If He Was Into Birthdays

She parted her knees, forming a narrow V with her thighs. Her skin shimmered under his gaze, rippled over her sex as did his eyes before settling at her beating jugular. Her blood moved in time with the album he'd selected -- 'An Awesome Wave' -- and the ethereal twang of sound reverberated in her bones.

"Wider," he whispered, lighting a joint.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, she did as he bade, hands resting on her knees, gently pushing back and forth, the movement exposing her swollen vulva to the gentle, candlelit air.

He sucked in smoke, held it as he said, "Touch yourself", exhaling only when she did so. She ran her hands down her inner thighs and back up again, repeating this movement two more times before stopping, watching, waiting. Her skin shuddered at inconsistent and inconvenient times. She wondered if her teeth would chatter.

"Did I say stop?" he asked and she shook her head. He made a gesture with the smoke betwixt his fingers, and this time when her hands approached the juncture of her thighs, her index fingers pressed into her fleshy gash, splitting herself, exposing her silken folds to him.

He sucked in a breath, shifted in his seat, his erection growing.

She repeated this movement for a time, exposing her pink flesh to his gaze, feeling the blood rush there, her sex growing swollen. She wondered if her folds glistened, or if her thighs tantalisingly shadowed them. A small smile played at her lips as she considered the torment he must feel by watching, but refusing to touch.

Punishing her rarely left him unaffected.

He took one final drag on the joint, held it in his lungs as he stubbed it out. Chest tight, loins aflame with lust for her, he stood, bent and slid forward, arms sliding beneath her thighs, hands curling up to grasp her hips. And his face. His face was pressed up close to her sex.

"Touch yourself," he breathed, a thick plume of smoke tickling her skin, making her hips arch up, the underside of her pussy brushing his chin.

He held her thighs apart, resting comfortably on his stomach, as he watched her fingertips slowly curl through her slit to part her lips for him. She turned her face sideways, a hot wave of shyness washing over her, her blood blooming beneath her skin, from cheeks to inner thighs.

He lifted his tongue, mouth filling with saliva at the sight of her blooming before him. He imagined burying his face there in her sex, spearing her with his tongue, giving in to this desperate need. Instead, he swallowed the heat, the sound audible.

It made her moan.

"Show me," he whispered over her flesh. "Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me." His words whispered above her folds, and he ran just the tip of his nose over her labia to punctuate his demand.

She sighed, feeling herself float away, become somehow detached from the body on the bed. Her hips sunk into the mattress as she inched a finger forward to trace the base of her clit. Her core gripped the recent imprint of him, aching around the memory, heartrate accelerating. The way his eyes focused so singularly on her sex made her feel as though he was staring into her soul. She wanted to close her thighs, shut them tight, block him out. But then her fingertip bumped just a certain way over her clit and snap her back to the unpredictable pleasure of here and now.

He watched, lips parted, breath shallow, as her middle finger grew slick in circles around her clitoris, mesmerised by the flexing pull of her opening in response. He was slightly disappointed not to see his semen leak from her; but he'd soon rectify that. Watching her core pulse, he imagined the exact rhythm of her, her face in a crescendo of pleasure, her sigh as she crested. His dick throbbed in tandem to her flex, a Pavlovian response almost, and so, to torture them both, he curled saliva onto his tongue and let it drip slowly from his bottom lip onto her slit.

She sucked in a breath at the contact, arched her hips again, her fleshy lips finding his chin. When he pushed her hips down, she extended her crinkled fingertip, gathering juices and saliva, felt the temptation of her pelvic floor. She pressed her finger against her throbbing core, up through her gash to then rub their through her their sex over her bud, the added moisture making her toes curl.

"Oh, fuck," she groaned, feet stiffening as she began a steady climb.

Lips but a whisper from her sex, eyes lifted to her face, he watched. Watched her eyes flutter, her nostrils flare. Watched as he felt the effort in her thighs to avoid reaching the point of no return. He knew she was still sensitive from earlier, sore. That she was exposed, open. Vulnerable. He knew all these things only made what she was feeling all the more freeing.

Her finger concentrated on the right side of her clit, frigging the swelling nubbin with increasing strength. A rocking hip motion accompanied her heightened pleasure, the responding reaction on her face making him crave her sex. Eyes aflame with it, he absorbed her blooming flesh, dark pink and wet. It seemed to him as though her core wept in wanting.

