0 comments/ 5834 views/ 1 favorites Heads and Tails By: FamiliarEnough I know he's not going to be on time, so why am I fretting about being ready? I can't help it. It's just the way I am. I'm built to be punctual. My heart rate increased the minute the clock rolled over to 9 a.m., and every minute afterwards leading up to the estimated 9:30 a.m. arrival time the sound of my heart beating grew louder, until I could hear it literally pounding in my ears. I'd showered, picked up fruit and pastries for breakfast, used a blow dryer on my hair, put on make up, including bright red lipstick to match my bright red custom corset that I bought a year ago as a reward. I bought it after losing 85 lbs. I'd kept the weight off, which turns out is way harder than losing unfortunately. Underneath the corset was a handful of extra skin over my size 6 hips. It was decorated by stretch marks that were either going to be forever badges of honor from the Battle of the Bulge or will later on be removed surgically. The truth is, I'm not a fan of pain, so I might just keep them and buy outfits like this to cover them. It was everything he liked. The red corset, the long hair, the big clear blue eyes, the black, short ruffled skirt, the high heels that had thin rope that wrapped up my legs. I'd been listening, noting things down, preparing. It had been almost a year since I last laid eyes on him, and I missed him terribly. Work had been rough on him. The faulting economy makes everyone dig in and work harder and longer for less. It doesn't help that his boss requires a certain amount of propping up. Then there's a home life that you work your ass off for. You care and sweat and do everything in your power to keep it solid and in the right direction, and sometimes, sometimes, it becomes -- overwhelming. At least, my home life is. I know my role is the glue to holding the whole thing together. I'm the foundation, and I'm not looking for a quick exit. In fact, this entire relationship, which at first I found intolerable, has blossomed into something altogether quite liberating. I'm free to do and say whatever I'd like, and no one goes to bed angry. Anger doesn't get to exist here. Neither does "too tired" or "how about tomorrow?" We get six hours together, sometimes more free than others, depending on work situations, and we try to make the most of them whenever we get them. This. Is. Fantasy. And it's amazing, and I protect it at all costs. I also try to inspire it at all times, which is easy because as far as fantasy partners go, mine is gorgeous. He's kind, smart and once I get over the fact that he intimidates me intellectually and sexually. I settle into our relationship and his arms quite comfortably. I stand in the window of the condo waiting and staring down at the people walking by on the sidewalk in the cold, fall rain. It's the perfect day to spend making love. I'm glad I'm wearing the corset, because without it, I'm pretty sure that my heart would beat out of my chest in excitement and bring the butterflies in my stomach with it. I hear my phone ding in the other room that I have a text. I'd been reading and listening to music in the kitchen in between window lookouts. He's, as usual, an hour late, but he'll be there in 5 minutes. I threaten to remove my corset and get into fleece if he doesn't hurry. He's there in 4 minutes and 20 seconds. I hug him at the greeting but we don't kiss. I'm never sure how to control my nerves in those moments. I'm so excited I can't think straight. I've been waiting for a year to touch him, to talk to him in person, to undo the buttons on his shirt... We go into the kitchen and make small talk for a bit. His eyes are wandering up and down my body. I look away at the wall self-consciously. "I'm over here," he says getting my attention. "I know. I'm just—nervous." "Why?" "Because it's you. It's like Christmas morning." There's a pause while he determines what to do next to get the ball rolling and to make me more comfortable. "Stand up and let me see you," he asks. I stand, he puts his hands at my sides and runs his hands up and down the sweater I have covering the corset. Then he very carefully begins undoing the three snaps on the sweater. When they're undone, he slides the material off of my shoulders and tosses it onto the floor. He's seen the corset before in photos, but this is the first tactile experience. I try to hold my knees straight so they don't buckle in anticipation underneath me. No man should be this desirable. It's just wrong. Tall, sweet, French, funny... He's taking me in. His breath gets deeper, his hands move faster. "It's a lovely skirt." "Short and flimsy 'like it might fly up at any minute'," I quoted a text he sent me months ago back to him. He pulls me closer, runs his hands down and over my ass. I'm starting to feel like I'm stone, like I don't know what to do. His hands sweep over my breastbone, his lips hit my chest. I shut my eyes and try to find my breath. I can feel the wetness begin to pool between my legs. Then I respond by