We had a terrible argument. About what, I can't remember now. But it caused me to call it an early night without kissing you good night. I readied for bed, fuming at your inability to understand my every little move.
It was a warm night, and I slipped, naked, in between the cool satin sheets. A light breeze came in through the open window, the ceiling fan carrying the coolness and scent of roses to every corner of the room. It was a perfect night to make slow, sweet, passionate love to you, but I was too pouty to notice or appreciate it.
After what felt like hours, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, not used to you being absent from the bed. Pressed against me, you always comforted me to sleep.
As I drifted off, images began filling my head. It started with your beautiful, smiling face. I love to watch the light dance in your eyes, and hear the richness of your laughter. Feeling myself smile, I watched as the dream began to unfold even more.
We were in a park. Or what looked like a park, but with a noticeable lack of people. The grass was greener than I had ever seen in reality, reflecting the sunlight with each blade. The trees, though few, cast more than enough shade to make it comfortably cool for a picnic.
That's what you brought me here for. A wonderful picnic. I smiled as I watched you lay down the blanket, rolling my eyes at some cheesy joke you had made. You wouldn't let me help you, insisting that the day was to be spent pampering me.
Allowing myself to be led to the blanket, I watched you walk the short distance to the car to retrieve the picnic hamper and a bottle of wine. I smiled as I rested my chin on my bent knee, thinking how I could never get tired of watching you move. You have the fluid grace that could make the best dancer envious.
Yet it's not with a dancer's grace that you move. It is more like the easy gait of a feral cat. The way your hips sway is like the lazy stroll of a lion. Seemingly unaware, but always on guard.
You return to the blanket and begin unpacking the hamper. French bread, cheese, fruit, even some of my favorite chocolate, appeared before me. Glasses came next. Smiling at me, you pour each of us a glass of wine. It is the sweetest I had ever tasted, and loved it from the first sip.
Saying very little, we slowly feed each other. I giggle with delight each time your lips capture my fingers and your tongue tickles them.
A short while passes, and we've cleared the remains of the picnic, packing the leftovers neatly back in the hamper. You sit with your back against the tree and motion me to sit with you, between your legs. I quickly take my seat, needing to feel your arms around me.
There are no words spoken as our fingers intertwine, and we enjoy the closeness of each other. You lightly kiss my neck, your teeth gently nipping my ear. I purr in pleasure as your hands start caressing my thighs, making my skirt ride up.
My legs part slightly, and I feel you slip a hand farther between them. I moan softly as your fingers explore my pussy through my now damp panties. I part my legs more to give you better access. Gently pulling the thin material to the side, your fingers find my slick smoothness very quickly.
Crying out, my hips buck, putting pressure on your groin. I can feel you swelling against my back, and that drives me wild. Kissing my ear, you softly whisper that you're sorry. I don't understand what you mean, but I don't care. I'm completely focused on the magical things your fingers are doing to me.
Changing positions, you gently lay me down. The ground is surprisingly soft. I feel your hands on my calves, your strong fingers working to relax the muscles. You slowly work your way higher up my legs, tickling my inner thighs.
I moan softly as I feel your lips caressing my thighs, your tongue tasting the more sensitive areas. Your breath is hot and soothing against my aching pussy. And I'm slightly surprised at the fact that I'm now laying naked beneath you.
