by Radclyffe
She had that dangerous, edgy tone to her voice that said she didn’t like to be denied. I had about two minutes before she was on top of me, and I wouldn’t be able to say no. It had been a long week, and nothing made me come like her hands. I’d been ready for her for days. But she kicked out of the rest of her clothes and let me lead her by the hand to the bed.
“Come lie down, baby.” I reached down, grasped the bottom of my silk tee, and stretched my arms above my head as I slowly drew it off, leaving only the white silk bikinis to cover me. Once again, I evaded her hands as I pulled back the crisp, fresh sheets and slipped into bed.
She came into my arms like I was her last refuge, pulling me to her, one arm encircling my waist, fitting every curve of her body to mine. I tucked my head into the shelter of her neck and kissed the undersurface of her jaw. “I’ve missed going to sleep with you.”
“Yeah?”
She skimmed her fingers up my stomach and over my right nipple, catching my breast in the swell of her palm and squeezing gently. Both nipples stood up straight from the attention, and my clit did a little dance. I wanted her to keep touching me. I always did. I wanted to rock my hips against the thigh that she edged between mine. I wanted her soft skin rubbing over my hard clitoris. I could come that way, and she loved it. She loved it when I trembled and whimpered and couldn’t hold back, pushing myself up and down her leg until I shattered.
That’s what I wanted, but I knew it wasn’t what she needed. I let her push her leg a little tighter against me, because then I could get mine between hers. I ignored the ache between my legs, the tiny whispers of need pulsing through me, as I rolled a little bit more on top of her, bringing just a little more of my weight between her thighs. The damp silk between us saved me, because I so wanted to come and the heat of her skin on my bare clit would have broken me.
“So, were you brilliant this week?” I asked casually as I stroked my fingers along the side of her breast.
“Uh-huh,” she acknowledged lazily as she cupped my butt with both hands and pulled me hard against her.
I rubbed my thumb back and forth over her stiffening nipple, and when I heard her quick intake of breath, I bent my head and licked it. Then I eased away just enough to smooth my other hand up the inside of her thigh. Soon I alternated between teasing her breast and nipple with my lips and stroking the soft skin high up on her thigh with echoing circular caresses.
“Did you close the deal?” I asked softly.
“Mmm. Course.”
When she lifted her hips and pushed down, the backs of my fingers brushed between her legs. Oh God, she was wet, so wet. I felt her slick come against my skin, and my insides tightened. I was already painfully swollen, my clit trembled madly, and I was so close to letting go. But this was for her. I turned on my side so we were face to face and some of the pressure eased enough for me to breathe.
“So tell me...about the meeting.” Relaxed. Interested.
While she talked, something about mergers and margins and options, I made appreciative sounds while tracing patterns on her belly, down her thighs, and up the inside of her leg. Every now and then, I allowed my fingers to stray down into the cleft between her cheeks. When I did, her words hitched and stumbled. By the time I sucked her nipple into my mouth, she’d stopped talking. When I worked it between my lips, alternately tugging and tonguing it, she moaned softly. I flicked it a little harder, then bit lightly.
“Jesus,” she groaned and reached between my legs, hooking a finger around my bikinis. “Take these off.”
I drew my hips back and looked into her eyes. They were hazy and soft. Almost. With a single finger, I stroked between her labia to a spot just below her clitoris. And pressed. Her lids fluttered and she arched her neck. There.
“No,” I murmured against her mouth, “not yet.”
“I want you,” she protested softly, but she caught her lip between her teeth and moaned when I slowly squeezed her clitoris.
“Please,” I whispered, circling her with my fingertips now, “I want to taste you.” She was so hard, I ached to get her into my mouth.
“Just...for a second.”
I smiled. Now. I slid down the bed, between her legs, then glanced up to find her propped up on her elbows, watching me from beneath heavy lids. Her scent was rich, enticing, exciting. Our eyes locked, and I held her gaze as I stretched out my tongue, licked the edges of her lips, then went lower, circling the taut muscle. Her eyes widened, and her breathing got faster. I pressed one palm against her stomach. It was like a board. I licked her slowly, using the whole surface of my tongue, lapping at her, drinking her in. Her eyes were nearly closed, but still she tried to watch me as I teased her.