kissing his shoulder, his neck, his ears and his jaw line. My hands run through his short brown hair. I move back and look into his blue eyes. I smile. His whole face smiles back. My efforts have been appreciated. I shut my eyes and kiss his forehead as we embrace and then our cheeks touch as we slowly move to find each other's lips. His mouth is so much larger, wider than mine. He engulfs me, like he's been starving while he waits for me to get over myself and get into the moment. His hands go under my skirt and over my bare ass. The realization that I'm not wearing panties excites him. He groans in response and his hand movements become more manic. He wants me naked, but he doesn't want me naked. It's like waiting to unwrap a present. You want to tear the paper off, but years of experience have told you it's so much nicer to slow down that impulse. "I missed you," I whisper. He kisses me deeper in response. He's seated in a stool and I stand before him. We make out for a long time. "How do you get you out of this skirt?" he whispers when he's ready to see more. "Just pull." "Brilliant." He pulls the skirt down and I kick my legs to get it off around my shoes. I'm pretty sure he notices I've shaved for him, another item on his list of turn-ons. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his left arm shoot out and his hand run over the top of the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. "That's weird," I think. But he is a very tactile focused guy. The music coming from the kitchen radio quickens and I hear, "It was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?" At the end of the lyric my lover stands, pivots and pushes me back onto the table with some intensity. The table tips forward a bit under my weight. "I'm not sure about this," I say in between mad kisses. "What's the worst that can happen?" he asks still devouring my mouth. "I'll break the rental guy's table?" "We'll be fine." When I'm centered on it, I feel secure. I lie back and instantly lover's mouth is blowing on my vagina and my clit. I lay back and close my eyes knowing the pleasure that's coming. He doesn't disappoint. His mouth settles on my clit and she's more than happy to receive. His tongue explores my folds and a thumb presses down on my clit. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," my brain screams. His face and hands are everywhere. Fingers pumping into my vagina, finger tips on my g spot, thumb rolling across my clit. I want more, deeper, faster. I can't get any grip in my heels. They're worthless. I'm like a beetle stuck on her back. It's frustrating, but I also don't want to move. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants. And I'm happy to give it to him, whenever, for however long he can keep it up. I give up on my feet and drape them onto his shoulders. "There you go," he whispers in approval. I come close to coming, and then it backs away. I come close again, and then it backs away. I'm getting frustrated. I put my feet back down and somehow manage to lift my hips. He slides a finger into my ass and pushes harder on my clit, and I realize it won't be long. He has mad, mad skills in this department. I come in short quick bursts and roll to one side to recuperate after it's over. The nerves are quiet and he can tell. "More relaxed now?" I nod gratefully. After getting off the table, he makes an espresso. I get a sip of soda and some grapes. We sit down and talk, and I, of course, with my adorable, neurotic quirkiness make him laugh until coffee comes out of his nose. I laugh in response, grab him some towels and get him cleaned up. As I watch him wipe the table, I think about my daydreams of having him around doing normal every day things like this. I wondered what it was like. Now I know. You'd think in time, I'd become more accustomed to having him around, but I'm not. No matter how much I see him, talk to him, have him -- I still want more. We move into the living room with the open windows. I'm completely naked, but he's still fully dressed. I'm sure the folks across the street can get a good view, and I don't care. It's now pouring outside, and the warmth of my orgasm has left. I'm starting to shiver, so I sit in his lap and unbutton his shirt and run my hands over his broad chest. I put my arms around him and put my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me and I start to warm up. "You falling asleep there?" he asks gently moving my hair off of the back of my neck and running his fingers over one of my favorite sensitive spots. "No," I whisper back kissing him on the cheek. "I've just really missed you touching me like this." "I've missed it, too." He responds, verbal confirmation of reciprocal feelings. I close my eyes. "I'm freezing. May I please wear your shirt?" He takes it off and hands it to me. I slip it on. It's giant on me. He straightens the front of it for me, and suddenly, I want to stay in it forever. He pulls me onto his chest again for another embrace and he runs his fingers under his shirt and over my