Author: beebokenobi

The tips of the fingertips, that’s where it lives– the tips of the fingertips and the dim curves only barely visible in the slivers of light slipping like splinters through the shades. You touch her like a frying-pan that might be hot– the places you’re touching her… any moment you expect her to shriek and turn bright-pink and slap you, those are the sorts of places– but she doesn’t. No, here, now, with her… it’s okay. It’s allowed. All those thoughts you were having all those times you sat behind her in class, they’re allowed here, now. All those things you thought of doing.

The tips of the fingertips, the very tips, that’s where it lives, and the very tips of your fingertips are tracing down her like raindrops, finding every path from the bone of her cheek to her thighs– they trickle along the soft sides of her neck, they drip-drip-drop along the smooth crest of her collarbone, they run as a river, they carve out her cleavage over what feels like eternity– time slows down when you touch her, and you touch her, and you touch her, and at last, at last your touches pool in the gentle sink of her hips. Read more »

She sits every night in the deep circles under my eyes, like a girl in a paper moon. She doesn’t see me, but I feel seen by her– or at least I think I feel seen. It’s hard to know for sure what I’m feeling once I’ve asked the pixels to make her for me; my head is already below the water.

I’ve never once touched her– I’ve never once been near enough to touch her– but I know for certain that she is soft, so soft. The pixels told me. Every last inch of her is soft, from the bottom to the top, from the front to the back. The folds of her smile, the folds between her legs are the perfect little soft-secret places for hiding. That’s the most I’ve ever wanted in a person, I think, a place for hiding.

There’s nothing like that moment when he first pushes in, when his cock just… fills you. It’s heat all the way to your fingertips, and the backsides of your eyes– you’re blushing, in spite of yourself– you can’t help it.

Every inch inside you, sliding, sliding, against your softness, your wetness– like glass on silk, he slides, and you can feel him in every last vein and capillary of yourself.

He pins you by the wrists– not hard, but you’re pinned. His thighs have woven their way between yours, you’re spread wide and high, ankles to his ears.

“Don’t be gentle,” you say. “Take it,” you say.

He isn’t. He does.

It’s amazing how soft a person can be and still fuck so rough. It’s amazing how wet a thing can be and still make such friction– such sweet friction, that tug on the skin, the “I’m here, I’m in you, I’m moving, feel me move”

And the way it fills you… there isn’t so much as a whisper of space he leaves empty between your legs. He smothers the inside of you, hot and wet like trapped breath against your walls– and with every mad thrust of his hips, his cock throttles you. Read more »