Waiting for Dessert

"Buy a house with an east-facing bedroom," they said. "You'll rise with the sun and your day will always start with brightness," they said. "They were not night owls," mused Clara as she pulled the covers over her head. Stretching her lazy muscles, she fondly remembered the evening she had with her boyfriend the day prior.

They'd cooked together, moving easily around the kitchen after months of practice living together, listening to some jazz quartet or another. James used to be a musician but as his day job took over he had become an avid listener in the evening. She couldn't always remember names though she had to admit he had good taste.

Every now and then, in a lull between his chopping and her stirring, James would turn her to face him and press her back into the counter. His hands would start at her waist and gently explore her, looking into her eyes with love until their lips were brushing each other and opened into a warm kiss. Clara's arms would wrap comfortably around his neck and his wandering fingers would trace patterns on her back just under her lifted shirt, or stroke the back of her neck, or pull her up to sit on the counter by gripping her cheeks. They loved to kiss, whether it was slow, gentle, emotional, or fierce, heated, and wet. Wrapping her legs around him, or pulling him into her hips, she would always feel him harden at her kisses, fueling her passion for him. Even a few moments into a soft, sweet kiss, Clara could expect a hard, sweet gesture of his body's reaction waiting for her attention.

Other times, she would pull her man into her by his cheeks or his waist, tangling her fingers in his hair and locking lips with him. James would sigh into her lips, kissing her back with just the right force, enthusiasm, tenderness, it did things to her. When they were intimate like this, spending their time comfortably together and showing emotional and physical affection with such ease, she felt butterflies in her stomach. Her muscles would yearn to wrap around his body, and her core would ache for him, flowing generously to dampen her panties. And then he'd palm her chest, or squeeze her cheek, or kiss her neck, eliciting a sweet moan from her lips as she pressed tight into his body and seeking more friction against her heat.

Just as easily and naturally as they started, they would slow down and pull apart. Fires stoked, he would smile at her blushing face and she'd tame the mess her fingers had made of his hair. Not quite innocently, they'd go back to preparing their meal with caresses, touches, and little teases in between until the next time they found a lull and pressed into each other all over again. Sometimes their fire and frenzy nearing the end of their meal preparation was enough for Clara to rock herself to an orgasm against his hips, but yesterday, she had not been so lucky. And so as they took their plates and cuddled together on the couch to eat with a movie, they were both very aware of their mutual excitement and frustration.

As comfortable as they were together like that, dinner passed quickly and with a few laughs at the sitcom on TV. By the time the credits were rolling, James was tossing off the blanket and pushing Clara up back into the kitchen so they could clean up in haste. Setting their plates down by the sink, she playfully lifted her tank up and over her head, sensually swaying her hips and giving him a little show to excite him once again. When it cleared her eyes, she could see his hands reaching for her waist, and then his eyes glued to her small, soft breasts framed by her bralette. Cupping them both and wetly kissing her neck briefly, he turned her around and pinned her to the counter in front of the sink with his hardness pressing between her cheeks. Two could play the teasing game.

As she washed and placed the dishes in the drying rack, James would take them one by one and dry them to one side. Conveniently, the dry dishes belonged in a cabinet just over the sink. Each dish gave him a reason to press into his girlfriend's cheeks and slide up her body to reach above her and to return it to its place. On the way down, he'd sometimes feign a loss of balance and grip her sides just below her breasts, dragging his fingers down to her hips as his body did the same down her back. Clara could just stand there and feel her breath quicken as the sensations gave her goosebumps and opened her floodgates just an inch further. By the time the dishes were done, James was fighting not to make a mess of his boxers, and Clara was overwhelmed with affection and excitement.

They'd pulled each other up to their room, lights being shut along the way, pajamas coming off until they were both left in their underwear. Collapsing on the bed together, Clara moaned into James lips as his hands kneaded her cheeks. The feel of her skin on his, covered by the dainty lace on her hips and her chest made him groan for her as well. In practised rhythm, they rocked and writhed together, lips kissing each other's neck or moaning sweet nothings into the other's ear. The more he touched her skin and held her as his own, the more she wrapped herself around him and tried to pull him close. Her hands found their way to his cheeks, palming the firm muscle there and pulling him deeper into her rocking hips.

