Clitorisation… I know, I know, I do have a tendency to make words up, but bear with me this time. In its simplest form, Clitorisation is a way of turning any part of the body into something delicate, something tangible, something tantalising. You simply pretend that you’re touching, kissing maybe, or nibbling the innocent part of the body, as if it were that mysterious little fold of flesh that usually stays hidden away, all wrapped up warm in its own set of blankets, but which occasionally peeps out to make sure it doesnt miss ALL the fun that’s going on, when fun is being had. And it is, of course, the perfect way, to share some intense moments with a playmate in public.
So, imagine a scenario. It’s 10 o’clock in the evening, you’ve just gone to see Force Awakens, but the snow is falling, and beginning to bite, and it’s getting late, so you dive into the bar across the road and wait for Brother in Law Mike to fight his way across the highway in his armoured ex-military 4 by 4, to come and pick you up, and get you home safely. Apparently it has bi-lateral Xenon axle torsion alignment settings to the drive shaft, so not only will it get you home to your bed, you could notionally choose if you want, to invade Kansas, and they wouldnt even see you coming. And it’s also a big white thing, so it hides well, in the snow, like a polar bear. Only, it growls louder than a polar bear. Maybe a polar bear with a headache.
Nestled in a corner booth, with a glass of red, and a glass of Jack, you play footsie under the table, simmering with the idea that Mike should just fucking hurry up. But eyes glinting, you gently raise your glass, and take a sip, holding that gaze, as she leans her head to one side, smiling, as she sparkles in that way that she does, and waits for you to smoulder. Placing the glass carefully down on the stained woodwork, you merely say,
‘Give me your hand’
…quietly. But loud enough to be heard.
‘…palm up’
…and reach across that cramped table, to touch, and slide across and up the offered arm, skin across skin, tactility winning the day, just reminding you that we are actually real, and sentient, and alive… The leg pressed against you under the table, presses harder, as you drag your nails so gently back down towards her wrist, and fingers circle softly, and ever slowly, eliciting a grin, and a very soft giggle…
‘You fucker… I know what you’re doing’
I just chuckle innocently.
‘I have no idea what you mean…’
‘yes, you do…’
But all I do is circle… Light, but firm, stroking of fingertips, broadening out now, from the wrist, as if searching, lingering here and there, ever seeking, as if never finding, a pseudo Fools errand, and still ever gentle, tactile, and very almost ticklish. Circling, in ever diminishing travels, into the centre of your given palm, faster, like a swirling disappearance into the mystery of where the water goes in the bathroom sink, my finger arches to stroke the tip of my nail as I circle faster into the centre of that beautiful palm, and all I can feel is my heart beating, and your foot stroking my own leg, up and down, as you shiver and sigh.
And when I slow, and stop, and look up into those eyes, to see those blushing eyes, and then press that palm firmly, but ebb back and forth, mimicking something that we had experienced only that morning, firm, then soft, back and then forth, you grinned and whispered…
‘Stop it’
‘Why?’, as I just continued, pressing my fingers into your hand, wanting you to feel me press hard, then relax, then press, then touch, back… and forth… BACK, then forth, just circling mercilessly.
‘you know why’
As Mike gunned his engine and shifted into a lower gear, when the snow curtained down, almost drowning the interstate with snowflakes, I remembered why her eyes glinted when she’d said that.
‘Glastonbury?…’
‘Yesssss’
‘Well, you never did believe me, did you. I made it clear, right from the start, that I could do that’
‘Yes, it’s true, I didnt believe. I just thought you were full of it’, and she sipped from her glass, big wide smiling eyes reminiscing, as I was already doing so.
But a circle reminded her. Nail grazing firmly, in the centre of her palm…
Glastonbury. The holy magnet for a long weekend of revelations, noodles, mud and redolent misbehaviour. The closest thing we can nowadays get to the heady days of Roman impropriety and decadence… I’d chanced upon a double ticket, and she had indeed thought long and hard about that invitation, but decided yes. And we fought the trains, and the traffic and pitched the tent, and slurped through the mud from stage to stage in gum boots, and saw incredible people doing impossible things, kissed under the clouds and moonlight, saw shooting stars, ate Mongolian sac dumplings with too much chilli sauce, and collapsed against each other at night, until the next day dawned, to the sound of pan pipes drifting through the mist.
But the closing night was different. There was literally fire in the air, and flags waved and an ambience flowed across the whole field, as strangers crammed as close as they could, when bass guitars flared, and anthems came and went, and all we did was dance and holler, caught up in the moment, as each one came, with its own intensity. And then…
I’m a bastard. I freely admit it. I’d planned it all – I knew her favourite band was playing on the closing night, and I’d made sure we were right in the middle of the crowd that surged as they came on stage. She squealed almost as loud as our fellow hedonists around us, as the opening chords rang out, and my arms wrapped around her, as she swayed and danced, as the heat and sweat rubbed against us, a rabble of beings just excited at the noises pumping out across the Somerset fields…
Half in protection, half in lust, I wrapped her to me, feeling her squirm, to the left, and to the right, and just pressed my mouth to her shoulder, kissing it lightly at first, then feeling her slow a little, and I searched more keenly, more hungrily. The music faded away as she felt the touch against her neck, and she closed her eyes, as my mouth discovered her ear, growling into it.
‘all the subtle flavours of my life…’
‘are become’, she whispered…
As I held her, the crowd went wild. Two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, part of a maddening crowd of boiling effervescence and all I could do, was kiss her earlobe. Gently. Delicately. While my hands pressed firm, and kept her to me, as my mouth began to rove, feeling her slacken and fold against me, just hearing the energy around us, and trusting me to be with her in the moment, as she layed her head to the side and nestled against. A tender kiss, as I licked and flicked her ear-lobe, before pouncing and greedily sucking it into my mouth, hard at first, feeling her tense, before I relaxed and slowly dialled things down. Teeth kept that position in place as I sucked and I licked and then tasted, telling her the things I wanted to do, my hands keeping her close, the MDMA in our souls just reaching out for comfort, and touching inside as the tongue flicked again and again, and she quivered as the crowd roiled around us, and we barely knew it. I could feel her tense, every time I renewed the pressure, every time I claimed her against my sweating body, every time she sighed and matched my frame, and when she held her breath and giggled, and then shivered, I nipped her, and then held her tight, as the music soared and the crowd convulsed. And we joined them, in a joy shared, only ours was not quite the same as theirs.
Almost, but not quite…
‘But I ended up convincing you, didnt I’, as I took a sip of my own.
‘mmhmm’
‘Clitori…’
‘…sation’, as the word was finished for me, with a mischievous grin across the table.
I grinned like a child, as your eyes bored into me, feeling you stretch under the table, and running your ankle up against my leg.
‘I always told you to trust me…’, I offered
‘I know, but I didnt want to’
‘but you did eventually’
‘Yes’
I put my glass down, and settled, still feeling your foot under the table
‘What will we do…’
‘Toes tonight?’
I giggled…
‘I think that might be achievable…’
‘I do hope so, Mr Englishman…’
…and that was when I just smiled… knowing Mike was on his way…
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/44mrzu/m4fmdomlustalmost_sex_heres_clitorisation
I like the detail of your definition, I’m sure the Oxford English Dictionary will quote this reference when it’s adopted officially.
:P
Makes me wonder if there’s a male equivalent … To suck any protruding object, banana, cucumber any part if the male body a finger, a nose! Perhaps that would be head-onistic (giggle)