Purple Lace Bra

Recently I've really been in the mood to go down on someone, but the opportunity hasn't yet presented itself. So I'm indulging the urge through writing instead.

This is, mostly, a true story.

"You're cute," a low voice said, right in his ear, warm breath tickling the side of his face. He turned in her direction and looked directly into the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen in his life, cold and deep like ice floes, lined with smokey grey wings that faded as they swept up and away from the corners. Somewhere in the back of his head he thought

I'm in trouble

.

"Thanks!" he said, and then that inner voice said

say something else you fucking dork

. He looked down, eyes travelling over plump red lips, one corner gripped gently between neat white teeth. "I like your shirt," he said.

Idiot

.

She laughed, a sudden throaty eruption that sent something flipping in his stomach. She looked away for a second, then back to him, meeting his eyes then flicking down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes again. "I bet you think it would look better on your bedroom floor."

Oh, I've fucked it already

, he thought, but that knowledge made him braver than he'd ever been before and so he leaned in, put his mouth up to her ear, his nose filling with the scent of something almost but not quite cloyingly sweet, like a memory of candy floss. "Actually, I was thinking it would look better tying your hands above your head," he said.

And that was how he learned that it's actually very easy to pick up a girl in a bar, if she's already decided that you're going to go home with her before you've ever said a word.

* * *

She lived close, just ten minutes away in the black cab they flagged down outside the bar, her stepping into the street and throwing out her arm with smooth confidence, him trailing along behind her, fingers wrapped around hers. He hadn't been in a taxi that wasn't an Uber for over a decade and he was immediately flung back in time to university nights out, to drunkenly stumbling home having tried and failed to find someone to make out with.

In the back of the car he slid across the seat, tried to kiss her, and she pushed him away with a gentle hand on his chest and a smile.

"Wait," she said. She put her head on his shoulder, threw her crossed leg over his. He rested his hand on her bare knee, her skin warm and smooth beneath his fingers, made small circles with the tips of his fingers while she pulled herself tightly against his side. Her breath was hot and soft against the side of his neck and he could already feel himself getting hard at the intimate closeness, the unyielding fabric of his jeans creating an almost uncomfortable tightness. His heart raced in his chest.

Fall out of the taxi door, flash of a gleaming lobby, into a cramped, shuddering lift where they exchanged a chaste kiss. Her lips tasted of strawberry, let his tingling slightly as she pulled away, turned her back on him and pulled his arms around her midsection, cuddling back into him.

Anonymous carpeted corridor, identical doors with small black numbers flashing past on either side, and then her keys in the lock and the door opening into a dim hallway, shoes in lines along the base of each wall. She led him by the hand, skirt swishing temptingly in front of him, kicking off her heels to walk barefoot on the carpet.

"In here," she said, turning to him as she opened the door, backing through it, pulling him in by his shirt.

She sank onto the bed, pulling him with her, and finally she let him kiss her properly, her lips opening beneath his, hot breath in his mouth, soft tongue flicking out to lap against his, running along his teeth. She bit down on his lit, not hard but with enough force to pull a gasp out of him, and she laughed.

"I see how it is," he said, voice barely more than a murmur. He buried his face in her neck, drank in the smell of her, kissing up the curve of her throat. He nipped with his teeth, smiling unseen as she gasped, her hands tightening in his hair. Then the lobe of her ear was between his lips, soft and pliant, his nose in her hair. He brought his teeth together gently, felt her shudder.

He began to kiss along the side of her jaw, hunting her mouth again, but she turned her head, pushed gently with her hand.

"More," she said.

Once again his lips found her neck, candy floss filling his nose, the skin growing slick and wet as he kissed and tongued and gently nibbed, her hand in his hair, her breath coming faster.

With his free hand, the one not pinned beneath her, he found the buttons of her shirt, began to pop them open one by one, bottom to top. Open now, and his hand found the flat of her stomach, traced the soft skin around her belly button. She gasped again and he felt her stomach hollow slightly as she sucked in breath.

"Cold," she said, with a laugh.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his hand away. Hers reached out, took hold of him, guided him back to her stomach, sliding him up over her ribs.

"No," she said. "Touch me."

He kissed back down the side of her neck, slid his face round to run his lips down the front of his throat, finding the curve of her clavicle, licking at the hollow between bone and skin. He rolled so he was over her, resting his weight on his elbows. Her hands were on his shoulders, running over his back, and he could feel her legs pinned together beneath him.