back. The afternoon couldn't get more perfect. And then work interferes with a conference call. At this point, I don't care. I promise to be quiet. I even practice kissing quietly. He gets a kick out of this, but I honestly don't want to sit there for an hour listening to his call. I put my hand on his buckle and start to undo it. He doesn't stop me, so I smile and continue. I see the overpriced underwear he's wearing and try to contain my giggle. They're from a company that he knows I kind of abhor. He smiles in response. That was his planned costuming for our afternoon. I lean forward and untie his shoes and pull them off. Then I pull off his pants and nestle between his warm, muscular legs. His penis is becoming less of a complete mystery to me. His penis likes my mouth, adores it. It responds to me like my tongue is laced in Viagra, but my vagina, not so much. I'll get around to asking why, it just takes me some time. Because here's the thing, he's larger than I'm used to. And when he goes in erect, my eyes nearly bulge out of my head in excitement. But it's his turn, and I like that he responds to me regardless of which orifice his body apparently prefers. I notice, his breath getting louder and deeper. So I stop, smile at him and whisper in his ear a warning about his breathing heavy on his call. They made a mute button for a reason, right? I escape to the bathroom and then to the kitchen for some more fruit. I return and start again. I'm getting frustrated on my knees, so I move the coffee table and indicate for him to lie down on the very fuzzy warm rug on the floor. He obliges moving his phone to the side. I want to turn around and put my pussy in his face as I suck him, but I figure there's no way one can do that quietly, and then concentrate on a call that might require him to turn off the mute button should he be called on to talk. Such a situation would probably fry his brain, so I stay down low. I notice he's getting hard and close to orgasm, so I climb on top and manage to get myself off riding him, squeezing him with my pelvic muscles in an effort to keep him inside as his erection subsides and rubbing my clit while he stimulates my nipples. I'm pretty sure this is his most favorite conference call ever. When I'm done, I get between his legs and go at him with doubled efforts. I feel his head against the back of my throat. I lick him from bottom to top. I circle around the head and kiss him before engulfing him again. I gently touch his balls and kiss them. He's ready again. I notice he's directing me toward the sofa. I nod and move closer to the couch bent over to allow him rear entry. He throws the phone and ear buds on the couch, and says, "I can't believe I'm doing this." I'm not sure if he means having sex while on the conference call or having sex with me. I'm pretty sure it's the former. God, I hope it's the former. He gets behind me and pushes himself into me full force. I grip onto the sofa and curse. He fills me completely. If we ever fget this erection thing figured out, I'm in trouble, and he's got to know it. Not only that, but outside of his fingers and some solo experimenting, I've never had any kind of anal play. I'm curious, and I think he'd be happy to explore that curiosity, especially if there's a particular outcome. When I masturbate with toys, I squirt. A lot. I've only done it a couple of times with a partner, usually because my nerves run a bit high and most of the guys I've been with aren't as adept as my current lover at coaxing orgasms out of me. Coax isn't the right word. He demands, but he's still waiting for me to squirt in front of him and not over video. And, of course, I had to record it for him... because I have too much performance anxiety during a live viewing. It's a nice change. I've had other men actually stop stimulating me in fear of getting wet. Now I wonder if it's because they weren't good swimmers. He's clearly getting frustrated with himself, so I move onto the carpet, to give him a better angle. Still nothing. He sits on the couch looking defeated but I'm so not giving up. I go down on him orally again, instant response. Ten minutes later, he's vocalizing his pleasure as he comes into my mouth. I love it. I nestle into him, and we talk forever. He checks the clock. We have time left. We talk more and more. The conversation does nothing but make me adore him more. We talk friends, work, desires, life craziness. When he checks the time again, it's late. We've talked too long. I hand him his overpriced underwear so he can start to get dressed. "I thought you'd like those." "Very funny." I hand him his socks and pants and shoes. "You know I'm going to need the shirt back." I clutch it to me for a moment not wanting to part with it. I want to keep a part of him for myself. I take a deep breath hoping to remember his smell forever, then I slowly unbutton it and stand naked in my living room while he puts it on. "It smells like you now," he says. I smile. Inside, I'm sad, but it's been another glorious afternoon of