“I want to come now,” she said quietly, almost calmly. When she sounded like that, I knew she was struggling not to explode. Not to scream.
“I want to lick you a little longer.”
She choked back a whimper, her hands tangling in my hair as she tried to guide my mouth to her red, swollen clit. Her legs were trembling, her fingers fluttering in my hair. I knew she was close and that if I sucked her for very much longer she would come.
“Please.”
I didn’t want her to beg. I wanted to give her everything.
I sucked on her clit, pulled it in and out of my mouth, running my tongue back and forth over the tip. When her hips started to rock, I slipped two fingers inside her. I needed her to open for me. I used my tongue to push under the hood, bearing down on the most sensitive part of her clitoris. Her legs twisted, and she pushed hard against my face.
“I want to come. Please make me come.”
Three fingers now, my thumb and small finger curled into my palm. I could make her come with my mouth now—I would make her come if I kept up the attention to her clit. But I wanted more, and she needed more.
She held my head in both hands, pressing against me, her belly tight, quivering. “Come on, baby. Come on. God, make me come.”
I lifted my lips away, raised up on my knees between her legs, and angled my arm slightly—four fingers. My head was spinning, my entire body shaking. I held my breath. I pressed.
“Oh God,” she screamed as she bucked against my hand.
I found her clit with my other hand, pinched it, rolled it in my fingers, then soothed it with gentle circular strokes.
She sat up, panting, her fingers clamped around my wrist between her legs. “Do it. Do it. God, I need you.”
I pulled my thumb in tight to my palm, pushed my hand into her up to the knuckles, and waited for the moment when she started to come. “Look at me.”
She lifted nearly blind eyes to mine—open, vulnerable, trusting.
I rubbed her clit harder, faster, then eased off to feather-light strokes—over it, under it, around the sides—and—there—as her hips rose, her legs and stomach contracting with the first wave of orgasm, I slid my hand the rest of the way inside her.
I fucked her. Not hard, but a slow, steady back-and-forth motion, driving the orgasm deep into her, through her, out the other side.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Her hands clutched the sheets, her head swept from side to side, her eyes wide and fixed on my face.
I wouldn’t stop now—couldn’t stop now. Sweat dripped from my face, my breasts, onto her heaving belly, and still I kept going, gently, relentlessly. “I love you, I love you,” I whispered, over and over.
Now, I could take her to the place she needed to be, beyond the boundaries she hadn’t intended to build and didn’t know how to break. She let me take her there because she’s mine and I’m hers. And that’s the only thing I’ll ever need to know.
THE EDGE OF TRUST
“Keep your eyes on me.”
The voice held familiar echoes, but the tone held a note of cold command that struck in the pit of her stomach like a closed fist. Or perhaps it was merely the lack of any emotion whatsoever where she’d come to expect warmth and tenderness that brought acid rising from her depths into the bac
k of her throat.
I said I wanted this. So did she. We sought it. We agreed.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Silently, she swallowed and stared straight ahead at her lover, who lounged in a large leather armchair ten feet in front of her. She had to look down slightly, not just because of her height but because she was standing on a raised platform in the center of a dimly lit room. She was also completely naked. A shaft of pale light from a single spot just above her head cast her tautly etched muscles in bas relief, a living statue, still as death.
Her lover, just visible at the juncture of light and shadow, looked totally at ease in a turquoise silk shirt the same lustrous color as her eyes. The fact that it was unbuttoned its entire length and that she was wearing nothing else appeared not to faze her. She reclined slightly in the depths of the soft cushions, her arms outstretched along the curved arms of the chair, her legs parted only enough to reveal a faint hint of dusty gold.
Her lover waited until she met the turquoise gaze, until she was in her power, before she spoke again.
“Restrain her.”
