I have watched you for hours. I have watched as you slept, watched while you bathed, watched as you raged against the hated space I keep between us. I have watched you and grinned to myself, knowing that you are completely unaware of the study I have made of you: your habits, your mood swings, your needs. You believe there is no interest there, no need, no want. Your belief is wrong. One day maybe, I will show you.
You are bound and blindfolded, your blue eyes covered by a red bandana, your soft wrists joined together by a length of black silk rope. I study you, watching as blushes come and go across your pale, pale skin. I am not touching you, only allowing my eyes to traverse the softness laid out before me. I am not touching you with my fingers but I can tell that you are sensitive to my eyes upon your skin.
You begin to talk. Stupid, meaningless words that have nothing to do with what I am doing. You are mad at me, mouthing off. Trying to goad me into an action that will leave you feeling like I am responding to you. How are you to know that I already am? Your eyes are covered so you do not see the moisture that graces my skin, the love and lust in my copper brown eyes.
"Shut up, Lissa." I don't yell, only murmur, my voice in your ear. Dark chocolate sin in the shell of your ear. I watch the way goose bumps pebble your skin, the way you shiver slightly, as if cold air is blowing against your heat. "Stop trying to piss me off. Just, shut up."
You are silent. I know you though, the silence will not last for long. You can not allow me to be in control, not even for a second. It's like a joke to you, a way to poke the sleeping wolf I keep tucked far away from you. Of course, you don't realize just how safe I keep you. From myself, the part of me that I don't allow you to see very often.
I abandon you for a minute, knowing that as soon as I move you are going to begin your rambling monologue once more. And you do not disappoint, filling the empty space with babble. I ignore you, instead focusing on the next step of our little soiree. I gather the instruments I want to play with: a feather, a washable marker, a small vibrating egg. Little gifts you don't know I have tucked away in your room; hidden for the express purpose of teasing you mercilessly.
"Hush." I leave your room and head to the freezer. I think you may need an ice cube to cool you off. Hell, I may need an ice cube myself before this is all over. Finally, I am done. I can not postpone this any longer. I re-enter your room and grin at you. Of course you can't see me but I know you feel it just the same. Your movements and words stop all at once. You appear to be frozen: a deer trapped by the bright lights of an oncoming car.
I approach the bed once more and kneel by your side. You jerk slightly. "Don't worry." This is a whisper against your mouth, said to ease your movements before I capture your bottom lip between my teeth, tugging it gently. At the same time, I trace a line over your skin with the ice cube, starting from the base of your throat and moving slowly downward. I stop kissing you so that I can watch the journey my hand makes. Over that pale plush skin, dipping into your belly button, over your hip bones.
"Open for me." Your legs clench tight, tighter. I think you are afraid of my hand dipping down further but I know you. You won't fight it for long, you can't. Finally, you let go. Your legs spread slowly, and my hand glides down to tease the pale pink of you. Coldness, dripping down over juicy, pouting cunt lips. You shiver and I laugh softly, you know that sound, that deep down happy I-wanna-eat-you-all-up giggle.
My fingers dip inside your warmth, spreading the coldness around, planting it into your heat. I scoot down further so that my face is level with all the pretty pale pink flesh and suck gently at your clit, once then again. My fingers push the ice upwards, expecting your heat to melt it quickly. You are moving; a slow undulating wave. I know you are not aware of it and it pleases me to see you lost in desire for me, lost in wet heat and soft sex.
I turn around and reach for the little silver egg. "Hold still, baby girl." My voice is soft, husky, needy. Can you hear the wanting? I don't know. My hand guides your thighs even further apart with little nudges. When you are spread open like some sweet succulent berry I slip the soft round bullet inside of you and turn it to low. The vibrations are gentle, your reaction is funny to me: stifled moans and soft movements...not sure of what you are responding to.
Next the feather. The tip, circling over your flesh. Dipping into the moist crevice, breezing softly over your clit. Your body jerks, harder than I would have thought for such delicate touches. I want to replace the feather with my mouth, but I won't. The night is still young and we have lots of time. Circling, softly, slowly over your outer lips, tracing the wetness of your inner lips, finding the nubbin of too sensitive flesh...circles, soft, slow circles.
You are slowly coming apart for me. I can see it in the way you move, hear it in the whispered exhalations, smell it in the scent of you. You want to feel me...not a feather, not a small silver egg. And you will one day. Maybe even tonight. I whisper to you, "What do you want?"
