Simply Enough, a short story by Nameyourdesire. Date added: 2012-06-14. Times viewed: 3433.
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- Intro: A lesbian love story, featuring (tasteful) graphic sexual content involving two women.
She's already waiting for me outside the theatre and gives me a smile as she sees me walking towards the doors. It's the smile that melts me the most. It gives me the warmest feeling of joy when I feel as though she is genuinely pleased to see me, every time. I'm sure she has that smile for everyone but right now, knowing that it's only for me is simply enough.
"Sorry I'm late," I apologise ruefully. "The tram got stopped for ages at one of the stations. Signal failure."
"Hey, no problem,” she says, before wrapping her arms around me and giving me one of her hugs. Her hugs are real. They're always so genuine and along with her smiles, for those few seconds life doesn't get much better. She smells of her own scent; she's never worn perfume all the time I've known her. Instead it's a mix of hair serum and fabric conditioner, of the winter night and her moisturiser. I try not to think of the time she stepped out of the shower and let me put some on her back.
Maybe I linger there in her embrace too long because she starts to giggle.
"We need to go in, sweetie," she laughs. "It's about to start." I blush as I let go of her and she ruffles my hair to ease my embarrassment. I busy myself with finding the tickets and the doorman holds open the heavy glass doors as we go in. People are filing into the main auditorium and we have our tickets checked as we're directed to the front. I turn to her and tell her I'm sorry that my being late means we have no time to go for a drink at the bar before the performance starts.
"It's fine, honestly," she says. "I have some flavoured water and popcorn in my bag anyway. Plus some nuts and a few slices of carrot cake. Oh, and a cheese sandwich and a tube of Pringles." She makes me smile. She always carries provisions in her rucksack; enough to last for days, as though she subconsciously worries about a natural disaster occurring whilst she's out somewhere. It's yet another of the inexplicable reasons I adore her.
We find our seats and I'm so excited to see that we'll have an incredible view of the orchestra. In the auditorium we'd hear the music wherever we sat, but for me the faces of the musicians are as important as the notes themselves: the furrowed brows of the cellists as they sweep the bow across the strings; the passionately closed eyes of the violinists; even the grin of the conductor as he relishes his puppetry over the players at his command.
We just manage to take our seats before the lights dim and we applaud as the first violinist enters the stage, followed swiftly by the conductor who bows and lifts his baton; the audience magically falls silent as everyone holds their breath in enraptured anticipation. The opening notes of the music transport me far, far away and I close my eyes and become completely submerged in another time, another place, another universe. Before I know it the piece has died down and we are surrounded by thunderous applause. I open my eyes again to see her staring at me, grinning.
"You are so cute when you're listening to music," she whispers. I look back at her and give a small smile. I want to tell her that her fingers have the same effect on me, the same capability of making me lose myself and fall into an abyss where there is no time, no space, nothing but the delicious feeling of her skin on mine, tracing the outline every one of my curves, down my chest, my stomach, my....
I have to force myself to look back at the conductor and immerse myself once again in the music but it takes more effort than it did previously, as now I have in front of my eyes the image of her, and it will not shift from my sight.
The conductor leaves the stage and a grand piano is wheeled on, black and shining in all its glory. It dominates the stage as a small, delicate man with a spring in his step and an unruly mop of hair dances onto the stage and takes his place on a stool in front of the piano. Without pausing to take note of his surroundings he plunges both himself and the audience into a mournful nocturne, as he caresses the keys and recites a story without once uttering a word. The music takes me back to my own story.
The story of her. The story of how I was introduced to real love, the intense, beautiful love that one can only dream of, the kind of love I never thought I'd know. What I thought was love before simply couldn't have been. With her, it fulfilled all the clichés. But it was a love that never manifested itself; a love that could never be mine. Because as much as I am free to love her, she is not free to love me. Her husband works with me; in fact he's my manager. He runs the ward I work on and every day I have to smile and say hello and act as though I am happy to see him, when all I want to do is hate him for being able to go home to her every night of his life.