Anticipating, but not truly able to know what to expect, she tried to keep breathing, struggled to concentrate on the fleeting reassurance in her lover’s face that flickered and was rapidly extinguished as another woman she couldn’t quite see moved quickly around her in the semidarkness. She jumped when a hand touched her hip, but she followed the unspoken directions and took a step backward. A moment later she found herself spread-eagled, arms and legs stretched wide by soft leather shackles attached to short chains that ran somewhere beyond her vision. A padded pole was at her back. Her lover was all she could see. When she shifted slightly, the chains grew tight, bringing her up short. She was exposed, helpless, her skin glowing with the first flush of arousal tinged with apprehension. Her lover’s eyes were hot. She shivered almost imperceptibly when heat, liquid and heavy, trickled along her thighs.
“She has a beautiful body, doesn’t she?” her lover remarked almost clinically. “Run your hands over her—see for yourself.”
As the stranger smoothed a hand over her torso, tracing the curves of her small breasts before drawing down the center of her belly, she watched her lover flick the shirt off her chest and caress her fingers lovingly over her own breasts. She hadn’t known what to expect, but oh God not this! The icy distance, the searing connection. When she saw her lover’s nipples stiffen, her stomach muscles twitched, first in surprise, then with quick jerks of lust.
Nothing excited her as much as her lover’s excitement.
Lips, soft and moist, sucked at the skin just below her navel. Sighing involuntarily at the swift jolt of hot pleasure, she didn’t look at the stranger who touched her; only her lover mattered. She knew what that sleek, firm body—that smooth, hot skin—felt like beneath her hands, and her clitoris stiffened at the sight of her lover sensuously circling her nipples before stroking slowly down to the gold at the base of her belly, hips lifting slightly to greet the practiced caress. Despite the bonds that held her, she leaned forward, unconsciously offering herself, all the while imagining her hands claiming her lover.
Then her lover smiled, eyes dreamy but voice still commanding. “Now her nipples.”
“Oh!” she cried sharply as fingers grasped, then twisted—first one, then the other. Her hips convulsed as the electric sensation shot ruthlessly between her legs. Moisture seeped steadily between her thighs. “Lover?” she questioned uncertainly, voice unsteady, as her body responded to the stranger’s manipulations. I can’t help it. It’s making me wet.
They’d sought this. Agreed. But her desire was like an uninvited guest in the night, unbidden and strangely unwelcome. She’d never been so ready to surrender and never before needed permission so much. “Lover?”
“Squeeze harder,” her lover instructed huskily, both hands palming her breasts, forcing them together, fingers tugging ruthlessly at the reddened nubs.
Groaning, fire curling in the pit of her stomach, streaking along her spine, she twisted against her restraints. Frantic to escape the tormenting hands, desperate for more. “Oh yes, please...stop...yes...oh...”
“Kneel in front of her,” her lover ordered, dropping one hand between her legs and trailing her fingers up and down her inner thighs. The silky skin glistened in the light. “Work on her legs, but don’t go near her clit.”
Moaning steadily now as hands kneaded the muscles in her buttocks and thighs, she arched her back, no longer trying to contain the pleasure. Her clitoris throbbed painfully, sharply demanding attention. Quivering, mesmerized by the sight of her lover slipping slick folds of swollen flesh lazily between her fingers, she thrust mindlessly against the chains that held her prisoner. When she heard her lover cry out softly, saw trembling fingers brush against the base of the exposed clitoris, she felt her own body clench deep inside. Their passion danced in tandem, pulse for aching pulse. Stroke yourself, lover. Do it, you know you want to, do it, do it—
“Touch me,” she whispered without meaning to speak.
“Oh no, baby,” her lover murmured, hips thrusting gently. “You don’t want it bad enough yet.”
I do! Oh God, I want to come so bad.
She sobbed, hips jerking in the air, desperate for her lover’s touch. When a finger explored lightly between her legs, sending flames bursting from her clitoris into her pelvis, the first tantalizing whisper of approaching orgasm fluttered through her belly. If she pushed forward just a little, that finger would touch her hard enough to make her come. She didn’t know she was whimpering as she fought against the leather and steel.
