listen...

Listen to my voice.
Can you hear me?
I know I'm not that loud, not that brash - I know my accent is soft and lilting. I know that my laugh is a high, girlish laugh and that my sighs are nearly nothing - but right now, in the soft candlelight, in the heat by the fire - right now, I need you.
Can you hear it?
Listen, really closely. Listen to the sound of my fingers on my skin, the sound of my touch. This - this is my hands on my breasts. Soft at first, then hard - squeezing my nipples, pulling them out to you.
Did you hear that? That was the sound of my heat rising.
A moan escapes me. I can't help it. It's always been about my nipples for us, hasn't it? You love how I love them; I love how you love them.
I saw another man looking at them, today. My nipples were hard, pointing behind that cream shirt you bought me. I was wearing the lace bra. I knew he could see the dark circles behind the white lace. I knew he could see the way my nipples caught at the lace, my full breasts straining behind the thin cream silk.
I caught him staring, and he looked away.
I smiled. You would have liked that, wouldn't you? You would have liked knowing that he wanted me, but that you had me.
Do you hear the sound of my fingers, now searching deep inside of me? The sound of my juices?
Your name is on my tongue, your taste on my skin -
Listen, hear me come.

take it

With one hard push he slammed her down on the bed. Like an animal, like a beast from the forrest, she stretched up to him, arching her hips, drawing him down on top of her. He stopped for just long enough to  meet her eyes. Throwing himself onto her, he grabbed her hands, pinned them down with one of his. Tugging at her shirt he ripped it open, tearing away the thin lacy bra beneath without a second thought.
Her breasts stood proud and beautiful, her dark, perfect, bullet shaped nipples aching for him as he needed them. She twisted under him, trying to free her hands. Her legs came up, binding his hips, pulling him toward her. As he lowered his mouth to her breasts and down, down, his tongue destroyed her. Her hands free, she gripped hold of his hair, pulling him closer, pushing herself into his mouth, but he knew what he wanted.
They both knew what they wanted.
Rearing up, he turned her onto her knees. With every last scrap of will, he held himself back but she looked over her shoulder and met his eyes.
"Fuck me," she hissed.

happy valentines day

The cold air in the unheated theatre touched her nipples, left them standing proud. She wasn't tall, her head only just reaching the top of the hoop as she sat in its turning circle, but her legs - it was her legs that fascinated him. Dressed in nothing but fishnet stockings and that scrap of lace - what was it? he thought. Was it a body stocking? Was it a two piece? It seemed to lie so perfectly on her olive skin, laced together with her long black ribbons, the bow falling behind her as she leaned back.

He could watch her for hours.

She twisted, and stretched out her legs, then dropped. Without warning, she let herself fall back, one leg catching on the hoop, one stretched up. She reached with her arm, turning and turning around and around.

Lost in the world of her acrobatics, a small smile spread over her face. Later, the little theatre would be full of people staring up at her, shouting things, calling her - but now, there was no sound to fade away behind her music. Just her, and the hoop.

She took both hands from the side and dropped again, but this time she turned at her waist and came back up. The hoop spun, almost without her moving it; they'd been together so long, she and the hoop - like a solid steel lover. It was there for her every time, catching her every fall, there to support her, to display her. It held her.

She pulled up, this time stretching both legs out, splayed. Maybe, on some level, she knew he'd be there. Maybe she had chosen her costume, knowing how her nipples caught at the thin lace, how the scrap of fabric barely concealed how wet she was for him. Maybe she knew he was watching her, as she slowed the spin and dropped back, hanging from the hoop, again. 

He stepped closer. Each time she spun around, slower and slower, she saw his frame in the doorway. The closer he came, the slower she spun, and she let her tongue run lazily over her lips, wetting them, readying them.

Under the lights, the lace covered nothing of her ballet dancer's body. He found himself watching for the shadow of her tiny belly button, but it was the fishnet stockings, and the long, delicate black suspenders that fascinated him. He stopped at the stage.

"Can I help you?" she said.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Yes, he thought - god yes, she could do anything she wanted for him. To him. She could bend him, twist him - she could use him, hang from him like she hung from her hoop - but it was more than that.

He held up the single champagne coloured rose.

She sat up, stopped the hoop. Dropping down onto the stage, she walked toward him, her feet barely sounding on the wooden floor. she pushed her hair back, out of her eyes.

"Do I know you," she said. 

She looked him up and down, and they both knew she did. 

"I…" he started.

Her lips moved in that same, knowing smile. He felt his cheeks flush with red. His cock hardened under her gaze. He ached for her - hell, he hurt for her.

He'd do anything for her.

"I just wanted to say, I think you're beautiful," he told her, quietly. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She reached and took the flower from him, but as she would have stepped up, would have taken hold of his hand, he backed away. She was too good, too perfect, for him. She was everything he'd ever wanted - she was everything a woman could be. Everything.

"It's ok," she said, her hand stretched out to him. "You can touch me."

Slowly, moving inch by inch, he let her lead him. His fingers found the lace and he closed his eyes as her nipples hardened even more, under his touch.

"Come with me," she whispered. "Just for today. Be my valentine."

close your eyes...

“I want you to close your eyes,” he said.

She turned, her eyes tightly closed.

“I want you to listen to my voice, and just my voice," he said. "There is no room for anything else here – no room for anything. Just you, and me, and right now.”

Her lips parted, a slow, knowing smile. There was nothing else in the world that she wanted, than to hear him.

“Take off your nightdress,” he said. “let it fall on the floor.”

The silk kissed her skin as it flowed from her hands.

“I love your body,” he whispered. “God, I love your body – I love your hips, your stomach, your waist – I love the little curve where your waist meets your hips – I love your ass…”

Her smiled faltered.

“Run your hands over your waist, and round, to your ass,” he said. “No, don’t open your eyes. Just let your fingers feel their way around, let your body feel me watching you.”

She began to do what he said.

“Slowly,” he told her. “Feel those curves – touch yourself, trace your fingers over your hips, and down, to the nub – trace them up, over your breasts. Feel how hard your nipples are. Feel how they ache for me – feel with your fingers, how it would be with my lips, with my teeth. Pinch them –”

With a sharp intake of breath she felt the burn of excitement rush from her nipples to her clit, setting fire to her cunt.

“Pull them for me – gently,” he said. “Pull them toward me. Let me see them, standing proud.”

Her heat throbbed as she teased her nipples forward, increasing the pressure –

“Now let your fingers go to where you want them,” he said. His voice was low, the need clear, and she knew he’d be rock hard.

“Show me,” he said. “Let me see.”

She moved her hands down, slipping one finger between her folds. She was so wet, so hot – was that how she felt for him? Was this what it was like for him when he touched her? She started to circle her clit with her finger.

“use both hands,” he told her. “Open for me. Show me.”

With a shiver of excitement, she held open her lips and pushed her pelvis forward. Her legs were shaking, her whole body awake with the fire of his voice – she reached deeper, the honey spreading over her fingers as she slid her finger around and around her clit, then inside, deep, deep inside –

The orgasm ripped through her with no warning. Her legs shook, she cried out, and as the waves took her deeper and deeper, she fell to her knees. 

Her head rested back, her hair falling from her face. Somewhere, far away, she heard herself sigh.

On the other end of the phone, he chuckled.

“Stay there,” he said.

connecting the dots...

ooo, so exciting - today I am a guest on the wonderful F.Leonora's blog, and I share my thoughts on writing erotica, and my love of public hair.

http://fdotleonora.com/2016/02/05/guest-blogger-ivy-ohara/

this sunday...

this sunday, close your eyes...