I sit across from you, staring you down trying my best to keep a solid facial expression. You’re watching me curiously, I know this look. You’re scrutinizing for any signs of what could be going through my head.
I peek at my cards once more and keep them close to me even though they’re not that great. A classic tell while playing cards is to push an unfavorable hand away from yourself and lean back arms crossed. I’m hardly doing that, I’m caressing the edge of one and smirking at you. The key is to bluff you into believing that I have a decent hand when in reality, well… my hand is trash. I have a 5 of Spades and a Queen of Hearts.. The 3 face up cards between us are a 2 of Diamonds, 7 of Clubs, and Ace of Hearts. If I’m being blunt, nothing can come from this hand unless one of the best two cards is another Queen, or a 5. Can I get that lucky?
You flip another card on to the table, go figure, a 3 of Spades, and my itch to push the cards away from me intensifies. Instead, I double down on my holding the cards close to me. You twitch an eyebrow. Have you seen through my delicate ruse? Did my face show what my hands have not?
I smile at you amicably, “are you okay, Stony?” I grin at my reference, but your features do not soften to reflect any hints about your own cards.
“Oh I’m great,” you pass on any betting with the addition of this card to our growing river and I do as well. I watch as you flip the final card onto the table.
8 of Diamonds. Definitely not the card I needed.
You lay your cards on the table and sure enough, you’ve won the hand with an Ace of Spades and 4 of Clubs. I growl and flip my cards for you to see. You smirk at me, tallying another win for you as you do. “You should have folded at the start of the hand. Save yourself some trouble.”
I stick my tongue out at you and to my surprise, you don’t move to catch it between your teeth. Instead you lightly tap the tip of my nose with your index finger and lean back, “another hand?”
So far you’ve beat me four out of five hands we have played and I’ve decided to concede to the fate we agreed upon earlier in the week: *I win, and I paint your ass red. You win, you get free reign to bite, lick, and suck as much as you please…*
I shake my head, “nah, I think I know to quit while I’m behind.”
“You are usually so… incorrigible, though.” You’re smirk widens.
I stand, moving carefully so we are face to face and bend slightly, sticking my ass out. A strand of my dark curls fall in front of my face, but I don’t move to touch it, “so will you have me here, over the arm of the couch, or in front of your vanity?” Each option was equally fair, but the vanity had an edge: it had the mirror.
You push the errant strand behind my ear and lean in so that your lips are next to my ear. I can smell the cologne on your neck and it mingles so playfully with the smell of detergent and menthol from a cigarette on your shirt. Overall the smell is pleasing and I inhale deeply as you know I’m want to do. “That depends, where would you you like me to?”
“Oh, I get an option?” I smirk against your neck, but before I can consider sinking my teeth into the flesh just above your collarbone you snare your hand in my hair firmly and move so we are face to face.
Your expression is amused and your eyes are crinkled at the corners, “why wouldn’t I give you the option?”
“I never said that!” I squeak indignantly, but flash a toothy grin at you, “but, in honesty, we both know where you’d have me. Need I say it?”
“You know I want to hear you say it, Kisunya.”
My cheeks redden and I bite my lip before looking away, “have me in front of the mirror so you can watch my face…”
“As you wish.” You let go of my hair and instead twine my fingers with yours and together we walk to your bedroom.
There is a candle burning on the taller of the two dressers and your room smells faintly like cinnamon. It’s quiet, the hum from the fan is really the only noise to distract me from the sound of my own breathing and my quickening heartbeat.
I lean against the dresser framed by the mirror and pull my hand free from yours gently with a smile. It’s unspoken between us, but I know the entire outfit has to go. I start by hooking my finger under the hem of my shirt and grab it lightly, pulling it over my head revealing my modest bra. The bra is simple: pale nude, the straps are almost always slipping off of my shoulders. I make eye contact with you and carefully pinch the ends together to release the hooks from the clasps and then pull the bra off, letting it fall next to the shirt on the ground. Though your room is cozy, the air is cool in here and my nipples are firm and plump. It’s hard to tell if that is because of my state of arousal or if I’m just a bit chilled, but I rub my hands over my breasts with a wink at you before sliding my hands down my front. I turn away from you, but make eye contact with you in the mirror while I push the black shredded leggings off of my hips. I bend, pushing the leggings down my legs, black lace splashed across my ass like oil on a canvas. I step out of my leggings and again our eyes meet in the mirror.
