The bed is cool against her back, the sheets, the blankets all push against her and feel soft and soothing against her skin, like cool water on a fever. The only problem is that she isn't against him any more, there is nothing to grind against, nothing to ease the nearly painful ache in between her legs. It is driving her mad and he is going so slow, each movement of his hands is getting her closer and closer to something she is sure she will never actually reach and she finds herself gripping at the sheets under her.
Eyes half open, she watches him above her, the dark hair and features, his long artist fingers undressing her like he has done probably a hundred times before but with such different intent at the moment then ever before. She doesn't find herself embarrassed under his gaze, her head back, body easy, relaxed and open for his touch and gaze, why bother hiding herself now? He has seen it all before, and he has always told her that she is beautiful. Body issues aren't really an issue in this family, she knows that she is attractive for good or for bad, and she knows that he wants her outside of his words, even if that is bad. She finds her eyes drawn to the waistband of his slacks and how badly she wants to touch him there, to release him to feel just how hard he is.
Her legs stretch as he begins his slow kisses down her leg, long and well shaped from all those lessons, dancing, swimming, she moves how he bends her, easy and flexible, letting him take his time and show her just how good she can feel. All those kisses aren't as good as his fingers, oh, so close, so very close she cries out against his mouth when he touches her there, even through the thin fabric. Something so protected, use to only her fingers, his are like a night and day difference. When he pulls her panties down she gasps low, hips arching, and the air feels like relief against her cunt.
Still not as good as the touch of his fingers. But at this point she is sure that a strong breeze would trigger an orgasm from her. His fingers. Oh. It's something of an out of body experience. A nirvana. Heaven, hell, some sort of religious ecstasy. "D-do you feel what you do to me?" Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she comes, hips arching off the bed as she bites down on her bottom lip to stifle her cries, as if she was alone late at night with her own fantasies and not under him living it out.
Wet, wet, wet, over his fingers, down on to the sheets as she presses to kiss his mouth, to stifle her noises there instead of behind her own lips.
no subject
Eyes half open, she watches him above her, the dark hair and features, his long artist fingers undressing her like he has done probably a hundred times before but with such different intent at the moment then ever before. She doesn't find herself embarrassed under his gaze, her head back, body easy, relaxed and open for his touch and gaze, why bother hiding herself now? He has seen it all before, and he has always told her that she is beautiful. Body issues aren't really an issue in this family, she knows that she is attractive for good or for bad, and she knows that he wants her outside of his words, even if that is bad. She finds her eyes drawn to the waistband of his slacks and how badly she wants to touch him there, to release him to feel just how hard he is.
Her legs stretch as he begins his slow kisses down her leg, long and well shaped from all those lessons, dancing, swimming, she moves how he bends her, easy and flexible, letting him take his time and show her just how good she can feel. All those kisses aren't as good as his fingers, oh, so close, so very close she cries out against his mouth when he touches her there, even through the thin fabric. Something so protected, use to only her fingers, his are like a night and day difference. When he pulls her panties down she gasps low, hips arching, and the air feels like relief against her cunt.
Still not as good as the touch of his fingers. But at this point she is sure that a strong breeze would trigger an orgasm from her. His fingers. Oh. It's something of an out of body experience. A nirvana. Heaven, hell, some sort of religious ecstasy. "D-do you feel what you do to me?" Her fingers dig into his shoulders and she comes, hips arching off the bed as she bites down on her bottom lip to stifle her cries, as if she was alone late at night with her own fantasies and not under him living it out.
Wet, wet, wet, over his fingers, down on to the sheets as she presses to kiss his mouth, to stifle her noises there instead of behind her own lips.