happy memories. I walk him to the door. We embrace. We kiss. I tell him I love him. His blue eyes meet mine, and he smiles and looks kind of surprised that I said the three words out loud. It's the first time I've said them to him. I have to let him go. I have to be okay with it. The fact that I'm standing naked in the doorway will keep me from running down the street after him. No movie-like ending this time. The invisible big girl panties are on. I've got to let him go, and hope like hell he comes back to me. TAILS I have a confession. I think I'm made of some kind of Teflon. Don't laugh. A more sinister and conniving personality might revel in that kind of mutation or defect, but I like to think that I'm a relatively kind and gentle person. These characteristics might actually contribute to the Teflon issues though. So, maybe I'd be better off if I was a little colder and a lot less of a romantic idealist. Men, for example, are a problem. There haven't been that many of them in my life, and even after surviving heated sexual collisions, neglect, abandonment and irreconcilable differences, I still don't understand them any better, and as you read this, you're going to realize that I'm dumb -- I am after all human -- but I'm not an idiot. So here I lay, flat on my back in the middle of the kitchen table with a generous man between my legs licking, finger fucking and otherwise driving me mad, as I try to keep balance on 5" platform heels that I can't get flat onto the table to allow me to move. Nor can I keep my breath which has disappeared somewhere in my custom-made boned corset. It was hot, the kitchen table idea, and the man who thought of it, I love him more than I should. Not just because he knows how to pleasure me -- that's not it. I'm not that shallow. I love him because of what he's doing with his other hand. That hand, the one I love, is now pushed flat against the top of my right foot, keeping it in place so it doesn't slide out beneath me on the wooden table in a rented kitchen. It allows me to lift my hips, to move, to get closer to orgasm -- and probably keeps him safe from getting stabbed in the rib cage. Of course, when I lift my hips, he somehow manages to slip a finger into my ass, too. Okay, maybe I am that shallow, because I immediately go from panting to moaning. He is amazingly adept at touching me. At the same time, I'm letting my mind wander. I'm listening to the music playing in the room. "If you give me all your attention, I've got deep desire, and it needs quenching. I think that's pretty plain for you to see," Griffin House sings. Great. No help there. Thanks, Griffin. It's harder than you'd imagine, denying an orgasm, particularly one you desperately want to have. So why the effort? It's my lame attempt to make the moment last longer. I know time with him is limited. I'm going to have to let him go out the door in a few hours, and I'm going to have to get back to being me. And in that perfect moment, when I realize I could try to hold out forever and he'd still have to leave at 3 p.m., that I am being selfish. I could spend hours on that table having orgasm after orgasm, as long as I didn't pass out from the corset. On the other hand, he'd probably really like his turn. And I like giving more than receiving. He doesn't have the cornerstone on generosity in this relationship. It's one of the many reasons why we get along so well. What I think I figured out when our relationship started was that it wasn't about sex for him. It wasn't about love either. It was about escapism, and maybe a little bit about variety. But for me it has always been about connection. And I know in my head, you can't force something like that. It just works or it doesn't no matter how many letters, phone calls, e-mails, etc., are sent out. And even though he's often unresponsive, I put forth the effort to connect when I can. Why? See the line above where I admit that I'm more into him than I should be. Multiply that by the fact that the last time I was in a newish relationship I was a teenager (almost two decades ago) and have no idea what I'm doing and then divide by the fact that my imagination has a history of running away from reality. I don't live in the World of Denial. But I visit it from time to time. I have to. My mother has a condo there. No, I'm steering the boat purely on dumb girl instinct. The day he decides he's tired of me and doesn't at least direct me around the major dangers ahead is the day I hit the dreaded iceberg. Anyway, the connection issue started when we sat down to dinner, once upon a time, and he managed to ask all the right questions. Now, what I wonder, is if it was just that he asked me any questions at all. People don't ask Teflon questions. They use it to cook their meals, wash it and put it away to use it again. Sometimes though, the bastards are stupid and bust out the steel wool. Then you know it's all over, and there's nothing you can do about it. You're toast. Heads and Tails: Her Story Formally posted as 'Forbidden Fruit Ch. 01 Her