I sit here, in my bed. Alone. I can't sleep, so I watch a movie.
I'm not paying attention to the movie. I write. I write and I think.
What am I thinking about? I think about last night.
Last night…
I lay with you, on my couch. You lay on top of me. Your back is on my chest and your head is perfectly nestled between my breasts. My pillows as you call them.
Together we lay. Listening to classic rock. Listening to each other. I rub my hands over your chest. I play with the buttons on your shirt. Rub my hands over you. Teasing your nipples. Barely brushing them with my pinky fingers as I stroke your chest. My fingertips brush the seam where you shirt buttons. Fingers "accidentally" slip inside your shirt. Brushing skin. Heat arcs over from my fingers to your bare chest. I feel you before I touch you.
You raise your hand to my head and neck, stroking my hair. Your other hand is caressing my arm. Barely brushing the hairs on my arm, your aura dances, mixes with mine. They blend together and push into each other. With gentle force. So gentle, accidental, but with power, force.
As we rub and explore each other, we talk. Nothing sexual. Our bodies and our minds work independently. We explore each other. Aware of what we feel, but consciously not reacting, verbalizing it.
Energy forms words. The energy takes conscious shape. We explore the reaction our words and actions create when combined.
You tell me what not to do. You know I won't listen. You hope I won't listen. I don't.
I take my cues from you. You know I want you. You take advantage of this knowledge. You put the actions you desire out. You give them to me to use as you see fit. You won't ask me to touch you. You never asked. You warned me what might happen if I do this. You tell me if I play with your chest, you might react. You hope I continue so I can see the reaction. You fear, just a little, that I will heed your warning and stop. I do stop. You remind me that you did not tell me to stop, only made me aware of the consequences if I continued. I start to play again, with force. I do not "accidentally" brush your nipples, I search them out. Rub, flick, pinch.
You unbutton your shirt. You want to feel me on your skin. You want me to touch you. You don't ask. You make it my choice. Your idea, my choice.
I take the next step. I take my own initiative. I try, see where I can go. I warn you of what I am going to do. I don't tell you, I threaten to, take it up a degree. You challenge me. I take your thumb into my mouth. I suck on you. I caress your thumb with my mouth, my tongue. I know what you wish I was sucking on. I pay special attention to the tip of your thumb. Letting you know what I can do to other things. I take your thumb deep into my mouth. I can take more. You know this. There is only so much thumb though. I release the thumb and try for a longer finger, to show you I can take more. You know it, but I still feel like I have to prove it to you. Because of the angle we are at, I can not get your index finger. I let you go and try the other hand. I get it there.
I take your index finger all the way. All at once. You gasp. You knew I could, I would. You didn't realize the force I would put into it. The depth of my energy. All of me. Concentrating on conveying, in one brief , miniscule moment, what I am capable of. All of my sex in that one flash moment. You know I have more to give you. More to show you, more to teach you.
You understand. You struggle within yourself. Desire. Desire you knew you possessed on some level breaks through. All you think of is taking me. Ravaging me. The thought is so brief it is nothing but a flash. You can not see, much less comprehend this, but the idea is planted.
We play some more, we talk some more. You challenge me again. You laugh as you mutter something under your breath. You want me to ask what you said. I play your game and do. You tell me you are safe as long as you are laying on top of me, on your back. You say this as you brush your hand along my inner thigh. Your mission, you express in word and deed. To see what lays between my thighs. The convergence that is me. That's not what you say your mission is. That is what you do.
I know what you want. Again, I take your cue. You lead. Dominate. I submit to your will. I pull on you, you lean over, lean into it, and turn over. You are not on your back any more. You are no longer safe. You never were with me around. You didn't want to be safe. You ask me what I would do to you if given the opportunity. You want to hear that I would take you. You give me the chance to take charge. Can I? I don't know. You ask me to put into words what I only know as feeling and doing. I tell you. I know what you want to hear. Your energy feeds me the images to put into words. I feed my images to the words. You open up inside me a part of me I don't use. You take away my control by giving me control. I take the control. I feed on this energy. It is not my energy. I don't totally know how to use it. I call up memories of things that have not happened yet. Things that have only happened in dreams. Our dreams. I tell you how I would take you. I fill your aura with sights. You feel me on top of you from underneath you. I use my power to feed you feelings, images. You can almost feel me on top of you. Riding you and teasing you. You know I'm to submissive to cross that line, even in fantasy. Speak words, much less in action, unless you tell me to. You take over.
With only your word, you flip me, pin me, dominate me. You remind me of my place. You want me to turn over control. You need it. I let you have it. I let you take over the fantasy. Guide us. I can feel your words. I feel you tell me what you want to do. You know I feel you talking. My body reacts to you as if it was happening. I am wet. So hot and wet. I feel it running out of me. I want you to feel it I want you to know what your words have done. How you have touched me without laying a finger on me.