And now she is here, next to me, touchable and yet unattainable. The cruellest temptation in the most exquisite guise. It's the age-old adage of not being able to live with someone, but being completely inadequate without them, too.
She and I met at the staff's Christmas party last year when my manager brought her with him. I immediately noticed how clumsy she was. She caught her dress underneath my chair and yanked it so hard the table shook. A glass of coke was knocked over and spilled into my bag, killing my mobile phone. She was so sorry, so mortified, and bought me the exact same model the next day, even dropping it round at my house. Normally I would have been annoyed at my manager for telling her where I lived but seeing her standing there, the same rucksack, the same smile, and this time holding out a replacement handset with her long, slender fingers, there was no anger in me whatsoever.
Of course I invited her in, and before I knew it we had spent the whole afternoon talking about everything and nothing. When she left, she gave me that first hug. The scent-that-has-no-name hit me as her arms enveloped me. I lingered in the embrace too long then, too, and she realised why. She broke away gently but only as far as touching my cheek with hers, then slowly moving her face around letting her lips meet mine.
It was so natural and yet so unexpected. I pulled away and looked at her in shock and her eyes widened in disbelief at what she had just done.
"I- I'm so sorry," she stammered, and went to open the door, but a force over which I had no control pulled her back to me and I held her face with both hands, drawing her mouth to mine and hungrily tasting her. She reciprocated with minimal delay and we kissed as though we were reunited after years of exile somewhere. My hands couldn't keep still and could not get enough of her. They were on her face, her neck, her waist, her arse, and most of all in her hair, the thick locks twisting around my fingers as we fought with our lips the war of desire. She didn't stop me when I slid the jacket from her shoulders. She didn't object when I took her hand and led her up the stairs of my house to my bedroom.
It was just that once. I kept telling myself she was only experimenting. That she was nothing more than a married woman who just happened to be in tune with her sexuality. Or maybe a married woman who wasn't happy with a man who I knew was more interested in becoming Unit Manager within the next year. He spent more time in meetings and at conferences than he did at home. It was no secret; we all knew it. It baffled me that he would spend even a second longer away from her than he had to. It baffled me even more that she would want to spend time with him. But when he was away she was miserable. She said she lay awake wondering what she would do if anything happened to him.
Hence this evening. She wanted something to take her mind off his being away for the weekend on yet another unmissable course. I wished he was cheating on her. Even though I knew how much it would hurt her, I wished he would let her go. So she could realise what she was missing. Someone who would want to spend every waking moment wondering how they could make her smile. But he really was at work. Other nurses attended the conferences and said he was the first guest to arrive and the last to leave. I had to live with the realisation that my rival for the woman of my dreams was a man whose one fault, it seemed, was that he worked too bloody hard.
It was his idea for her and me to go out for the evening. I wanted to ask her if she would come with me but didn't have the courage. So when I said I was thinking of going, he asked if she could come with me. At first I thought he knew. I felt he could read my mind, look right into me and see me with her, see that night. And not just that night, but every waking second afterwards. I felt that if he looked into my eyes, he would see my pupils were the shape of her form, the silhouette of her lean, never-ending legs and her long, twisted locks. But he was completely oblivious.
"She enjoys your company," he said. "Take her for some cultural education whilst I'm away." He even offered to pay for the tickets, but there was no chance I'd let him. Our evening together was all mine and had nothing to do with him.
So here we are, the most incredible woman I'd ever known, with the most beautiful music ever written. The notes wash over me and I continue to bask in their arrangement, whilst at the same time smiling inwardly at the way she is trying so hard to immerse herself in the music, whereas I know she finds it dull and will never be converted from her beloved RnB. I watched her dance one night when we were out, as she lost herself in the heavy bass beats the way I am losing myself now in the delicate strokes of the pianist's fingers. I stood there that night, in the crowded club, and was transfixed by the way she swayed, her hips moving so easily and suggestively, and yet she was completely oblivious to all those around her. Her eyes were closed and she had a small, half-smile on her face as she wove her way around in her own constructed circle, under the spell of the beat like a cobra to a snake-charmer's chants.