By the way he was responding, she could tell he wouldn't last long for this first time - she felt she was somewhat of an expert with his body after living together even this long. But hearing his moans and feeling the love in his lust for her, she felt only the physical ache of a stalled release as she pulled her hips away from him to kiss his neck and slowly descend. Clara smiled to herself as she heard him gasp at her soft lips dragging down his sensitised chest. The lace on her bralette scratching gently against his nipples had them standing as much as they could, nowhere near as hard and sensitive as hers were under the garment. Dragging herself down his body, she kissed her way to his thighs in the moonlit dark of their room, her hands holding his hips down as she kissed up his inner thigh and along his shaft over his boxers. Reaching his head she felt the damp patch he had left, already leaking for her. She knew she was doing a much bigger number on her panties, and softly stroked him outside the fabric with her lips to feel him squirm and moan for her.

James closed his eyes as his lovely girl slowly pulled down his boxers. Instead of the cool air he had come to expect when she did this, he instead felt the warmth and wetness surrounding him as she took him inch by inch into her mouth. Moaning out her name, James rolled his head back and gave into the sensations, his hands gripping the sheets and letting her take control of his sensitive, throbbing shaft. When his boxers had moved past his manhood, she pushed them swiftly the rest of the way down with his help, guiding his legs open and laying between them all without letting his hardness leave her mouth. Pulling him out slowly, Clara gently tugged his foreskin back and once again descended his length into her mouth until it touched the back of her throat, relaxing her muscles and letting him slide deep into her. Moans, whimpers and barely audible please accompanied her efforts, making her smile confidently as she made love to her man.

Desperate whines escaped his lips as Clara extracted his now soaking member from her mouth, her tongue stroking his sensitive spot just to feel him drip into her mouth. If she was putting her release on hold for a little bit, she was going to enjoy his needy musical show. Pulling him all the way out, she began kissing down his shaft, blushing a little at how much of a mess she'd made. This was her passion for him; she was no slut, yet an absolute vixen when it came to pleasuring him like this. James groaned and looked back down as he felt lips and tongue painting wet patterns between his legs, his cherries being licked and tasted sensually. Wetness beaded on his sensitive head as he reached for Clara's hand. She held it, instinctively lacing fingers with him while firmly swirling her tongue between wet, suckling kisses up his shaft. He was close, she could feel it in the way his cock twitched at every teasing touch of her mouth. Pulling herself up again, she used her free hand to guide his dripping head back into her mouth and looked up at him, licking his one sensitive spot over and over as she slid most of his shaft comfortably in and out of her mouth. In the final moments, she smiled as she heard him beg her for release even though she knew he was holding himself back to make it last. Wordlessly she reached her free hand below him and squeezed his cheek firmly, tightening her laced fingers around his and silently giving him the permission he awaited.

With a strangled, almost silent whimper he gasped in and felt his breath catch, his entire world stopping to give in to his need. The first explosion wracked his body, rolling up his spine and throwing his head back. The second shock pulled his cheeks down into the bed into Clara's gripping hand. Having felt this countless times, James knew to expect the perfect sync between the pulsing in his cock and the rolling licks and strokes he received from her mouth. Each one stretching the sensations longer and making his body pour out more of his essence for her to accept. She brought him down from his blissful state and let him out only after he had nothing left for her to take. Gently letting him slip from her lips, she swallowed what was left of his release and climbed up his body again, cleaning her lips along the way and kissing him deeply with affection. He held her in his arms weakly as he recovered, such intensity he had not felt in a few weeks. And as she rested his head on his chest, listening to his heart calm from the fury of passion to the resting of intimacy, he lovingly stroked her back, panting still and chuckling lightly, thanking her wordlessly for the incredible orgasm she had given him.

Then he fell asleep.

The bastard worked her for an hour while making dinner, teased her relentlessly while washing dishes, felt her up into a puddle of sexual tension, all but begged her to make love to him with her mouth, came like a fire hydrant with a loose cap down her throat, and then had the gall to fall asleep. Silently fuming she tried to shake him awake, not aggressive, but not all that gently. She needed to be kissed, held, felt up, fingered, licked, pinned to the bed and fucked. He never did this, he never fell asleep on her like this; why tonight of all nights? Ugh. Lifting her head she tried kissing his cheek and stroking his hair, trying to gently wake him but quickly being overcome by the look of peace and relaxation on his face. What a lucky fucker, to have such a loving girlfriend and finally be able to rest so deeply. With a sigh of acceptance, Clara took another moment to watch him sleep, cursed her final curses in her mind, and laid her head back on his chest.

