clit and I can't help but to moan. You keep rubbing my clit with it and then all of a sudden thrust it deep in to my cunt. I let out a loud moan at the same time trying to catch my breath.
After pumping it a few time in my wet pussy, you move it up to my ass, spreading my juice all over the opening. Then you move it back down and put it inside of me again. With your one hand, you pull my hips up and get me on my knees. You take one of my hands and put it down on the vibrator. I take it and start moving it in and out of my pussy. My juices are all over it.
You take your hands and caress my ass while pulling them apart. It is creamy white and very smooth. Then you take the head of your cock and press it up against my hole. You slowly push it is a little and back up. You keep doing this until you finally get your whole cock in my ass. It hurts a little but feels really good at the same time. You start pumping in and out, you can feel the vibration from my cunt. Your cock feels so good pumping my ass. You have a hold of my hips and are moving them with your rhythm. I keep pumping the vibrator in and out of my pussy.
Then you pull out of me, take the vibrator from me and turn me over. You lean over and kiss me again. Then you work your way down my neck and to my breast. They are medium size, very pale and have very hard nipples. You start to lick them and you hear me moan and my hips start to move. You realize how sensitive they are.
You linger there for a while and then work downwards. You start to bite my sides a little bit. This tickles a little and makes me squirm. You move down my side to my hip and then to the top of where my hair line would be. You turn the vibrator back on and take the tip and put it against my clit. My body arches up wanting more.
You get the vibrator covered in my juices and move it down to my ass. You slowly insert it which goes much easier than the first time. Once you have that in me, you move down and start to eat me. You take my hand and put it on my breast and have me start to rub it. You remove your hand and I take my fingers to my mouth, get them wet and then rub my nipples.
At this point I am being rub, eaten and fucked. I have pleasure come from every part of my body. I start getting close to cumming again and you can feel it. You start to lick and suck harder. I start to cum but this time I am bucking my hips. I am just going nuts from all the sensations I am feeling and it feels like it is never going to end.
Finally it is over and my body just goes limp. You remove the vibrator and lean up to me and kiss me. I am in a daze, pain and pleasure all over my body. You take your cock and put it slowly in my pussy. You know I can't handle much at this time so you slowly, gently, move it in and out while kissing me passionately. I start to recover and realize you haven't cum for a second time yet.
I move my head and kiss your cheek and down to your earlobe nibbling a little bit. My hand caressing your back softly. I whisper in your ear how good your cock feels in me. How hard and big it is. I tell you I want you to cum for me, I want to cum deep inside of me. I want to feel your cum hit the back of my pussy. This is enough for you and you start to cum. I whisper "yes baby, cum for me baby, cum inside of me". This orgasm is a very strong one for you and you are moaning so loudly, pumping slowly in and out of me, savoring every bit. Finally you collapse on top of me, holding me close. You roll over to the side exhausted.
You look at me and take your hands and rub them lightly on my face and through my hair. You don't know this but I just love that and start to just melt. You gaze in to my eyes and smile at me. You finally admit that you unplugged your fan on the CPU just to get me to come over there. You never expected this to happen, it was an extra bonus. I tell you that I have actually hoped for this to happen many times. You kiss me and hold me in your strong arms.
It was a night that I was never going to forget and hopefully wouldn't be the last one either.
Body Art
She had run away from home, throwing a few things into an overnight bag, barely thinking of what she’d flung into the dark recesses of canvas. Driving as far as the tank held, she pulled into a gas station and asked for directions to the nearest motel. The cashier probably thought she was nuts. Her thick wool sweater for warmth dwarfing the cotton shorts she’d worn earlier that night. Her legs beneath her shorts, clad in thick socks and her gardening clogs were chilled, her hair hastily woven into a thick braid. She’d incoherently babbled her request, her words punctuated by staccato stabs of intonation, tired but still livid.
No one could make her more furious than he could, no one could push her beyond all her boundaries the way he did when they argued. Their arguments were both frequent and drawn-out; they were both strong and had opinions on everything, most of which were diametrically opposed. Any time they spent together was liable at some point to rise into disagreements over almost any topic, from politics to housework.
