Her tongue on my clit. Soft, so soft, and exquisite. Circling rhythmically and I’m straining at every pore of my skin, willing every nerve ending to move between my legs to feel more.
Then, her fingers pulling at the piercing in my right inner labia, pinching the skin where the metal goes through, and her tongue, her tongue, I feel her tongue on my lips, from her fingers, moving up, pushing apart the slick folds of skin and finding that ridge under my clit where I could lay still poised on her tongue for hours if she let me.
It is not often that I allow myself to be exposed, taken. In fact, it is rare to fuck without my cock strapped on, my safety shield, usually impenetrable. But, tonight, Calley asked me to let her take me.
And now I can’t feel anything but her fingers sliding inside my cunt slowly, her long fingers, three, four, I could take her whole arm inside me, to the elbow, and her jaw is still hinged open with the tip, the length of her tongue on that spot, under my clit, sucking and moving back and forth and my eyes are rolling back, and there is nothing, no feeling at all, except her open mouth between my legs.
In a rare moment of disclosure, I told Calley over blue martinis that I’d once been full-body bound. Told her if I could have anything, it would be that again. Full-body binding and not even an orgasm, necessarily, just being wrapped held tight safe for a while.
“Oh,” she’d said. “If I had you full-body bound there is no way I would resist making your body … sing.”
“It’s hard, I’ve found,” I said, staying cool, staying calm, speaking logistically as if we were discussing a recent film or bicycle repair, “to have the right access with rope. Leaving the right places exposed is tricky.”
“Oh?” She says again. “I wasn’t thinking about using rope.”
… Excerpt from the upcoming story, with full knowledge that my anonymity is fragile and not very veiled. The story involves plastic wrap, hot wax, and an ice dildo. Posted simply because there needs to be more sex on this blog.