Story'. This story is a joint writing effort with author Fireball XL5. I'm writing here about her side of the experience. You'll definitely want to compare it to his side! I can feel the electricity in the room as I watch his hand reach out to me, the beat of my heart and the blood rushing through my veins. Taking a deep breath I try to focus on the wall behind him, trying not to be too obvious that I want his touch, need his touch. For weeks now I've tried to show him in many different ways that I was interested. I remember catching his eyes and holding his gaze while we were in our meetings together, I've pressed myself closer than I should when we part ways with friendly hugs. I even got the nerve up to invite him here for some friendly conversation after the office party. I'm not going to blow it by coming on too strong. My thoughts race inside my head as I take in my surroundings, though it is my home, everything looks different with Mike in the room, brighter, more electric. It's like seeing something you're doing but you don't realize it's happening to you, I'm sitting here imagining all the things I should be saying to make this moment stop, but the words just won't come out. He hasn't said anything to make me want him to stop, he hasn't said "Are you sure" or "Just tell me to go" . I was so scared he would, that he'd offer me a way out, a way to let myself continue to live this life without passion as I have done for so long. Praying that he wouldn't and very glad that he doesn't. Watching his hand reach out to me is like watching a movie in slow motion, I want to press my breast against his hand and move my body closer to his. Finally I can feel his hand upon my turtleneck, I draw in a deep breath and bite my lip, relishing the first wave of heat course through my body. Letting myself take in the first touch of his hand, I close my eyes and allow my other senses to take control. As my head lays back I feel his fingers slowly trace the roundness of my breast, the outline of my bra, my breathing is heavier now. I can tell that my body is beginning to awaken to a new sense of self, as if a need that has never existed has awakened in me and I have to feed it, nurture it, and he is the feast I must partake in. I lean forward and I feel his hands run across my breast until he finds the nipples. I whimper as he allows one hand to stay on my breast and removes the other; it is the loss of that one hand, that brings an anguished gasp from my lips. In it's place a moan comes forth, as I feel his lips on my mouth, the slight pressure is all I need to let my own basic instincts take over. His tongue slips to my lips to slide gently across them, letting my own want to take control. I taste his tongue with mine, letting the sounds of passion escape my throat. Our kiss is like a dam just beginning to open, allowing only a small trickle of water to escape. We kiss gently and slowly, but yet with a deep need we both want fulfilled. I feel my body press closer to him and my throat allows more sounds of desire to spring forth and as our kiss deepens, it takes me by surprise at its sweetness along with its sense of power hidden beneath it. His hand is caressing my neck, I can feel the texture of his skin as he runs his fingers across it. His touch reminds me of butterflies flying through the air and resting ever so gently on an outstretched hand, soft and welcoming. Yet I hesitate, when I feel his hand pull at the material of my shirt, just like the butterflies would if they were presented with a new place to land, not knowing if it is safe, but wanting to find out what comes next. My mind takes control of my senses and forces me to take a moment, gives me another chance to end this torment of emotions, I pull back from our kiss and look at him. Closing the part of me that is still grasping to reason I hear myself say "Yes" and let my lips return to his pulling him to me and letting him lead us in the dance. When Mike's hands glide up the sides of my body, my breath is suspended, as if a cap has been placed on a bottle and with the continuing movements of his hand along my ribs, the cap is slowly released and I am able to suck in more air. When those hands come to my breast, once again my mind sits back and lets everything else work for me. His hands stroke my breast through the material of my bra, feeling the texture of the design, as if he is outlining them, trying to determine the pattern, but I know that he is allowing me time to adjust to his presence, his ownership of my body. Taking the next step I lean toward him, and hear my sigh of longing as his hands reach behind my back and quickly unclasp my bra. I give a whimper of anguish as he leaves my lips and I watch him as he gazes into my eyes, he lifts my bra, allowing both of my breasts to be free of their confinement. I can feel the tension in my body, the deep pit of longing starting to bubble up, as my nipples are touched by his hands and rubbed by his fingers. The pit awakens deep inside me and once again my mind is stirred