“Please,” she begged, her clitoris twitching ceaselessly and the promise of relief so near. She dangled impotently in the restraints, watching through heavy eyelids as her lover spread her legs farther, resting her knees over the wide leather arms to expose her desire. “Please.”
“Stroke her clit,” her lover demanded hoarsely, doing the same to herself. “Be careful with it. She’ll come if you work her too long. And I don’t want her to come!”
“I need to,” she pleaded. “I’m ready now, lover. I need to come.”
“Mmm, baby, you beg so sweet. Oh! Mmm, yeah...” Her lover’s fingers were a blur. “Not yet. Not yet.”
Helplessly, she tried to focus on her lover, but she was losing the struggle for control. She didn’t care who was touching her any longer, as long as the touch didn’t stop. If she didn’t come soon she was going to implode. “No more,” she begged. “I can’t stand it. Oh, yes...touch me there...harder...please make me come...”
“You are...not to come...without permission,” her lover gasped, flicking her clitoris rapidly up and down.
Too late—I’m gonna come. Gotta come. A captive of her own need, she merely grunted, jerking desperately against the fingers that tormented her.
“Faster, squeeze her harder,” her lover managed, breathing unevenly through clenched teeth, twisting on the chair, legs outstretched and rigid. “She loves that.”
“Lover, oh...she’s making me come!” She panted, stomach hard, ready to explode. “Oh, can I—”
“Lick her!”
She wailed as the warm, soft tongue ran the length of her, ending with one long, firm caress from the underside of her clitoris and around the pulsing head. With the last ounce of strength she possessed, she sought her lover’s face through eyes nearly blind with need. “Please...oh please...is it all right?”
“Yes, baby—yes—” her lover screamed, tugging her clitoris frantically. “Oh, baby, come with me. Oh! Oh, I’m coming!”
As her mind went white, the stranger reached up, grasped her hips, and sucked her all the way into her mouth. With hands clenched into fists beyond the restraining cuffs, bound by need and imprisoned by desire, she jammed herself against the woman’s face. Head thrown back, the tendons in her neck standing out in tight cords, she shouted as the wrenching spasms tore her apart.
For an instant, the only sounds were those of t
heir joint release reverberating throughout the room. Then, there was nothing but the whisper of soft sobbing.
“Get her down,” her lover gasped weakly. “Be careful.”
When she collapsed to her knees, shattered by more than pleasure, swaying on the edge of trust, her lover was there to shelter her in loving arms.
MEETING FTF
I pace restlessly on the corner opposite the small coffee bar in Old City. The few small, round, glass-topped tables set out in front of the tiny establishment on the uneven red-brick sidewalk leave barely enough room for passersby to get around them without stepping into the cobblestone street. Street is a generous term for what is little more than an alley, but the history-laden district with its three-hundred-year-old buildings has its charms. All of which are lost on me as I watch the café for some sign of her. No one is seated at the tables.
I’m fifteen minutes early. Still lots of time to think about the fact that she might not show up at all and to worry that I haven’t dressed appropriately for the occasion if she does. Plenty of time to spend trying not to think about the possibility that she won’t want me—in the flesh. Nine months into our relationship, and now, fifteen minutes before liftoff, I get to worry about that.
Funny how it’s all turned around. Usually it’s the chemistry, that elusive indescribable irrational spark that gets things started. You see someone hot and give her a look. She looks back, and you’re on your way. You spend a little time finding out if there’s any more to it than heat, or you have a quick, sweaty tumble, but either way—you know. Then you go on from there, discovering, exploring, learning. Or you smile, say it was nice, and move on. Not this time. Now I’m in so deep I can’t breathe, and I’ve never seen her face, heard her voice. Well, I know her “voice”—the cadence of her speech, the words she uses when she’s angry or happy or horny. I can tell from the length of her sentences if she’s stressed or tired or ready for loving.
