This is a growing collection of my stories. I appear to favour writing about sex and death, not always together. I'm also writing two books. Some days it feels like most other people inhabit a world where you can aimlessly wander into vendor-created wonderlands and purchase things you never knew you needed - for entertainment. The mind boggles. I believe it's because I wasn't allowed to watch television as a child. I just don't get some things. I'm ok with that

Monday, August 15, 2011

Saturday Morning



I go out dancing and come home with mischief.

I’m not really thinking straight, my thighs pressed together in anticipation.

“I just want to feel your fingers inside me”

I barely know him. He doesn’t smile at me, he looks at my lips.

It’s very distracting. I want to pass my tongue over my mouth to check them. I don’t. I wait for him to say something. The motion of the train makes us sway a little. We pass through a tunnel and my pulse jumps. All too soon our carriage snakes back out into daylight. My companion glances at me thoughtfully, a knowing glint in his green eyes.

“You expected something back there?”

Again he employs his unsettling technique of watching my mouth. I'm unsure what he thinks. He was eager, as I was, when we left the bar, holding hands and pelting like lunatics towards the train.

“I was just hoping...?”

I smile with the full force of my ruby-red lips, gripped by uncertainty. The music is no longer with us and the collection of fellow travelers has thinned considerably.

No longer holding hands, there is empty air between us and it does little to assuage my nerves. Heat from the dance floor cools on my skin. I blush, succumbing to a feeling of failure. It’s a surprise when he leans over and squeezes my knee.

“I want to be brave with you.”

Honest, placatory and perfectly timed, his voice is salve to my nerves. A lazy charm offsets the shock of his rough, good looks and melt-you-in-a-moment green eyes.

“You were saying?"

“Oh I was, wasn’t I?" I hear my voice, a little too bright.

“Don’t think about it."

My good humour comes back in a cowardly rush.

“I have a plan."

His face is very close to mine. Unfamiliar smoldering green pools return my questioning look.

“Do you still want me to touch you? ...Here?"

He slides a warm hand along the length of my thigh. All of sudden we are back on an even keel.

“I want to wait.”

The words come out in a rush. It’s a lie. My skin tingles. He slides his fingers under my skirt. I’m so wet my lace knickers are molded to folds in my flesh.

“Mmm”

“Think you can?”

Mischief glows in his eyes. He stops pawing me. The train pulls into our station and cool morning air greets us. From the platform we begin to weave our way back to my flat.

Later, my visitor piles an assortment of toast-toppings onto the bedside table. In the bedroom, large windows look out over rooftops. Thin white curtains shield the view, white walls awash with relentless morning sun. My rumpled bed sheets are a perfect accent to an idyllic picture of high summer.

I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms. He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his jeans, standing before me in boxers. My eyes linger over his torso's sinewy plains. I wriggle out of my halter-neck shirt and bra. I know he’s watching. My nipples rise to peaks. I wonder what he thinks as I shimmy my little, light skirt down past my ankles and he tugs it free. I’m left wearing only a scrap of light blue lace. He grins a lopsided, stubbly grin and the lust in his eyes warms us both.

He falls onto me in a rush, brushing his lips across mine, smelling my face, kissing my eyelashes, making me giggle before sinking his hand into my hair to brace me for a kiss, a tender, sensory onslaught not at all what I was expecting. I can’t seem to think any more, distracted by his tongue. As the messy meshing of tongues continues, my breast meets his palm. My breathing accelerates. He tastes of warm honey, All-Spice and Star Wars. I get lost in the mixture of his bruising kisses and our stolen, getting-to-know-you moments.

Sliding my hand inside his boxers, I wrap my palm around his unfamiliar, hard cock and pause to watch his face. Green eyes reveal a world of desire. I clasp him and begin my caress. His lids close. I press my body closer, push my breasts to his torso, my thighs against his. I lick his lip. It’s the start of another kiss and my mouth accepts his practiced tongue. I guide the material of his shorts down his legs in relief, flicking them to the floor.