She seems to breathe a sigh of relief when the final nocturne is over, although she applauds as loudly as everyone else and even sticks her fingers in her mouth and gives a rousing whistle, grinning at me as I shake my head in mock shame with her childish display, although secretly I think it as adorable as anything else she does. She waits until the final encore has ended and the musicians have left the stage, and with our hands stinging from the applause she turns to me and says, "Pint?"
We leave the auditorium and walk through the heavy glass doors once more, the breeze chill and the smallest sign of snowflakes falling wispily in the air. She links my arm as we walk into the night and towards the centre of the city.
"Where do you fancy going for a drink?" I ask.
"Don't mind," she replies. "Quadrangle?"
The Quadrangle is the gay quarter of the city. I'm not altogether that keen on it; I tend to avoid the scene altogether, preferring to avoid the usual judgemental catfights and the familiarity amongst other lesbians who I find have either slept with each other or know someone who has. But I appreciate the gesture she has made; she wants me to feel comfortable and to go somewhere I recognise, so I shrug my shoulders and smile.
"Sure." We walk past the tram stop and down a long side street to cut through to the Quadrangle. We know we've entered the 'ghetto' area when the rainbow flags begin to adorn the buildings. We naturally steer towards Fog, a bar on the corner that we find friendlier than the average dyke bar. As we head up the steps we notice that it's quieter than usual for a Saturday night, but Pink is playing at the local arena and half the lesbians are at the concert. It's warming to get into the pub from off the freezing cold street and we head towards the bar. She swings her rucksack off her shoulder to look for her wallet and I stop her.
"Hey, this evening is on me," I say. But she frowns.
"But you bought the tickets for the snooze-fest," she says, straight-faced, yet with a mischievous glint in her eye. I pretend to be mortified.
"If you're going to diss the genius of Chopin, you're going to have to put up with me paying for everything." I beckon over to the girl behind the bar who comes over and flashes us a huge smile. She's probably grateful for the custom as the place is so dead.
"What can I get you girls?" she asks.
"We'll have two halves of lager," I say, almost apologetically as we're not ordering expensive drinks. I tip her healthily though and she smiles in knowing thanks.
We take our drinks and head towards the couches at the far end of the dance floor, dodging a couple of drunken women attempting to dance but looking more as though they're brushing away flying insects. As we sit down she pulls off her heavy coat and rucksack, leaving them on the arm of the couch.
"It's so warm in here!" She fans herself with a beer mat and I cannot avoid a glance at her shirt; it's unbuttoned as far as the dip in her chest and as she leans forward to pick up her glass I catch sight of her incredible breasts. They sit seductively in one of her ever-practical bras, the skin looking so soft and inviting. I want to reach out and touch them, to feel their softness, their weight in my hand, and my stomach starts to flip. I can feel myself blushing and straighten up.
"Just nipping to the loo!" I say, as nonchalantly as possible. I escape up the stairs and take my time, trying not to think about the ache between my legs that she causes without even knowing about it. I splash cold water on my hot face, leaning over the sink and imploring myself over and over to have some self control and not give in to the pounding desire that instead of waning is becoming stronger and stronger with every growing minute.
When I get back to the sofa I lean into the heavy leather and take a long drink. She has almost finished her beer and leans back with me, her shoulder pressed against mine. I give her a smile and lift up my arm as an invitation for her to get under it. She hesitates only for a moment before coming in further leaning on my chest. I sigh as silently as possible into her hair with inexplicable pleasure. She feels so incredible, I have no words. I stroke her arm with my hand and pray fervently that she can't feel my heart beating against my chest so hard that it seems to make my shirt twitch. She says something but the music is so loud I can't hear her. I lean in and she shouts in my ear,
"You're so comfortable."
