(Read part 1)
(Read part 2)
Lying on my stomach, panting, I wondered if I’d ever get to cum. S rose to his feet. He kneeled at my right side and reached down to grab me by the hem of my t-shirt. S wrapped his hand in the fabric and tugged. “Get up,” he half-whispered. I got back on my knees, with his hand still firmly gripping my shirt, and slowly stood up. S’s mouth grazed my cheek. I didn’t even attempt to turn to kiss him. I was statue-still, anticipating his next move, perfectly willing to relinquish control of my body. I wanted that orgasm. I wanted to cum all over him — on his cock, on his face, on his hands . . . It mattered not. It just had to happen. And I was open to anything. Sensing my rapt attention to him, S asked, “Are we clear on who’s running things right now?” I gasped slightly, “Yes,” and didn’t even turn my face to look at him. Something within me was wholly invested in being directed. Was this submission?
S pressed his fist into the small of my back and pushed me forward. He directed me through the living room, upstairs. We walked down the hall toward my bedroom. I couldn’t see his face, but I could sense the smile in S’s voice when he told me to drop to my knees, mid-hallway, and crawl. I was somewhat startled by his request, but obliged seamlessly. I felt my breasts undulating as I moved forward on my hands. I reached my bedroom door, and before I could reach up, S turned the knob. He nudged me, with his foot, towards the bed. I crawled over, completely unsure of what the next moment would bring. S told me to stand. I obliged. He lifted my shirt over my head and pulled me close against his body. I could feel that bulge, his breath on my neck . . . S’s hands climbed from my hips up my ribcage, and around to my breasts. I drew in breath, afraid to talk, as he massaged and kneaded me. His hands were hot, steady, and intent. S kissed, then quickly bit, my back between the shoulder blades. I shuddered. He moved one hand behind me to his waistline, opening his belt buckle. Fluidly, S dropped his pants, bent me over, and ran his hand over my pussy. I felt like crying. He still hadn’t taken my panties off. I sighed — no, I whimpered — and in the tiniest voice said, “Please fuck me.”
S chuckled, “I was wondering when you’d stop trying to be so coy. Girl, it would be my pleasure,” and pushed me down onto the bed. He pulled at the waistband of my panties so slowly, so intently I thought I might burst. I squealed once he finally got them off and spread my legs happily as I turned over. The air in my bedroom was filled with an electric current of anticipation.
He paused to study me. Finally, I was naked in front of him. On my back, legs spread, waiting. I watched his face, eyes taking in every inch of me. S reached over and ran one hand along my side, as if he were measuring me for something. He looked contemplative — intensely so — and I could only hope he was about to fuck me.
S stepped out of his pants and lay on his stomach, his head between my legs. He licked my clit and it felt like the first time. I let out a guttural moan and bent my legs at the knee, while he worked his magic. I knew I had been brought back to zero by S’s playing, his orgasm denial and control of my pussy. As he brought me closer to climax, I begged again, “Please, fuck me. Please,” and felt my eyes watering. It was too much to take. S slid two fingers inside of me and began to stroke as he backed off of my clit. I was soaking, possibly the wettest I’d ever been in my life, moments away from what I expected to be a thunderous orgasm. And then, there were three fingers inside me.
I felt my pussy expanding, opening hungrily to his hand. “It feels so fucking good,” I sighed, and felt myself tightening. S changed his angle ever so slightly, and I responded in kind by cooing. I could barely keep my eyes focused as he slipped in a fourth finger. I felt a shaking in my lower half, something I’d never experienced before. And as I got wetter, I lost all ability to form words or sentences. I just moaned and moaned as he fucked me silly with his hand.
Then, I felt it. S had his entire hand inside of me. He wriggled it a bit, until his knuckles were against my g-spot, and ran his lips right along my clit. S licked me gingerly, as if he knew what was about to happen next. There was a tingle as every nerve ending in my pussy was on full tilt. I arched my back as I felt the initial spasms inside me. I gasped and my hips bucked wildly. I shivered and shook so violently, I could do nothing but experience every last sensation. Finally, everything slowed down and S pulled away. Through my barely open eyes, I saw how wet his hand was — up to the wrist! — and felt kind of sheepish. I grinned.
S lay next to me on the bed and pulled me close, “When you wake up from this nap, round two will start.”
