Monday, March 29, 2010

You tell me practice makes perfect.

If that's so, then by the time I'm thirty, I'll be nearing godhood.

But I simply tell you that one day I'll make some man deliriously happy.

When I settle down. If I settle down.

I can only assume that I will because I can't help but stumble across men who want to make me theirs, if for a night or for a lifetime.

I tell you that, if you were here, I'd crawl inside your skin, break down your barriers, close those snapping teeth that try so hard to keep me at bay, keep your wily, dodging tongue occupied.

Bust those shields down so I can sink into you, find out what you're about.

If you were here, I'd show you that this is how I speak, discard the frustrations of words for the poetry of flesh.

Let's play this out.

We wake up Saturday morning in my bed. You'd kept yourself at a noticeable distance from me the entire night. I open my eyes, smudged with make-up, to yours. I'm black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, pink lips. Soft and warm. Wanting you. I smile, but you don't return it, which only makes my smile grow as I try not to laugh.

Stoic, even in the morning, only half awake.

You grumble at my unconcealed amusement, withdrawing further into yourself.

Unfortunately, that provokes my laughter.

Shooting me a look of disdain, you prop yourself up with one arm and quickly untangle yourself from the blankets that encased you in the night, then go to ease yourself over me without making physical contact, as I am between you and the exit of my black canopy bed.

I wait until you're almost exactly above me, knowing you won't be meeting my eyes, as that would allow conversation. My hand reaches up and snags the bottom of your shirt.

"I'm sorry. Please don't go."

You pause and look down at me, I shift my hips so I'm flat against the bed on my back, fingers still wrapped in your shirt.

"Please, M? I'm sorry. I won't laugh at you anymore. Just stay."

Another few seconds of staring at each other, no more than two feet of space separating us, but then you start to move away, towards your escape, watching me as you slowly shift your weight, feral eyes waiting to see what I may do.

I freeze.

And then you turn your head to judge the distance from the bed to the floor, to make sure you won't step on anything.

With this brief distraction, I rise up against you, left shoulder leading to unbalance you, tip you towards the interior of the bed.

You should have expected this, but my apparent docility must have caught you off-guard. It was too easy, making me wonder if you allowed it.

I follow your roll with my body, keeping the momentum enough to have you on your back.

And you let me.

Right hand on your chest, fingers resting on the top of your collarbone, left hand on your right bicep, our bodies pressed together. You're hard flesh and so warm, but I don't move against you. You knock my left hand off your arm as you go to peel my fingers from your chest, but I drop my face down to meet your palm, nipping at your hand while I slide my left hand up your now unguarded side, over your shoulder, fingers threading into your hair, nails trickling down the back of your neck.

The expression on your face wavers between irritation and something... undefined.

You try to move my hand from your chest again, but I shift onto one elbow and abandon your chest to grab your hand, bringing your fingers bare centimeters from my lips, enough so that you can feel my breath tickling the tips.

I wait to see what you will do, eyes locked on you.

A sneer crosses your face, and I know you're trying to scare me off.

Keep trying.

I feel your muscles tense beneath me, and suddenly I'm being lifted into the air as you extract yourself, shoving me up and off. I wrap my arms around your body, adding my weight purposefully to yours, trying to slow you, but it doesn't faze you. You simply keep moving, so I get my knees under me and shove you down.

"Let me out of the bed, V."

Your voice is low, coming from inches above my head. We both know you could toss me off you with ease, but you don't. You're probably afraid you'll hurt me.

"You're not going to like it if I have to force you to let go," you tell me.

I relax my body around yours, slowly letting go and pulling away, you sitting up, me with my knees on either side of your thighs.

"Fucking finally," you near growl at me.

But instead of scooting backwards, I slide forwards, closer to you, until I'm able to feel your erection through your pants each time I move my hips.

And I do move them, slowly grinding into you, feeling my body heat and open, slight pulses fluttering between my legs with each heartbeat.

I lean forward, lips almost brushing the curve of your ear, "What's so bad about wanting to be buried inside me? I'm offering myself to you... are you going to turn me down?" A quick dart of my tongue against your earlobe, and I press my chest against yours, continuing my cyclical hip movements, stroking myself against you. Lips on your neck, slightly opened so my tongue can slide between them with each kiss, slight suction, hands roaming, nails leaving fine track marks on your back underneath your shirt.

You're so still, only the slightest quiver of muscle betraying any tension.

So I ease off, moving backwards to let you out of the bed, looking behind me to make sure I won't tip myself over the footboard as I try to give you space.

I did not even feel you move until you had a fistful of my hair and were yanking me past you onto the bed, shoving me face first into the mattress. I catch myself with my forearms, but you continue pushing me down with the hold you have on my hair, leaving me fighting to breathe, feeling my own warm breath cycled back to me, hunched over and still on my knees.

