Vignette: Sssshhh

Sssshhh.

Quiet.

Be still.

Can you feel it? The slow, steady drag of air escaping from your parted lips, filling the expectant heavy atmosphere with the moisture of your desire. Can you feel the trembling of your skin and the fluttering of your eyelashes, as weighted by need they press down eager to caress your flesh? Can you taste the wetness pooling in your mouth as your tongue tip teases along the undulating ridge of exposed teeth before flicking further outwards to coat those soft lips in glistening saliva? Can you hear the near inaudible lustful pants escaping to quiver about sensitive lobes? Does the heavy thrum of your heartbeat quicken in your chest causing soft flesh to heave at the prospect of delicate digits traversing those deliciously wanting mounds? Does your mind fill with white noise blotting out everything beyond that screaming, insistent voice begging to be touched, caressed and stroked into frenzied pleasure?

Sssshhh.

Quiet.

Be still.

Shall we, you and I? Shall we, our buttock muscles tense and clasping, our stomachs fluttering in hope, our breath trickling raggedly from open lips as half closed eyes transfix on the steady undulation of exposed breasts? Shall we allow those clamped thighs to fall apart, to feel the soft breeze to play across our moisture coated skin? Shall we pull nectar infused air deep into our lungs and revel in the gorgeous aroma of our own wantonness? Shall we wriggle the smooth rounded globes of our arses deeper into the forgiving softness of our bedding as we expose glorious, wanting us for all to adore? Shall we finally submit; release that desperate moan that has been trapped within our soul as our hips rock persistently and the swollen lips of our hidden desire fall open to reveal our urgent longing?

I hope you’ll excuse me but I must.

My over-sensitised skin demanding that manicured half-moons trickle across their trembling surface; that it be teased into wretched spasming pleasure; that they traverse it slowly, always heading inexorably southward seeking the smooth, razor tended mound of my pubis as I thrust myself upwards to offer myself to their tormenting touch.

So wet.

So wanton.

So needy.

Heat, warmth, liquid, escaping from molten me, seeping down to trickle along my hidden crevice and pooling in the pulsing mocha star of my anus. Open petals glistening with juices as they bubble forth from the endlessly throbbing pink caldera. How they tease, those treacherous fingers. Flitting across flailing flesh. Circling. Scratching. Dragging themselves across sheened skin until juices coat their delicate pads and become captured beneath those indiscreet nails.

Toes curled. Heels dug into bedding. Knees flung indiscreetly wide. Hair falling in moistened tendrils across my blushing face as my tattered breath escapes my panting mouth. Back arched. Pubis thrust upwards demanding, pleading, begging, aching for that releasing touch.

Sssshhh.

Quiet.

Be still.

It must be perfection; an incomparable experience; two souls conjoined, two beings lost to pleasure, and I’m not sure we know each other well enough to share ourselves so completely just yet. I’m sorry to be such a terrible tease. Perhaps next time we chat …

Maybe.