Before I could even question him, I had drifted off to sleep. I kinda couldn’t wait.
Filed under: prose | 2 Comments
Tags: D/s, Dominance, fisting, orgasm denial, pussy, short story, submission, teasing
(Read part one here!)
S growled again. “Shit,” I cooed, half whispering. I bit my bottom lip. His hands felt good against my skin. Slowly, S fingered my waistbeads and moved his teasing hands up my torso. I could not possibly fathom what would come next, what he’d do. I felt his right hand caress my behind, lingering just a bit. He drew his hand back and slapped my ass. I jumped, exhilarated. How could he have known that I love a good spanking? S’s hand came down against my skin. He took his other hand, put it between my shoulder blades, and pushed firmly just enough to bend me over. I grinned from ear to ear as I lowered my upper body. I widened my stance just a bit, to steady myself. S struck my ass over and again with his open hand. I exhaled in spurts with each strike. Between slaps, S rubbed me where he’d just hit me. It felt amazing. I felt tingly. I was opening up to some new shit with him.
When he finished, S tugged at the lace trim of my panties. To have his fingers that close to my pussy was akin to torture. The spanking had me all kinds of squirmy, ready for more play. He knelt behind me and kissed my thigh. Without a word, S dragged a finger along the trim of my panties and plucked the elastic against my already-sore ass. I wiggled. I was not prepared for what came next: this motherfucker bit my ass! My squealing led him to do it again. “You love this shit, don’t you?” he asked as he dragged a finger across the crotch of my panties. I didn’t have to answer at that point.
S laughed, “I can’t wait to tear your ass up,” and bit me again. I almost begged him for his fingers at that exact moment. I could hardly maintain my composure. S licked the spot where he’d bitten me and moved his tongue right to the crack of my ass, then moved down towards my honeypot. He pushed my panties out of the way and began to lick me the way I’d been hoping he would. His tongue strokes were quick, but firm. I couldn’t help being vocal. I yelped, I squealed, I cried out. As S worked my sweet spot with his tongue, he held my hips. I couldn’t help the grinding and bucking of my hips against his lips and tongue. With each lick, I felt myself tighten up. S dug his fingers into the flesh of my ass, and moved with me. Each wave of sensation took me higher than the one before. I felt myself climbing that ladder. My skin tingled with S’s every slurp. Each suck, each nibble made me tremble more. My breathing changed, I couldn’t contain myself . . . And then, he stopped cold.
I blinked and looked down. He was still under me. Lying on the floor, looking up at me from between my legs. His face was glossy and occupied by a cheshire cat’s grin. He chuckled, “You thought it was gonna be easy, didn’t you?” and massaged the backs of my calves. He tilted his head, “What’s on your mind, girl? Thinkin’ about what I’m gonna do next?” I nodded yes, almost afraid to move. S still held my ankles. My heart was slowly returning to its normal pace. I tried to wipe the look of bewilderment from my face, but it wasn’t quite happening. How could it? I’d just been faked completely out by what was likely the best head I’d ever gotten in my entire life. Finally, the only word that fit the situation traveled from my lips: “Shit!” He had me. And I was in trouble.
S slid from beneath, then stood up in front of me. He kissed my mouth, his lips covered in my honey, and rested one hand at the nape of my neck. His fingers crept their way up the back of my head and he tugged at my hair. I gasped through a kiss and turned my mouth away from his ever so slightly. S laid his mouth against my cheek and growled. Talking against my skin, he said, “You taste so good. I think I want another round,” and growled. God, that fucking growling. I shivered with excitement. Was he actually going to let me climax?
S bent me over again, “I think I want you on your knees. All fours, as a matter of fact,” and slapped my ass. I complied. He pulled my panties completely off and got behind me again. S dragged his index finger across my clitoris. His motions were fluid. With the ease of breath, S slipped his finger inside me. I leaned into his hand and began to my hips to his rhythm. S rocked my hips with his free hand, guiding me along his waves of movement. I was more than content to let him run me. His finger fit me perfectly. With a strong thrust, S angled his hand just-so and gave me another finger to work with. I made some kind of unintelligible noise and gave completely into my pleasure. He was working me fully out, and I had no desire to fight it. I rode his hand with fervor. I was sweating, grunting, having my hair pulled and loving every second of every stroke. Each time S pushed his fingers deeper inside me, I felt myself getting closer to the sweetness of release. I could taste, hear, and smell it; I didn’t even see the room the same way. My movements were instinctual. I felt myself opening up. The sensation became almost unbearable. My anticipation increased as I felt my walls tremble. Something that felt like a lightning bolt shot up my back. But, just as soon as it came, the feeling went away. S stopped me, again, before I could cum. Shit, I thought, and lay down on the floor.
