by Matt for Suzanne, December, 1999
Did your panties moisten, my sweet dearest, when you noticed my signal? My silent notice that I would tame, or tease into fury, your little wildcat? Did the thought of my lightest strap dancing its tattoo upon your shaved, parted lips lock your mind in a moment of terror? Amazement? Incredulity? Did our hostess notice the catch in your conversation as you recognized the sign? Or did you doubt, for the briefest of moments, on looking again to find it gone, that you saw it correctly?
Come to me, my nymph, fresh from your bath and razor. Ah, the sweet fresh cleanness of the skin I love so well. Patted, pampered dry, ready for my taking, inviting my mouth to every inch, an invitation that, bit by bit, I shall not refuse.
Let us fasten your hands to the headboard and relieve you of all further submission. I shall do as I like, you need not allow me - you are even free to try to stop me, I worry not. Is there soft comfort in the lined cuffs with which I capture your ankles, locking one to the other, overlapping, opposing? Nothing shall oppose me now - I shall have whatever I want, and I want everything.
Now, my darling, let me gaze into your eyes a moment - and see myself. Let me lower my mouth on yours and let our bodies flow into one another. Soon enough, soon enough, you will feel the little lickings you anticipate. Let us take a moment first and bask in our connectedness.
Kneeling, am I kneeling in your service? Each hand on your hair, one above, one below. Is this your reward for your days of abstinence? You melt under my touch until it is difficult to know where you end and my fingers begin.
One last, little, refinement - the bathing of my objective. Leaving your head, and eyes - tearing myself away - I move to lie atop your legs and apply my salve of sensitivity. Broad, hot licks slurping at you, dampening, then soaking, your lips, your thighs, your cheeks where I can reach them. Lapping at you, and diving, retrieving your own wetness to help me in this effort. Covering, assuring myself that all is soft and wet and ready for me.
Once again eschewing your eyes, I rise up and straddle you. After all of the waiting I move into action quickly. The strap flashes and you writhe as it bites into the undercurves of your cheeks. Such a small area, so much feeling! And up, either side, teasing, almost daring, not reaching that tender of tenders, but threatening - while at the same time kindling, igniting, enflaming wherever it touches. You arch - from passion alone? I think not. The strap is taking its toll and demanding its due. Your impending terror is supplanted by present panic. Sharp little bites and quick trails of fire fill your skin and your mind. And as quickly as it started, it ends.
My mouth is not to cool you but to heat you further. My lips ignore the pinked and laced sites the strap so recently danced upon. Instead, I fasten myself on your center, driving, diving, dividing. Oh, yes, you will be spread, spread and revealed. Too much? You need not submit.
And I am off of you, leaving you open and waiting. Once again kneeling at your side. Once again gazing into your eyes, lowering my mouth onto yours, flowing from me to you and you to me. My hand on your hair, my eyes locked on yours, the tips of my fingers lightly, so lightly, ascertaining my target. Can a lash in such a place ever be light enough? Is this, even, too much for you? Or is it passion that makes you struggle? Only one thing can be certain - even as lightly as this, you can not stand up to a dozen, much less three. You try to avoid my gaze, but with my fingers laced through your hair, you can only close your eyes. And even then you know what awaits them on opening. Yes, my dearest, I will look into your very soul. And see myself.
Over - could it be over? Ah, my sweet, do you truly wish it? Did you not thrill and dream when you saw this tiny cane? No, no, protest not - ask yourself and accept. So small, negligible, even, and yet, in your tenderness, can you bear it? Are you relieved or disappointed when I lift your ankles and roll you into a ball? Feel how it bites into the striped little pads of your fanny, and wonder if you will feel it over every lash you have received this evening. Now you may look away, if you wish - has so little distance made strangers of us? What are your thoughts as I stop? Is your wonder greater than your weakness? Will you ache more to feel a single stroke of this diminutive demon, or in conjecture of what you avoided?
The point is moot as I lower your ankles onto my back and my mouth onto your puffed, tender lips. Moreso that ever, this is mine, all mine. I tunnel my tongue into you, circling, widening, opening. I kiss two fingertips as I withdraw and in a moment am tunneling again, between them. All is revealed, while under my gaze, in place of your eyes, is your pinkened, toutured, captured lips and the tiny jewel between them. I pounce upon it, encircling it with my lips, blocking all chance of escape. A third finger joins its brothers. Your clitoris, advancing and retreating, feels the tiniest lash of my tongue. Come to me, oh Suzanne, come to me.
As you respond the lashes, still soft, get broader, circling within your cell. Around and over the top, around and over, again and again. Lashing, flickering, flickering, lashing. Drawn to me by the suction of my mouth. Once again, you into me, me into you. I watch your tummy roil and ripple as I coax, drag, drive you before me. My tongue is relentless in its hunger; it will not be half-satisfied. Fed on your passion, its hunger merely increases. You are mine, Suzanne, you will come for me. You will do it now. Now, my sweetest, or I shall pick up the lash and gaze into your eyes once more.
My hand is flooded as I know you are ready for me. Before the first crashing wave of your climax has passed, I am deep, deeply inside of you. Joined. One. Drawing away, no more than this slight distance, only to revel in the feeling of joining you again.
Ah, my sweet. Much as the pleasure it gives me to take over your mind within an overcrowded car, that is nothing compared to this. This is our true joining, skin on skin, from waist to head. Your legs, however immobile, hug me to you. In truth, I do not notice the heat of your enflamed thighs or the burn I have sealed upon your lips. I feel only us, as we are one, together. Oh, you are so much mine.