I give a small smile and look her in the eyes. She raises her eyebrows questioningly for a split second then looks at me in a way I have never seen before. It's almost as though she is pleading with me with her eyes. She is so vulnerable and so powerful at the same time and I can't stand it any longer. I lean in and kiss her, not softly but not with force either. Simply with assurance and meaning. My heart stops for what seems like forever when she doesn't kiss me back at first. Then suddenly her lips move to meet the shape of mine and her fingers snake up my neck to the back of my head and she pulls me into her. It's a feeling of relief; it's a feeling of coming home; it's a feeling of trepidation. But ultimately it's a feeling of heat, of nothing but the physical and emotional heat we cannot help but produce. Her soft lips part ever so slightly and I feel a release of breath that serves only to heighten my need as my hand comes to her face and strokes her cheek as I kiss her over and over and over again. My tongue slides over her top lip and she gasps at the feeling and her tongue touches mine.
I do not care who is watching. Instead it hits me like a bolt of lightning that she knew I wanted to kiss her as soon as she hugged me this evening. She knew it had to happen. Which is why we came here, to a bar where nobody would bat an eyelid at two women completely immersed in one another. And we are. I am devouring her mouth with mine, tasting her tongue, her lips, her alcohol-flavoured breath that only makes me want her more. I can feel the vibration of her throat and even with the loud music I know she is groaning. I am aching for her and can barely control my hands as they slide down to her thighs, then up over her belt to her shirt. I lift it up just enough to slide my hand up and feel her stomach, as I let my fingers travel up to her underwire, and they are glancing further upwards when she twitches, grabs my wrist and pulls away from me.
"I'm sorry..." I say, mortified that I have crossed a line, have gone too far. She straightens her shirt and looks at her watch.
"I think it's time to go." My heart sinks as I silently pick up my jacket and stand up. She puts on her coat, lifts her rucksack over her shoulders and drains the last of her drink. I can't even look at mine; I feel sick now and I am furious with myself for pushing it. She walks out of the bar and I follow her like as meekly as a lamb, as she heads towards the high street, towards the taxi rank. I want to tell her I'm sorry, that I went too far, that I just want the time to apologise, but she heads to Quad Cars, the taxi firm. There's a car outside, and the driver is sat idly texting on his phone. He starts the car when she opens the back door.
"Where to, love?" he asks.
I have never hated hearing my address so much. Her voice is clipped and she motions for me to get in the cab. Her mouth is a thin line of determination and she doesn't want to talk. She avoids my desperately questioning gaze as I slide into the seat. She shuts the car door and I close my eyes, my throat feeling thick with a sob I almost utter. I can feel tears pricking my eyelids and wait for the car to pull away.
Instead, I hear the opposite back door open and can hardly believe it when I see her sliding into the cab next to me. I swallow in shock as she hands the taxi driver a twenty pound note and tells him to go the quickest route and he can keep the change. The drive to my house costs less than ten pounds in a cab. She waits until the driver has pulled away, eager to complete a job he is to be paid handsomely for, as he switches on the radio. Then she turns to me and smiles faintly with her head slightly to one side.
"The bar was too busy for me to relax,” she says. “I want you all to myself now.” I’m still stunned and remain that way for the cab ride home, my mind still in shocked disbelief as I think of what just happened, and what is about to happen. She grips my hand tightly and strokes my knuckles all the way home.
“Just here,” she quips to the driver when we are outside my house. He wishes us a pleasant evening and we climb out of the cab. She asks for my keys which I hand her and she lets herself in through my front door. I mutter a silent prayer of thanks that I had a massive cleaning spree earlier in the week and it almost looks presentable. I close the door behind us as she takes my hand and leads me upstairs in the same way I led her barely a year ago. I haven’t said a word since we left the bar and now there is simply no time to speak as she opens the bedroom door, pulls me inside, closes it again and immediately grabs my face and kisses me.
She pulls off the rucksack without letting her lips once leave mine and by now I have recovered from my stupor and help her off with her coat. She yanks off my jacket and goes to undo my belt with fervent fingers before I firmly grab her hands, pull away and look into her incredible chocolate brown eyes.
“Slowly,” I whisper and she sucks in her breath and falls into me, pressing her body against mine, her hands over my shoulders and planted on the door behind me as she savours my mouth. Her tongue meets mine and slowly they dance together as she moans and presses her breasts to mine. I hold her hips then run my hands up her sides, feeling her firm waist under the soft cotton shirt. She pulls away and looks at me, biting her lip before licking my neck and whispering in my ear.