(Part 3 coming soon.)
Filed under: prose | Leave a Comment
Tags: biting, cunnilingus, fingers, kisses, lace, orgasm denial, short story, spanking, talking dirty, waistbeads
I’ve always been very orgasmic, enjoying what happened when my hands slipped between my thighs, sighing happily as my fingers slid over my clit again and again. One was never enough for me; I had to have at least four before I was marginally satisfied.
But getting off with another person was different, exciting, sexy and unpredictable. I loved sneaking off with my boyfriend, especially at night after our dates at the local movie theater. He had his dad’s old 1989 brown Ford Ranger that he picked me up in during the summer before college.
One night, in August, at our usual parked spot, his fingers slid down into the waistband of my skirt. He had ventured there before, but I had never come, just become sopping wet. He slowly stroked my clit, running his long fingers around it. I was sprawled across the front seat, my head in his lap. It was still too new, to tell him what I liked. I knew what I liked but he seemed to know what he was doing. I loved the unexpectedness, the not knowing what his fingers would slip to next.
My toes began to curl and uncurl and my breathing got heavier. He leaned down to kiss me and I gripped his lips with my teeth, a slight growl coming from me.
“Oh, yeah, I guess you like that?” he smiled smugly. I kissed him again, tasting his mouth and the slight tangy sweat from his upper lip. His fingers picked up speed at just the right moments, hitting all the right spots. I began to cry out and flung my hair back in movie style fashion, an absurd detail that still sticks with me. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking until long
after I’d finished coming. My thighs were sticky and I was shocked to see him licking his fingers.
“I like the way you taste.”
I was surprised; I was more than satisfied with just one. For now anyway.
Jillian Schweitzer is a writer and a photographer, who has been published in various college publications and in the anthology Into Our Clothes, distributed by Writer’s Lair. This is her first submission with the bliss project.
Filed under: prose | Leave a Comment
Tags: cars, clitoris, fingers, kisses, orgasm, sweat
We were new to each other. Learning fresh jokes, sharing favorite whatevers, that sort of thing. It seemed too early for me to start pondering the longevity of an “us”, so I didn’t. I took the ride. So far, so good. As I learned the ropes w/ S, I realized that I had that familiar tingle whenever we interacted. That little sparky thing that traveled between my flesh & his smile made everything in me stand at attention. It had happened. I wasn’t in love, and I wasn’t in like. I felt I needed to see him totally naked, though, at the least. Every time we talked on the phone or parted ways, I found myself wanting S to give me every inch of himself to devour. It wasn’t long before I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to set a bear trap of sorts. He wasn’t as forward as I was used to. S was quite the accomodating gentleman. I thought that was cute, but didn’t really care to be concerned with doors being opened for me, or polite calls before 9:30 pm EST. I didn’t think he was serious about anything aside from taking his time. I’m hard wired to be fast. Not quite hot in the ass. But results-oriented once I get something — or someone — into my crosshairs.
So, I set my sights. Coordinates locked. Operation: Get ‘Im, Girl was in action. I wasn’t about to fall short. I let Scrabble and movie dates and “Dinner at whose place tonight?” become our usual fare. But, what I had planned for S was far from usual. Weeks passed. I grew impatient with myself for not jumping on him every time we saw each other. But he was so sweet. Too sweet, almost. All compliments & very restrained kisses. I don’t think he grabbed my ass once in four weeks’ time. I was coming undone, bit by bit, by my own lustiness. One night, I cracked and slowly gave into it all.
