Mar 272010
 
The “Under 500″ are posts in which I attempt to do a sketch of a moment, generally sexual, in under 500 words. I’m inspired to add this to the stash. I hope you enjoy…

Panting unsettles my orgasmic dénouement. His hand was still on my neck. Big, strong fingers tracing deceptively delicate diagrams at the hollow under my chin where the throat’s thin-skinned then a finger slid abruptly to pull insistently on my lip, insinuating between my teeth with a blasé approach to the grinding porcelain and bone threats to his digital integrity.

My right hand tightened reflexively on his flank where it had been marveling over, over and over, the preternatural rigidity of the muscle under the sweat-slicked skin. My left hand went AWOL on its mission to sink fingers into the flesh of his forearm…bicep…shoulder that remained frozen in place holding him up seemingly effortlessly as he inhaled my skin, sensitized as it was by the rough stubble of his chin and cheeks, each stroke its own small riot of sensation across my flesh.

I shook again.

And again. Continue reading »

Mar 232009
 

The line between consciousness and sleep blurs to a haze of breathing and soft contact and the tug of a hand on heated skin. There are moments you want to last because you can’t imagine anything better than what you are feeling right now; the slow twist of a sheet wrapped perfectly around your foot, toes in a cool spot, and the pillow that somehow has achieved the precise position that permits you to press your body even more firmly into the warm body curled behind you. The soles of your feet on the tips of their toes calves pressed one against the other legs interlocked thighs parted just enough to let one knee insinuate itself and apply delicious teasing pressure to your ass and a hand drifting with languid slowness that would be torturous except that it is the sweetest torture one can know than that is the agony of drinking in every moment as fully as possible… Continue reading »

Nov 122008
 

His chin tilts and his eyes drift in a particular way when he isn’t paying attention to what I have to say anymore. I’m irritated but the lazy meandering of his gaze is deceptive. I know better than to think he isn’t paying attention. He is. He is, even as I earnestly try to explain my hatred of Fox News, nodding and pushing me off his lap as I slide to the floor only to be grabbed by the arm pulled around to face him on the couch. My protests about having to watch O’Reilly are effectively muted by a flick of his hands at his belt and his cock, already half hard as he pulls my face towards it left hand stroking it even harder right hand under my chin, now holding open my lips and teeth and sliding over my tongue his eyes slitted and his voice a corduroy drawl “Hush, babygirl…come on …suck your Daddy’s cock for a second…be a good girl…” and I am I’m a good girl because that pushes a deep seated reflex that includes opening my mouth obediently, blinking upwards as he hisses, inhales. Continue reading »