(Been considering posting a story here for a while. So. Here's one. It is of course wholly mine; do not steal, or I will send ocelots to piss on everything you love that doesn't breathe.)
The warm water cascades over them, his hands softly smoothing the suds over her supple form. Teeth bite her throat gently, plucking ever so slightly at flesh. She is before him, hands resting flat on the glass, back arched slightly to push her shapely, lovely bottom back. He brushes against it - slightly - as his hands wash her sides, the scrub of the fluffy scrubber followed by the soft scritch of fingernails over her stomach, circling and teasing. She shivers, arching slightly more, expectant; but his hands don't dwell, instead rushing outwards to take in the curves of her hips. Still nails scritch, following the scrunchie exfoliator.
His tonguetip teases up her throat, tasting the rivulets of water trickling downwards, and then cups her earlobe with a following fluttering of flicks.
His breath is warm in her ear as his fingernails scratch lightly along the line of her hip to her pelvis, reaching down between her thighs but cupping, letting water pool there against her flesh, only to let it slowly dribble and trickle down her thighs.
Again his teeth scrape her throat, little nibbles following the initial brush. The underside of his tongue flickers against her skin, feeling the damp flesh beneath it's smooth glide. Her hand reaches back, leaving the wet glass behind in favour of digging fingers into his hip as her head tilts back, tickling his chest with brown hair that drips and splatters cooling water on his skin.
He shivers. The washing is thorough, deliberate, the scritching of the exfoliator moving alone now over her flesh as his fingers tighten between her thighs, sending a river of water down each thigh.
She smiles, fingers gripping his hip as she begins to turn, letting him shift his hand with her, her bottom soon pressed back against the glass as her mouth meets his, deliberately and slowly tasting his lips as her hand cups above his eyes, keeping the water from their merged faces. Tongues tickle and tease one another in little darting raids between moist, mingling lips. Soft and smooth contacts draw bodies tighter together, pressing, a firm contact of stiff flesh against her belly. Her hips squirm slowly, rubbing up against it, feeling it twitch, murmuring little panting sounds into his mouth as her hands draw over him, lazy and slow. The kiss continues even as he fumbles for the shampoo with one hand, the hand between her thighs drawing free to let their bodies press tight without impediment, even as he feeds his tongue into her damp, welcoming mouth for a deeper, more hungry kiss.
The slick creamy shampoo squirts into his hand with a squeeze, arms holding the bottle up high above her head. Even as she clings to him the bottle drops to the floor, rolling to a corner of the shower, his slickened hands sliding into her hair to stroke and massage the shampoo in. While the kiss lengthens, deepens, becomes more urgent and hungry, his hands slowly and softly massage her scalp, pressing and kneading, rubbing the shampoo through her hair as his hands move.
She bites his lip with a little whimper, her body insinuating itself against his as tightly as she can make it...
All too soon the hair washing ends, as does the kiss; the shower head is brought to bear to wash her clean, ticklish against her tingling skin. His fingernails scritch all over her slowly, one hand teasing through the hard rain water sluicing over her flesh. And then departure; the soft, fluffy towel enfolds her, as do his arms, and he holds her even while he drips on the towel laid out on the floor. The vigorous rubbing only makes her skin tingle more as she squirms, a soft laugh echoing off the tiling.
And soon enough she takes her turn, vigorously rubbing him dry while he stretches, luxuriating in her touch and closeness.
Not long before he carries her, restrained. Both of them very much restrained. The bed beckons, freshly washed sheets fluffy and warm even as they settle their shivering bodies down onto them, to leave restraint thoroughly behind.
He growls, his hand capturing her throat eagerly, curling around it and holding her down on the bed, her pretty brown eyes wide and staring as her chest heaves, breasts shaking slightly as her back arches -hard- with the sudden change of mood that infests them both. Her left leg lifts, foot grazing along his outer thigh and hip...
"Mine," he murmurs, face lowering close to hers. His tonguetip ever so slightly taps against the tip of her nose, then dances lightly over her lips. Lips which try to catch and suckle, but slip free. And then her chin he bites, and her cheeks he kisses, softly. Her throat he tastes, tongue trawling down one side before teeth nip at her collarbone, littler kisses pressing up the other side to bite just beneath her jaw, hand shifting to give himself room before reasserting it's grip on her neck.