After an agonizingly long bout of Scrabble, I won and celebrated my victory with a flourish that could only be described as a premeditated striptease. Something completely unnecessary for the occasion, but an overt example of what may await S if he ever managed to get me naked (alone was hardly the problem). I shook my ass like there was money in it; I know he watched. I know he saw everything I was trying to do. I stopped long enough to stand in front of S as he sat on the couch. I dropped to my knees and leaned in to kiss his smiling lips. He hummed a bit, the way you do when you taste something unexpectedly delicious. I danced my lips around his, crept my fingertips up his forearms & rested my palms against his biceps. His mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon chewing gum. I bit his bottom lip and felt his body tense a bit. He growled.
That growl should have been my warning; it was the tipping point for the night. S wasn’t as docile, wasn’t as sweet to me anymore. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close, and bit me back! S’s lips grazed my cheek and chin, rested on that crazy soft spot just under my ear, and I squealed. I gasped. I kind of went limp. My arms were, by this point, flung over his shoulders. We were pressed closely together and I could feel the electricity dancing off of his skin. His little bit of chin hair tickled my collarbone as his tongue swirled around my neck. I was overcome with sensation, breathing quickly and feeling like I was instead the one being seduced. S growled again as he slipped a hand under my shirt and felt my waist. His fingers traveled over my three strands of waistbeads and he half-chuckled and half-whispered, “I shoulda known you’d have some shit like this on.” I smiled and gripped the back of his neck as we kissed more.
(This is where the whole situation went from the beginnings of a motion picture sex scene to some kind of grimy, three-for-ten-dollars porn. Note that I am not complaining, but instead admitting my own cockiness almost had me miss out on perfectly good dick.)
S stood me up and turned me with his hands so that my backside faced him. I could feel him smiling as he ran his hands down each of my legs, gripping the meat of my thighs. “I love these jeans on you,” he muttered. “But, of course, I’d love them on the floor, too.” With that, he reached around and unbuttoned my pants. I unzipped my fly and as his index finger dragged around the waistband of my panties, I knew this experience would be something to savor. There was no reason to rush this session — I simply had to flow with it. I reached for the hem of my tee shirt, so I could pull it off; S’s hand stopped mine. He firmly gripped my wrist and pulled it just behind me. I wasn’t in pain, but to be controlled like that was exhilirating. I never thought he had it in him.
S pulled my jeans off of me and stood behind me, hand still gripping mine. I felt his breath on the back of my head as he hovered closely. I flattened the palm of that hand so that I might feel his crotch. His bulge was serious; it was real and I couldn’t wait to get better acquainted. He let go of my wrist, put one hand against my stomach and pulled me close again. I felt a tingle in all of my softest parts — I felt desire in a way that could have been dangerous. It was like a fire lapping at dry grass, eating up everything in its path. S put his his other hand up my shirt and for a few moments held my waist, massaging my middle and kissing my neck and shoulders. It was a gentle kiss, but I knew what fueled it. He nibbled a bit at one ear and I felt my entire body reverberate with anticipation.
(part two coming soon!)
Filed under: prose | 1 Comment
Tags: talking dirty, waistbeads
as i ride waves of you,
i am supple & full
wet & hungry
fuller of you with each sway
give rise to the ocean
crashing against a jetty
water swells &
lap shoreline silhouettes gently
the whisper of water tickles curves slowly
& all that remains
*sparkle sucks as a poet & is more of an essayist or storyteller, but will keep writing poems until the rest of you submit!
Filed under: poetry | 1 Comment
Tags: hips, the ocean, water
your arms make me wonder
about the fingers that lie at the ends
if i need two,
or the whole fist
maybe you know how to
eat pussy like a champ
or your stroke game is real serious
& yeah you’re funny
i don’t really wanna talk
on the phone all night
this ain’t no girlfriend shit
i’d like to know if the lines
in your back are indicative
& if your affinity for detail
translates into your bedroom activities.
right now, young tender
i’m hovering over
cuz fucking you sounds
like more fun than holding your hand.
Filed under: poetry | 1 Comment
Tags: cunnilingus, holding hands, pussy
i’m love-biz bankrupt,
so now i just wanna fuck you
i’m tired of being touchless
this love bug doesn’t bite
because now i just wanna fuck you
she won’t know
and i won’t call
this is nothing
never gonna be something
so come over
when i’m ready
i don’t care enough
to come to you–
just to come,
and if you do too,
well, that’s on you
you can’t love
what doesn’t want it
and i just wanna fuck you
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