A Play for Eeps

This woman I love is smiling this morning.

I wake up and make sense of what I'm feeling, the warm caress of her soft skin moving across me as she comes in for a kiss.

"Mmm." I smile into her lips.

"Morning." She kisses me again, a soft slow smooch.

My tongue is a lizard in a dark cave, cool and slow and dumb. I taste her, smell her, remembering...

God we actually did it. I can feel something that combines a blush, a smile, and a sudden increase in blood pressure which pulses through me. I feel her warm body on top of mine as she pushes me to my back.

I bring my hands slowly up her thighs, my hands ache to grip and I get two handfuls of beautiful, round, pert female arse.

My caveman brain is the first to light up, tells me to have her right there, just like every other time.

I flex a little beneath her and she giggles.

"Pleased to see me?"

"Mmm." I hug her hips against mine, kiss her neck, enjoy the angel in my arms.

We could, right now...

I see her consider it. I can feel the bouncing, happy energy in her. I know it would be great, though I'd be hard-pushed to form a complete sentence this early.

Caveman brain flexes, perfectly happy to let the rest of me sleep. I don't need anything more to remember how to make love to this woman of mine.

"Coffee first." She kisses my cheek and then wrinkles her nose at my stubble. "And a shave."

"Alright." Two syllables, I'm getting creative.

We stay there, she rocks just a little against me.

Perhaps not. I kiss her neck again, run my left palm in a slow, wide circle over the contours of her naked back, down to her hips, her thighs, back around...

"Come on, you." She teases me with one more kiss and then slides from my lap.

I watch her stretch slowly, flex her shoulders before squaring up to the day ahead. Then I just watch her.

5'8", dark hair nearly to her hips, and smooth skin still a little tanned from the summer sun. A sly grin and deep dark eyes... You know, perfect.

Magnificent creature. Caveman brain grins in the darkness behind my eyes, tells me again that of all the women in the world, she's the one I woke up with. Hard not to smile at that, even after a hundred times.

I obey her and Caveman gets me out of bed making me stumble to my feet. Cold wooden floor beneath them, sunlight and the smell of sex in our bed.

She smiles at me, takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen while I follow the end of my bobbing, still-hard cock and give her backside a long look full of intentions.

She makes coffee while I hug her from behind, run my palms over her cool skin to keep her warm.

She turns around, two mugs between us. I step in close, so she's pressed between me and the counter behind her. Let her feel my continuing lust for her as we caffeinate and re-humanise.

I watch those eyes that seem the colour of oak now, but are wholly black in the moonlight. I watch her watching me, become fascinated with the glow of sunlight on her pale skin.

"I love you." I tell her, sometimes you just have to say it.

"I love you." She tells me. We share one of those soft kisses, I taste the sweet coffee on her lip and stroke the small of her back with my free hand.

I leave half of my coffee to cool, setting it down while she drinks, hands wrapped around the warm mug.

Perfect figure, I think. Though of course I would say that, being her biggest fan and all, she has a grace about her that drags my gaze over those curves.

My hands follow, my eyes close and I can feel the smile on her face as my companionable hug shifts to a lingering caress. I find it hard not to just sit her on the worktop and kiss her neck as we fuck and she giggles and tries not to spill coffee down my back, again.

I want to sink to my knees and give her my tongue, just to have the taste of her. The look she gives me when she wants to stop what we're doing, whatever we're doing, for a hard impulsive quickie against the nearest vertical surface.

She has this sudden wildness about her, the sunlight makes her dark eyes flash as she leans forward for a playfully hard kiss, her arm making that natural curve around my shoulder. When I pull away she closes her eyes, follows me with that lustful pout on her lips that cranks my heartrate.

Self-control, I think. Not yet...

One last kiss and I leave for a shower and a shave. Her skin smells like the bath oils from last night, it makes me smile. So does the lingering grip on my hand until we part.

Tepid water hits me in the face and more parts of my brain start to function. I scrub shower gel into my skin, rake sensation with my nails a little. I scratch at my arms, that old familiar itch that only goes away when you stop noticing it.

Bumps of white lines in rows, five bar gates, criss-crosses of old pain. Self-inflicted, because I'm

that

kind of screwed up. At least I used to be.

