writingdirty

Dirty stories by Jack Stratton

Wake Up

Somewhere in between dreams I heard the shower start.

Opening my eyes some time later I found myself bathed in gray light coming through white linen curtains. Then I watched the naked legs of a woman in a towel walking back and forth in front of me as I laid on my side trying to decide whether I was awake or not. Occasionally those legs were followed by a nervous black cat who batted at the towel.

There were the distant smells of soap, shampoo, perfume, and all those sweet feminine scents I associated with her.

For a few moments sleep took me again, like an undertow dragging me into the waves.

Seconds or minutes or hours later I awoke with a start and sensed her near. She was far less nervous than the cat.

There was something remarkable about the transformation that took place when she took off her clothes. In the street she put so much thought into her style; her glasses, her stompy boots, her fishnets, and her leather. Buttons on her messenger bag proclaimed various affiliations; political, musical, sexual, and comic. From sarcastic t-shirts to exposed garter belts every detail told a story.

Naked all of those hard edges became soft and all that black cotton and leather gave way to smooth expanses of skin somewhere around the shade of coffee with too much milk. Her nipples were Belgian chocolate. The only ties to her clothed self were the ring through her lip and the tattoos on her arms, but in the light of the morning they looked more like flowers than angry missives.

I still saw the same woman though, passionate, fiercely angry, fiercely loyal, fiercely beautiful.

On one of her thighs I saw the light purple bloom of a bruise that I didn’t give her. From some reason it made me hard. There was no hair between her legs, though there had been the night before, that made me groan and wonder what she was up to.

I remembered slapping her ass the night before and the way she liked to wrestle with me teasing me until I was hard, then she shook her head “no” with a smile.

“You have to take it,” she whispered, breathy and playful.

I let myself fall into the memory, letting it turn into a little dream, before I awoke once more to her standing over me, naked, with a cup of coffee.

She was holding my coffee mug and she was holding it just a little too far for me to reach. She took a sip, sighed and put it on the nearby dresser. Her smile was both mischievous and knowing.

“Will you be good for me?” she asked sweetly, though her tone had more than a little demand in it.

“Probably,” I admitted.

She frowned for a moment, considering my answer. She then leaned down as if she were going to kiss me but instead took my right hand in hers. I let my arm go slack as she guided my hand to the corner of the mattress.

The handcuffs were still latched on to the bedposts where I’d left them the night before when she’d been tied down and hurt, the way she’s explained she wanted to be. That the way it was with us, I did what I was told, even when she was the one tied up. We both liked it that way.

When she clicked shut the first cuff on my wrist, I raised an eyebrow. She gave me innocent eyes; I yawned. She lazily walked around the bed and pulled my other hand into the other handcuff. Then she made her way to the foot of the bed and found the rope I’d left there. I looked down, straining my neck a bit as she tried to approximate the knot I’d made around her ankles a few hours before. I wasn’t sure how accurate it was, but I couldn’t pull my legs free.

She pulled the blanket and the sheet off of me and I felt, suddenly, the weight of my powerlessness. She looked down at me with her hands on her hips, naked, smiling, planning.

“Are you ready to earn your coffee?” she said with a challenging glint in her eye.

“It’ll be cold by then,” I answered calmly.

She rolled her eyes and knelt on the bed next to me.

The slap was, to be honest, a little too hard and a little too close to my ear. The world swam and spun for a moment.

Then she leaned down and kissed me hard and hungry. She slipped a hand into my hair and pulled me into her kiss. She sucked at my bottom lip, she slipped her tongue deep into my mouth, then she bit my chin. When she was finished she pushed herself up and put her knee down on my arm. The pain was dull and my body tensed with desire. She swung her other leg over me and settled down so that she was straddling my chest, just below my neck. She put her hands in my hair again and looked down at me with the look of someone inspecting a pet.

“I know you want to lick it,” she whispered.

Her fist tightened in my hair and as much as I didn’t want to give in my eyes moved down her body from her breasts to her little belly to the hairless slightly tan lined triangle between her legs.

“I know you want it more than anything,” she said and pushed her knees into my arms.