He knew she was close. So very close.

But she needed to be punished.

"Stop," he whispered, her rough ministrations ceasing a moment later. She sighed -- relieved or raging, he didn't care -- but continued to gently circle her clit in comfort, three fingertips now caressing her calm.

"I said stop," he repeated, firmer. She startled at his voice, hands flexing before falling to her sides, her stomach shaking. Swiftly, he rose to his knees, his left hand holding her right leg akimbo, fingers pressing into skin. Just as quickly, he brought his free hand down to slap her pussy, a stinging punishment for her discretion.

She cried out -- shocked pleasure -- her stomach jerking her forward. He smacked her again, just off to the side, his palm clapping against the crease of her thigh. He roughly rubbed the side of his fingertips along her inner lip, feeling the silken velvet melt under his touch. He probed her aching core, smiling at her raptured response, his finger engulfed in her heat. His savage grin reflected in the delight of her sex, mushy and soft from earlier. He knew she was tender, and loved nothing more than exploiting that softness.

He struck her again, saw tears crinkle the corners of her eyes. And this excited him to strike her once more, a sharp spank, after which he cupped her sex in his palm, rubbing her, soothing the sting. Giving them both a moment to catch their breath. With the base of his wrist grinding against her clit, he leaned forward and took her bottom lip into his mouth, suckling and nibbling before his tongue massaged the roof of her mouth. Much to the rhythm of his palm.

"This," he whispered against her breath, four fingers splitting her slit to roughly furrow through, bumping over slick skin, molten flesh. "This is what I want for my birthday."

He swallowed her cry as he cracked his hand against her skin again, tasting the gasp of it, the dark pleasure of it on her tongue. Her hips were rocking mindlessly up against his hand now, wantonly lost in lust for him. Fucking herself senseless against his fingers. He pinned her left knee with one of his own, his other hand now free to fist at the back of her head, pulling the damp hair, giving her something else on which to focus.

"I'm going to count down from ten," he said, his words echoing along the insides of her cheeks. "And you know what comes after one."

She nodded, the movement shaky, jerky. She was grateful his face was pressed against hers; his harsh breath and the occasional scraping of teeth giving her momentary distraction. But no real reprieve. For each descending number came with it a strike to her pussy, his speed varied, unpredictable. Sometimes he forgot where he was at, repeated a number.

But she knew better than to correct him.

She felt sweat drop from his upper lip and onto her tongue; heard the squelching wetness of her cunt; smelled lust in the air. She whimpered as he grunted, paused on three, his palm crude and rough against her flesh. His cock roared with need, and knew he struggled as much as she to hold on. His glans wept with precum, and suddenly he could stand it no more. He straddled her hips, his thumb pressed hard against her clit, his cock now gliding smoothly through her scorching slit, splitting her with his girth.

"Two." He lubricated himself with her essence, her sex swollen and slick enough to spread heat against tight balls, the heavy ache of them holding him hard above her. In his imagination he saw his dick sinking into her like home, her heat and rising need distracting him momentarily. He gritted his teeth, flashed a feral smile when she pinched her nipples.

They were ready, poised on the precipice.

"One," they breathed in unison, barely audible to themselves.

He thrust inside her, pushed hard through those seizing muscles, her grip making his head spin. "Now," he choked, his cock exploding within her, his release raging red as her core. He completely relinquished his orgasm to her. Allowed himself to drown in her.

She clenched around him, her entire body coiling tight, sweat fusing their skin together. Her mouth opened in a silent scream at his ear, and her entire body convulsed in his arms, shuddered from the base of her throat all the way to her tailbone, her instincts to hold on strong. Heat flooded her core, her skin flashing fire. The lure of her cunt lengthened him ever farther into her. He spurted again, his dick jerking within her, but still, her sex refused to let go. He growled in her ear and began fucking her harder and deeper, and she knew, she just knew he craved more.

"Fuck!" he cried out, slapping her right flank hard, a pink mark responding immediately. But this only made her dig her nails in harder, urging him to fuck them both through their orgasm. He continued to move, pistoning in and out of her, releasing a triumphant groan when he felt her insides flutter again.

"Yes," he hissed, teeth scraping along her earlobe. "Again. Now!"