Time to get some ink on there. She suggested we get ones to match that could cover those old wounds but... maybe I'm just used to them now.

It's funny what occurs to you in quiet moments of solitude. I rinse myself one more time and then switch off, step out, look for a towel.

Just for a second I remember seeing the slow slide of towel from her flesh last night, I smile and pad back into the living room, swiping beads of water from my skin with my hands.

I grab the towel from the floor and make a mental note to keep up with the laundry more, standards to maintain for her.

I become aware of her watching me towel and shake my hair like a dog. I stop and look up.

"Morning." I grin. The better part of me breezes through the mental door and settles at the controls.

She's opted for a change in wardrobe and I can't say I disapprove. My black collared shirt from last night, casually abandoned in our passion.

And nothing else. She's fastened two buttons roughly in the middle, rolled the cuffs up to her elbows. It's cute the way she wears my clothes sometimes.

I'm the same way with our bed, the smell of her there from the night before, the glow of warmth on her side when she gets up. Sometimes when she has to work an early shift I bury my face in her pillow and sleep off our usual morning-goodbye fuck, dreaming about her before my alarm goes off.

There's a kind of almost-dressed that's sexier than naked. It's why burlesque is sexier than hard-core porn, the tease of almost seeing. It's why flirting with a stranger because she gives you a smile is more fun than putting a note in a stripper's g-string because she grinds in your lap.

The best thrill is one you have to work for, that's not the same as paying.

I can see so much and so little of her. She strides back from the bedroom, from her costume change. I look for her collar beneath mine but see only her skin, her hair pushed behind her shoulders.

Not sure whether I wanted her to be wearing it. That's a new thought.

She comes back to me with a hug, I drop the towel so I can hold her with both hands. Even as I'm thinking of doing the same to her, she pushes me back to the counter, takes hold of my chin between her fingers.

Forgot to shave...

She pulls back from the kiss, still holding me in place.

"What am I to do with you?" Her voice says she's asking but her eyes say it's rhetorical.

"Whatever you like, my love." I answer anyway and smile a little. I like calling her that.

She comes in to hug me again, snakes her arms beneath mine around to my back, gives me a squeeze.

I go to hug her back but she takes my arms, pushes them behind me. I realise she's holding something in her hand as she touches me.

Before I figure it out she has the leather ties around my wrists. I obey out of curiosity for the half-second she needs to tighten the knot and then, too late, the rest of my brain finally wakes up. She puts the loose end in my palm, reminding me I can get myself out but daring me not to.

I understand her wardrobe choice now. She is wearing the collar. My collar. The one I was wearing last night when I made this woman I love... Mine.

"What am I to do... with... you?" Her tone changes, she's really asking now.

I consider it for a second. Bits of me vote different ways. The bits of me that aren't fond of being pinched or twisted vote run away. The parts of me that were nothing but barren dirt before she came along trust her judgement.

I consider a sense of fairness. Maybe this is how she says thanks, or evens the score, or both. Maybe this is part of it too and she wanted to surprise me.

I am surprised...

In the end what tips the balance is trust. I trust her to know me, know how far I'm willing to go. I trust her to know the difference between pushing buttons and cutting stitches.

"Whatever you want to." I tell her. She doesn't smile, arches one eyebrow.

"Whatever you want to...?" She waits.

"...Mistress?" Hard to say it and not smile, I manage.

She seems to accept this, stands tall beneath last night's mantle and looks at me.

I look at myself. Naked, hard, and now completely at her mercy; I think I may look back on this moment with a little grimace in days to come.

Oh what the hell...

"This way." She says. She's got a little tone that's a little like mine, but at the same time all her own. A seductive whisper in my ear as she grips the leather between my wrists, walks me forwards.

I go where I'm pointing.

She walks me to the bathroom. Sits me on the edge of the bath. I feel a little nervous, balancing there with my hands tied. Wondering what she'll do.

Oh the... not sure if that's irony or just not being surprised at something... of it all. I suppress another grin at the thought of what she might be in the mood for.

But it's not just the thought of doing new things, kinky things. It's the thought of getting to see her fantasies. I know I haven't seen all of her, some doors remain politely locked to our conversations.

