Slick evidence of my earlier orgasm coats the pale snow and night-black lace of my inner thighs; the pearlescent glimmer on stockinged skin mirrors the sparks in your eyes. I hold your gaze as my body accepts the wandering visual caresses of our expectant audience, quiet in their ungasped exclamations; watching, wanting, waiting…
The visceral heat of their desire spirals sensation to the feminine core of my being until I feel I must combust, and my skin stings: hot, flushed, pink.
Sinking back on the mattress, the throb of my heart beats a rapid tattoo, pulsing through my trembling clit. I run my fingers down my soaked slit, parting my lips for your perusal; soft, wet, glistening, wanton.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Time is molasses, slowly dripping…
Three.
I close my eyes on a sigh…
And snap them open with a sensual shudder when your shoulders stretch my splayed stance further, straining my already shaking thighs in order to inhale my essence; first a pleasure for your senses, then a feast for your eyes as our voyeurs settle in to partake of the delicious vision that is Us. Your tongue steals a taste of the liquid refreshment dripping from my swollen bundle of nerves, flitting, flicking, fluttering, flirting; battering, beating; immediately, intensely.
You asked me before we began if I could cum again, and with my nod, the gauntlet was thrown: No quarter. No mercy.
Breathe out…
My gasp has a domino effect on the room, and as the driving music of sighs and moans quickly crescendo, I share my thoughts with a smile: Raise your baton, maestro. This opus has just begun.
The kind of memories that don’t fade fast?
I’m not sure what kind of memories DO fade fast.
I have an excellent memory… Where everything sexual is concerned, anyway.
Okay, maybe not everything sexual. I instigated a little escapade in a Las Vegas hot tub once (gasp!), and I haven’t the faintest recollection of what happened to my bikini bottoms. I somehow managed to lose them (luckily I had a towel with me, or I’d have been running buck naked across the lawn to get back to my bungalow), and I haven’t the foggiest notion where they went.
There is nothing foggy about my most recent exhibitionist adventure though. That night made for some fantastic memories. 😀
You know,”they” say…”Whatever happens in ‘Vegas,
(fun in the hot tub), stays in ‘Vegas”, (Your bikini
bottoms?). I suspect that “Somebody” has for themselves a trophy on their wall and a story to tell of a wild Las Vegas night. 😉
Whenever I do laundry, I wind up with missing socks. So naturally I assume that my washing machine has specific dietary requirements, and therefore ‘eats’ my socks. (Well, it eats my husband’s socks, if you want to be specific.)
The hot tub I was in probably just needed some extra fiber in its diet, and had a craving for bikini bottoms… 😛
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Your story is worth
a thousand pictures, all going through my mind. Thanks for
sharing with us another adventure of Mrs. Fever 🙂
🙂
Pingback: Getting Off The Merry-Go-Round: Playing With The Swing Set | Temperature's Rising