She cried out, her body a slave to his command, her needs rising to meet his. She grasped his face in her hands, holding him against her mouth as she cried out, the orgasm torn crudely from her core. Her legs shuddered, knees trying to come together, but his frame speared her open.

Her legs were ragdoll limp, but her cunt continued to seize around his cock, softening now and sensitive. The soles of his feet felt scored, and his legs spasmed sporadically as he came down from the high of ejaculation. He pushed her arms up above her head, fingertips tickling down her triceps to her armpits, up again. Smiled when he felt her cunt tighten at the tickle.

He swiped his tongue around the shape of her mouth, making her breath tremble. Continued to kiss her softly as he felt her calming down around him, his thrusts eventually becoming shallow and gentle, his cock relaxing in her grip. Her breathing came under the semblance of control, and he rested his head on her chest, ear pressed against the sound of her beating heart.

Despite her arms feeling like lead, she managed to lower them. She combed her fingertips through his hair, matted with sweat at the base of his skull. She smiled, sighed, delighted with the sensation of him slick and soft inside her. She rubbed her lips along his hairline, his hot cheek pressed against her chest.

From his breathing, she could tell he was close to sleep. And so she closed her eyes, and joined him on that awesome wave.

* * *

If he was into birthdays, he'd be slightly disappointed at finding himself alone in bed on the morning of. He'd press his nose into her pillow, breathe her in before showering and dressing for the day.

His mind would be filled with images of her: her excitement and pleasure the night before a flickerbook of movement behind his eyes. He grinned when he entered the bright kitchen, seeing coffee steaming and waiting fresh for him.

He drank it in solitude, thinking her out for a walk, and read through the morning headlines, only half absorbing them. His dick, still tender, caused him to shift in his seat, a movement anyone else would describe as squirmy.

Grateful for the distraction of a rumbling stomach, he went about making his breakfast, and through his periphery, caught a swaying movement outside the window wall overlooking the garden. He stepped back and spied her stretched out on a wide daybed, hammocky in style. She was surrounded by native plants, the bedswing itself secured to a gum tree. She was sheltered on one side by a rockwall with a gentle water feature that trickled prettily in the background. Natural light poured through the treetops, making her skin appear spotted by a daylight disco ball.

She was naked, reading a book, her head propped up on some pillows at the swing's edge. She'd occasionally lift a knee, scratch her head, and this made him smile. She was still twitchy and agitated, too.

His smile widened, eyes alight with an idea as he took out his phone and connected to the cabin's sound system. He chose Al Green's 'Let's Stay Together' to accompany the late morning. He knew the song would signal his proximity and awareness of her. Her responding lift of the head, lowering of the book, made him nod.

He knew how to press her buttons.

He stepped back into the butler's pantry, hidden by angles and shadows, a place he could see without being seen. He felt a tightening in his loins, his body screaming out to hers to touch itself. He wanted to watch her skin awaken under the warmth of the sun, of her fingertips. Of her memories. Triumphant light sparked his eyes as he watched her hand glide down the centre of her body, rounded nails looping around her belly button and up again.

His gut tightened, cock twitching beneath the fabric of his pants.

She then crossed herself, looping that same fingertip in an elongated figure-eight about her breasts. He licked his lips, tasted berries, a d took a calming breath to control his baser impulses. The blood rushed to his loins as he watched her narrowed those figure-eight circles to focus around pert, rosy nipples. He watched her ribs expanding wider, knowing breath control was her first attempt at pleasure control.

The drumbeat of Al's song was subconsciously picked up by her feet, crossed at the ankles. He wondered if the tap of her foot shifted a muscle in her inner thigh, something that would draw her attention to her sex, her hands to her pussy. He knew its tenderness from the night before was just swelling for a gentler touch. Begging for it.

Even if he hadn't yet given permission.

But wasn't the song a kind of permission? A kind of dare?

Well, it was his birthday, after all. Why shouldn't he have his cake and eat it, too?

He licked his lips as her left hand moved down to scratch over the sensitive skin of her mons, then her vulva. Imagined how she'd tingle there. Imagined her shivered response to the touch. It made saliva pool beneath his tongue and he swallowed hard, suddenly realising his throat was bone dry. Her foot continued to move to the song, along with a gentle nod of her head. But she continued to read -- or pretended to, he couldn't tell -- her right pinky finger managing to flip a page, her face calm and serene.

