Wine Tastes Sweeter in Starlight

This story features a you! The reader! With ambiguous gender and no bits mentioned, as well as a very big woman! And some pegging.

Also if you're from one of my FCs and you're reading this- No you didn't.

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On a night warm and dry, scented by evening jasmine and the perfume of wine, you are sitting with Bryndoen on a private terrace. Your laughter shared is private to the two of you only, her warm, steady smiles for you, only. You share in sweet caramel figs, casting glances to each other. You watch the stars together, and you can feel her sun-baked warmth so tantalisingly close to you, beckoning. You admire her when she is enraptured by the night sky, mentally tracing the strong muscles under the silk she wears, and how amongst these tan pillars of stone, she fits right in with her tall, statuesque frame.

Her hand is so gentle when it reaches down for yours, a hesitant and vulnerable gesture. Feather light as to be scarcely there, seeking your permission with her lightest touch and her deep, dark eyes. They sparkle brighter than the stars with your assent.

She traces her fingers across your wrist, touching, nay, relishing in the feeling of your skin. Tracing swirls across your veins, following the line of each. She lifts your hand, looking to you for approval gladly given. Leaning down, she smiles at you, so warm and tender and it sets your heart aflutter. You watch with rising anticipation as she graces her lips across your wrist. They are firm yet supple and the touch a tantalising tickle of what you want. Your breath hitches as her other hand graces your back, a firm and warm and safe presence to lean back on as you invite her, bid her come to you.

She obliges your request gladly, kissing up the inside of your arm to the soft, sensitive skin at your elbow, up along to your shoulder and lingering at your neck. She does not kiss you, then, but brushes a finger up your throat in excruciatingly slow movements, gracing down your jawline as to memorise your features, a loving tribute to your sculpture. She runs her finger across your cheek and cups your face, her hands firm from years of work, yet so very welcoming as you lean into her touch. It frames your face perfectly.

Her eyes are like the midnight sky, a dark purple sea reflecting the stars when she asks you again for your permission and you almost start laughing, reaching out for her, pulling her to you.

Her lips give way beneath yours, just pliable enough to pull you in. She lets you set the pace, her fingers running across your hair as she holds your face close to hers, her other hand letting fingers sprawl across your lower back. Solid and grounded, holding you close and safe and just right. You let yours dance across her arms, her shoulders, her back, kneading firm muscle cultivated over years.

You let your hands rest on her hips, where her true softness fans out, your fingers kneading into her curves. You can feel her sigh against your lips and, seizing the opportunity, you let your tongue dart out across her lips. You can feel Bryn's hesitation, her nervousness - and how her lips part to welcome you, your tongue slipping past to tease hers, bid it dance with you. Her mouth tastes of the wine and sweet, intoxicating spices, and when her tongue joins your dance, you feel yourself groan against her lips. You let her guide it now, her large hand holding your face close to hers, closer in the kiss that ignites the coals in your stomach. Yours are too busy questing elsewhere, roaming over hips, across her chiselled thigh and feeling the ripple of muscle through just a bit of silk. Seeking upwards to her back, relishing in how she arcs under your touch, how you feel her breath hitch.

You whisper words of want against her lips, leaning into her massive, solid frame. She breathes a sigh laced with relief and longing, and you feel her hand trace carefully down, down your lower back making you shudder, down to your hip where it felt so right, and down to your thighs, cupping under them.

She hoists you into her lap with ease. You might just as well have weighed nothing for all the effort that took. Nestled in her arms, warm and strong and safe, you kiss down her nose to just above her markings. You kiss each of her freckles, a speckle of purple dust and spots liberally spread across her face. You vow to kiss each and every one, in time - and to seek out the ones hiding underneath silk. Each one that you expose with a push on the silk, inching it tortuously down her broad shoulders and strong arms, you greet with a kiss devoted whilst within the warm embrace those arms give you - Bryndoen's hands running down your sides and across your back, holding you close. You can feel her heart beating against your own. And you seek it, pushing back the silk to kiss the soft swell of her breast and the freckles that dot her chest. Hard muscle banded across her chest gives way to a gentler, softer rise that gives way beneath your lips and teeth. You can feel her rise to meet you with each hitched breath as her hand runs across your hair, guiding you, her other hand resting securely on your hip. Squeezing it and dancing her fingers across your back, patiently awaiting her chance to savour you fully.