No answer. You still don't trust me enough to tell me. Maybe you are still too shy? We have never been in this position before, really. It doesn't matter. Before we are finished you will beg for me to touch you, take you, taste you. I know you will. I can wait. We have all night.
The vibrations are beginning to soothe you. I adjust the speed and remove the wet feather from your damp flesh. It smells of you. I move up and to your side and take your right nipple into my mouth. Suckling gently, my mouth surrounds your oh so pale flesh. You strain against my mouth. Wanting to feel my weight holding you down, making you safe, claiming you for my own. But I decided already. No weight until you beg for me.
My fingers reach out to pluck the nipple my mouth is not entertaining. You are lost. I know it. The heat of you is burning me up, making me crazy. You moan, low and feral: a kitten in heat, in need. Wanting. Waiting. I turn the egg up to high and watch the blush suffuse your skin. Enjoying your movements against the bonds, against my mouth, against my hand. You will ask soon. I decide to delay it. I stop. I turn the egg back to low and sit up, moving a few inches away.
"What do you want?" My voice is soft now, as soft as a warm breath of air on a spring morning. I know you. It's not enough yet. Not enough to make you ask for me, beg for me, cry for me. So I watch for a while. And then I remember the marker.
It's red. Do you know that? Red looks so hot against your so pretty flesh. I take the top off and begin to doodle on your breasts. Making pictures of my need. Writing love words on your soft belly. You are calming down now, the low vibrations, the marker, making you feel drowsy.
Like the wolf that I am, I wait until you are relaxed and then I strike. My lips to your throat, the egg on high, two fingers gliding down to tug on your clitoris. Your body spasms. It was unexpected. You weren't ready. You bless me with a wordless moan, a sighing keening sound.
"Talk to me." My fingers move faster, circling then tugging. My teeth search for soft spots to mark. I want you to tell me what you need, what you want. I think you may be ready soon. Your body is heaving against my mouth, against my hand but still you won't speak. So I stop...everything. I pull the egg out, and turn it off. I move away from your side and get up.
Then I move to your couch, to watch you work it through. I want you to talk to me and I won't let you cum until you do.
"Michele?" Your voice breaks and I know you are listening for me. I don't answer. I am mad at myself for wanting you to open up, for needing you to share your self with me.
"Michele, where are you?" Your head turns. You know you can't see me with that blindfold over your pale blue eyes. I grin and wait. Maybe I will get my wish after all.
"Michele, please don't leave me like this." I stand up silently and stroll over to look down at you, lush curves glistening with sweat, pouting lips, puzzled frown.
"Please..." It's a whisper but I know that's all you can give to me right now. It's enough.
I ease down so that I am stretched out on top of you and then I place the egg between us, nestling it just above your clit. Our bodies are joined: breast to breast, mouth to mouth, cunt to egg to cunt. With a smile I turn it on and grind my pubis down upon it and you. You respond by biting my arm to keep your self from moaning too loudly, I think. I grab your hair and break the bite, still riding the egg, grinding it onto your clit. I can feel you jerking against it and me. Your whispering "no, too much, please" and I am loving the sounds, the need, the heat.
I capture your mouth with my own, swallowing the pleas. Still my hips keep circling and pressing down, still I feel you jerking against the pressure, the buzz against your wet, sensitive flesh. I cum then, silently. My wetness pooling downward over that little buzzing egg and onto you. Your body is thrashing and moans are escaping from our kisses. I decide that it's time and I ease back to whisper to you.
"Come for me, baby girl."
I scoot back and downward to wrap your legs around my head. The egg moves with me. I turn it on high and slip into your heat, your moisture. My lips fasten themselves to your clit and suck for a moment before beginning a steady flicking, up and down. Back and forth. You are whimpering, whispering, crying. The bed is drenched beneath you. Your thighs are gripping and releasing my head. I can smell you, I am bathed in your scent, your taste. Faster. My hand searches for the control to the egg. I tug it out and then use my hand to push it in and out. In rhythm to my tongue flicks, my tongue licks. Soon, I feel your body tighten and then wetness floods out over my hand. You are crying out, and I know that this is love...only love and nothing more.
I have you here, beneath me, around me and you are safe and mine if only for this little while.