And yet, they sought each other like rain to parched earth. Their relationship was like a gravitational force, drawing them together to drink deeply of each other. It was as if they had to explore everything, nothing had bars, nothing could be held back. It created an unusual dynamic for each of them, to test their own limitations, both good and bad. Their relationship was fiery, tempestuous, and easily ignited into arguments that eventually melted into a cauterizing, healing passion which they could neither deny or escape. They knew that while they were angry they couldn’t see that they were at the same place but with different ways of achieving their viewpoints. Their opposing thought patterns were consistent in their inconsistencies. What they did know was that they wound up with intense and insatiable longings, she for him and he for her. So close, they couldn’t see how alike they were, yet realizing their differences without understanding them. It would be a small thing for them to be on the same page, if they could ever allow themselves to see each other for who they were.
With each mile she put between them that night, she missed him more, becoming acutely aware of the distance, knowing he felt the same way. The evening had started out calmly enough. They’d each finished long work weeks, and were looking forward to what promised to be a quiet, romantic evening. Things had been (for them) almost placid, and she wondered how long it would last. The first stirrings of their emotional volcano began rumbled as they sipped a particularly good white wine after dinner. They’d been discussing the rising cost of providing health care for employees. Their comments began to veer to the conservative and liberal views on subsidized health care. Inwardly, she sighed, knowing where they were heading, yet feeling her anger sparked by his lack of compassion for those who had no health care. And so it had began.
She knew the intensity he felt by the grip his large hand had on the wine glass’ stem, the tightening of his jaw, and felt the same surge of anticipation to debate her views, even as she longed to avoid it and snuggle deep into his massive arms. “Ah, well,” she thought as the conversation heated even more, “time enough for that later.” But their tempers flared, then boiled over with a suddenness that startled her. This fight was different, more intense, more personal. There were no pauses, no backing away to be playful as a reassurance, before each scuffled into the issue again.
Finally, she’d had enough and realized it had gone too far this time. Neither seemed able to pull back and she felt herself becoming panicked to just get away from their words—and from him. As she got up, her wine glass banged jarringly on the table, and he reached out for her meaning to grab her and pull her to him, knowing that even for them, it had gone beyond what was acceptable. But his hand closed over thin air, and she didn’t see the reconciliatory gesture as she headed for the bedroom. He picked up the wine glasses, taking them to the kitchen to rinse them out and give him time to think. As he turned off the water, he intended to go to her when he heard the door slam, and by the time he got to the door, he heard the car’s engine rounding the corner.
As she pulled into the motel parking lot, tired and feeling defeated, yet still hurt and harshly angry, she regretted leaving. But there she was, and at the thought of their argument, she felt her own raw anger burning hot again, and checked in for the weekend. She called him from the room, and despite the hours that had passed and the regret they both felt, their tempers again flared. She finally told him where she was and that she’d be there for the weekend before she got off the line in case the whole thing erupted again, leaving him to his own thoughts.
That night, she slept fitfully, waking in an unfamiliar place to reach for him, but his scent was nowhere in the room. Finally, she got up, taking her bag to the shower, grimacing as she realized that she’d be stuck with the shorts she’d worn the night before. After a shower, she changed what clothes she could, and set out in search of breakfast.
Later, sustained with a large bottle of water and a map added to her large canvas bag, she headed out to the nearby lake. As she neared the end of town, she noticed a small art supply shop and stopped, buying a sketch book, some watercolors, and charcoal, along with an artist’s sketch pencil, settling them on the seat, glancing with a vague awareness that it had been too long since she’d had time to paint. The last painting was of him as he slept, in muted shades of blue and gray, the colors playing around his features in repose. The sky emerged through the long night behind her, bright and warm for late spring, with no hint of clouds. Following directions to the lake, she began try to understand their relationship. Sitting by the water, she pulled the sketchpad onto her knees, testing the pencils with her thumbs. She pictured his face, brushing her fingertips over the paper, feeling her way across the page with the touch of one accustomed to feeling for roughness and gauge, porosity and give. It suddenly reminded her of his cheek, just before he shaved.