Did your panties moisten, my sweet dearest, when you noticed my signal? My silent notice that I would tame, or tease into fury, your little wildcat? Did the thought of my lightest strap dancing its tattoo upon your shaved, parted lips lock your mind in a moment of terror? Amazement? Incredulity? Did our hostess notice the catch in your conversation as you recognized the sign? Or did you doubt, for the briefest of moments, on looking again to find it gone, that you saw it correctly?
Come to me, my nymph, fresh from your bath and razor. Ah, the sweet fresh cleanness of the skin I love so well. Patted, pampered dry, ready for my taking, inviting my mouth to every inch, an invitation that, bit by bit, I shall not refuse.
Let us fasten your hands to the headboard and relieve you of all further submission. I shall do as I like, you need not allow me - you are even free to try to stop me, I worry not. Is there soft comfort in the lined cuffs with which I capture your ankles, locking one to the other, overlapping, opposing? Nothing shall oppose me now - I shall have whatever I want, and I want everything.
Now, my darling, let me gaze into your eyes a moment - and see myself. Let me lower my mouth on yours and let our bodies flow into one another. Soon enough, soon enough, you will feel the little lickings you anticipate. Let us take a moment first and bask in our connectedness.
Kneeling, am I kneeling in your service? Each hand on your hair, one above, one below. Is this your reward for your days of abstinence? You melt under my touch until it is difficult to know where you end and my fingers begin.
One last, little, refinement - the bathing of my objective. Leaving your head, and eyes - tearing myself away - I move to lie atop your legs and apply my salve of sensitivity. Broad, hot licks slurping at you, dampening, then soaking, your lips, your thighs, your cheeks where I can reach them. Lapping at you, and diving, retrieving your own wetness to help me in this effort. Covering, assuring myself that all is soft and wet and ready for me.
Once again eschewing your eyes, I rise up and straddle you. After all of the waiting I move into action quickly. The strap flashes and you writhe as it bites into the undercurves of your cheeks. Such a small area, so much feeling! And up, either side, teasing, almost daring, not reaching that tender of tenders, but threatening - while at the same time kindling, igniting, enflaming wherever it touches. You arch - from passion alone? I think not. The strap is taking its toll and demanding its due. Your impending terror is supplanted by present panic. Sharp little bites and quick trails of fire fill your skin and your mind. And as quickly as it started, it ends.
My mouth is not to cool you but to heat you further. My lips ignore the pinked and laced sites the strap so recently danced upon. Instead, I fasten myself on your center, driving, diving, dividing. Oh, yes, you will be spread, spread and revealed. Too much? You need not submit.
And I am off of you, leaving you open and waiting. Once again kneeling at your side. Once again gazing into your eyes, lowering my mouth onto yours, flowing from me to you and you to me. My hand on your hair, my eyes locked on yours, the tips of my fingers lightly, so lightly, ascertaining my target. Can a lash in such a place ever be light enough? Is this, even, too much for you? Or is it passion that makes you struggle? Only one thing can be certain - even as lightly as this, you can not stand up to a dozen, much less three. You try to avoid my gaze, but with my fingers laced through your hair, you can only close your eyes. And even then you know what awaits them on opening. Yes, my dearest, I will look into your very soul. And see myself.
Over - could it be over? Ah, my sweet, do you truly wish it? Did you not thrill and dream when you saw this tiny cane? No, no, protest not - ask yourself and accept. So small, negligible, even, and yet, in your tenderness, can you bear it? Are you relieved or disappointed when I lift your ankles and roll you into a ball? Feel how it bites into the striped little pads of your fanny, and wonder if you will feel it over every lash you have received this evening. Now you may look away, if you wish - has so little distance made strangers of us? What are your thoughts as I stop? Is your wonder greater than your weakness? Will you ache more to feel a single stroke of this diminutive demon, or in conjecture of what you avoided?
The point is moot as I lower your ankles onto my back and my mouth onto your puffed, tender lips. Moreso that ever, this is mine, all mine. I tunnel my tongue into you, circling, widening, opening. I kiss two fingertips as I withdraw and in a moment am tunneling again, between them. All is revealed, while under my gaze, in place of your eyes, is your pinkened, toutured, captured lips and the tiny jewel between them. I pounce upon it, encircling it with my lips, blocking all chance of escape. A third finger joins its brothers. Your clitoris, advancing and retreating, feels the tiniest lash of my tongue. Come to me, oh Suzanne, come to me.
As you respond the lashes, still soft, get broader, circling within your cell. Around and over the top, around and over, again and again. Lashing, flickering, flickering, lashing. Drawn to me by the suction of my mouth. Once again, you into me, me into you. I watch your tummy roil and ripple as I coax, drag, drive you before me. My tongue is relentless in its hunger; it will not be half-satisfied. Fed on your passion, its hunger merely increases. You are mine, Suzanne, you will come for me. You will do it now. Now, my sweetest, or I shall pick up the lash and gaze into your eyes once more.
My hand is flooded as I know you are ready for me. Before the first crashing wave of your climax has passed, I am deep, deeply inside of you. Joined. One. Drawing away, no more than this slight distance, only to revel in the feeling of joining you again.
Ah, my sweet. Much as the pleasure it gives me to take over your mind within an overcrowded car, that is nothing compared to this. This is our true joining, skin on skin, from waist to head. Your legs, however immobile, hug me to you. In truth, I do not notice the heat of your enflamed thighs or the burn I have sealed upon your lips. I feel only us, as we are one, together. Oh, you are so much mine.
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