He kissed down her sternum, feeling the swell of her breasts before he saw them. His hands came up, cupped her through the purple lace of her bra, the fabric both rough and smooth at the same time. He pushed her soft flesh together, thumbs running over nipples hardening beneath the silk, took one in his mouth through the bra, fabric rasping beneath his tongue as he licked across it.

"God," she said, her back arching up, hips trying to rise beneath him.

He continued his journey, mouth floating down her stomach, tongue trailing slow, wet lines down her body, hands still cupping her breasts above his head. She laid her hands over his, squeezed gently, began to massage herself through his grip.

He felt the edge of the mattress beneath his knees and he slid back, lowered himself to kneel on the floor, hands coming down to her stomach and her hips. He wrapped his fingers under the waistband of her skirt, pulled down slightly so that the elastic flexed, covering the freshly-exposed skin with his lips and tongue. Pulling further, finding the lace of her pants - purple again, matched to her bra - gently tugging them to kiss the stretch of skin where stomach became private skin.

She gasped again and he released her, let the skirt and her underwear return to where they were meant to be. Her knees were pressing into his stomach and he wrapped his hands over them, parted her legs with the slightest of pressure. His mouth found the inside of her knee, trailed up to the soft skin of her inner thigh, kissing with exaggerated wet smacks, wanting to be sure she heard each one.

He made his way up her thigh with his mouth, eyes fixed on her rising chest, her hands still massaging herself, head thrown back, lips glimmering wet and dark in the dim light. Then his head was beneath her skirt, and all he could see was the soft crease of skin at the top of her leg, the line of her underwear beside it.

His mouth reached the top of her leg and again he curled his fingers beneath her underwear, pulling them from the side this time, kissing across the top of her mound, breathing in the scent of her, revelling in the soft kiss of her pubic hair on his cheek. He kissed down slowly, inching toward the small gleam of her clit that was just beginning to peak out from beneath its hood. Just as he was about to touch it he stopped, pulled back slightly, let out a breath of air that he felt reflected back onto his face, hot and wet.

She groaned, arched her hips, and he released her underwear, kneeled back to look up at her.

"Fuck you," she said, voice thick with lust. He grinned, bent down to kiss her other knee, started his slow progress north again, eyes locked on the bright blue of hers. "Oh," she said, "I see," and then her head fell back onto the bed.

Up her leg again, the dark world beneath her skirt hotter now than it had been before, heat pouring off her body. He could smell her arousal, sweet and salty and fresh. His cock was straining against the inside of his jeans, almost painful, his breath coming fast and ragged in his mouth.

He reached her pants again and this time he grabbed her legs, lifted them up and in so that the bottom of her thighs rested on his shoulders. He took a second to breathe her in, nose resting gently against the fabric just above where he knew her clit to be. Then he extended his tongue, flat and soft, and dragged it lazily up over the crotch of her pants, feeling soft, pliant flesh shifting and moving beneath the silk.

"Oh my god," she said, so he did it again, and again, each time as slow as the last, increasing the pressure ever so slightly with each pass of his tongue.

"Please," she said. He ran his hands up her thighs, under her skirt, fingers finding the top of her pants, and slowly he pulled them away. The fabric stuck to her as he drew them down, turning inside out as the soaked-through gusset clung to her wet lips, coming away slowly, leaving a glittering gossamer trail behind. Then they were down, over her knees, discarded somewhere into the dark room to be worried about later.

He couldn't really see her in the gloom beneath her skirt, but what he could make out made his cock throb. Glittering wetness, slick and shiny, lips parted around an inviting darkness, small clit smooth and swollen, almost purple, peaking out from beneath a tight fold of skin.

He kissed the bottom of her, lips on lips, flicked out his tongue to lap at the wetness gathering right at the base of her pussy. He felt like he could drink it there was so much of it. She tasted like she smelled, sweet and fresh, almost like salted caramel. He'd never known anything like it.

With the same torturous slowness as he'd kissed her legs he began to trail his tongue up her, starting right at the bottom and slowly parting her lips with his mouth. Above him, unseen, she was making low, throaty noises. Her hands were on the back of his head, pressing down on him through her skirt.

