Paresthesia Pt. 04

"I trust you had a good day," I ask. A hand pinches her hip and she jumps and giggles.

"Little bit," she sighs with a hand tracing my cheek, "You're cute when you're annoying."

She places her lips to my cheek and that is nice.

"It's just nice to be heard, y'know? Sunday's nice. Old, but nice. And the blood bag's a bit disturbing."

"Yeah, that's kind of a hurdle. You get used to it. And it's a useful thing when it comes down to it."

"Do I want to know?"

"Yeah, but Violence had a point about surprises. And you might not need it. Mostly for the goons."

"That's a funny word. Goon. Goon. Goongoongoon."

She's chuckley and bubbly and everything warm. The floor is cold and hard and I don't want to be on the floor anymore. There are other places to be.

It is a process though. I have to pull myself away from Hannah. Then I have to push up away from the floor and a Hannah that wants to bring me back down. And then, there is the matter of bringing Hannah up with me, when she doesn't really seem to mind the floor all that much. There is a certain nobility to just lying there and pretending that it is all well and good. But it could be better.

With a bit of coaxing and pushing we are both upright. What I know of grappling then gets some application to sweep her off her feet. A delighted little squeak and a hand on her ass get me more and more and more lips and tongue and nips. Her hands drape over my shoulders and I get a few pinches of my own. They jolt and squeeze and send just enough sensation to be considered the best type of pain. To her credit she does help by being rather cooperative. The initial shock wore off and now she is happily being carried by a gentleman with less than pure intentions. I am sure hers are even worse.

The couch makes its discomfort known, but I do not care about the couch and how it feels. It is supposed to support bodies and now it is doing as it should. It will break if the opportunity comes about and it will be glad to be a part of such an occurrence. I know I would be.

The one part of the whole affair that I disapprove of is how fast Hannah takes off what little clothes remain. Too fast for my reaction to catch the moment and admire the transition. One moment she is decent. The next, she is not. It is a marked improvement and one I plan to make as well, but there is a show, a dance, a ritual before throwing everything on the ground. She covers me in the thin softness of her chest and I don't mind the lack of build up so much. If anything, there should be less of it. No build up at all.

I love playing with her body. It is the lost woods behind the creek. Every single place is danger and excitement and eager to be mapped. There are no landmarks. It all flows into one another, bend to pass to ridge to cliff and I am everywhere over her. Familiar territory, but just wild enough to not be sure. I am still on her chest, mouth kissing and sucking and licking, drawing soft coos and shivers from her body. She keeps the cord in her calm. It will be a gentle thing tonight, home with the lights on and a warm bed once I am done playing.

And she plays with me, the urban jungle of hard concrete. Smooth paved roads on a one-way street, a cracked fire hydrant done by the old man on the stoop. I squeeze her ass and admire the shape in my hand. She does the same to me with a throaty laugh that pulls me back into the beaten and cracked sidewalk. She pulls me up and makes me find her lips. We play together in the constant run of hand and limb and skin and touch. I do not want this to end. There is so much of her in the passage of one moment to the next. My little gray world cannot hold her in at all. But I do play with the bumps and ridges, give the skin something to latch onto.

She shives and shudders and the couch keeps making all of its protests know about the state of affairs. I get an affectionate thump to my chest for all of my worship. Truly, my goddess is vengeful and petty.

"You know that only makes me madder," she hums. The words rock through me with each and every stroke she gives, even as she moves down.

"If you're going to do what I think you're about to do," I sigh, "Then I should just keep you pissed off all the time."

"Pissed off is a bad idea. Mad is good. You'll like it. Eventually."

"I mean, I can see your boobs. I like that now."

She rolls her eyes at me and I don't know why. I am being completely honest. I kind of wish I was kissing them again, but there is only so much of me. Her hands dig into my waist and suddenly my pants decide that now, and not a moment before, is a good time leave. I agree. I am hard and they were getting in the way. Just the sight brings a sigh from her and that also brings a puff of pride from me.

"I like the way your dick looks," says the woman looking at it with playful hunger. I chuckle, mostly because it seems the only reasonable response.

"It's so smooth," she says, hand idly stroking the lines and the veins with feather touch, "and long, but not too long. It's like the form of what a dick should look like."