to awareness. Grasping his wrist I look deep into his eyes and tell him "We shouldn't", I hear myself say these words, but everything in my body is fighting me, urging me to keep quiet, to let this new wonderful thing happen. He relents and removes his hands from my shirt and explores my body through the protection of the material. My breasts continue to feel the friction of his caresses, only increased by the turtleneck I am wearing. Knowing that he will stop when I ask him to, I give in to the trust I have grown to accept from him and I lean back. With a smile I take my hands and slowly lift my shirt, exposing my breast to his gaze, wanting him to see me and wanting to see his approval in his eyes. I stare, as I watch his head come down to meet my breast, allowing myself to bask in his kiss as he places his hands on my breast and a sweet torment of emotions begin when the kisses stop just short of my nipple. My body feels so hot and my breasts ache for total freedom, to be released from the confines I have placed on them, I grasp the hem of my shirt and pull it free from my body, taking my bra along with it, not caring or knowing where it lands. My breathing is heavy and I feel my chest heave and my legs press tightly together, his mouth is devouring my breast, his hands knead and press them, his mouth continues to kiss and tease. Letting myself relax and giving my body to him, I fall back on the couch. I know I will never remember if I spoke or not, for words did not seem to matter and if I did I myself would not have heard them. I saw myself, as if I were floating above this scene of love making, saw a woman who was flushed with passion, desire and need; at the same time, seeing a man gazing down on her beauty, taking in every inch of her, reveling in her perfection. Then as if I had control of my surroundings I allowed myself to float back down and to feel his arms caress my body. His touch running across my arms, pressing against my hands, then combing through my hair, it is everything I had imagined, as if I'm being worshipped or sculpted into a fine piece of crystal. I long to touch him, to worship at his body, to place myself against him as an offering. With a smile on my face and a gaze of longing in my eyes, I find myself bringing my hands to his shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling it off his arms and down his body. I know it isn't possible, but for me time stood still, and as I drank in the chest that faced me, I noticed the hardness of it the firmness of his body. His nipples had harden during the touching and kissing he had given me and I longed to have my body pressed tightly against him. I scooted myself to his chest and placed each hand under my breast, hoping that he did not find this foolish, but wanting so much for our bodies to meet, to get to know each other. When I felt our nipples touch, the muscles in my abdomen tightened and I felt the moisture of my body try to ease its way out of its hiding place. Our kiss became more demanding as our bodies fused together and our nipples were the connecting puzzle piece to this complex tangle we were experiencing. We paused from our kiss to inhale great gulps of air and I felt myself falling back onto the couch. With my hair cascading down the side, and my breast heaving, I watched, with heavy lids, his body come up to tower over mine. Like a movie in slow motion I watched as he brought both hands to my breast. Caressing one, while kissing and kneading the other. I tried to move my body to his mouth, wanting him to take the nipple and draw it deep and suckle it, but he avoided my attempts to manipulate the moment. His kisses snaked across my breast as I felt a wave of hot liquid churn through my body, while riding this wave his kisses and hands made love to my breasts. After driving me through a torment of emotions my body lifts itself, trying desperately to have his mouth and tongue suckle my nipple, and finally getting what it wants when I feel it being covered by a blanket of hot velvet. My head turns left then right as I feel his mouth and tongue work on my nipple, his hands crush against my breast as my body begins its own dance. I feel my teeth bite on my lower lip and I tangle one of my hands in my hair, tugging on it, trying to hold back the sounds that rage up from my stomach. His hand pushes my breast and his tongue laps and licks at the contours of my nipple, finally I can no longer hold back the sound that was tied back and as I let the feel of him rock my body, I hear myself cry out his name. My hand moves to grasp his head and press him deeper against my chest. I lay there basking for a moment in the electric charge that courses through my body, but soon it is replaced with a tingle. This tingle is like a small tickle deep in my gut, realizing the cause is from a new caress, my body thrusts its pelvis to him, and I realize this new caress is his hand gliding up and down the material of my jeans. My mind does not know what is happening, it tries to stir back to the moment, to