Rays of golden light stream through sheer curtain panels drawn haphazardly together. Each beam provides an unnatural opulence to the small flecks of dust hanging in the air. But everything in this room, everything this early morning sun touches, revolves around her and where she rests.
A cocktail that found its way from the hotel bar to the bedside table, once a deep amber suspended so delicately between her fingertips, is now diluted to translucent flaxen water.
A labyrinth of clothing strewn chaotically around the floor begins at the doorway and traces dizzily into the room where a few articles secured their crumpled posture on a nearby table or chair.
A heavy hand that shifts to meet a rising pelvis and reveals tousled sheets beneath her form. Yet what these rays cannot reveal is just how beguiled I have become by her – the way our bodies spark when close to one another.
It is a drug that lives within my veins. And no matter how much time I abstain, when I close my eyes, she is there. I have lost hours thinking of her. Fantasizing about her. Revisiting our trysts in my mind. And still, now, with her body stretched across the soft, pillow-top mattress – hips writhing against the ghost of my frame – my eyes drink in every inch of her naked flesh as though it is the first time I have seen such a delicate canvas.
Burgeoning desire takes hold and beckons whatever self-control remains. A swelling chest to smother the recollection of moments ago when she grabbed the back of my head to pull me deeper between her thighs. My lips wet with her essence; mouth, watering from her taste.
Eyelids blink open and I grow firmer at the sight of her hands providing pleasure for herself.
Watching her now evokes memories of the first toy I gifted to her. My muscles tensed as she pulled the wrapping away and tepidly held the box in her hands. Her face twisted from uncertainty to excitement as she removed the silicone dildo from the packaging. She laughed at the novelty, set it aside and climbed into my lap.
It soon became an overlooked gift of sorts – the kind of item left forgotten until cleaning out a drawer and happening upon it.
A few weeks later, upon returning home late following a double shift at work, there she was, lying on my bed, steadily moving the vibrating rod of silicone in and out of her with one hand – the other caressing her breasts. One minute I am frozen in my doorway and the next, I am kneeling beside her, clothes shed to the floor, and the dildo replaced with the girth of my cock.
The rarity of that moment, similar to how she presents herself now, remains striking for the simple fact that such public displays of pleasure almost seem too voyeuristic for her. And yet, another memory juxtaposes this notion entirely.
One trip, spent over holiday at my childhood home, our love tore through the entire house. After a day spent watching old family videos on a dusty camcorder uncovered in a closet, she eagerly succumbed to the thrill of going down on me when the suggestion of making our own film arose. And it did not stop there. Things naturally progressed as our appetites for each other piqued.
The first course began with an oral sampling of one another, followed by a cocktail of sorts – an intoxicating mixture involving a bar stool, an indomitable erection, and her earnest submission. Now that I think of it, she has always had an affinity for being taken from behind. For the main course, we came together on the kitchen floor – the experience heightened by the sight of our intertwined bodies reflected in the glass of the oven-door. Afterwards, we moved to the living room where she mounted me on the couch, riding passionately into the night.
I must admit, it is entirely unfair of me to paint her in a sheepish, non-PDA type of light. After all, she was the one who drove us to that isolated – though still very public – lakeside clearing one crisp fall day while visiting her parents, telling me that she needed to get away for a while. I sat on my truck’s tailgate as she stepped between my legs. Distracted by how passionately she stood kissing me, I did not even notice my pants were undone until she was stroking me in her hand. When she had me at my hardest, she dropped to her knees, took me in her mouth and did not release me until the last remnants of my climax had spilled down her throat.
Over the years it has become abundantly clear the desire she has for my cock, much in the same way I am so enamored by the oasis between her legs. Though, I am sure mine is more of an obsession, as previously noted, born from an insatiate taste and fervor to get her off.
She squirmed as I sucked and toyed with her clit for the first time, then bucked when I sunk my tongue deep inside of her. Since then, I have yet to taste anything as sweet as her flavor. If ever given a choice to receive or give head, I would, with certainty, choose the latter. The only thing I love more than getting off is knowing that my mouth and tongue can do things to this woman that no other person has ever been able to do.
But enough about the past and my lust for her delicacy, I should return my attention to her present needs.
“Roll over,” I command as I step towards the bed. She instinctively flips to her stomach and my hands grip her at the hips. I raise her waist and position her as I have so many times before – her ass raised to the heavens, her knees, shoulders, and face still connected to the warm swirl of sheets below her.
“I’m so wet,” she says. And while I know this is her way to share that she awaits my hardened cock, I cannot resist the opportunity to confirm such a proclamation. Holding her steady in my hands, I close my mouth down over the pillowy lips between her legs. To my surprise she presses back against me. My heart flutters within my chest as my tongue sweeps over and inside her, spreading wetness around her taint. I savor her body’s taste, but there are parts of me that can no longer be denied.
I raise up to press against her, running my shaft between the cheeks of her ass and down to the slickened opening nestled amongst her folds.
“Fuck me already,” she cries while reaching back with her hands to splay herself wider for me. The words start to form again but are interrupted by a gasp as I sink deep inside her. She struggles to brace herself against my thrusts, reaching for anything to steady her movements but only finding the sheets around her to grab.
I know why she loves offering herself in this position – the deep angle to draw me into her warmth, the rousing friction of her hardened nipples dancing over the sheets beneath us. I welcome the chance to reach a hand around to manipulate her swelling clit and feel her body tense as she cups my hand in one of her own, pressing my palm against her as we work in tandem to coax the roaring orgasm out from her depths.
Only when her back arches up in her feline nature do I slow my pace. Slow enough to feel her quaking walls grip at my swelling prick and for my eyes to study the lewdness of our situation. There may be nothing more arousing than watching myself, glistening with her essence, draw out and sink back into the pink of her sex again and again.
My hands grip and spread her soft cheeks, revealing the puckered hole we have seldom explored. Memories of that time in California when we stumbled back to our hotel room flood my mind. We were barely inside, the door still drawing closed, when I hiked up her dress, ripped her panties off and had her crawl on all fours to my bounding shaft before her. With our clothes halfway on, I have always wanted to try this, she said, stopping me before I could enter her. She then carefully steered me into her ass, both of us finding enjoyment in the prurient act.
I escape this prescient reverie to find my thumb circling against her asshole. She is already reaching a hand back to meet mine and, for a moment, I wonder if it is rising in rebuke. Her intention becomes clear, however, as she presses my thumb down, encouraging me to sink beyond the relaxed opening.
Tension mounts inside me as my pacing increases. She allows herself one more climax, the arrival made known by a sharp cry released without concern of being overheard. I thrust harder, almost violently, crashing into her as long as I can withstand the clenching sensations taking over my body.
Her torso wilts to the bed top, though her backside remains upward once I break free from inside her. My hand jerks rapidly with ease along the length of my shaft until my hips wretch forward, a trail of semen exploding down and across my lover’s back, and I collapse down to the sheets.
The air stills. Silence pulls the dynamo of our bodies closer in a coil of post-coital limbs, awash in golden light. And in this moment, flashes of what just transpired singe through my retina, scorch along the optic nerves into my brain, and, when I close my eyes, she is there.
