Category: Crimson Writ

Finally. He draws away. You open your eyes to see him sitting up; he holds your gaze before reaching down to draw his shirt up and over his head. He leans over, skin to skin, kissing you hard.

Hands shift along your sides, down to your hips and over the top of your thighs. You can feel his knees resting against your inner thighs – leaning closer, he kisses you deeper. When he draws back, you are left panting and gasping softly.

You notice how helpless you are against him. You can’t stop him from running his hands down between your thighs, or over your breasts. You can’t stop him from drawing each breath out of you until your breathing is shallow as you watch him move. His hair brushes your stomach and then your waist, head lowering slowly until his mouth finds that moist place between your thighs.

You arch up against him, unable to control yourself as you feel his hands move underneath to grasp your buttocks, pressing you to his face.

You can feel his lips part and his tongue pressing along your inner lips, back and forth as he tastes you, tongue barely slipping inside. His face presses deeper into your thighs, tongue moving faster – faster – faster, until it runs over your clit, his mouth hungrily drawing it into his mouth to nibble.

Hands move back down over your thighs as he runs his tongue against your clit a little harder as he sucks…. applying ever more pressure. You arch again, feeling his mouth pulling on your clit, then rubbing…until he finally stops. You lay back upon the bed, gasping.

His face, wet from your thighs, peers up at you and he moves up along your body.

Frustrated, you ask him to untie you. He looks down into your eyes and laughs – a not-quite-cruel laugh, but one that shares with you the intimate knowledge that he knows just how much the both of you are enjoying the torment. Unable to stop him, you lay there, waiting to see what he does next.

He takes a few moments to stroke your heated body, hands roaming slowly, taking their time to explore your inner thighs, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin. His hands are warm and teasing; you shiver.

You feel your body respond, your hips moving with his rhythm, back and forth.

Abruptly he stops.

You look at him, eyes pleading. He smiles and moves to his feet, standing between your thighs. Holding your attention, he slowly moves his hands to the top of his jeans and undoes the top button. His fingers tug on the zipper, drawing it down. His jeans slide off and down to his feet. Using his foot, he kicks it off the bed.

He sinks to his knees again and moves up till you feel him through his underwear. His voice soft as he whispers, “Want to feel it?”

You moan and nod. He rubs against you a bit more, letting you feel how hot and hard it is through the fabric. Desperate, you wiggle on the bed but fail to escape. Helpless, you watch as he teases you, his hands moving down and tugging the edge of his underwear down.

His hands part your thighs further as you feel him move, hard cock rubbing along your inner lips. His body, hot against your skin, presses down and you feel him slowly slide inside, filling you

…slowly…

…an inch at a time…

…until he is all the way inside.

You moan louder, moving your hips with his as he moves back out, agonizingly slow.

Then he presses down again, filling you once more, deeper.

Over and over again. You can feel every inch of him, every movement. His hand moves between your bodies to brush your clit, quick and hard.

You can tell by his breathing that he is getting close.

He gasps, his chest pressing into yours as you arch up against him as he goes over. You lose what little control you have left and follow him into the maelstorm, gasping.

For a long moment he lies there against you. Finally he stirs and sits up. You open your eyes as he leans down, expecting him to untie you…but he only kisses you lightly and sits back up. He looks down at you, the hint of a smile on his face. He leaves and returns a minute later with a warm washcloth to clean you. But somewhere between cloth finding skin, and fingers finding moist flesh, the notion of being cleaned up becomes forgotten.

Eventually…several hours later…he unties you.

Written six years ago, at college. Was trying to get a girl hooked on my stories so that I could use them as leverage in convincing her to re-enact them in real life. Alas, it didn’t quite work out the way I planned; oh, she became quite attached to the stories. I just wasn’t able to parlay that into something more tangible then furtive phone calls and innuendo-laced conversations betwen her, her roommate, and I. Fortuntely for me, my writing got better and future endeavors were more successful.

Within the darkness of the room could be felt the subtle presence of anticipation – an almost tangible aspect that filled the room with tension. Wonderful tension. The otherwise ordinary room was transformed into a place with the potential – potential….for what?

You stand alone in the room. Dressed comfortably in blue-jeans and a flannel shirt over a T-shirt, you cannot help but shiver from the open window. You glance again through the room, taking inventory of the rooms contents: comfortable queen-sized four-poster bed, mahogany dresser, TV, telephone, a window on the right wall, and a few painting so non-descprit as to fade from your memory even as you look away.

You jump as the door opens behind you. A grateful smile crosses your face as you see him. He returns the smile but his face turns serious quickly as he walks past you to the bed, studying it intently, testing the sturdiness of the frame.

