Another command to reinforce the lack of freedom, then the sweet warm touch of her tongue between my legs. It was just a lick, a simple tease, but it caused me to sway with a deep moan. Stillness once more. The second lick caught me slightly less off guard, but movement followed unchecked by it. Her tongue hadn't even reached between my now very wet, intimate folds of flesh yet, and that knowledge was burning deep within my brain. The third lick was closer, again causing me to sway and moan, the muscles in my legs and ass contracting to stay standing. I failed miserably to hold still on the fourth lick.
The tip of her tongue, teasing my clitoris.
My knees as good as buckled completely, a deep moan released without restraint, but somehow I kept standing, if barely. The buildup of sensitivity was something I'd never experienced this well from someone else. While my whole body buzzed with beautiful impulses of pleasure, my mind was keenly aware and thankful. The pause was longer this time, giving me space to relax, to crave. Echoes of the deed flowed through me, shivering breaths trying to catch up, muscles forced into place and eyes still closed. She managed to surprise me a second before I would have felt completely relaxed again.
Directly over my clitoris. A warm, long and deep lick that was answered by a moan that was mostly hidden in a sigh. She spoke a word of approval that slipped through the mazes of my mind, but made me feel warm nonetheless. The sixth and seventh licks came swifter after the previous, as if to test and taunt me to be a bad pet. The slight feeling of guilt, for not being able to stand still properly, was overshadowed by the pleasure, serving to enigmatically enhance the eroticism. The eighth lick was one without finish, her playful lips locked on my lower ones, the tip of her tongue circling agonizingly slow around that sensitive spot. All the movements were intensely pleasurable but just shy of being strong enough to trigger orgasms.
Being submissive for once was very educational.
She stopped and moved away, giving me permission to look but not to move. She waited until my eyes had opened and gave me a nod of approval, her emerald green eyes shining with enjoyment. She required of me to lick her face clean without moving. How remained an unasked question, answered by moving her face close to mine, brushing my lips once to make clear how I was to clean.
An act gladly performed.
Tasting myself on someone else's skin had never felt this wild, erotic and lustful. Every sweep supplied senses with shifts of aroma. Twisting to supply me with her ears, eyes and lips, granting a gift of superficial intimacy. She took her sweet time, as with everything, turning every possible way, baring her skin to me fully. When finally satisfied, she sat back on the sofa, still in nothing but her skirt, and gave the command I'd been waiting for.
Her eyes told the rest, commanded me to waste little time and dive between her legs. However, as my fingers reached for her skirt, looking into her eyes for approval, she made it clear that I was, again, to use nothing but my head. The darkness of her skirt enveloped me, held in place by her hands, my head covered on most sides. It felt strange to explore her with my tongue without being able to see the playing field, but it felt also intimate, warm and incredibly sexy. Not to mention that it also made her look like she was in total control over the situation. Merrily, I accepted the situation, marked it down for future reference and started on my plight.
She tasted divine. Her skin was clean and, to my delight, not covered in a bitter layer of perfume. It tasted slightly sweet with the natural hints of her womanhood nearby. Inspired by her earlier actions, my own experience and the need to tease her like she had done to me, I started a little way off from the heat. Her upper thigh welcomed the slimy slithering of my tongue, jumping from one side to the other, avoiding the middle, closer with every jump. Her juices were as they should be; naturally sweet and not filled with bitterness or stress. The journey from her labia to her clitoris was heralded by her quickening breaths. Her fingers, still holding the skirt in place, rummaged through my hair, pushing me gently closer to her center. The message was clear.
The wave had begun.
Like a passing fish disturbing the surface of the water, the wind moving and enhancing that slight irregularity, her feelings ascended. Little at first, but accelerating, reverberating. Pleasure, expressed in the height of the wave, starting small but quickly grew. Flowing smoothly towards its destination, both interrupted and strengthened by the opposite undertows, the size of the wave increased dramatically. Moans reflected the roar of the sea, the crashing of the wave's edges back in the water. Currents caused by the wind, water and earth, flowed into each-other, serving (like I served her) to emphasize the wave, pushing it higher. It was a tsunami ready to engulf the shore, missing only a single element. Another word, a finger following request towards her thighs. No other words were needed, no other direction required, it was perfectly clear where she wanted my fingertip to go.