“Go on,” you nod towards the black lace on my hips.
By now, my cheeks are flush pink and I hold your gaze while I take my panties off as well and am stark naked in front of you. Wordlessly, I move so that I am bent over your dresser, my forearms extended out in front of me and my hair is cascading over my shoulders. You’ve seen a picture of me like this before except I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and it was meant to tease you while we were apart. Now, however, you get to take in every detail you want, not just the details I curated for you.
You move behind me, I’m not sure what you’re doing until I feel your lips against the curve of my ass and you bite where my thigh and ass meet, making me moan. You trail kisses over the right cheek and grab the left with your hand. After a few heartbeats you alternate your attention and I feel the heat in my pussy and groan softly, pushing back against you.
With a chuckle you step away and place your hand on the small of my back, tracing my ass with your other hand. I peer up at you in the mirror and find that you are looking back at me.
“What do you think will break first?” I ask quietly. Before I can finish the thought, you smack my ass, the heat spreading over my cheek and I moan.
In reality, there was no need for me to finish the thought. You and I both know I was going to ask if my pain threshold would break before my need to cum. We have had this conversation a couple times previously and now we are putting thought to play.
*Smack… Smack… Smack*
You alternate cheeks and I arch my back and stick my ass out further for you with soft moans. The pain is delicious and I’m savoring every bit of it.
I look at us in the mirror. You’re rubbing your hand over my ass and staring back at me. “Have you -” I can hear the concern in your voice and I put a stop to it.
“Had enough? No.” I wiggle my ass under your hand and smirk at you. “We could do this all night.”
You don’t respond, but instead layer some more hand prints on my left cheek. You pause, a wicked smirk spreading to your lips. “Don’t move.” You leave me and I take a moment to curl my toes and lay my cheek against my forearm. When you return you have a glass of water in one hand and your phone in the other. You set the glass on the dresser near me and go back to standing behind me.
In the mirror, I see you pull your phone out and take three pictures of my ass, there is satisfaction in your work painted on your features.
“Surely not a new wallpaper?” I ask, moving to take a sip of water while you pocket your phone.
“No, just a fond memory for later.” You lay another handprint, this one falling on my right cheek, with another *smack*. By now, my ass has to be reddened and you step back, admiring your handiwork even further.
I am savoring the radiant heat coming off of my ass when you surprise me with your lips and tongue. You trail your tongue along the outer curve of my ass and breathe kisses along the outline of a handprint. I moan as you do so and slide my stance so that my legs are parted for you.
A wordless glance passes between us and you caress up my inner thigh and trail your fingers against my lips. My lips are unsurprisingly sticky with my honey and you taste me on your finger before pushing it into my sex. You curl your finger into me and withdraw it a couple of times before you add another.
With your ministrations, I moan and begin to feel an orgasm building in me. I am woozy with desire and I do not hesitate to let you know this fact.
“I’m so close!”
Instead of continuing, instead of pushing me over that edge like you’ve talked me to countless times before on the phone and through text messages, you stop. Your fingers are still curled in me, nestled against that utmost tender, slippery spot, but you aren’t curling them in or out anymore. We are entangled together, my thighs quivering and breathing ragged. You are mostly composed due to your adamantine self control.
I am aching for you to just nudge me over the edge. The need is written in my furrowed brow and parted lips. I could count my slowing heartbeats of stillness between us. When I am mostly composed you start again.
I realize what you’re doing and the words tumble from my lips before I can catch them and hold them on the tip of my tongue, “please I want to cum on your fingers!”
“Ah, there it is.” You sound like you’ve been looking for something and your patience has been rewarded. You kiss the small of my back and our eyes meet in the mirror once more. You twitch your fingers in me and move your thumb so that you are rubbing my clit with it and that is what sends me over the edge.
I cannot hold your look because I am lost to the orgasm that has swept through me and utter your name as a low moan. I can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard me cum until this point: once. It was mid afternoon and I was trying to cum before work so I called you. I ran exactly two minutes late that whole afternoon and it was worth the 120 seconds that my day was behind by.
Perhaps we were like this for seconds or minutes, but when the euphoria fades, I grin at you. I am keenly aware of the stinging of my ass, and that I am still slick with honey post orgasm. When you gently pull your fingers from me, I catch your hand and kiss your fingers, sucking them clean as I intend to suck your cock.
“Your turn.” I grin, mischief dancing in my eyes.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/df52sr/cards_mf_longish