You have no such obstacles, devoting yourself to her half-exposed chest with mouth and hands, letting your lips dance from breast to breast and your hands knead where otherwise left behind. You can feel Bryndoen's soft sighs and gentle moans rumble through her chest and they are satisfactory music to your ears, singing praise to your efforts. Like an instrument, lovely and responsive, delightful to strum. You play her a symphony and she trembles, her body tightening like a coil under your touch, ready to release to brass and fanfare at a moment's notice.

You only relent when you feel her finger on your chin, guiding you up to her. You sneak some few kisses along her throat and jaw on your way to her inviting lips, much to Bryn's delight. She beams at you, her eyes full of so much joy and want, her face all flushed with it. Your lips meet and dance again, and as her finger trails your throat, she asks with only a little anxiousness if you wish to take it inside. If you wish to continue.

Your answer is a yes with no hesitation.

Bryndoen laughs and beams a warm and heady smile for you, as she once again shifts her hand under your thighs, another at your back, before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.

And then with no effort at all, she rises with you in her arms, leaning into her kiss and her embrace, and carries you inside behind closed silk curtains to your own little world. She is so gentle, so careful with placing you on the bed, her hands roaming your body appreciatively as you work together to undo clasps and ties and other such fastenings - on you, first. On her after.

Even in the low light, you can appreciate the carefully sculpted thighs, her thick hips and the generous curve of her rear. Your eyes take in her strength and her grace. It makes you all the more excited to see her bucking.

You ask her what she wants, but she answers that so long as she is with you and you are enjoying yourself, she will be happy - a sentiment she seems to truly mean.

When she asks you what you want, however, your answer is altogether much more tangible, to her surprise and delight.

The heady look she shoots you makes your heart skip a beat. You watch with great anticipation as she gets up, admiring the way her body moves in the light as she goes to a cupboard off to the side - and you delight in how her muscles ripple as she leans forward to take out a set of leather bands from the cupboard, placing it on top.

She dangles the bronze strap on by her finger where it catches the light, her grin equally delighted to yours. One of its sides, clearly shaped to her proportions, and the other- Yeah that'd fit, you think.

She takes it, the straps and a small bottle in hand and march towards the bed in determination, where you find yourself at the edge of your seat - or rather, the edge of the bed - in anticipation. But before she can start strapping herself in, you lay your hand atop hers, much to her puzzlement. Seated as you are, she towers far above you, gifting you a beautiful view up her stomach and chest and her distant eyes. In the dim light they swim like the ocean, on occasion catching the light with the glimmer of stars. They look at you in query and you hold that gaze, even as you kiss her abs. Then her hip. You watch understanding dawn as you kiss the inside of her thigh, grazing your teeth against her skin. There's a soft thud of the strap on landing on the bed beside you, next to the bottle and the straps. A later venture.

You have much more important things to take care of first, you muse, as you run your hands up her thighs, kissing in that sweet, sensitive line where leg and body meet, rewarded with a shaky, needy sigh. She tenses, then groans as your nibbles and kisses and feathery licks edge closer, then recedes. You devote yourself again to the praising of her thigh, resting your face against her skin and breathing it in.

Her skin smells of wood and baked earth.

Bryndoen rests her hand on the back of your head, gently urging you, encouraging you to continue, to cross the distance. Shooting a glance upwards, her eyes are closed and head tilted back, her lips just slightly parted. Her other hand rests upon her bare breast, kneading it gently, rolling her skin within her palm. You grin and opt to sneak a hand upwards, finding great joy in her small yelp from your finger, gracing her outer lips. Urgently, she pulls you towards her, unable or unwilling to stand the teasing any more, and you are all too happy to acquiesce.

You run your tongue up her slit, from the very bottom to the very top, feeling her fingers curl and flex in your hair. Her nectar, sweet and warm and a little tangy and all together intoxicating, covers your tongue fully as you dive in. Tugging at her outer lips with your lips, rolling them with your tongue as your finger finds her entrance, teasing it. She moans as the finger vanishes within her slit, where she is blazing hot and easily welcomes another. You laugh breathlessly against her slit, flicking the tip of your tongue against the hood covering her sensitive clit and all her muscles briefly going stiff. You do it again, and again, before dipping in and rolling it in your lips as you curl your fingers up against her inner wall, feeling the energy build up in her body as she trembles. It's like holding a great and powerful creature by a leash. It's intoxicating.