He felt the base of her clit nudge against his tongue and he flicked up, pulling a jolt from her body and a moan from her throat. He pursed his lips and kissed her, felt her grind into him. He brought his hand up to the top of her pubic hair, lay it flat along the base of her stomach, then pulled up with the slightest pressure of his thumb. He watched her lips pull straight and tight, the hood of her clit sliding back, the gland itself rising erect and swollen. He began to make small circles around it with his tongue, letting spit flow down to add to the slippery, lubricated mess beneath his mouth.

"Put your fingers inside me," she said, voice shaking, the words aspirated more than spoken.

With his free hand he found the wettest part of her, ran the tip of his finger around her opening, feeling it slide ever closer to penetrating her with each circuit. She moaned again, pushed her hips forward, and his finger slid into her.

He kissed her clit again as he rotated his hand, curled his finger up. Again her hips bucked, swallowing him down to the second knuckle. She was tight around him, the skin ridged and soft. He pressed upward in the direction of his tongue, felt for the spot where the soft silkiness of her skin gave way to a slightly rough patch that he began to make small, hard circles on.

"Oh my fucking god," she said. "What are you doing to me?"

With his fingers still flexing inside her he released her clit from his mouth and she groaned. His thumb released the pressure on her pubic mound, slid down to gather some wetness from between her lips, then slipped back up to make slow circles around her clit while his mouth found the soft flesh of her lips.

"Fuck," she said.

Her hands pressed down on his head as her hips rose and fell, grinding her clit into his thumb, pushing her lips into his mouth, sliding over his finger.

"Don't stop," she said, as though he had any choice while she held him in place and fucked his face. His nose was jammed painfully against his hand and he briefly panicked that it might break, but somehow that flash of fear made the whole thing more erotic. His cock was hard and throbbing, pulsing against the inside of his underwear and his jeans, sending waves of pleasure through him despite the fact that he hadn't actually been touched yet.

When she came it was loud, sudden, almost violent. Her thighs clamped around his head, her hands forcing him closer into her. He couldn't breathe, could barely hear anything through the sudden vacuum around his ears, worried that her bucking was going to break the finger still buried inside her. And then she was pushing him back, hands shoving his face away from her, knees rising up to the chest as she gasped and shook.

"Fucking..." she said. "Oh my fuck."

He kneeled back, face suddenly cold as the wetness coating his mouth and nose met the air of the room. She looked down at him from the bed, eyes wide, mouth agape. Still on her side, knees pulled up, she reached down and with one hand pulled the cheek of her arse up to show her sticky, wet lips.

"You need to be inside me now," she said.

The zip of his jeans came down painfully slowly, the pressure from within making it tight and hard to lower. He shoved them and his boxers down to his knees, feeling a rush of relief as his cock was finally allowed to spring free. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard. Pre-ejaculate was already leaking out of him, more than he'd ever seen himself produce. He felt like if he touched himself he was going to explode.

"I don't know how long I'll be able to last," he said. "That was hot."

"I don't fucking care."

She reached down, grabbed his shaft. He groaned as she squeezed him, groaned again as she ran his head along her lips, and then he was inside her and he lost all coherent thought, was only aware of the pleasure radiating through his body, his brain completely overloaded by sensation.

"You can come inside me," she said. He started to ask are you sure, but she looked up at him from her side and her eyes met his, that same jolt he'd had in the bar barely an hour ago when he first saw her, and that was all it took, the orgasm ripping through his body, feeling like he was turning inside out.

He slumped onto the bed beside her, arm falling over her to pull her back into a cuddle, dimly realising that they were both still fully - or mostly, anyway - clothed, her shirt open and his jeans round his mid-calves but everything else still intact.

"You never did tie my hands up over my head," she said, her voice low and muffled.

"No," he said. "Shame."

"Next time, I guess."

He smiled. Next time. He liked the sound of that.

"Next time," he said.

She shifted, backed further into him, pulled the edge of the duvet up to curl it over them both. They were lying horizontally across her bed, completely in the wrong orientation, but he didn't care and she didn't seem to either.

"Do you want to stay the night?" she asked, and he nodded into her back, so close to sleep that it was a struggle to form words.

"Yes, please," he said.

"Just one thing," she said, and he could tell that she, like him, was teetering right on the edge of sleep. He could no longer figure out how to form words, so instead he just grunted something vaguely affirmative into her back.

"Tomorrow you tell me your name," she said, and then they were both gone.