push through the fog of desire, and to force our actions to cease, but I don't allow, I must win this battle. I feel his hands creeping up to the hot place between my legs, my body squirms beneath his touches and begins to move itself in a long known dance that every woman deep inside them knows the steps to. My pelvis thrusts toward him and back down again in quick succession, one right after the other, lifting then falling, wanting something to press into it, needing something to press into it. My legs, on their own will, open for him, I see myself spread before him offering myself to his hands, longing to feel him pressed tight against me. I feel his hand push against my jeans, but the contact is not what my body wants, it wants more, it was skin upon skin, not the protection of denim. A sound escapes my mouth, I can only describe it as a deep groan of frustration as I realize that his touch is what I want and my clothes are a barrier that must be removed. That one thought is what allows my mind the crack it has been seeking, I hear myself tell him no as his hands move to my waist to begin the work on my jeans. I bite the inside of my cheek and close my eyes, praying that he won't stop that he will be able to tell I do want this but, am scared of the fire burning inside me. I gently push his hands from my zipper and work my teeth against my cheek and then my lips, as the frustration of my decision begins to weigh down on me. He moves his hands to my stomach and presses his touch along it, rubbing my skin, making each inch of my body feel his desire for me. I arch my hips to him as he covers those too with his fingers and makes paths of heat course over me. I allow his hands to run down my legs and he helps with the removal of my shoes and I take a moment to breath deeply and take stock of the feelings rushing through my body. My lips feel swollen, not just from his kisses but from my own torture that I forced upon them, from the biting as I held back the words to stop this from happening. My lids are heavy and I wonder if my eyes look full of the passion I feel. My head is tender from the tugging I had been doing and I can sense it is mussed and lies in tangles underneath me. I see my chest rising and falling as my breath comes in quick gasps, trying to take in the much needed air but not seeming able to get enough. My arms feel heavy, too heavy to lift yet, I know I can, I've run my hands through his hair and I've helped participate in this love making, letting my hands feel his body while he covered me in kisses. My breast seem more sensitive then ever before, with each touch of his lips, tongue and hands they stirred to life, each new sensation causing a different electric shock to my body. My stomach churns, but not in a bad way, but in the way your body tightens before opening up that first present under the tree, knowing that what you want is there and wanting to savor the moment when your eyes reveal its secret. The feelings of my body are nothing compared to the flood of different things I feel between my legs. I can feel the wetness that every sense has caused, and as each one began another soon followed. I know I am moist, such a small word for such a potent subject. My pussy is hot and I can feel my pulse beating inside it. The muscles contract on their own and the texture of my panties and pressure from my jeans, only makes the muscles long to escape and see what new feelings will be found. My legs are like jelly, as if no control of them is allowed me, they open wider on their own for his hands and it is those hands that bring me back to what he is doing next. His hand has returned to the button of my jeans and I gaze into his eyes, knowing he can read what I am thinking. I run my hands along his shoulders and across his collar bone, tracing small beads of sweat and watching his chest heave as he comes back to my lips to kiss me. This time I take control of my needs, sliding my hand down my body, pausing for a moment to graze my nipple with my nails, I let my hand open the button and zipper of my jeans. I bring my other hand to his head and press his kiss deeper into my mouth and let our tongues taste and stroke each other's, while our kiss becomes hotter I let my hand press against my wetness and I feel a shudder pass through my body. Our kiss ends for a moment as we sit back and look at each other, gauging the distance it will take before we cross the next bridge. His smile beckons me on and together we work to remove my jeans from my body. I blush as I remember the panties I had picked out that morning, and I think to myself, that I must look girlish to him, but I also feel they are my last barrier from anything happening, like a fortress against an army, waiting to storm the castle walls. My hands tangle in his hair as his fingers curl back and forth across the band of my panties. I watch his eyes focus on my mound and I close my legs when he presses his fingers against me. I want this but I know that we shouldn't give in. I can smell the sexual