He wriggles, arching upwards, stretching above her, letting her eyes run over his lean, long body even as his free hand trails over hers, stroking and caressing her chest and stomach and ribs. Whispered again: "All mine."
Panting slightly, held down by a tight hand around her throat that nonetheless doesn't quite restrict her breathing, she shoves her hips up at him, hissing back: "Then take what's yours."
He growls again, louder, deep and low. He feels her hands sliding it onto him, not even knowing when she plucked it from the dresser a foot or so from her head - the condom: always a disappointment. But a necessary one. And then, after another hurried act - a slob of slick lube glided over his hard length with both her hands, hands which she "dries" by smearing over his belly - he does. Take her, that is.
It's not gentle. It's almost brutal, a deep surge of flesh thumping into her body, one hard enough to hurt. Intentionally so. She half-whimpers, half-mewls as his hand flexes around her throat, his hard dick stuffed as deep as she can take it. Which is to say there's definitely some left over, some that her fingers quest for and feel and tickle, urging him on nonverbally.
His gentler upper layers strip away, the intensity in her eyes daring him: do it harder. He gulps, the last little shred of his control gone. Hips lift - and fall, hard, powerful. Hard enough that her body bounces on the mattress underneath him. Hard enough that she cries out, thighs tightening their grip around his legs, holding him fiercely still while she trembles. "Oh fuck," she pants. "Oh fuck," repeated, softly, almost a whimper.
He sinks into her, growling, owning her, claiming her, saying his words with his body as he jerks back and forth deep inside her tight, squeezing pussy, grinding his pelvis down to meet her, taking that last inch even though he would usually be far too kind and gentle for that. She curls, taking it, enjoying not the pain but that she's turned him on enough to shed practically every inhibition he has about causing -her- pain.
"Fucker," she spits at him, hands reaching for his back, clawing down it roughly, just to leave her mark on him.
"Sexy little bitch," he hisses back at her, face a bare inch or two from hers. Mouths meet, hungrily, and hips churn together, and then pelvises slap roughly, both thrusting hard, almost competing, the rough thrusts not entirely comfortable for either of them. But need demands it, need demands the urgent, forceful shoving of his cock into her body. His hand remains around her throat, signifying so much more than just the grip pinning her underneath him.
His other hand reaches down, thumb finding her clit, diddling it, dancing in the slippery mess of lube and arousal, tickling and teasing as he bites her lips, pulling at them, teeth occasionally clashing as both of them compete to kiss the other one harder.
The crescendo heightens, the deep, brutal pounding of flesh into flesh reaching a height of urgency, and a slight pang of disappointment courses through him as he realises he'll reach the edge way before her. It's too much, he's contained it too long already, having wanted to fuck her in the shower against the glass while his slick hands slid through her hair, washed her, cleansed her, pampered her...
There'll be no pornesque face splattering, of course. The reality is that they both prefer something else, namely exactly what he does. Hurriedly, after one deep, rough shove of his hips down into her, hating that he has to pull out at all, he rips the condom free and presses to her belly, his hard cock rutting between the crush of their flesh rubbing and grinding, pushing his body higher to press his balls against her.
Or that was the idea.
The reality is different. "Nooooo," she whines, one hand gripping his hair and yanking at it insistently while the other reaches down, shocking him by capturing the base of his shaft and stuffing it back into her. Her legs tighten around his waist, yanking him down into her, her hand shoving his face down into the crook of her neck so she can growl into -his- ear: "Mine. All fucking mine."
The words and the act are more than enough for him. Trembling, panting, arching, thrusting hard and fast and barely an inch or two back and forth - her tightness and the squeeze of her feet denies him anything more - he really, -really- empties into her. It's by far the most intense orgasm he's ever had, urged on by the whispering in his ear, the demands for it, for every drop, little panting whimpers telling him how good it feels to finally have him come inside her, telling him how much she's wanted it, how she can't bear for him not to...
He sprays hard and brief, the fierce torrent a dribble after what feel to him like two tremendous rivers emptying into her. And then he trembles, panting, gasping, barely aware of how she twitches underneath him, her own panting orgasm only a little late. |
