It’s your breath that wakes me. Soft and warm, it glides over my throat, across my shoulder; gentle, reassuring. I allow the sensation into me, to draw me from sleep. I feel no rush. Other senses stir. I smell us. Musky, primal, salty. At my flanks I feel your skin against mine. Are you straddling me?
I open my eyes, but it remains dark.
I move my arms, but only an inch before they are constrained. My legs are spread.
I am awake. I am blindfolded. I am bound.
The breath on my neck changes to a colder stream, and draws patterns now. Along the lines of my collar; across one exposed armpit and then back to my chest. My nipple. Circling. Leaving and returning. Exploring.
You are straddling me. Now I can feel the hardness of your knees against my waist, the points of your ankles against my thighs. It is a gentle but certain grip. It holds me. Places me.
The breath on my skin disappears. There is stillness, that to me feels broken only by the stirring in my cock. There is silence, except for my pulse. It quickens. Can you hear it?
There is the lightest touch on my skin. I cannot see, but in my mind I can. You’re leaning over me, and your hair brushes my chest, my arms. It tickles, but rather than giggle, I sigh. I want to touch you. I’m hard.
I feel you shift, your calves staying close to my skin as they slide down my legs, then your bottom perching on my ankles. I’m picturing. Imagining. Yearning. I know, if I could see, what I would. Your lean belly; tumbling hair, almost covering pretty breasts and delicious nipples only slightly darker than your skin; a naughty smile. I need to touch…
Your weight shifts. I feel a brushing on my thigh. A finger? A nipple? Oh god, the not-knowing is… hmmmm. As the touch approaches, my shaft tenses, expecting, lifting, but then the touch drifts past. What was it?
Now it roams me, this single point of contact. Firm and soft all at once. Caresses my belly, my breasts, outlines the shape of my cock, and then settles on it. The pressure growing. And then I know it is your nipple as your breast and your warmth moulds around the shape of me, softness around hardness.
As I start to move against you, the pressure, the touch is removed. I am denied. “Fuck!” I exclaim, half smiling, half fuming, all consumed. I can hear your laughter. I writhe in response, only to feel your weight leave me completely.
There is movement around the bed but I cannot make out its intent. There is tantalising brushes of skin as the pressure shifts on the mattress; the sound of your breathing; once, you clear your throat. Then I notice. Scent. It has changed. Now I can smell…
I smell you.
It’s rich and womanly and complex, and the most erotic scent I know. And it fills my nostrils with the last breath I take before you cover my mouth with your cunt. “Pleasure me,” you command.
I will obey…
Very sexy