Rain fell from in a tap-tap-tap rhythm from the branches over head to the tin roof. It wasn’t quite soothing enough for sleep, but it should have been enough to slow the mind and relax the body. It wasn’t.
Tossing. Turning. Throw the blankets off. Too cold. Pull them over head. Too warm.
“Girl? What’s wrong with you?”
“I can’t sleep, Sir. Between the rain and the temperature and…”
“And the fact that your mind won’t stop spinning?”
A silent nod, a bare movement against the pillow. She didn’t want to give voice to her own anxieties. The worries seemed small and inconsequential when she said them out loud, even though they took up all the space in her head.
“Well, I only know one thing that turns the noise off. Get to it, girl.”
“But, it’s – ” The protest died on her lips when he reached out to smack her breast, sharply landing on nipples made sensitive with teeth and tongue a few hours earlier. She hissed, whether more from pain or desire, she didn’t know. Truly, she didn’t care. It hurt so good, as he’d known it would.
Throwing the covers off, she scrunched and scooted, seeking the most comfortable position.
“Are you stalling, girl?” The incredulity in his voice would have been funny if she didn’t know retribution would follow.
“No, Sir. Just getting into the right position.”
“If I don’t hear you panting and moaning, and the juicy sounds of your pussy, in thirty seconds, you’ll wish you’d found the right position a lot quicker.”
Dropping back against the pillow, not daring to challenge the promise in his words and his tone, she spread her legs wide. She attacked her clit with bruising touches, causing pain and pleasure to streak through her limbs.
This is torture. I don’t want torture. Her voice sounded petulant even in her own mind. Well, damn it, slow the hell down.
Fast, jerky movements slowed to sensuous, lazy strokes. She sighed. He chuckled.
Her legs quivered. Nipples tightened. Something was happening. A slow burn was building. The sensations began in the soles of her feet and traveled up her legs. Her fingers tingled and her arms quivered. The lazy swirls around her clit became something faster, more earnest and desperate.
Seeking to prolong the sweet agony, she dipped her fingers between folds now dewy with lust and longing. Thick, sweet juices coated her fingers as she slipped them in and out of her body. Her heels dug into the bed, her hips lifted. The soaked digits swirled around her clit.
Desire and need raged through every limb. Her head thrashed back and forth across the pillow. Her cries sounded distant to her own ears. Who was that keening woman?
Everything around her melted away. She was passion. She was desire. She was need and want and slippery orgasms. With one last brutal swipe across her clit, the orgasm exploded through her body. Every muscle locked tight. Sticky-sweet juices flowed from her pussy. Perspiration covered her forehead.
As she collapsed back against the bed again, she continued to tremble and quake with aftershocks. Her mind was blissfully blank. As she drifted off, her hand still resting protectively over her sensitive vulva, she vaguely heard a murmured, “Sweet dreams, girl.”
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! We’ve had a little bit of sexiness around here but I thought some fiction would be more fun today. Okay, now go forth and read all the smutty goodness served up today! You know you want to.