Vanilla Room

The room was large, square and opulently furnished. A light beige suede paper swathed the walls and the curtains too were pale, in a Regency style fabric of cream and fawn. They were drawn back and sunlight poured in through the sheer drapes, bathing everything from the thick soft magnolia carpet to the crisp white sheets and the pale glossy lacquer of the bedstead, in its warmth.

The room was so vanilla-coloured and scented that Bella felt altogether wrong in it! Even her naked flesh, so clean and soft and white seemed an insult. Her dreams had been dark and richly sensual, totally immodest, and she had no intention of curbing them. In fact if she could, she would have returned to them, but the daylight--and the room--were against her.

She tried for a moment to imagine the tousled head of a sleeping lover on the pillow beside her, tried then to imagine peeling back the sheet to expose his skin inch by inch, covering it with soft kisses, making a path down his chest to the hardness of his stomach, then down still further, feeling his breathing quicken and knowing that he was by now only feigning sleep. Down, down to lap like a puppy at his balls, skirting playfully round his swelling cock, pretending to ignore its forceful demonstrations of affection, the growing urgency of its desire for attention; ignoring it until every last inch of flesh surrounding it, had been explored and only then, slowly, slowly circling its base with her tongue, leaning back a little to take its eager tip into her mouth. Softly, slowly drawing the shaft into her, slipping it deeper and deeper inside, until it was enveloped to the hilt.

She felt the familiar tug of desire, her body following her mind (or perhaps leading it) into the realm of dissolute pleasures. She closed her eyes concentrating on the sensations that characterized her heightened state of arousal. The orbs of her breasts felt swollen, and her nipples hard and tight. Sliding her left hand down between her legs, she was not surprised to find the cleft there hot and slickly wet, and the lips of her pussy full and oh, so sensitive to touch.

Resisting the urge to stroke herself to climax, at once, she brought her hand up to her mouth, sucking the sticky fingertips, savouring their soft musk and inhaling the scent of lust. She could almost taste the satin-smooth shaft of her lover's cock between her lips as she imagined taking him in her mouth, caressing him with her tongue, luxuriating in his marble-hard flesh, rigid and engorged. She felt an intoxicating rush of power as, in her fantasy, her lover writhed and sighed beneath her.

Yes, yes, she thought, he would now be completely in her power: desperate to come and yet desperate to prolong the delightful torture she inflicted. Relentlessly she would continue to stroke him, tease him, tantalize him with her lips; first gently, then firmly, then gently again, determined to withhold from him, as long as possible, that final moment of climax. She would be merciless, and he would be in ecstasy.

At the height of arousal now, as she reveled in her fantasy, Bella's hands moved to cup her breasts. Unconsciously, she took her nipples between her thumbs and third fingers, squeezing softly, then hard.

Immediately, she found herself overwhelmed by the desire to be penetrated; it was involuntary, irresistible and completely insatiable.

Angry at herself for interrupting her own daydreams, she tossed back the sheet and rolled over onto her belly groaning with frustration. But with one nipple still gripped fiercely and the other throbbing, the ache in her groin intensified, and her free hand slid under her and down between her legs again, forcing her hips upward, brushing the hard bud of her clitoris. Her desire surged, making her gasp and push wantonly against the palm that now cupped her labia. Rhythmically thrusting, now, against the resistance of the firm heel of that hand, she found herself imagining the fervent hardness of a cock pushing into her, thrusting in and out, over and over, and over and over again, until she came in hot waves of bliss, cresting and falling quickly into somnolence.

The curtains swayed faintly in the mid-morning breeze, soundlessly grazing the soft magnolia carpet of the tastefully furnished room. It was a setting refined and subdued with no hint of discord. A room in which no improper though or deed could possibly flourish. At least, that is what one might believe, unless one knew better.

Bella -- 1: Room -- nil.