It's not like I'm going to turn down the chance for a peek though.

She turns and rummages in the mirror cabinet. I keep wondering but the way she's reaching up drags my shirt, and my gaze, slowly up her thighs.

For a few seconds I try to will my irises to open wider and take in every photon rebounding from her beautiful body.

I don't know how intentional it is on her part, but she always manages to put my gaze exactly where she wants.

"Close your eyes." She tells me.

I do.

Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, I only figure it out when I hear the clink of the shaving gel can. Memory seems to take the longest time to boot up today. I smile as her fingers tickle my neck with the foam, then relax against her touch.

I take a deeper breath as I feel her thighs shifting on mine as she gets comfy, picks up the razor from the sink. Those old scars itch for a second, I try to ignore it.

"Open your eyes." She tells me. I obey.

She gives me a long look, I keep my eyes front, remembering her concentration last night. It was easy to give orders before, I'm new at taking them. But this is her lesson to me, even I've figured that out.

"What do you say when you want me to give you a break?" She asks, her gaze dragging mine to her eyes.

"Orange." I answer.

"What do you say when you want me to stop altogether?"

"Red." I answer, looking at her lips, wishing she would allow me a kiss right then.

"Alright then. What colour?" We like to keep safe-words simple. I remember that tapping out is sacred too, if I can't talk at the time, which would prompt the question as soon as I could answer.

"Green." I answer. That means I'm ready and willing. We can continue.

She rinses the razor in the sink, swipes the foam across my lips and then leaves a dot of it on the end of my nose, just to test me. I control the grin this time.

"Good." She congratulates me with a shift of her thighs too, and puts one palm on the back of my head to keep me in place. "Hold still."

I obey, my eyes returning to a random spot on the wall.

Her touch is firm but steady, not a flicker or tremble. She glides the razor smoothly through the foam, scraping a wide path of clean skin down the middle of my cheek. I feel the cold edge easing along my sensitive skin and take a deeper breath without meaning to.

She doesn't comment, just rinses the razor and comes back for another pass. The bristly white-noise of the blade is loud as she swipes down below my ear, tracing down the side of my neck.

"It's nice to finally get a word in." She teases me. I keep a straight face, but my eyes flicker low for a second.

I'd rather listen, to tell the truth. I'm not all that shy really, but I take the critique. We talk all the time, but she wants me to convey more information.

She does the other side of my face, rinses the razor, and then puts her free hand carefully around my throat, turning my head to check her work. She has me pretty much hypnotised by now, but the increasing volume of her control washes out my noisy mind.

She leans in close and does around my mouth, under my nose. It's hard to keep a straight face as she pulls at my skin, smiles that smile just at the edge of my vision. My obedient eyes stay on the wall, but my rebellious imagination focuses on the blur of her face framed in dark hair, dancing in and out of focus as she works on me.

"I like you this way." She says. "You finally let me take care of you for a change."

The sound of the razor clinking at the bottom of the sink brings me back to the world. She wets her fingers and strokes sensually over my face, feeling for anywhere she missed.

I take a slow deep breath as I seem to wake back up again, my mind blank except for her touches. She started by tying my wrists, but she's gotten a basic control of my mind too. This woman I love just found the much-underused button in my head marked 'relax' and held it down for a few seconds to make sure.

Her hand comes back wrapped in a towel this time, and she pats me dry, swipes the annoying dot of foam off my nose with a chuckle.

"Well done." She says in a conspiratorial whisper as we both notice the ringing silence.

I sit there naked and bound, staring up at her, begging her for another kiss, another touch. Those dark eyes of hers just watch me, she stays tantalisingly close but only gives me her attention, not her body.

After a few minutes of cat-and-mouse foreplay she shift arounds in another grind of her wonderful thighs in my lap until she's straddling me.

My cock hasn't wavered but finds itself given just the gentlest of touches, flesh to flesh. I can feel her heat, a smudge of her arousal cools on my throbbing skin.

She leans back and scoots closer, putting her feet in the bath behind me so we're just one small rock of her hips away from something I'd never really thought I could want so much. Her, all of her.

