tagFetish'Death' by The Naughty Poet

'Death' by The Naughty Poet

byticklechambers©

His palm ran up my thigh: Fingertips, skin and lips, emotions sang high. Blush ran over my tender cheeks, and I knew this was wrong. This man and I, we did not belong. My body however ignored the signs, we drew the blinds, and this is where I made my first mistake.

I was shaking in my boots; I was starting with this crime. Brown felty layers and laces, leading the warm and fluffy design. I looked up at Gareth, two eyes; a melting hot brown. I could almost hear drops of chocolate. I could almost hear this tender colour.

A teasing rhythm was drip, drop, dripping, his breath forbidden to my neck. My heart was racing against his hot, hands, hastening towards every weakness that walked this deck. Breath escaped my lips, breath bouncing a resonance, off the deep wooden walls surrounding upon us.

I turned; I pressed my cheek against one of these walls. It was the only way to allow for his two lips, like tulips, to flutter across my collar bone in answer to my calls. So soft were these lips I could not shake, except for my feet in these boots, and their miniature earthquake.

"You're a naughty woman!" He whispered in my ear. Our bloodline ran a race of shivers that ravelled too near... Too near to my desires; his palm running up my thigh, tulips on the hotspots and a drip chocolate eye.

The wood against my cheek began to heat up just then. My skin was on fire and our souls tried to ascend. Each second took its place, each moment moved a about, but logic was astray and I could not hear it shout.

He was far too hot for me, the girl-next-door kind. A type I'd say out-grown to a boy of such raw mind. It could not be withdrawn, the motion I let set pass, I gulped in fear of pressures I might not like to mask.

His hand came to a halt, to stop atop my thigh. So close to the place I'd hoped, just hoped that he'd not shy. My eyes ran back to him, begging for more to come, I wanted badly for what I should not, and very sadly that's not what I got.

"You're such a naughty girl that I think you need a lesson." Bad, Bad, Bad, my repetitive thought progression; it's not easy without the power, like I'm just one of his possessions. Yet he couldn't leave just yet, I inhaled a moment or two, for as long as I was wet, I needed his follow through.

Bad, bad, bad, "A lesson?" I barked, suddenly disappointed by his pause, and lack thereof remark. He wasn't supposed to stop, and leave me no release. He was my only outlet, the one I didn't have to please.

"Come," He said. That is all.

I parted from the wall, no longer heated, now alone. My footsteps caused an echo on his, I still felt shivers to the bone. My heel to his toe, his left to my right, I followed him without thought, or as much as a fight.

SUDDENT HALT. That is all.

He took me by both arms and turned me right around. A round clasp on my wrist rattled really loud. Two arms behind my back, I realised then they were mine. Like two snakes caught in a knot, tied by the sudden halt, and his circular grind.

"You're a very naughty girl," his hand ran up my thigh; however this time you might note, it went up really high. Skipped, my heart flipped, skip skipping its own beat. This was what it felt to be held down by a man's heat.

My hands now chained behind me, he was free for the feeling, the clothes he was peeling, and my head started reeling. These thoughts amongst the mist were unreal though we kissed, oh how good he kissed.

"Such a naughty girl," he laughed in my ear. Teasing, then biting- oh god take me here! He felt up my thigh, this very last time- touching, tickling, and tapping the part which I needed. Vibrations, and touches, 'Take me,' I pleaded.

He grinned once more and slowed his grind. Almost at no speed I was devastated to find. Was this the lesson? I pulled at my wrists. I needed to get out- or I'd shout- no doubt- 'fuck you! Get out!' Is what I might hiss.

He placed his hand, which felt tenderly invasive, he covered my mouth, the silence persuasive. I saw in his gaze there was something not there, deep in the eyes where his soul seemed quite bare.

His lips to my ears he whispered so sweat, "My dear little child, hand me your feet." My pussy felt wet and nerves broke my will, I'd not do this willingly but with his words I will.

Over to the couch he pushed me along. Down to the seat and off with my thong. His fingertips to my toes, my wrists to my back- this is the part where I felt I might crack.

"You're a naughty girl, but I'll teach you a lesson," he started caressing, "I'll tickle you till you beg me to lessen."

He wriggled his fingers, oh crap it felt good. Bad, that's so bad though, is what it should. I let out a gasp, a giggle, a grin. My head fell back and I giggled with sin. Fuck, I was weakened; this tortures within.

"Stop! Fuck! Shit!" I screamed to the walls, "Stop! Shit! Fuck!" He laughed at my calls.

"Oh sweet naughty girl... does that tickle a bit?" He came to my ribs and that's where I'd quit. No use to the pleading- I could barely find air. But a sudden moan rushed out and forced me to dare.

"Mmmmmm; don't do it!" I giggled and gasped. He stopped for a moment and then watched me collapse.

"You like being tickled, you naughty little thing. I should have known your pleasure of punishment and sin." He laughed at my trembles and giggled at my moans, his hands rushed back down to my toes- oh god- "don't touch those!"

I curled up and fell to the floor, my toes scrunched up tight; I tried to ignore this, each tingle, each bite. But fuck it felt good- I mean- bad, bad, bad! I didn't want this -not at all- that would just be sad.

"Nawww, my little play toy seems to have gotten used to the pressure..." he paused in thought, "but maybe she'd suffer with the more I undress her."

He slid his two hands up my favourite pink shirt; he found my both nipples and pinched till it hurt. Yelp! Squealed my tone, then a moan where I'd blush. He grinned and then whispered that I'd aught to just hush. His breath oh so warm, and his fingers oh so mean, I'd hush if I could but I was left with a scream.

"Oh you ARE a naughty girl, my sweet little pet; maybe I should lick you till you get a little wet." He spreads open my legs and pointed out his tongue. I was already wet, but this could be fun. The warmer sensations, like tingling hot honey, I shivered so sweetly when he whispered, "You're yummy."

The circular motions of his breath and wet tongue left me to whimper wildly "Please make me cum!"

Up came his head with a steady slow pace, oh, if you could only have seen the look on MY face. He grinned as he had, and took a step back. Bad, bad, bad, I fell into black. He had done it once more, and I would deplore, "I am not your whore! Come give me some more!"

SUDDEN BOLT. That was all.

He ran off

Left me here

He ran off

Fuck you dear!

Bad, bad, bad; are the men who we trust. Looking like sweet chocolate but underneath there's just rust. And bad, bad, bad, lying, drip-chocolate eye -- who trapped me in my home with no way to untie. I'll give you just this- in my moment of clearing. Who killed the poet? You'd know it- the evidence is searing.

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