He grinned.

Challenge accepted.

In an almost absent gesture, he brought a spoonful of berries and yoghurt to his mouth, the juicy tang of flavours and textures contrasting the heat beneath his tongue. He couldn't help but associate the sensation with her pussy, the juicy mess of it when he'd commanded orgasm after orgasm from her, rendered her incoherent of speech and movement beyond spasming twitches. He couldn't help but imagine covering her sex with honeyed yoghurt and fruit, making a mess of her before cleaning her up.

He grinned around his food, swallowing it just as she ran her middle finger over her slit. Her skin was a doily of shadows and sunlight, the pattern shifting light with the growing hour and the sway of the hammock. She lowered the book to her chest a moment, flexing her fingers before readjusting the pillow behind her neck. He couldn't hear her, but he imagined she'd moaned, frustrated, a sound that journeyed from her larynx to her cunt. Imagined she'd arch so instinctively that her middle finger would penetrate her folds, finding the moist recesses within, unable to resist stroking up to her clit.

Watching her gently pleasure herself was becoming too much to bare.

Sucking in a hard breath, he stalked outside, taking his breakfast with him. He made his approach known: surefooted, driven. His erection rubbed annoyingly against the linen of his shorts as he walked; his back prickled beneath the fabric of his shirt.

With her hand fisted at the back of her hair, she watched his approach, and her pussy -- weighted tender with kegel balls -- contracted in anticipation. Subconsciously, she rolled her tongue along her bottom lip, teeth quickly following, a sly smile blooming across her face. She continued to smile -- bright and bold -- when he stopped and stood at the foot of the daybed, spooning up a mouthful of yoghurt and berries. Saliva pooled beneath her tongue imagining tasting the tart sweetness of his breakfast. He grinned, too, and took a dollop of yoghurt on his spoon and let it drip drizzle down to where her finger connected with her sex.

She sucked in a breath, the cool thickness of his breakfast a stark contrast to the heat pulse from her core. She continued to smile through the roaring in her ears, and at his nod, spread the thick cream through her gash, around her clit and the opening of her aching vagina. Eyes on his, she brought her middle finger -- glistening with juices and yoghurt -- to her mouth, traced the shape of her lips before sucking the digit clean.

He merely took another spoonful of yoghurt and dropped it on her mons before moving around to stand at the head of the daybed.

On a sigh of pleasure, she let her head flop back over the edge, and the insides of his knees coming into her periphery. Her pussy continued to clench and work the weighted kegel balls; her fingertip journeyed back down to smear yoghurt around her vulva, back up through her slit. She then heard the clatter of his spoon, heard his breathing change as he brought another spoonful of berries and granola to his mouth. She squirmed, his sounds triggering a Pavlovian response in her. With her head flung back as it was, the reflexive swallow settled heavy at the base of her throat.

"Keep going," he simply said, belying building tension behind his pelvic bone. He loved watching her hands on her body; loved watching the blood come to the surface of her skin, the way her muscles would tense and relax with teasing pleasure. He loved the contrast of her nerves last night, and her relaxation today.

As she added another finger to her touchings, she turned her head, kissed the skin of his inner knee, finding its softness a welcome surprise. The sparse hairs there tickled her lips, every sensation heightened in her supine state. She arched her hips as best she could, which caused the daybed to swing back, her head between his thighs, his tightening balls making slight contact with her ear.

She tried to swallow again.

She turned her face up, staring directly up at his crotch, and rubbed her face against him. And grinned at his sharp intake of breath. She could feel he wasn't wearing briefs beneath the shorts; could feel his heat rising, his cock growing. Inspired, she lifted her neck, her nose pressing against the base of his scrotum, inhaling him and laundered fabric. She gently tickled him with the contours of her face, her chin and jaw pressing forward to apply tension, her forehead rubbing against the fleshy skin near his ass.

A giggle escaped her after hearing him growling over another spoonful of food, a giggle that was swiftly followed by a squeal without a trace of humour in it. For he had leaned forward, lips sweetened by strawberries and cream, to cover her sex with his mouth, his tongue moving around the obstacle of her fingers to push the yoghurt covered fruit through her gash.