Page 3 of Just the Sex: Erotica Shorts

His hands touch my legs, lifting them and tugging them outward, until I am spread wide before him. He bends, his hands on my ankle, his fingers unstrapping my heel, a loud thud sounding when the platform stiletto hits the floor. Then he moves to the other shoe, my foot lifting under his hand when it is free. He grabs an ankle in each hand and places my feet flat on the table, knees pointing to the ceiling.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps, stepping back and watching me, his hand settling on and gripping his cock, which juts out, swollen and hard. The knowledge that I caused that reaction, that his touch on my skin aroused him, is powerful; the vision of him stroking his cock is carnal in its exquisiteness.

I close my eyes and attempt to relax. Attempt to ignore my open legs, the view on display for the three men in the room. I touch myself tentatively, my finger sliding up and down the slit of my sex, gentle strokes that tease the sensitive skin.

“Is that what you like?” I flinch at his voice, which is closer than I expected, right beside me. I open my eyes and turn to the sound, seeing him above me, his eyes on my moving hand, his own hand moving up and down his delicious shaft.

I nodded. “Initially, yes.”

“Keep going.”

I close my eyes again, my fingers never pausing in their travels, moisture collecting between my lips, my fingers grazing liquid as they move slowly and leisurely over the edge of my sanity. I allow one finger to dip in, to test my readiness, and drag some of that moisture higher, to the sensitive bud that is my pleasure center, circling the skin gently. I release a low moan, the building pleasure too great to contain, and arch my back, lifting slightly off the table as my fingers dance lightly through a torturous tease.

My pussy is beginning to respond, to flex and pant, saliva dripping from its eager lips. I can feel my clit taking attention, hardening beneath my gentle swipes, each circle moving a little closer. I am a sadistic bitch when it comes to masturbation, and my body loves me for it. I give until it wants and then I withdraw, coaxing my arousal out only to deny it. It isn’t until it begs, isn’t until it screams for mercy that I will allow it release, the explosion sweeter and more intense the longer I fuck with its mind.

I am reminded of my situation by teeth. Gentle scrapes of teeth against my nipples, first one, and then the other. He covers my nipples, sucking them into the heat of his mouth, his tongue dancing over the rough path of his teeth, my hand reaching up and grabbing his head, gripping that delicious mess of hair and bringing his head harder on my breasts, the sensation too incredible not to savor.

He grips my wrist roughly, yanking my hand off of his head and shoving it back between my legs, his message clear. I moan in frustration, stopping the sound when his mouth returns, visiting my other breast, the combination of soft mouth and hard teeth driving me wild.

“I’m close,” I gasp, my sex contracting and screaming for release, my clit one swipe away from explosion. His mouth moves between my breasts, his fingers replacing his tongue, dragging slowly and softly over my nipples, gentle and light enough to make them arch for more. His mouth, that incredible, hot machine of ecstasy, moves, traveling into the curves of my neck, and all I can think about is how it would feel between my legs.

“Come,” he orders, his mouth lifting off my skin, one of his hands gripping my face and turning it to his, his blue eyes capturing mine and holding me hostage. “Come,” he repeats, need blatant in his taunt, strong face.

I try to keep the eye contact, try to give him what I think he wants, but it is too strong – that final moment that my clit has been waiting for, that perfect swipe across its swollen surface has my eyes rolling back, my world temporarily going black, his green eyes disappearing from sight as my back arches and I explode in

one.

perfect.

moment.

***

I am weak, drained, my body losing all muscle function as the last tendrils of pleasure gently fades away, aftershocks twitching my body. I should be doing something sexy, like sucking or jacking or fucking that beautiful cock. But instead I am lying on the hard ass table and celebrating the incredibleness that is that orgasm.

“Get up and get on the bed in the Master. I’m going to fuck the hell out of you.” His voice is hoarse with need, hard breaths in between the sentences, the order almost a plead despite the command in his tone.

I move, my limbs sluggish and irritable, my orgasm party cut short. My brain tries to process his words, tries to remember where the Master Bedroom is. I am aided by his hands, pushing me through the kitchen, down a short hall and into the first doorway, my bare feet hitting thick carpet as my eyes adjust to darkness with a rainbow of a thousand city lights stretched before me.

My body is spun by his hands until I face him, the lights reflecting in his eyes, his mouth finding mine, his hands gripping my waist and lifting me up and outward, until soft bed is beneath me and he is above me, the thick length of him stiff and heavy against my thighs. I part my legs, his body settling between them, his mouth taking my throat, soft kisses alternating with delicate feedings of my flesh, his tongue teasing and torturing the hollows of my neck.

He grinds against me, his hand reaching down and placing his cock upward between our bodies, its hard shaft heavy between my legs, every thrust of his pelvis creating delicious friction on my sex. He lifts his mouth from my neck, hovering above my mouth and changes the pace, kissing me softly and deeply as he slides his bare cock over me. I gasp against his mouth, an ache between my legs growing, the tease of his shaft driving me wild, every withdrawal thrust giving me hope that he will move it two inches lower and bury it inside of me.

I, despite my ridiculous stripper standard of abstinence, have had plenty of partners; my college career littered with drunken hookups and failed relationships. The one-night-stand experience and I are old acquaintances, having shared three or four awkward experiences. One-night stands have, in my experience, always been disastrous, two strangers fumbling through sex while trying to convince each other that they are having timeoftheirlife sex. This is something else entirely.

This is electricity, sizzling between our bodies and creating heat of intense need. There is, at this point in time, no going back. If he changes his mind, pulls off of my body, I will tackle him to the ground and take his cock. I am ravenous, my body crying out for his, my mouth, fingers and skin itching for his touch, for his domination. What he demands, I will freely give, his orchestration of our sex uncontested. I don’t want to battle with him, I want to pour out my body for him to use in any way he sees fit. I have tasted submission to him and love the release of control.

He pulls off of me, disappearing for a brief moment, only to return, his hands rolling over his cock, shielding it with a thin skin of latex. I lay back, my fingers where his shaft had previously been, my sex begging for stimulation, needing a release that will only be sweet enough if he participates. My eyes devour him as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs, his eyes on mine.

“Tell me what you want.”

I don’t respond and he grips my legs, pulling me to him, my legs and body open to him, his hands pushing mine away. He brushed his stiff head over my swollen lips, watching my eyes. I take a quick breath, the tease of his head too much, the look in his eyes even more of a turn-on. Possessive, dominating, with a fire behind them that both terrifies and electrifies me. He knows what I want, what I need. But I love this look in his eyes, the raw need and demand in their intensity. If withholding my response lights that fire, then I want to drag it on as long as humanly possible.

He leans forward, grips the back of my neck and lifts me towards him, till my face is beneath his, his hot breath on my lips. “Tell me,” he spits out.

I resist, my eyes glued to his, my body swooning when he presses his thick tip against my soaked opening. My eyes shutter close, the pending sensation too good not to savor. Another inch, shoved firmly in, another quick intake of breathe. Holy hell. My body reacts to his in a way I’ve never experienced. His firm grip, tangled in my hair, grounds me – his cock causes me to soar to unnatural planes, satisfying a carnal need I never knew I could have.

“Tell. Me.” He orders, his mouth against mine, close enough to touch, but just enough space to torture. He withdraws slowly, causing me to moan in anguish.

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