"Thank you, I think. I just want to settle on the not too long part," I say, "I feel that's a backhanded compliment."

"Hate to break it to you, but you don't have a monster cock. Or a womb breaker. Or a bitch stealer, or a demonic staff of carnal lust. It's a just a dick that feels really, really good when I ride it. What more do you want?"

"You to suck it."

"That's the plan, genius."

I am a genius. I really am. Moves thought out eons ago have come to fruition because now her mouth is tantalizingly close to finally giving some pleasure to me, beyond what her tongue and mine get up to. And I am excited for the plan, happy to be a part of it.

I am also a fool, because I believed that she would go right for it. She instead slinks along length, trailing just at the feather's edge of a touch, before kissing and biting my thigh. I do not appreciate being fooled like that, although I do appreciate the audacity. I am still a threat that can go off at any minute. I simply choose not too because that would go against the spirit of the plan. The teasing is also nice, in its own way.

"I will do the time thing if you don't get on with it," I hiss through the frustration.

"Oh no. if you do that, I'll cum super hard and then I'll be too tired to actually blow you. Whatever will I do?"

I can taste the sarcasm, see it dance in the air. I am still tempted to do the time thing, just so I can grab some form of comeuppance. It wouldn't be much. It wouldn't really be anything in the grand total, but the clouded moment of teeth and lip on everything sensitive is not leading into the best head space.

She takes mercy on me with another bite and kiss and lick before finally settling on her ideal, too small penis. Kisses and licks, slowly teasing paths and lines through me. My hands grip the cushions, tense and release, in time with her action. She keeps the thrum in her core still for the moment. Nothing fancy, nothing exceptional. I have not pulled my card, so she will not pull hers. We are just as we are, open and free under the warehouse lights buzzing and humming overhead.

She hums and it is just her throat making soft noises that mean nothing so grand as love or happiness. Simple contentedness. The world turned and the sun is setting, all of the natural bits of creation happened as they should. Nothing went wrong. Everything went right. She is home after some mild errands and someone she likes is there with her. There was good food and a soft couch. It was all perfect and sublime.

Teeth and tongue and just enough pressure to be considered something harsh. I sigh and chuckle and let everything in my mind try and go blank. It cannot. There is lip and tongue and gentle pressure on me that demands everything I am for it. There is just the wonderful body and a wonderful mind that has decided that I am hers and hers alone.

The head is inside and it is warm. The lips are tight and the pressure does not let me relax. I am in her and I cannot think of anything other than being more in her. There is more of me and it is open and cold to the night. I do not like being so open and unprotected. I should be nestled and warm and all sorts of tightly coddled. But I am not. She is just teasing at the edges of what I want.

She is free and breathing again, hand taking over more and more of the duties.

"Part of me just wants to end it here, y'know," she sighs, "It's fun watching you try and hold on like this."

"If you do not go back to putting me in your mouth," I groan, "I will strip you the next time we're out in public."

"You don't have the balls."

"I might not, but I don't think you know all the things I do in the stopped time. If you think the tongue and fingers are bad, you have no idea."

She mulls over the empty threat that she may or may nor conceive of as empty. I may not go as far as the word makes it seem, but there are avenues to explore. Instead, I stretch and flex and draw her eye to my stomach, my chest. And I do get an eye and a look that scares me somewhat. I put my hands behind my head. Relaxed, if I tell myself that I am relaxed, then I will be relaxed.

"How about a fun little bargain," she says. I am up for fun little bargains.

Unfortunately, her first move said bargain is to disengage entirely. The next bit is to swing her thigh over my head and I am back in the deal. Her hips are over my face and I am gazing into simple weeping beauty. Open and spread and flush and eager, all of those and more gaze upon and the simple desire to penetrate and fill strikes me. I could do it. I could totally do it. I could just lift her up and toss her around my shoulder. But the struggle could honestly tip into her favor and then I'd get nothing at all. And I am gazing upon folds and lines that are eager for anything at all.

"Deal," I say, "Easiest one I've ever made."

"You are doing way too much talking," she says.

Before I can call her anything close to a hypocrite, she has dived. It is fair. There are many better things I could be doing right now.

My touch brings me closer and all I can she is her twitch and writhe. She stops when my tongue meets her, just for a moment, just to adjust each and every bit of new thresholds opening.