As he worked in the yard, peering down the street, his eyes seeking her car as if looking for a ship on the horizon, and he suddenly had the feeling of her fingers on his cheek, and then it was gone. Moments later, the sensation returned again, as if she were softly stroking his face. He closed his eyes with an ache, before brushing the feeling aside with a shrug of irritation, returning to weeding the flower beds. By the lake, she pulled her sweater off, catching her T-shirt in her fingers as it rode up with the sweater. His face fixated in her mind, and she began to sketch an outline of his features, roughly hewn and tender. She recalled his face from memory, from touch, from scent and taste and everything between, his eyes slightly smiling, watchful. She drew his eyes first, in such a way that they seemed to gaze back at her as she worked, craggy eyebrows that could lift sardonically, for emphasis.
She smoothed her fingers down the image of his nose, slowly smudging the lead to form a shadow, as if seen by the dim light of the reading lamp on her side of the bed. As she drew with the artist’s pencil, the images somehow reversed, transposed, and he began to think in degrees of color, remembering past times, the smell of her, the texture of her skin. As she began to apply washes with the soft wash brush, layering color one coat at a time, he began to focus more in black and white, the things that are concrete, thoughts he could handle thinking about, the things he knew for sure, his love for her, his admiration, his need for her.
At first, he thought a trickle of sweat was running down his nose, absently brushing his fingers over his skin before returning to weeding the flowerbed. “It’s just sweat,” he thought to himself, mid-weed-tug paused. He closed his eyes to concentrate, and a sensation of the familiar feel of her fingertips brushed over his lower lip. He closed his eyes to shake the uneasy feeling of dependence, adamantly refusing to admit even the word into his consciousness.
As the weather warmed up, she peeled off her thick socks, burying her toes in the grass as she sketched his mouth. On the paper, full lips emerged, smooth, slightly darker than his face, rubbing a touch of charcoal over her fingertip, and she began to create the rounded sensuality of his lower lip, having the sudden sensation that she was touching his lips, and found herself slowing her movements. Short, sure rubs, the paper feeling more and more like his skin, a sense of three-dimensional breath.
As he worked in the yard, he looked down the street again, thinking he’d heard something. Unsure he returned to work, wiping the sweat off a dry cheek for the third time, frustrating himself. Then he remembered her touch, briefly, wistfully, and tried to brush it off, thinking crossly, “I have work to do, no time for this.” Yet, in that fleeting moment, he saw her form in the moon light as she removed her silk, her fragrance was the same as his lilacs blooming in the garden. Suddenly, his mind’s eye held an image of her removing her sweater by a lake.
This isn’t sweat, he thought to himself, mid-weed-tug paused. He closed his eyes to concentrate, and a sensation of the familiar feel of her fingertips brushed over his lower lip, the touch of a lover. Sitting back on his haunches, he welcomed the feeling, lips slightly parted in a silent sigh. He missed her, no matter how infuriati
ng she was to him. The feel of her finger slowed, becoming more firm, more deliberate, more exploratory. Dropping the weed in his hands, he concentrated on her touch, and knew something impossible, yet very real was happening. Yard work forgotten, he went into the house, lying on the bed to focus on her, just as the sensation stopped. Breathing deeply, after a long night without her and the warm sun beating over his shoulders while he worked in the garden, he drifted fitfully off.
She shifted her hands from the paper, startled. She could swear that the charcoal-smudged lips on the paper had moved beneath her fingertips. She found it much easier than he did to suspend disbelief, and she gazed intently into the eyes of the image before her. They seemed alive, watching her to see what she would do next. A small spider crawled over one crimson toenail. The sun grew a little more intense. Small children squealed in the water. An old woman, at the water’s edge, stopped and smiled, an ancient and knowing smile, before continuing her shuffling gait. All this was lost on the woman, who gazed at her lover’s eyes on the paper before her.
Just as she realized the connection, he awoke, bathed in sweat, listening to the same eerie chuckle that she’d heard from the old woman, at once not of this world, yet so serene as to calm him. A dawning awareness swept over her as she realized that he could feel her sketching, that he could feel it on his own skin. She felt him waiting. Touching the charcoal image, it felt alive. The old woman’s laugh drew her back to awareness with a start. Shuffling slowly towards her, the woman said with a sandpaper voice, with eyes both vividly alive and timelessly old, “You know what to do. All things are possible in a reality with no boundaries.” She looked down at the image of him on her lap, then back up to the old woman, who had somehow moved a quarter of a mile down the water’s edge, her thin laughter sounding faintly back to her. She stood up and headed back to the motel, the shadows of evening long in the distance.
Defiled Seduce Night Page 20