“Unbutton my shirt.”
Five syllables have never had such an impact on me in all my life. I groan at the command as she continues to kiss my neck, my ears, my cheeks, I slowly work my way from the bottom of the shirt, undoing each button with relish. I don’t want to rush a single minute. I want to savour every second of this. It’s as though I don’t even know where to begin. I want to tell her how I dream of this every day, how I play this scene over and over in my head. But I don’t have the words to describe how I feel.
I peel the unbuttoned shirt slowly down her arms and kiss her shoulders, round, soft, chestnut orbs that merge into her long, willowy neck. I kiss all the way up to her jaw line, my lips barely touching the skin as the scent, THAT scent, grips me and makes my legs feel weak. Her arms encircle my waist and she pulls me over to the bed, laying me on it gently as I shuffle up towards the pillows, kicking off my shoes and socks as she does the same. She climbs onto the bed, prowling like a lioness up from my feet, setting one leg either side of me and straddling me, leaning on her knees as her fingers play with the button of my jeans. She grins at me and I stare back at her, looking into her eyes and asking her without words whether she really wants this as much as I do. She gives me a barely perceptible nod then leans forward to kiss me again, this time with more passion than she ever has done before. Her breasts brush against me and I have to feel them; I reach around and undo her bra with one deft flick of my wrist and she laughs softly, her lips still on mine.
“How the hell do you do that?” she asks.
“I’ll show you later,” I reply as I slide her bra down her arms and she lifts each one in turn to release the bra from her and then tosses it across the room. She’s still kissing me as I slowly reach up and take her breasts in my hands, feeling their glorious weight, their softness, their smoothness. I groan with incomparable pleasure at their familiar touch. They are just how I remember, if not softer, smoother, and more like velvet than ever. I run my hands around the front of them and feel her nipples harden in my palms. I can’t resist it and pinch her nipples gently with my thumb and forefinger and she tenses, moans and throws her head backwards.
“Oh. My. God.” I want to echo her sentiments exactly as she is sat there in all her exquisite glory, her mahogany skin gleaming in the light that filters through the blinds of my bedroom. I rest my hands on her thighs for a moment to take stock of what can only be described as the goddess in front of me. Her long, thick locks cascade down her back, one or two down her front, swaying in front of her breasts. Her stomach, ever so slightly rounded in its adorable way, sports the thinnest line of dark hair that disappears under the waistband of her jeans. I undo the button and slowly open the fly, parting it to reveal her pants, which silently taunt me as to the treasure they contain. The ‘zip’ sound of the fly snaps her back to attention. And she sits up again.
“Why am I the only one being undressed here?” she asks in mock indignation, then beckons me to sit forward and when I do, she lifts my t-shirt up and over my head in one clean, swift action. The exposure of my breasts, barely contained in my bra, embarrasses me and I blush. I have always hated the sight of my chest. It never seems to stop growing and I find my 36G boobs repugnant. She, however, exhales in what can only be pleasure and plunges her head between my breasts, kissing the tops of them and running her tongue between them. I idly try and bat her away, nervous at the attention my breasts are receiving but she pins down my wrists and looks me straight in the eye.
“You’re beautiful.” Tears prick my eyelids and the bridge of my nose burns as I plead with her not to mock me. But her face is completely and soberly serious and she pulls me to her so I sit up and bury my head in her chest. She holds me there, her chin resting on the top of my head, hugging me tightly and sighing.
“You’re just so, so beautiful,” she murmurs.
A kiss to the head.
A kiss to my temple, first one, and then the other.
Two hands cupping my face as a kiss lands on my nose.
Then a kiss that convinces me of her want as she places both hands on my back and starts to fumble with my bra strap. She pulls it one way and then the other and I can see the concentration in her eyes as I glance up at her furrowed brow before I explode with laughter.
“Can you manage?”