heat coming from my body, the scent is heavy and strong, I breath it in and it surround me. I hear myself tell him "No" but, I also feel how my body is moving, the motions of my legs and my hips are telling him "Yes." His lips continue to torment my mouth and my tongue, while I continue to fight this desire to leave my legs spread wide for his advancement. I feel his hands run a marathon between my breast and my pussy, resting for moments on my mound only to leave again and tease and taunt my nipples. The muscles of my body clench and release in a motion long known by women, and long missed by myself. I know now that at this moment my legs win the battle and I spread them wide for his hand. I lay there gasping and waiting for that first touch, anticipating the first contact of skin on skin. I groan when I realize that he isn't ready to remove my panties, I fight an urge to rip them from my own body and let myself lay nude for his inspection. I can feel myself gaining more courage and I want this to move quicker, I want to feel his touches against my wetness. Moving from my lips to my jaw, Mike leaves soft, gentle kisses and makes his way to my ear. I shiver with delight and a small giggle escapes my throat as I turn my head and become accustomed to these new shivers, so unlike the others. They remind me of feathers being run across your body trying to tickle you in a slow torment, before your body gives one great shiver. He senses I cannot take much more of these little nibbles, so as not to lose the mood, he quickly comes back to my mouth and sucks on my tongue. I feel the texture of his tongue and feel his hand sweep down to press against my pussy. I am somewhat embarrassed by the wetness I know has covered my panties and I turn my head so he doesn't see my blush. I turn my head back and see him watching me, knowing he saw my blush and saw me gnawing on my lower lip, he kisses me again and I watch his head move down to each breast. He pauses to give each one a kiss, as if a promise that he will return to them but, must go for now because he is needed else where. "Oh, god!" I cry out as I know I want this but, I can't allow it, I just can't let this happen. I force my mind to take control again and make my legs close against his quest for my sweetnessMy body arches up as I feel his mouth and tongue move along my thighs, alternating from one to the other, my knees relax and my legs open up for him again. His tongue and mouth continue to make love to my thighs licking them until I hear myself moan his name. I feel the cool air from the room and the hot breath of his body mingle together as he pulls my panties to one side, exposing my lips to the beauty of the moment. When I feel the presence of his tongue first touch my opening all thought and reason leave my body, I grasp his head and push him against my pussy, relishing the feel of his tongue and the heat of his breath letting it bring me to a hot, boil of liquid heat. I realize that I have held my breath and I release his head and let myself bask in this feeling, I feel more wetness seep from my body, as I take in more air. I lift my bottom to let him slide the panties from my hips, and hear myself plead for him to continue. I let my head fall back, turning myself over to his ministrations, his tongue and hands are my main focus, and I close my eyes from the world around us. His tongue strokes my pussy and I spread my legs further apart, holding my thighs open, wanting to be a part of his advancement. My body begins to churn deep inside as his tongue swirls against my lips. He makes small tugs against my walls, using either his lips or his teeth, with which I do not know or care, only to feel him here with me is what I focus on, to feel his tongue taste me and stroke me. My moans and gasps blend together and I hear a throaty, hoarse sound break free from my lips. His mouth is making love to my mound and his hands continue to move across my body, keeping my thighs and legs awake and not leaving them out of this pleasurable dance, we are creating. I cannot see my wet lips or my swollen clit, but I know they are engorged with feeling, my body thrusts itself further to his face. My hips grind into his mouth, his tongue. I feel his fingers move up my sides and taunt my breast, pulling and plucking at the nipples, making them stand at attention. My head moves from side to side, thrashing back and forth as I feel him suck hard on my clit. Moisture flows thicker from my body as his mouth and tongue work as one to give my body the friction it craves, only to bring me rising up on the couch and falling back again. I scream out his name as his finger moves inside me. He uses his tongue and finger as one and lets them create a melody on the inner walls of my body and the swollen clit of my moistness. My body wants to scream out in frustration and at the same time beg him to continue this sweet torture, as he lets his finger enter me slowly teasing me until he finally relents and drives two fingers deep into the hot center of my pussy.