Too happy that he finally showed up, you don’t even inquire why he was late. Or what is in the bag he brought with him. You wait till he turns away from the bed.

He smiles again, almost sheepishly, but there is something in his eyes that is devious – surprisingly so. Your still trying to decide if this is a good or bad thing when he presses up against you, his mouth meeting yours, cutting off all thoughts. You return the kiss, lips parting as you feel his tongue meet your own, rubbing and teasing.

He draws back from a moment, still smiling. Flushed, you return the smile. You notice he is looking behind you. Following his gaze, you see the bed. Thinking you know what he wants, you smile and move to the bed, sitting on the edge.

Expecting him to join you, your disappointed as he just stands there watching. To encourage him, you remove your flannel shirt and then reach down and slide out of your shirt.

But he continues to stand and watch you. Feeling uneasy, but getting anxious, you unsnap your jeans and wiggle out of them before leaning back on the bed.

He smiles again, slowly. You feel relief as he approaches the foot of the bed then crawls over the edge, moving up. His body, even through his clothes, is warm against your skin. You moan very softly as you feel him move down against you. His lips meet yours for the second time that day, hungry and urgent.

Only when he draws back do you realize that he’s grasping your wrist gently yet firmly. You are too startled to protest when he reaches into the bag next to the bed and takes out a silk scarf, winds it around your wrist tightly and ties it to the poster at the corner of the bed.

Realizing his intent, you consider stopping him, but the thought fades as he kisses you again, quickly, before moving down to nuzzle your neck. His breath is warm against your bare skin as he caresses your skin with his lips.

He ties your other wrist down. You moan again at the feel of his lips against your skin, his mouth sending slivers of pleasure through you. His lips part and the tip of his tongue ever so lightly touches your skin, moving lower as he leaves a trail of kisses along your shoulder and the top of your breasts.

His body shifts as he kneels between your thighs. He traces the top of your bra, running it along your bare skin, and then over it – brushing your nipples through the fabric, lingering but a moment before moving lower.

And then you feel his fingertips at the edge of your panties, slowly sliding along the edge before moving underneath. His lips brush your stomache. He draws the edge of your panties downward, his tongue following – along the top of your innerlips, caressing as you feel his hands tugging it lower – an inch at a time.

With a slow deliberate movement he slides your panties off and moves your left ankle to the edge of the bed, tying it there securely. He repeats the same quickly to your other ankle and turns back to you.

He kneels again, this time between bare thighs, sitting back on his heels as he looks down on you. Only then does the realization come over you of just how little control you have. You test the bonds at your wrists and ankles but they were tied carefully and don’t budge.

His eyes move over your body, starting from your face and moving down across your breasts and thighs. You can feel his gaze like a caress against your skin. After enjoying it for a moment, his hands, warm against you, begin sliding up over your stomach to your breasts. His hands hesitate as his eyes find yours. Holding your gaze, his hands run over your breasts, palms pressing down into nipples, lightly moving back and forth.

You struggle against the bonds at each wrist, wanting to reach out and touch him. His fingers spread and catch your nipples between them, bringing them to hard points. He rolls each one between his fingers, tugging gently yet insistently.

You close your eyes as he bends over slowly and feel the warmth of his breath caress the top of your breasts and then the touch of moist lips against your bare skin. Shivering, you moan softly as his lips part and move over your right nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. You can feel the warmth of his mouth surrounding the hard tip as he pulls it deeper.

Are you afraid of how it would feel to have your hands drawn behind your back while being pressed against the wall – but you can’t stop thinking about it when you close your eyes?

Are you afraid of words that can slip inside and strip away everything, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, naked inside and out – and yet the mere thought makes you tighten inside?

Are you afraid of being drawn across lines that you’ve thought about but never crossed? Afraid the lines might cease to exist in the submission of thought into deed at the hands and voice of someone who understands those parts of you better then you do yourself? Of someone who knows just how to touch you on your neck to make you weak in the knees, knows how to tell you where to place your hands, knows how to hold you still so that that only thing that exists is the feel of his body against your own?

Does the edge of fear just make it worse, make you want it more? Afraid that what you desire most is someone who will take it all?

Arriving at the door to my apartment, you knock once. Silence. You reach to knock again only to find the door opening. A smile, and I invite you in.

You’re dressed casually – black jeans shorts, light-colored shirt. Escorted into my living room, I stand you in the center and turn to draw the drapes closed. There are hints of light where the drapes don’t quite meet each other, but the main source of light within the room comes from the lamps.