He pushes me away and gets up. Through heavy lashes I watch as he takes a selection from our assembled treats. My white sheets won‘t stay white for much longer. I don't care. I pull him back down. My adventurous new lover scoops up peach pieces, spilling juice on us and coating his fingers. He drops slippery, orange-colour fragments onto my stomach and follows them with the heat of his tongue. He slurps. I raise his fingers to my mouth, sucking them. This elicits a throaty growl. It curls my toes.

“What’s your name?”

My voice is husky.

“Robert, Robbie.”

“Robbie, you’re a God.”

His tongue tickles as he cleans away fruit and juice from my skin.

“A mere mortal, My Lady.” He counters, grinning.

Moments later his lips meet the flesh of my stomach in a kiss.

“Suck my fingers again?”

“Tell me what else you like?”

“Mmm. Do that for me.”

I comply, keeping eye contact. I roll his index finger around in my mouth. I let the digit slide out of my rubbery lips and suck on it to bring it back. Robbie lifts himself up on his haunches, green eyes transfixed. He fumbles, picking up a can of whipping cream. Cold, frothy liquid squirts out. I laugh, only to swallow my giggles as he takes a budded nipple, together with cream, into his mouth. My hands reach into his hair, over his shoulders and down his toned body, groping. I'm searching for the warmth of his rigid cock.

Once I find it, he jerks. I like that and I grasp with a firm hand. He growls in the back of his throat. Our abandoned metal can of cream shocks me with it's coldness, pressed against my side. Robbie trails kisses down my stomach, towards my throbbing slit. I get goosebumps from the combination. He looks back at me, his hands resting either side of my hips.

“What’s my name?”

The tempting sight of his head between my thighs clouds my vision. I know what’s coming next. I’m beside myself with need for his touch, I imagine the heat of his tongue.

“Robbie.” It comes out in a rush of breath.

I try to steady myself, swimming in sensation. He blows cold air on my clit, I almost die. He chuckles and asks me again.

“What’s my name?”

He descends, lavishing his tongue along the breadth of my pussy, pausing to lap at the hard nub of my clit. It's an overload of attention, too much, too soon. I squeal.

“Robbie!” It’s unsteady but I manage to get the words out.

Robbie stops. He takes a moment, releasing fresh whipping cream onto my thigh. My insides do flip-flops at the touch of his tongue. His kisses slide along my skin deliciously, returning to my pussy with sugary cream on his lips and tongue.

“Oh.”

“You like that?”

"MmmM.”

He buries his nose in my softness and licks with wise, artful strokes. I've a belly is full of fireworks and fairy floss. Sparks of raw hunger storm my blood. I look down, his green eyes hold mine with a curious mixture of lust and bewilderment. God knows what he sees in my answer but his expression gentles. He closes his eyes, turning his attention to the task at hand.

I’m melting into the bed, warm hands on my arse the only thing holding me steady. I shudder under the exquisite, unrelenting pattern of heat on my slit. He worries my clit, coating it with saliva. For a moment he plunges his tongue where I most want his cock to follow.

“Ohhhh.”

Lazy with lust, I whimper. I try to encourage him to shift his hips and release me.

“Robbie..."

I pry at his hands. In a moment of self consciousness he wipes pussy-juice from his mouth onto my inner thigh. It makes me smile, He doesn't know me well. I like it dirty. Moments later chocolate sauce pours luxuriantly over my throat and it's possible I am wrong. Evidently my new lover likes it dirty, too.

He dives and snuffles deliciously, descending towards my collarbone, smearing sweet topping on more of my skin as he licks. It's tantalizing and very, very messy. He tucks me under his weight but I want to straddle him. I struggle, clambering up until I'm on top, coated in chocolate and feeling like a vampire's prize.

I choose honey. I smear it onto my hand first, asking him to lick it. His mouth on my palm sends arrows of hunger pangs to my cunt. I grind my hips onto his thickness and remove my hand to taste his lips. I point the squeeze-bottle at his cock. It makes a popping sound as the honey oozes free, coating his helmet. It’s a delight to add my saliva to the sticky, velvet meat. I take the top of his swollen head in my mouth. I lick around the shaft, feeling his fingers shaking on my shoulders. My lips glide up and down his pole. I take a few strokes and stop, unable to resist temptation a single moment longer.