The seventh spot to heaven.
The wave truly grew to epic proportions. Even with the relatively slow but consistent caresses of my tongue and finger, it raised radically. There had been no resistance for my finger to slide inside and rub slowly over the rougher texture, the right place reaffirmed readily through her reactions. The wave was wailing, traveling over the surface of her consciousness, prepared to strike the coast of her being. Moments passed, her body lifted higher as the wave advanced further. It was not far off, but distance was deceiving with something this size. I imagined myself standing on her shore, captivated by the incoming water, unable to assess its real size, strength or impact.
Until it crashed.
Her body started twitching as she and the wave came. Just slow at first but with a deceptive force. Her hands grabbed my hair and pulled me tighter between her legs, even though there was no space to move. My movements continued to the best of my abilities in this situation. It pulled her completely over the edge, causing her to orgasm with a strength I had not seen with anyone but myself. The result was predictable yet unexpected. She squirted.
Into my open mouth.
The irony was not lost on me, the image of the wave so vivid in my mind that it was natural to feel like drowning in the face of it. It tasted much like my own, strangely sweet but acutely abundant with lust. Unfortunately, as my mouth contained more than I could manage, it was only partly swallowed, the rest dribbling off my chin clumsily. My finger continued to move slowly inside of her, her hands releasing me somewhat but her body had not yet stopped spasming. I could feel the waves of pleasure as they went through her body, virtually making me orgasm together with her, such sweet intensity. Still underneath her skirt, I was very much part of her orgasm, her wave.
She pulled me up slowly, my finger not leaving her, to hold and kiss me. Her body still semi-struck by the throes of throbbing pleasure. She spent a few words complimenting my efforts and it felt good. The embrace became more intimate as her fingers found me, flowing inside of me in a natural motion. Rather than moving fast, their pace remained calm. The sensitivity in my body, while great, was not enough for it to trigger anything, but that was good. It was a very welcome gentle moment, both of us tenderly teasing one-another, kissing longingly. For she was in the after-glow of an explosion that I had shared, for me it was the lust and desire still built up in me with no chance of release.
And none required.
She was, by far, the sweetest dominant person I'd met. One that, while taking control and giving orders, took good care of the other. There was a deliberate balance of giving and taking, a gentler play of fine and punishment. All these things had given me even more to work with, considering men. It would be fun to take control like this, making them feel important, like my pet. Helping to hope that I would be there for the rest of their lives. Which was perhaps true, but for a different reason. The fact remained that this was the calmest I'd ever felt without the release of orgasm. It wasn't perfect but it didn't need to be, no one judged but me. It was more than enough to just lay there, playing erotically with her while she played with me. A gentle connection, a playful touch. I wondered if I could fall asleep like this.
It was the middle of the night when I woke up. Both of us naked on the sofa in a room that was, now that I thought about it, rather warm. But it was good, because it prevented the need for a blanket. There was a bathroom near the front door, I remembered, which was a good place to be. The lights were still on, helping navigation immensely. It wasn't long before I sat down on the annoyingly cold plastic seat to do my business.
A strange sound.
It coincided with the flush, so I wasn't sure. But it sounded quite like something had been pushed through the letterbox quietly. That strange metallic sound of the flap closing slightly too sudden. After cleaning my hands, trying to make as little sound as possible, I opened the door and looked around. Nothing strange. Further open, a step outside into the hall and another gaze around. Something was out of place. The front door had a letterbox a little above waist height, which had recently been used. This wasn't clear because the flap itself was still open but because of the recognizable rectangular piece of paper, resting on the mat below.
The same kind of paper, the same kind of writing, the same subtle smell. It contained, again, only a single word that did nothing but raise many, many questions about its origin and intent. While the previous one was a word of the recent past or, perhaps, the present. This one hinted at things to come. While a small part of me found it exciting, like a puzzle to be solved, a large part of me was worried. Had I been followed this far away? Perhaps the questions should wait, they might be answered in the near future. Coming, like the single word itself.