It’s not strange to hear my dorm room shower running at 3 AM on any given evening. Saturday’s less so; four girls sharing two rooms, we’ve learned to ignore the footfalls in that tiled hall, the rattling click of a lock just outside of our dreams. We only ever barely wake up to the sounds of drunken giggles in the commons, or the fridge’s hermetic gush when we try to sneak our midnight snacks. Three AM is the safest hour to interrupt wetdreams. Mine were brought to a blind reality with that perfect, pushing hand.
Tonight, you and I are still very much in the waking world, even if we’re palming our way through the total darkness of this dorm. The first creak of my bed wouldn’t wake Vanessa up. The second creak of springs when I exit these innocent blankets and pillows could stir her – but it’s nothing more than her roommate going to the restroom, right? That other lump she saw when she walked in earlier, the other shape beneath the sheets was just a guest – surely, she thinks, they’re left behind in bed. The darkness hides even her own hand before her face, and sleep takes it to guide her away from our plans. We are safe to lace each other’s fingers, to open the door and push naked heels from carpet to cold floors. One finger is pressed to your lips until you wrap your tongue and suck it soft. Bad. I’d slap you how you like it, if I knew it wouldn’t echo through the hall.
Thank goodness the bathroom door creaked shut just the perfect amount. If you’d grabbed my bottom any harder I would have squealed instead of being left gasping and gripping your wrist. With your smallest finger pressed past my shorts and inside me to the knuckle, I couldn’t walk. I almost fell. You caught me by my throat from behind and it was all I needed to cup my mouth and hide another breath of surprise. In our blind world you’ve proven yourself unpredictable again.
A squeeze to my throat. A softer brush of digits over nipples hardened by this cold, unseen room. I so desperately widen my eyes to see, to get anything back of that lost sense, but I’m blinded deeper by a hand down my stomach, down the front of panties wet from our hours edging under sheets. Hours. You had snaked your arms as they are now and kept me up with those achingly slow swipes and presses and pulls into your warmth. And now with a sleepless evening taken by lust you give back every moment with a single motion. Those panties peel off and fall quick. The softest touches tell me you’ve bent down. I reach for the shower, I turn it to hot, I wait for the heat and I reach for the shower’s head – but so do you. I find warm flesh over cool, vibrating steel. I lose your breath to the pressing rain that mists our skin like melting diamond dust. And in that moment, a second hand, another sensation – a grit of cloth, dry then damp, and a grip of your hand as I struggle through confusion.
How you tied a knot on feeling alone, I’ll never know. With my panties tying my wrists to that shower head I needed to stand on tiptoes. The water only teased my naked breasts and pearled up slow against my stomach, down my thighs, until they were wiped clean of your touch. The water smattered down your back as your hair dipped wet from that water. You found me again with expert ease through the darkness of that shower. Even your eyelashes were like one hundred kisses on my skin before the true reason of why you kept me up came out. Water sluiced down between my thighs and womanhood, only a tease, a new kind of wetness before a third introduced with the flat of your tongue. Don’t stop. Even if my thighs are quaking, even if my toes dance to keep my burning thighs from slipping, don’t you dare stop. My arms slacken and wish to swing but your tongue holds me in my place there in the darkness, like a goddess being born into blind orgasm. Wetter, slicker, every miniscule section of your tongue and lips linger slick without aimless darting or teasing. A suck to my most private parts, the curl of your chin as you work me into sightless submission. Through the panties my wrists begin to sear from the heat of the water but I can’t pull away – you refuse to pull away. I am your broken plaything in that darkness. I am dreams brought to the wakened world, a place between sleep and life.
My excitement melts down my thigh with your wetter licks. It’s only then, with my throat tightened up and my stomach tensed and my breasts thrust to that teasing spray, it’s only then that I hear the sound of your pleasure below. Rhythmic, echoing in and out of steam and squeaks of your knees readjusting. And for you, I cum like a good girl. Tied up against that shower head, pushing my hips into your loving face with the slide of your chin against my pleasured wetness. The musculature of your face between my legs, every little neuron pushing out another pleasured wave of warmth. My wrists, my ass, my thighs and stomach, all of me is stretched and burn, a tortured shower of nerves to radiate hotly and release it all in a manifest scream. Just a gasp, a choke – not of your name, not of any dirty word, but only a chaotic little cry to give away our secret dream together. Somewhere, someone’s woken up to the sound of you making me cum, but they’re neither sober nor brave enough to seek out the source of that unhinged bliss. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve made another girl slide her fingers through the darkness of that dorm room night, past the gates of dreams and reality, against herself in the liminal space of pleasure I am now trapped inside myself.
Somehow, without eyes you’ve made a world for me, my ever pushing-prodding deity of night. Enter this world of blindness you’ve created. You’ve earned your queen, now cum for her.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/5816on/we_promised_to_be_quiet_i_broke_our_promise
This is so beautiful. I’m actually so happy right now.