My handprints mar the white, Egyptian cotton at either side of his toned body. I crawl the length of my new lover, eager for cock. His eyes hold me captive, an unreadable expression in those dark green depths. I know it must feel good as he plunges home, hot and tight. It's one hell of a pay off. I tip my hips forward, rocking on my toes for that extra few millimeters of depth.

“Ohhhh...”

I search his unfamiliar features, surprised by how vulnerable he looks. I roll my hips once more, running an appreciative hand over the stubble on his jaw and the short, dark hair on his cheeks. I’m flooded with sensation; from stormy appreciation in his eyes to the prickly feel of his short hair in my hands. He turns his head and sucks on my finger, mimicking me. I rise and take less of him, then sink down to take more. I'm impaled on the sexiest man I’ve ever fucked. He watches me with a strange intensity, it's searingly erotic and frightening. I close my eyes.

“I want you to watch me.”

His voice is hoarse.

I snap them open again. He tips us and I fall away underneath him. My hair tickles my face, splayed on the pillow. We kiss, a faint sweet taste still lingers. I open my legs to welcome his probing cock as it slips into my pussy, thinking he will take me with unforgiving, brutal thrusts. He hesitates. Robbie drops his head, kissing my throat. I'm encased in his arms, hearing nothing but his shallow, ragged breath in my ears.

Tenderness subsides and finally I get what I want. He strokes over and over, pushing his meat into me until I’m so wet I explode, meeting his mouth in a frantic kiss. My pussy clenches and unclenches on his cock. He stuffs digits into my mouth, I suck on them eagerly and in return he slides a wet thumb into the entrance of my arse. I squirm as a fresh onslaught of shuddering pleasure wracks my body. His cock swells. I clutch his tight arse and push him further into me. Warm seed marks his climax.

I wait a few moments and my body stops quaking. As we come back to earth, Robbie looks into my eyes, joining our lips in an exhausted kiss. He flops down beside me. The bright room dips and fades. I succumb to the desire to close my eyes. Soon, sweat will dry on my skin once more, but for now, I’m flushed and sated, pleased with my conquest.

“Damn” Robbie croaks, bunching the plump pillow and turning onto his side.

Sleepily I meet his gaze. I fight the urge to reach out and stroke sexy forearms with shaking fingers. Green eyes appraise me. I’m unsure what he sees.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you” I grin, unabashed. “So are you.”

He wraps me in his arms and we sleep.

Hours later, Robbie and I share breakfast. In just his jeans, he fills my small kitchen with smoldering green glances and leashed sensuality. He finishes the last of his coffee and stands.

“I should go.”

I brace myself. It’s not like me to give a shit when a man leaves my bed. This feels different. I nod, unable to say anything. We don’t really know each other.

I watch him loping down the footpath, away from our magical morning. I hold onto the old wooden door for support, taking a long, last look at his low-slung jeans and that delectable arse.

He stops.

“What’s your name?”

“You should call me and find out.” My confidence blossoms. “Or just come round sometime.”

I kick the door closed.


3 comments:

  1. oh, Clarabelle, i love your work! this was as deliciously sensual as anything else of yours i've read, and i'm so glad i subscribed here. apologies for being an inveterate lurker, but i always read with relish. *always*

    *hugs*

    Squeaky

    XXX

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  2. As I was reading this the faint notes of "After the Ball" seemed to be playing in my head. (One of the old pre-1930 versions, on an old phonograph.) But whereas that song was sad and full of regret, this seemed to be the other side of the coin - if she didn't take a chance like this she would have regretted it forever. I doubt very much she'll regret this memory, no matter what follows after.

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  3. Clarabelle, no one, but NO ONE, holds my attention as perfectly as you do. The rhythm of your writing rocks me on such a core level - I can't help but want more.

    The way you tell your stories, the phrasing you use, your word choices, feel so familiar to me that I feel able to step past the text, move above and below it, letting the message hit me full force in the imagination, sending ripples of sensation out across my body.

    I doubt I could ever have found a more perfect way to enter this world of erotic fiction than through your work.


    Thank you

    ReplyDelete