Your free hand roams my body, over my ass, down my sides, fondling my chest through my shirt, but you quickly shove that up past my neck, trapping my arms with the fabric, muffling my breathing further.

When your wandering hand returns back to my ass, I cannot stop the roll of my hips, opening of pink folds beneath fabric, that total need. A chuckle escapes you, a brief and barely heard sound.

You slide your hand underneath the top of my pants before yanking them to my bent knees, leaving me quivering under the sudden exposure of wet flesh to cool morning air, making me gasp when you run a quick finger from the beginning of my folds to my entrance, gathering fluid. A whimper escapes my lips when you do not penetrate, my hips are set to a slight roll, hoping to entice you, wanting that invasion.

Pressing my face harder into the mattress, you spread me wide with your fingers, leaving me open, warm and pink, watching the fluid cling, pool, and overflow, drips starting to move down the inside of my thighs. Your middle finger rests at the tip of my entrance, bouncing slightly, adding pressure, but not enough to enter, even as I move to seek it out, you keep me at a distance, watching my hips roll against the air.

A muffled sound causes you to raise my head slightly from the mattress, my lips brushing against it still as I whimper, "Please..."

Your hand leaves my opening entirely, leaving wet trails of my own lube as your fingers wander up my back and around to my chest once more, grabbing handfuls of breast and kneading, tugging at my hardened tips until I'm whimpering without words.

I feel the mattress sink as your weight shifts, you're moving around me and my body tightens in expectation. I hear the sound of a zipper, then fabric moving over skin, causing more fluid to run down my thighs.

I gasp when you roughly knock my knees apart with one of your own, losing my balance, but you simply reach down and grab me by my pubic bone, yanking me back up while still keeping my knees distant from one another.

You move between my legs, I can feel your heat and my hips twitch towards you once more, pleading for you.

But it isn't that easy. The head of your penis touches my clit and I try to angle downwards to drive you home. You dodge my attempts easily, playing with me while I moan into the sheets, your fingers tightening in my hair.

And then you give. That one moment where you're poised right there, and I'm near crying with need, vibrating under you, begging with my body for those inches to be plunging into me with gorgeous smoothness. That shift where my skin clings to you, sucks you in, gasping perfection of you buried to the hilt, our flesh meeting.

You slide in, leaning over me, distributing weight between where you're thrusting into me and your hand in my hair, trapping me. As if I'd try to leave while I'm busy pushing back against you for those perfect angles, trying to take you deeper as I nearly hyperventilate myself breathing into the mattress, my moaning caught within it.

Each time you thrust, I'm fighting being driven forward, feeling the jarring of your hipbones against my ass, that bruising sensation, and you speed up, my breasts swinging near painfully.

When you orgasm, you don't pull out. You shoot your load into me, so very hot and full, your body shaking with each pulse, your fist tugging on my hair rhythmically until you drop your grip and slide yourself out, a trickle of semen leaking onto the sheets beneath me and my body attempts to retain you.

I uncurl from my hunched position, sliding my legs straight back to uncramp my thighs, inhaling deeply once I toss my hair out of my face, extending my elbows and rolling my spine to undo the tension, feeling more semen squeezed out as my muscles twinge, coating me in shiny white fluid.

I look over my shoulder at you, you're staring down at me, watching my body unwind from accepting yours, your penis coated in our mixed fluids. I turn around and clean you off with my roaming tongue, my eyes closed as I explore you, my nose inhaling the scent of our mixed arousal, brushing against your skin, taking you between my lips.

Your hand touches my hair, and I look up with you still in my mouth.

"Good morning, V."

... ... ... ... ... ...

We'll return to our regularly scheduled program, complete with party observation recap and the woman I may refer to as the High Reigning Queen of SWPL for the duration of the post, tomorrow.


  1. Holy fuck that was hot. Perfect for 4am.

    God, I want that.

  2. And to think I'd be going out there just to learn how to eat artichoke properly....
    My real name does start with the letter "M".
    And I'm not sure if my eyes are feral or not....

  3. Second person narrative. Nice touch, unusual if well suited to the topic, in a letters-to-Penthouse sort of way. However, it excludes at least half you readership (female portion). I admit, doll - I chubbed out a little. Wasn't that your intent? How could it not have been? But no pic for your loyal male readership, despite putting out (heh) for a female fan. No book summary either. Ungrateful creature.

  4. Birdykins,

    I'll send him right over. Don't forget to tip, hehe.


    Hey, I think learning to eat an artichoke is going to be a good start. And I might start calling you by a different name that starts with "M" whenever you comment now. Maybe.


    I'm female and writing this post got me all hot and bothered, thank you. So mean. This post was actually a request made by a (male) friend, so it very much was full of intent to "chub out" the male readers. Still debating about the picture.

    Book summary will be soon, I promise. I just have to catch up on sleep.

    Pfeht. I'm not ungrateful. I'm just... me.