I am full of her taste, her scent, her touch. She is full of my taste, my scent, my touch. There is a line, membrane thin, between us. There is a her. There is a me. Exactly where the line is, I am not sure. I am teasing her, and licking and kissing her, following each and every twitch she gives me in her core. There is shift and touch with her. There is her taste and there is the sensation of giving to tongue.

She is not idle. Her tongue is the same dance. Her tongue is the same move and lick and adulation I give to her. She is humming the song of no importance, soft contentedness and easy thoughts. It's all so easy, the act of kiss and touch and give. I wish it was a big harder, but the thoughts in my mind, the distraction of pleasure and jolt and spiking sparks up my spin. There is her and I cannot think. I simply cannot think. I simply cannot do anything other than fall into the act of each other's presence. I am warm, though, warm and nestled and simply going numb to anything else other than the lick and kiss.

I start my stutter step lick, flowing in and out of the gray. A moment for myself, a moment for her, every other sensation doubled and layered into the sensation. Her thighs, her wonderfully tight strong muscles start squeezing and ticking and crushing and I think I might die in the best way possible. I do not stop. I cannot stop. She is there over me and I cannot see anything else other than her spasms.

Her attention's to me still and slow and I do the same in kind. She whines. I whine. We are both doing badly at this. Or we're too good at the other part of it. I'm not sure. Anyway, I have a moment to breathe air that does not quite fog the mind and slow down the thoughts. I am able to collect my thoughts and line everything up in an if then, if then.

"Why'd you stop," Hannah whines, "I was having a good time."

"Why'd you stop," I huff, "I was having a good time, too."

"But you stopped first."

I don't let the back and forth continue. It will end with both of us growing cold and frustrated.

With the color and the ticking of the clock down to the moment to moment. I am licking her again, the folds and the pull and the tight of her. That stops the bickering. And gets her back in the game.

Her power, her core, her resonance with the shattering glass veil, she finally taps in and I am simply along for the ride at this point. It is in her entire body. It pinches my tongue, my fingers that are in her. It pours from her lips in a cacophony of choir bells. It rumbles up her throat in earthquakes and title waves. She has let go. The control is gone and we are both at the mercy riding high on some blast wave collapse.

"Soon, soon," I gasp. She hums over me and it seems she is much the same. It is close. We are close and it will end with beautiful mutual assured destruction.

Hers hits a moment before mine. She hilts on me and quakes over me. It is all the world taken down to a pin prick. Warm, everything that is, was and can be, is warm and sparking like stardust showers. I am pulsing and twitching and I seem to have lost control over everything in my body. Shaking, I am shaking just as she is, lost along the vibrations.

I am vaguely aware of Hannah's own turmoil. Mostly from the babbling and the grip on my thighs. Her own release and its effects come later, running down my neck and chest, as I do the same to her. I am laughing, I think, weightless and carefree, brain rattling on skull. I might have a concussion. I hope I do not. I have been injured enough for work. I do not want my pleasure to hurt me too.

I know for a fact that Hannah is laughing and sighing and slowly letting each and every joint go slack. She has stopped trying to support herself in any way, simply preferring to collapse on me and stay there for the conceivable future.

"I don't know who made the bigger mess, you or me?" she giggles. Happy Hannah is a good Hannah. I don't disagree with the question. I really don't want to think about it. I should have put a towel down or something, but that is the hindsight talking.

There is still some power left in her and she comes to face me. And that odd pride of what I am and what I can do is back when I get a full view of what I have done. She is a mess. I must not look much better, judging by the look she is giving me.

"Why is this couch so hard to break?" she asks while I bask in the warm pool of afterglow.

"It's a good couch," I shrug. I jump a bit when something hits the floor. It's just the mug. Hannah laughs at my startle.

"I wasn't going to ask about that, but I guess I should. Did you go to the Hall today?"

"Just a quick peek. I was wearing my magic pants and they just happened to have $20 in them."

"And you got an Adagio mug?"

"Believe it or not, cheapest thing at the gift shop. The second biggest slight against me today."

She laughs. I chuckle. She leans a bit closer and a bit drips from her chin and lands on my sternum.

"So odd question. Do you want to clean up before we go again, or do you want to just keep barreling through?"

I crane my neck up and put my lips to hers. I think that answers the question rather well and she seems to like the eagerness.