She tousles my scruffy brown hair and grins at me, I'm breathless from the closeness of her, her boldness. She pushes my hair around until I look like I woke up later than the Neolithic age and I find myself her object for a moment, my lust is hers to tease or slake.

I can't help another flex beneath her, her hot pussy is resting against me, she pulls back to match and I'm frustrated again. A shy grin tugs at my lips, I look down and feel a blush ripple under my skin. A few weeks ago we were informally equal in all things, our roles unspoken and unchallenged.

Now it was like she was a kinky angel sent from the Goddess of Lust, just to show me a new way to say my favourite three words. Sexual deification suited her right down to the ground.

I've always been a pussy-worshiper, her body is my temple. But with my hands bound I couldn't just pick her up and make an altar of our bed right there like I had the first time we ever came here together...

She decides my hair is still too scruffy, rises up on her thighs to reach across me for a brush on the shelf. I let her move at first, but then take my chance and lean in to kiss her, wherever I can.

I kiss her throat, her chest. As she makes a show of ignoring me to brush my hair, my lips roam down the vee of her almost hypothetical neckline and I tug at the fabric just above the only closed button with my teeth.

It came open first time.

I'll be honest, dear reader, I couldn't have done that twice if I tried. But you know how million-to-one odds pay off about nine times out of ten in stories, must've been our night.

I act like it was intentional as she straightens up in my lap and then drags my eyes back to hers, one hand under my jaw.

Maybe on an impulsive day we would have had a passionate quickie and made breakfast by now; carbing up for a Saturday afternoon romp through most of the flat and, sometimes, the balcony too.

All I wanted, now I pulled off my trick-shot with the button, was to gaze down past the eyes of my Goddess and see all of her. But even though she lets my shirt fall open, slip from one shoulder until it's barely covering anything at all, she doesn't let me.

To punctuate the point she settles back down in my lap and lets her arms slide along my shoulders until our foreheads are resting together, as we stare into each other.

I want to tell her I love her, that she's the sexiest woman in the universe, that I want to be the reason she wakes up with a smile and a kiss on her lips.

But, since she's been reading my mind since I woke up, I guess she knows. After the hairbrush has done its work she leans back, hands now on my shoulders, and I get to see her.

My internal monologue halts as I watch a single drop of water from my still-damp hair fall between us, putting a beaded streak of moisture along the inside of her naked thigh.

You don't notice how badly you need to touch the one you lust for, how quickly their scent seeps into your brain and makes everything else dim by comparison; until you can't for a while.

"Something to say?" She lets a smile invade her cool persona for a moment.

There's no blood in my brain for words. I just smile at her, wait until she leans close, like I'm going to whisper.

The softest, sweetest kiss I gave her was when I finally managed to get close right then. Innocent, despite the context, not our first kiss but I remember them both with equal feeling.

She relents and for a minute we're just playing, just enjoying each other as she kisses me back. Not the deep kiss of urgent lust but the one that comes after it, another kind of intimate.

Of course, because my sultry sly goddess is as mercurial as she is beautiful, she reminded me not to get too sentimental before we really got into it. The grip of her hand on my cock is cool compared to the perfect heat between her legs. She runs her hand along the length, squeezing me as much to fix my attention as gauge my arousal. As usual when it's her checking, I'm ticking over at about 150%.

All I can do is enjoy myself, so for a minute there she straddles my lap and plays with me, bringing me to rub against her, almost but not quite mounting me.

I don't try to disobey now, I accept the rules of our game. Instead of trying to steal another kiss I just... offer myself. I do what she was doing, leaning in and nuzzling close, but not moving away again.

She responds by gripping me harder, putting her other hand to drape across my shoulders for support. Instead of trying for a kiss this time I rest our heads together like before, watch her eyes while all I can feel is her hand on me, her warm thighs on mine.

Looking right at someone's eyes feels intensely intimate for a guy like me, she notices and looks back, gives me one of those smiles.

The look lingers, her hand pleasuring me slows and stops as her eyes flicker to my lips.

She doesn't need to ask, neither do I. A long slow smooch, tender and sexy. She gives my lip a playful bite at the end, and leads me to a standing position with a finger and thumb around my jaw, all she needed.