“Yes!” she grunts, and I can hear the cogs of her brain turning as she tries to work out which side is the hook and which side is the eye of the clasp. She sighs in frustration and I can see tiny beads of perspiration in the hollow of her throat.
“Need some help?”
“Ugh, I was so close,” she says as she holds up her hands in surrender. I undo the clasp only and leave the bra on so she can take it off herself and she does so, pushing me back onto the pillows gently as she flings my bra to meet hers on the other side of the room. The she lowers herself onto me and my breasts touch hers; the softness of them meeting together forces a dual sigh of pleasure from our throats in unison and once more we are kissing; my hands are in her hair and I feel it wash over me, covering my shoulders like a thick, heavy blanket. I feel her thighs tighten around mine and as she straddles me she begins to move her hips, grinding into me and breathing harder with every thrust. I suddenly sit up and push her to one side, as she flips over onto her back and now I am on top of her, and she is underneath me, gazing up at me as I pause to absorb her image. Then slowly I kiss her neck and trail my lips down to her right breast before taking her nipple gently in my mouth and exhaling with sublime gratification.
She moans in response and grabs hold of my hair, pushing my head further into her breast as she greedily wants me to suck her harder. The nipple becomes firmer under my tongue and I flick it backwards and forwards, sucking it hungrily, then grabbing the breast itself with my hand and devouring it even more. She continues to moan unintelligibly and lifts my head up by my hair, to guide me to the left breast and taste that one, too. I am certainly not complaining as I take that nipple in my mouth also, sucking and sucking on it as I can’t get enough. Just feeling those sublime breasts in my mouth make me moan myself and the vibrations of my guttural cries of happiness send her over the edge.
As I am sucking her breasts over and over I can’t resist guiding my hand down to her thighs then gently moving to between her legs, letting my hand gently cup the core of her, still concealed by her jeans. Already I can feel her warmth, her want, and I lift up my head to look her straight in the eyes as I pull the zip of her fly down completely and start to pull her jeans down. Without losing eye contact with me for a second she lifts herself up and lets me peel the jeans off her legs, as I slide them off, over her knees, then her feet, before throwing them to meet our bras across the room. Then I look at her and my mouth simply falls open in wonderment; she is so beautiful I could weep. Naked except for her pants, she lies there without moving, silently taunting me without having to even try. Then she sits up and grabs my belt, untying it with her deft fingers and sliding it out of the waistband of my jeans. She undoes them and pulls them down, as I step out of them to help her and cast them away.
And once more we’re kissing, moaning, biting each other as the force with which we now need each other is so strong I’m convinced nobody could possibly have felt this way before. She wraps her legs around my back and pulls me to her, arms around my neck, as I bask in the warm smoothness of her thighs around me, her breasts pressed to mine. We move together as though I’m already inside her, her crotch against mine, sending waves of pleasure so exquisite that I cry out as though in pain, and I can’t resist her any more. I grab her hands and pin them onto the pillow above her head, then bend down slowly and just lick her top lip, barely touching it as she bucks her hips against me and groans. I take my hand and hold her chin firmly, then run my tongue over her lips again, slowly, then faster and faster as a foretaste of what I am about to do to her. And she knows exactly what that is. I kiss her one more time before leaving her lips, travelling down her neck, her chest, and her stomach before resting between her legs, revelling in what I am about to do to her. I kiss her thighs, slowly and deliberately, breathing in the scent of her want that makes my own core throb with pleasure. Then as I let my lips graze over the crotch of her pants I can feel her wetness and I can’t stand to wait any longer, I peel them off quickly and cry out softly at the sight of her, the most private and beautiful part of her. The small, soft mound of hair, surrounding the petals of the most exquisite flower. I breathe deeply when I see the slick hairs around her labia, soaking wet with desire. She whimpers and moves herself towards me, desperate for me to relieve her of her frustration and I don’t want to tease her. Right now, I want to give her what she wants. What we both want. And that is for me to take her in my mouth and devour her.
