Warnings: NC-17 story, do not read at work! If this type of material is illegal where you live, do not read. If you find graphical lesbian sexual encounters offense, do not read. If you don’t have any qualms, might I suggest you wait until you’re home before reading this baby. LOL! I love / hate dreams like this.
Her voice washes over me, leaving a flash of heat against my skin in its wake.
I sit at a small table in a restaurant, bits of candlelight sprinkle like stars through the dim establishment. From the corner of my eye, I notice movement, other diners at similar tables. I look at the seat across from me.
It is empty.
Again she speaks, tenor tones, a recognizable voice. Her laugh is warm, and I amaze myself with the sudden rush of need. I have to find her, to see the throat emitting such tones, to discover whether or not her physical presence has as much sway over my senses. I hold out my hand, questing as a blind man searches for obstacles. My hand fades into the darkness, though I easily see my arm in the illumination of the candle.
The restaurant whisks away. I stand in a circle of light, the candle in my hand as I search the shadows of my mind. Where is she? Have I lost her?
I hear her chuckle, a playful edge on the sound. Whirling, I catch a fleeting movement as I miss her. The candle flame flickers, my dome of light warbling silently in response. I feel a smile on my lips, enjoying the game.
She speaks again, flirtatious as I use my ears to track her. First to my left, then my right, I turn in place.
“I’ll come to you in the dark,” she says.
I close my eyes, my lips going dry at her promise. With no further thought, I slowly pinch the candlewick, plummeting myself into shadow.
First comes sound, her whisper of thanks brushing my ear. Then comes heat as her hands caresses my body. She draws my hair from my neck, brushing my shoulder as she pulls it aside. I gasp as her lips find my shoulder, her hands slide down my back and around my belly. My blood thunders; she has to hear how loud it is. If she makes any comment, I cannot tell. My body cruelly deafens me.
I lean back, her naked skin against mine. There is no time to wonder where my clothes are. Her hands continue to pet me, waking every cell as my skin screams in her passing, wanting her return. Along my thighs, her breasts brushing down my back as she lowers herself, then back up the back of my legs, her nails scratching over my flanks. Her thumbs find the small of my back, and I am forced to stand on my own as she runs up my spine. Her touch skims across my shoulders and down my arms. I spread them in preparation of flight, and she reaches for my hands until we are shoulder to shoulder, front to back.
Then comes smell, her light perfume mingling with the heady scent of arousal.
She holds me so for a moment’s time, before drawing her hands back along the undersides of my arms. Her hips remain firm against me, though her upper body is forced back. With a firmness I somehow expect of her, she glides under my arms, and cups my aching breasts.
My hearing returns as evinced by my groan, which is clearly audible to me. She chuckles, enjoying my torture. I arch into the massage, finding it harder to breathe. Grinding backward, I encourage her. She pinches my nipples, hard and fast, the pleasure / pain darting down to my swelling clit. Unable to help myself, I squirm, thighs rubbing together in a vain effort to ease the throb between my legs.
I still stand with arms extended. If she will not give me what I want, I’ll do it myself. Only then do I realize my wrists are frozen in place, wrapped in silky steel. When my arms jerk in surprise, she laughs again, and continues her roaming. Again down my thighs, easing my legs apart to draw her hands upward, barely brushing my sex. I moan, feeling my clitoris throb in frustration at her light touch.
Liquid paints my thighs as she brings her attention back to my breasts. I try to close my legs together, to attain even a little relief. But my ankles are bound in place by the same soft strength as my wrists.
“You’re mine now,” she says, the familiar tenor amused. She steps back, the lack of her touch leaving me bereft. Then she presses against me, hard nipples touching my chest. A muscular thigh eases between my legs, and I whimper at the exquisite pressure. One hand pushes into the small of my back, the other squeezes my breast. As she thrusts rhythmically against me, her lips find mine.
Her tongue, like her voice, urges a wave of heat to race across my body. She tastes sweet and smoky, a rich flavor I can’t get enough of. When she breaks off to nip at my throat, I try to engage her once more to no avail. Instead, she releases her hold on me, stepping back until only her mouth remains in contact. My clit begs for the return of her attention; I cannot help but press my hips forward, but she is just out of reach.
With excruciating slowness she trails down the length of my body, raising goose bumps in her wake. She hums as she circled one nipple, and I feel both hot and cold as her breath chills the wetness. I cry out when she bites sharply, tugging my nipple, and an arrow of white heat drives straight to my sex.
I am reaching my limit, an unfamiliar growl rumbling in my chest at the unfairness of her control. She seems to understand my wordless demand for suddenly my wrists and ankles are free. Her arms wraps about my waist as she falls backward, taking me with her.
We land on a bed, a dim gray light building around us. I can see her now, recognizing sparkling blue eyes and short dark hair. Her face is flushed, her expression one of lust, and I feel another wave of arousal knowing I bring that wicked smile to her lips. I straddle her, mark her with my wetness as my hips rock. Dropping my head, I resume our interrupted kiss. My hands find her wrists, and I pin her to the mattress, enjoying her struggle against me.
Before too long the sensations radiating from my clit pulse through me. I lose control, and she flips us. Her weight upon me is delicious. Not willing to lose too easily, I fight her for superiority. Our legs tangle together until we each straddle the other’s thigh. I feel her excitement against my skin, smell it between us, and I concede the battle, knowing we’ll both win.
We thrust together, hips pumping, no sound but the moist friction of skin and gentle grunts of exertion. I feel my orgasm swell in my belly, centered where her leg slides in my lubrication. Redoubling my efforts, her body understands and does the same. The bed rocks beneath us.
She releases my hands, and I dig one into her back, the other twine in satin sheets. One of hers finds my face, brushing hair from my sweaty brow.
“Open your eyes,” she orders, her smooth voice now rough and breathless. “Open them!”
I do, staring into their brilliant depths. She comes then; I can see it there, a white spark in the deep blue, her pupils dilating with her pleasure.
Seeing it triggers my orgasm, and I clutch her close, sobbing her name as I rode the waves of ecstasy.
Lethargic, I open my eyes. Daylight filters through the window. I glance at my alarm clock. Time to get up. Staggering from bed, I lick my lips, marveling at the wisps of dream teasing my body and mind.
In the bathroom, I pause to stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes meet my own, slate gray to slate gray. Brilliant blue sparks in my mind, and I groan.
“Oh, God. How am I supposed to work with her now?”