You flick your tongue rapidly over her clit, but before you can build her to the crescendo you can hear approaching, you feel her hand on your jaw nudging you gently, but firmly, away. Disappointed and almost a little distraught, you look up- Only to find her looking down, eyes half lidded and face flushed, her chest heaving. Her fingers brush along your jaw with a moments fondness, cut through by the heat of lust. She holds your gaze as she leans forward, tantalisingly close, to reach for the leathers - which you promptly steal from her grasp to help strap her in. She smiles as she watches you tighten the buckles.

She smiles more, watching closely as you take the strap on, feeling the slightly cool bronze in your hand. It's surprisingly not as heavy as you had pictured, and very smooth to your touch. You hold Bryndoen's eyes as you take the bottle of lubricant and oil it up. You never break her gaze as you carefully nudge it in position - sliding her end slowly in. Your stomach flutters in anticipation as you tighten it in the straps.

She leans in over you, lifting your chin to face her as she bids you get on the bed.

You briefly consider how to approach it, before opting for getting on your knees, elbows resting on the mattress - giving your partner in intimacy a beckon. Bryn's hands a firm and warm against your back, running up your sides as she peppers your spine with gentle little kisses. You gasp as you feel something warm and slick drip down upon you, pooling and running down your thigh, only to be cause by her finger and gently caressed against your opening. Then, she pauses and leans forward, kissing your shoulders before whispering to you gentle reassurance. That she will ever be careful, ever listen. You grasp her hand before she gets too nervous.

You want this, you assure her. You want this, and she wants this, she assures you in turn, peppering your shoulders and neck and spine with hot, loving kisses until she resumes her position behind you.

Rubbing the last of the oil into your skin and your entrance, you feel her position the strap on behind you. You breathe hard into the bed as she runs it up and down, before slowly easing just the very end inside. There, she stays, motionless for a few seconds, letting your body accommodate the width of the bronze - letting it heat up to you. It's not a bad size, at least in width, and you exhale sharply at the thought of how it might fit lengthwise.

Slowly, she starts to nudge in and out, in and out, a little further in each time in an unrelenting, agonisingly slow march. A part of you wants her to be done already, to push all the way to the end, but another part wants it to never stop, and so you grip the sheaths and gently nudge, back and forth, upon the bronze - a little further in, each and every time. She for her part sticks to slow, languid strokes, drawing out your pleasure and making you groan with each little bit of ground that is won. It's almost a shame when you feel the bronze base, hot against her sweltering skin, touch your rear, but you are so incredibly excited for it.

She grasps your hips, her slow, languid strokes taking on a strength to them - careful, watching you, matching your pace as she gets into a comfortable rhythm whilst she drives that heavenly hunk of metal into your body to the song of your groans and moans rising higher, ever higher.

You gasp, pushing your hip against hers, urging her to break the pace, to go faster still. She tightens her hold on your hip, driving slow and firm into you with a few blessedly cursed strokes, holding you maddeningly in place. Then, leaning in over you, pushing her body against yours, she picks up the pace as her soft moans join together with yours, pulling you closer, tighter, further, faster.

She holds you tight as you thrash, getting closer and closer, your body is on fire and she is raking the coals, stoking your lust, your passion and you scream and shout and drive back against her in glorious release as your body clenches together. She grasps you, firmly, lovingly, driving you onwards, egging it further, moaning against your neck in sweet abandon, pressing down into you as she trembles, bronze driven deep into both of you as her breath hitches and she thrashes backwards with a loud, glorious cry of pleasure.

Your torso falls against the bed and, after a moments recovery, she helps you lie down before she herself rolls over, panting.

You both lie there for a time, taking it all in, before you hear her- laughter? Looking over, she's got her eyes turned down towards the bronze, still standing rigorous and proud. She shakes her head, almost a little incredulously, as she frees herself from the straps and returns the bottle, the straps and the bronze dildo attached to the top of the cupboard. You're almost a little disappointed, lamenting the loss of her warmth as she vanishes into another room, but it is swiftly swayed as she comes back in with a piece of cloth - and, to perhaps just a little surprise, she holds the warm and slightly damp cloth against you, rinsing you of sweat and oil and your own and her fluids, leaving behind only the soft scent of sandalwood and jasmine. She too smells of it now, and you drink it in as she returns to bed, welcoming you in her arms with a soft kiss. Holding you close as the two of you settle in, and though your thoughts might stray towards the morrow, there here and now is slow and sweet and soft and gentle. She cradles both of you against the pillows.

You feel her heart beating against yours.

Once she breaks the kiss, she smiles so brightly, so joyously, and leans her forehead in unspoken closeness.