Silently, I gesture for you to stand in the center of the room. Picking my camera up from the table, I slip behind you, body warm against yours. From behind, I reach around – fingers slide into your hair, musing it, and then down, over your eyes, closing them.

The only sound here, for minutes, is the soft clicking of the camera. Blind, you are not quite ready for myhands as they draw your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the ground. Fingers slip along the edge of your jean shorts, undoing the buttons and letting those too pool at your feet. I tug you forward, and you stand naked except for your panties. Click. Click. And your eyes remain closed.

Fingers draw your hair back over your shoulder, and tilt your head back. Click.

Hands press you down to your knees, hair spilling now over your face. Click.

Your hands held against your back, head lowered…and a light touch, and then harsh twist, your nipples hard – Click.

“Open your eyes.” And you do. “Go into the bedroom and put on the outfit on the bed..”

Doing as bid, you enter the bedroom and take off your panties. Turning to the bed, you see a soft blue satin nightgown. Lifting it up, you let it settle against you, fabric slipping over skin, ending just at the top of your thighs. Too short, you think. But you move back into the other room where I wait.

A smile that almost reaches my eyes and you know I am pleased; a gaze that touches the skin like soft fingertips, draws down along your shoulders, following the contours of your shoulders, breasts, hips, and then the bare skin of your thighs and the soft shadows the nightgown creates. Gesturing to the couch, you follow my direction and lay along it, right knee bent atop your other leg as you look up at me.

“Eyes on me.” With your gaze on me – Click. Click.

“Now stand – and take it off. Slowly.” It takes a moment for the words to register and you find your feet reluctantly. Yet you already can feel that tightening just below your stomach, that slow ember of heat that awakes with a sudden burning hunger, stirred by fear and excitement. You slowly draw the nightgown up along your skin, feeling the cool air against exposed flesh as it slips up and off, leaving you standing naked – all the while, the soft click-click of the camera, taking in each inch of revealed flesh.

“Turn around and lean against the chair.” Your hands come down on the sides of your chair and your skin heats as you find yourself revealing everything to me. With your ass in the air, you wait.

“Higher.” You can actually feel my words, and the soft bite of my hunger with each word, “Higher. I want to see your pussy.” You move to obey, but not quickly enough – a sting, the heated caresses of my hand as it slaps your ass. Click. Click.

Your breath catches in your throat – so lost in awaiting the sound of each click, each picture – when my fingers slide down against your moist heat from behind, it is entirely unexpected. Fingers curl as they slide inside, pressing in, two fingers pressed tight within you.

Breathe. Each breath is ragged, and your skin flushes a soft red, unable to hide the effect his fingers have as they move in an agonizingly slow press – in and out. Instinctively, you press yourself back against my hand. Thumb drawing down along the edge of your ass, between your cheeks, fingers drive in hard, once,reminding you of how cruel my touch can be – how harsh my teasing is…when not so carefully drawing you to the edge, time and time again.

A moan escapes, an inarticulate cry for more. Wet fingers draw out and up over your ass, leaving a moist trail. Warm lips follow the trail, tasting you against your skin and teeth nip lightly before you feel my tongue so close…

“We are done.” You glance up and see me standing a few feet away, near the door, the slight catch in my breathing the only hint of the effect you’ve had on me.

I smile. Yes, I always have been good at being cruel.

Just how hungry am I?

Hungry enough to strip you bare and then clothe you in the firm grip of hands that know the fine places to touch you – the places that make you go weak in the knees while anticipation drives your pulse to race and your skin to tingle. Hungry enough to reveal you layer by layer – removing all pretension and lies until you are completely exposed and yet anonymous in the truth of who and what you are.

Naked, you feel everything.

Hungry enough to see just how far you’ll go to find the edge. To see your boundaries – to push you over with one hand while keeping your head above water with the other. Drown you in heat while giving you breath in kisses that never quite end, but move one into another, on lips, neck, curves.

Hungry enough to whisper of things that you’ve often thought of but never let touch your lips. Hungry enough to make you speak words that burn when spoken but taste like sweet indulgence. Hungry enough to draw out each desire with fingertips that find the most sensitive spots – just behind your knees, the small of your back, the side of your neck; fingertips that write naughty poetry on your thighs; fingertips that speak in a language you have to lose yourself in to understand.

Hungry enough to trap you. Have you ever been caught in a gaze that knows you better then you know yourself? Knows which way you’re going to run? Knows where you are most vulnerable? Knows how to go for your throat – and wants you to know he can. And he waits, until the tension is sharp enough that the delicate coiled heat inside of you can be set off with just one touch, one word.

Hungry enough to teach you what it means to be so bad that it feels good – and reminds you that you are, indeed, *alive*.

How hungry are you?