Lust.Desire.Passion.Hunger.
theme by Haute-Couture
Lust.Desire.Passion.Hunger.
bendingsubmission: How long before our guests notice we’re taking too long? That first moment, when I raise your dress, it’s the best isn’t it? Do you think they know what we are doing? Can you be quiet enough to let me finish? Should I finish, or leave you aching and wet for the rest of the party? Can I walk back into the room with this erection unnoticed? How badly do you need me to fuck your feet off the floor? Do you hate the way I know how to stop right at the edge? Do you know how I love to watch you dangling there? How many people in that room knew you’d be against the wall with my fingers in you? Can I make those little rivers reach your stockings before we have to get back? Does a part of you want someone to see this? To see how easily you let go for me? So many questions.
bendingsubmission: I told her not to wear them. She ignored the request, to see if I was serious. Her version of a little game. “Why are those still on?” “I thought you were joking.” “No you didn’t.” “No, I didn’t. I suppose I’m in trouble now?” “You think you’re safe because we’re almost in the lobby?” “I like my chances.”  I didn’t wait for the smirk I knew was coming. As I forced her to the wall and pulled them to her calves, she froze. Before the shock wore off, my fingers had her suspended. Hanging off me. Eyes closed, her mouth parted. Then movement. Her hand to my forearm. Fingers tightening as mine increased speed. Elegant enough to avoid overstimulating, rough enough to force her back to arch in preparation. She didn’t realize how well I knew her body. How I easily I could read her. How quickly I could rip this from her if I chose to. Her nails were sinking into my arm before the it struck her. Her eyes opened. That wonderful look of ecstasy, coupled with bewilderment. “I’m going to . .” “You most certainly are.” They closed again as she slipped into violently silent convulsions, marked by a little “oh fuck” mantra only I could hear. Normally I would stop at this point. Not tonight. Though she might not listen to me, her body does. Eyes open again, ecstasy mixed this time with a touch of fear.  “Oh God, I can’t stop …” “No, you can’t.” Pull all the levers. There are no brakes for this. I held her there, past the edge, just shy of tears. Long enough to make my point. Long enough to open another door in her she was afraid to look into. There’s a reason the French call this the little death. Without warning, I stepped back, leaving her against the wall. Her hips still bucking. Her body dancing to echoes from my fingers. The fabric around her calves fluttering as her left leg twitched.  “Now take those off and find a trash can for them.” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “My legs don’t work.” 
delicate-sex-and-love: *