And I do. She cries out in what I feel is a mixture of joy and relief as I plunge my tongue into her sweetness, moaning as I recall her flavour. I let my tongue run over every curve of her, running up her lips, alongside her clit, and then back down to her hole, which is tempting me beyond belief. I want to make her wait a little longer though, as I continue to feast on her, moaning and sighing as I adore her. She is groaning, crying out, whispering, shouting and swearing as her hands are in my hair, pushing me into her. Then she releases her hands and moves them away, as if to offer herself to me completely, trusting me to have my way with her with no restraint. I take the invitation readily and continue to lick her, this time moving back up to her clit, and wanting to cry with pleasure when I feel it harden under my tongue. I lick it slowly, then faster, concentrating on the side I know she loves, eating her the way I have in my dreams, breathing in her musk, swallowing her juice and sucking on her clit the way I fantasised about over and over. I swirl my tongue around her clit, then let my teeth graze it softly. I shift slightly and let my hands travel up her body to her breasts, and I squeeze them with more force than before, licking her clit with vigour and sucking on her, over and over. She gasps and pushes me into her again, shouting my name and begging me not to stop. I pinch her nipples as I suck her clit and she screams, pressing me into her as though she can’t get enough. She is so wet; her juices are all over my tongue, my lips, my chin, and more than anything I want to take her. And she wants me to as well, as she opens her legs widely, still forcing me into her, guiding my tongue this time into her hole.
I willingly oblige and fuck her with my tongue, in and out, again and again. I press my face into her in order to reach inside her with my tongue as much as possible, and she pushes me into her, sighing loudly with frustration because it is not enough. She wants me to take her, wholly and without restraint. She is still so wet, so welcoming, and I take two fingers and slide them into her. She exhales in relief as I move in and out of her slowly, as she tenses, holding my fingers inside her, before relaxing and beginning to move to meet my thrusts. She bites her lip and moans, pushing against my fingers, forcing me into her more deeply.
“Oh my god, that is so fucking good,” she whispers. “How many fingers are in there?”
I tell her two.
“Give me three.”
I’m more than happy to oblige and slide in another finger, and she swallows them greedily, fucking me back in return and groaning in time to the thrusts. I lower my head and lick her clit at the same time, pushing her further and further. She is practically convulsing, as she grabs the spindles in the headboard and begs me to do this to her forever. I gladly would, as I feel she can take even more of me. Without stopping to ask, I insert my little finger too, then curl my thumb into my palm, and now she has my whole hand inside her as she looks at me with wide open eyes, her nipples stiff and beads of sweat shining all over her ebony skin. I don’t want to play nicely anymore. I want her to feel every second of my want, my longing; feel the frustration of the nights I pined for her. I want her to realise what she has been missing this past year. I curl my hand into a ball and now I am fisting her, as she screams and the sexiest part of her unleashes itself like an inner demon and she shouts and curses like I have never heard anyone but her.
“Fuck my cunt!” she pleads. “Fuck it! Make it yours. Fucking claim my cunt, baby. Yes!”
She looks at me and her mouth is set in a line of concentration and determination as if she is daring me to stop. There’s no way I can stop now. I am pounding her, filling her cunt with my hand, rubbing on her g-spot, claiming her like she asks. I suck on her clit again as I stimulate her from the inside, rubbing the rough, bean-like trigger that sends her writhing on the bed. Then I pause, and she sits bolt upright in protest, wondering what the hell is going on, why I have all of a sudden stopped.
“Turn over,” I whisper. A smile curls her lips and she obliges, getting herself onto all fours and showing me her incredible arse, round and smooth, without a single blemish. I lick down her back, towards the crease of her arse and I don’t stop there. I let my tongue travel down to her tight, dark arsehole, and I only pause for a second before pulling her cheeks apart and plunging my tongue into her. I have never done this before, either with her or anyone, and shocked, she tenses and begins to pull away but not completely, and I smile as I realise she is taken aback by the action, and has probably never had anyone perform something so intimate on her before, but is far too turned on to stop. I grip her more firmly and pull her arse back into me, running my tongue around her hole and pushing the tip inside. She is so wet from the fucking that her juices surround her hole and I lick it dry, turned on so much by the sheer eroticism of what I am doing to her. I move my hips in time to the swathes of my tongue, moaning and panting while I eat her arsehole. She pushes further into me and I spread her arse wider, poking in more of my tongue before licking my index finger and slowly inserting it into her. Again she pulls away and winces at the pain, but returns a split second later and pushes herself onto my finger, before she takes it all and crouches there, panting.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she gasps, to herself more than anyone else, then she starts to rock on her knees as she gently allows me to fuck her arsehole. Her tight muscles close in on my finger and I feel her, warm and smooth, and moist with its own lubrication. I move my finger in and out, careful not to hurt her, and she moves with me, groaning all the more and cursing in her possessed way.
