Caught in His Fingers

Every time John Brownstone caught me even a little bit naked, his mouth latched onto a nipple. He cupped my breast and squeezed. And I pressed my body against his even as I squealed from the pain and pleasure.

That morning before I’d gotten out of bed, before I think too much about my body and simply glory in warm, naked skin and cozy sheets.

While I stripped out of pajamas to take a shower.

When I changed from the day clothes back into pajamas. By then he’d already told me we weren’t staying up late and watching TV. That we would go to bed at a reasonable hour, and I should be prepared for that.

After so much attention on my breasts, I was more than ready. I’d walked around with a familiar warmth between my legs all day. Both comforting and sensual.

By bed time, I couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, and I couldn’t wait for it. It had been too long.

“Stand up.” I pushed myself away from the bed, immediately uncertain. “Look at me.”

Would this be painful? Overwhelming? Something new? I never feel like I have a grasp on the situation at this moment. Which is, of course, the point.

He surprised me. Instead of pulling my hair or pinching my body or creating the sharp tang of pain I love and fear, he pulled me into his arms.

And his mouth latched onto my nipple again. This time he pulled me forward in a lover’s embrace. My head fell back even as I pulled him closer. His hands roamed my back and bottom, igniting my senses. More. Give me more!

He held my breasts so that each nipple was closer to his face, and he moved back and forth between them. The sensual warmth from earlier burned brighter. I wanted him, and whatever he wanted to do to and with me. He dug his teeth into the side of my breast. We both knew a mark would be there later, bearing witness to the night ahead.

Pulling back, he slid his fingers between my legs, unerringly finding the most sensitive part of my body. I squeaked and jumped, writhing away as the sensation overwhelmed my mind and body. Maybe that’s how I ended up over his knee, my face and torso pressed into the bed, my ass in front of him, me toes on the floor. It was precarious, but it gave him new access.

He dipped one hand into my cunt from behind while the other played with my clit.

“Don’t you dare come.”

Fuck! How was I supposed to avoid that? Shutting my eyes, I bowed my head, gripped the blankets, and held on.

We both heard the squelching sounds. We both felt my body clench over his hand.

He found his rhythm between fingering and clit-stroking. Within moments, I was begging.

“Pl-please…please…pleeeeeeease.”

“Please what, babygirl?”

“Aw fuck, pleasecanIcome?????”

Every muscle in my body clenched. Lights exploded behind my eyes. My legs trembled and I nearly lost my tippy-toe footing. As soon as the first orgasm passed, he began again.

I was caught in his fingers. Ensnared in a web he’d been weaving all day.

Later, he fucked me on the edge of the bed, his pelvis slapping against my thighs. Later still, he fucked me on the bed while I held a vibrator against my cunt and cried and screamed into the pillow with each orgasm. Eventually we collapsed into the bed, breathing heavily, unable and unwilling to move. But first, he would play.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! The past two weeks have been a little light and slow in the kinky sex department. Glad that’s changed — at least for now. For more smut — holiday-themed or otherwise — you know where to go.