Between you and me, the pain was nothing. I could shut off the pain easily. The want was huge though. The shame about the want really didn’t make sense, but so what. The shame felt good. It all swam and swirled in my head and made it so the words got stuck in my throat.

“Beg,” she said simply, as if commanded a dog at the dinner table.

There was a beat, she watched my face as I fought with the word. Honestly it didn’t take long for need to win. Need always won with me.

“Please,” my body pushed the word out.

Then she pushed herself up a little, the pain where her knees were on my arms intensified a bit, but then the pain and everything else was gone and it was just her pussy on my mouth and everything was the taste of her.

There are things I’ve done, sexual things, that pulled me in other worlds, but there under her I went to one of the most specific and interesting places I’ve ever gone. Time stopped and my ever wandering mind focused. All there was in life was her smooth pussy on my mouth and my tongue straining to slip into her. All there was in life was the need to please her, to find her clit and find the angle that would make her squirm and moan.

She took my hair in her hand again and guided me. For a second or two she let her whole weight press down on my face and cover my mouth completely, then it was all wetness and the building anxiety of suffocation. I squirmed and moaned into her and she held my hair harder, pressing down again and riding my mouth as my lungs burned from lack of air.

When she let me go I gasped, but just long enough to get enough oxygen so I could keep going.

I found the little motion that seemed to make her moans go up an octave. I slipped my tongue around the curves and folds of her as she pressed down on me, then I pushed my tongue as deep inside of her as I could. She road my face, one hand tight in my hair, the other on her breast.

“Don’t stop,” she said, then loud enough to echo through the room, “don’t you fucking stop.”

My tongue ached as I kept it hard for her to use. Then she dropped down on me again and I was drowning. My mouth and nose were covered by her as she came on my face, her moans distant as her thighs pressed tightly against my ears.

It went on and on until my hands were fists and my chest was on fire. An instinctive and biological fear took over me as my body begged for air. When she finally pulled herself off me my whole face was wet from her and my eyes stung for tears.

After a moment she fumbled with something and I felt one hand freed, then the other. Then I held her and she kissed my neck.

After she came a transformation occurred, as it often did. She rolled into a ball next to me as a few tremors tore through her. Orgasm gave way to aftershock, which gave way to emotion. I felt her sob and she held me.

“Tell me that was alright,” she whispered, suddenly sounding small and a little broken.

“It was perfect. It was more than perfect. It was amazing,” I said holding her tightly.

“Tell me you love me,” she demanded.

“I do, I love you,” I said and covered her face with kisses.

“I’m not greedy?” she asked, her voice cracking a little, the cruelty so far removed from her voice that I could hardly remember it.

In that moment I realized how much I needed to explain to her. I knew it wasn’t the time, but the fact that she thought she was greedy in giving me exactly what I wanted was so far from anything I expected.

“No! It’s exactly what I wanted. I feel like the greedy one. I swear it was perfect,” I said, hoping she understood.

She cuddled into my and held me tightly.

“Promise?” she asked into my neck.

“Promise,” I swore.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly.

“Thank you,” I whispered back.

We ended up going out for coffee.

15 Comments

  1. Amazing. Just amazing. I’d love a guy who would enjoy this as much as you.

  2. Amazing? Sure, but…beautiful as well.

  3. I wish I was her, and I wish I had him …

  4. The forbidden, and the bidden, conjoined and crafted masterfully.
    Thank you. Geoffrey MANN

  5. Artful, loving and hot as hell.

  6. how boring I am. thanks for instructions.

  7. breathing dead

    May 2, 2013 at 11:12 pm

    I had this and it is lost to me now :”(

  8. I’ve got a boyo who needs some of this, I know exactly what to do, but I’m going to have to be crafty and tough to do it, he won’t let me win easily.

  9. Imagination is creation.

  10. awsome

  11. so fucking hot i wish someone would eat me out like that

  12. I need a woman like that…

  13. Along with Halloween, this one’s on the top of my list!
    Have been meaning to leave a comment for ages…your writing is the perfect mix of dirty and erotic as hell, just what I need to get off! Oooooh, can’t wait to try this with the next boy who comes my way…
    Many thanks all the way from South Asia! =D

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