“Fuck me baby,” she cries. “Just have me.” She spreads her legs wider and whilst I fuck her arse I can see the wet lips of her cunt taunting me.
“Is this what you wanted to do to me, baby?” she asks, teasing me as now I can feel my own wetness soaking my pants and beginning to creep down my thighs. An instinct I can only describe as primal takes over me and I grab her locks with my free hand and continue to pound her arse, with just the one finger, and she fucks me back, bucking against my hand.
“Fuck your baby,” she screams. “Fuck me and show me how you want me.” I have her hair in my hands as her head is flung back and she is completely mine, to own and command with just a finger. Her juices are flowing down her legs and I can take no more; I pull out of her and turn onto my back and in less than a second she is crouching over me, her rock hard clit inches from my mouth as I reach up and take it with my tongue, and I have to possess her, I have to have her give herself to me now completely and she does so.
She grinds her pussy into my face, her hips moving quickly and roughly as I suck her clit with grim hunger, imploring her with my tongue. I suck on her labia, then back to her clit again as she presses me into the bed; I can’t breathe as I swallow her juices as fast as I can, my hands gripping her arse, silently begging her, pleading with her to give me all of her. And then it happens.
She starts to pant faster before a low, guttural moan escapes her lips and I know she is close; she begins to fight against me and I hold her down firmly, refusing to let her back down now. She grinds even harder into me, and I am licking her clit, and sucking it, and grazing it with my teeth. I can feel it rising, feel the pressure in her cunt, waiting to be released. And then she explodes.
“FUCK!” she screams as she convulses on top of me, and as she does so I feel her wetness flood over me, as she jerks over and over, screaming, barking, cursing, yelling, and her cum is in my hair, washing over my shoulders onto the duvet underneath me, and as fast as I can swallow she floods me again, soaking me in her orgasm over and over, twitching and grinding at the same time as I feel her come once, then twice, and then a third time. And then, as quickly as it began it finishes, and she collapses, gasping for air and trembling so hard the bed is rocking.
I climb up to her as she lies face down on the pillows, panting and groaning with shock and exhaustion. She turns to face me and falls into my chest. I can feel her heart pounding against me as I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly, her hot, sweat-covered skin against mine. Then I feel something else, warm and wet, soaking my breasts, then the judder of her shoulders as I realise she’s crying. I hold her away from me and push her locks from her face, concerned.
“D-did I hurt you?” I stammer. “Oh God, please tell me I didn’t h-”
“It’s OK,” she assures me. “You didn’t hurt me. Trust me, you didn’t hurt me. It was spectacular.”
“I’m just so sorry,” she says, tears spilling over her eyes and down her cheeks. “I never knew that’s how you felt. The way you kissed me, the way you touched me, the way you...”
“I’m sorry if it was too much,” I tell her.
“It’s not too much,” she urges. “Really. It’s just that nobody has ever made love to me with so much passion before. It felt...” she falters for a moment. “It felt like you meant it.”
“Of course I meant it!” I exclaim. “I love you.” It’s the first time I’ve ever told her. And to say it out loud, to her, while she’s in my arms, floods me with a warmth I have waited for all my life.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
I sigh with as the last year of waiting and wishing lifts from my shoulders. It was worth it just for this. I have no idea what the next hour holds, let alone tomorrow. I have no idea whether this incredible woman will ever be mine. But I love her. And she loves me.
For now, it is simply enough.
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