Truth be told, she was kind of proud; sweet, girl-next-door Clara had sucked her boyfriend into a coma. How many women could say they knew their man that well? To take a fully energetic and all-night-lovemaker and lull him to sleep with nothing but some cute underwear and a mind bending blowjob. It was a silly prize, perhaps, but she took what satisfaction she could get and cuddled closer into him, throwing her leg over his body and pulling hips against him. And with that innocent motion, her sensitive core, begging for attention but covered under a soaking wet layer of decorative cloth, found itself nestled against James' hip. Why could he make her feel this good in his sleep; It was not fair. Slowly, Clara rocked her hips against the side of his and let her imagination wander.

She needed to be kissed, held, pressed against the wall with her hands pinned to her sides and her leg wrapped around his body pulling him into her. Their lips dancing in a passionate frenzy as they pressed into each other and he took from her the moans and groans he wanted. The feeling of his naked hardness gliding against her lips. WIth that though, she snaked her hand down between them and stroked herself outside of her panties. She was already desperate and needy, a little more pleasure-torture couldn't possibly hurt. Imagining him grinding his hips into her against the wall, she stroked her fingers along her lips as his shaft would, long, firm, and slow. Long minutes of this continued as Clara brought herself close to that warm feeling of release she craved, but as she began to focus in on it her fingers slowed and lifted away. She was so desperate, but for her orgasm. She was desperate for an orgasm from him.

Clara needed to be felt up, made to feel like the desirable woman she was when he touched and admired her. She undid her bralette and tossed it aside, gripping her breast the way he loved to and feeling her taut nipple slide easily between her wet fingers. Turning onto her back, his arm still under her shoulders, she slid her other hand up and down her exposed body, imagining it to be his. Fingers raking along her sides, stomach, neck, arms, thighs, everywhere, reaching below her and holding her cheek and silently moaning as the memory of his firm grip. She could feel the fire building hotter inside her as she reminded herself how he marked her as his, with suckling kisses under her breasts and on her neck leaving behind the evidence of his claim on her. Stretching her leg towards him she laid it half across his, the innocent contact sending a thrill through her as she teased her body while teasing her mind.

Clara needed to be fingered, his strong, long reach touching parts of her she could never reach herself. Still, with some twisted sense of sensory torture she slid her fingers into her panties and easily slid them passed her soaking wet lips into her core. With each stroke of her folds and walls she remembered a different time he had done her just the same way. He teased her like this, giving her only what she could give herself until she was writhing and pleading with him for more with her words or her body. When his fingers were coated in her lust, he would thrust them firmly deep into her, forcing her to cry out and lose whatever control she had left. Bent over on her hands and knees, she would tremble and fall forward, giving herself up for him to finger fuck into submission. On her back, like she was now, she would slide her hands under her pillow and hold them there, letting him take over her body and moaning out for him vocally just as she was starting to do now. Instinctually trying to replicate the sensations she pressed her hand as deep as she could but could come nowhere close, instead ending up with her palm pressing wetly against her aching ignored clit.

Clara needed to be devoured, not eaten; devoured by James and his carnivorous mouth. He was vegetarian, mind you, but when he went down on her in a lust-fueled fog she swore he was a wolf trying to taste every little bit of the prey he'd caught and carried back home. He wasn't rough, there were no teeth involved, but that tongue of his... fuck. Rocking her palm against her sensitive nerves, she reminisced about the feeling of his lips locking around the same bundle at the top of her lips and inviting it out for his tongue to assault. Rolling, flicking, dancing, and sometimes magically caressing her lips and folds in ways she didn't know were possible. His hands would grip her cheeks to pull her wetness deeper into his mouth, or spread her thighs to enjoy her with ease, or cup her breasts to hold her where he pleased, or hold her hands and keep her lovingly grounded amidst all the lust. Sensitive, warm, firm, deep, wet, all of the things he made her feel with the same mouth that moaned her name when she swallowed his seed, or slid down his shaft with her molten core.

Clara needed to be fucked. God, she was so close to cumming she could feel her walls gripping her fingers and her clit twitching in preparedness for release. But as much as she wanted to feel that relief, when she looked over at her sleeping prince, she ached to be taken by him. Why did she do this to herself? She could have been asleep by now, comforted and calmed by the rise and fall of his chest and looking forward to waking up in his loving arms. But no, Clara in all her wisdom drew her torture out into another hour of insanity only to end with the same conclusion; she wanted to cum for him and him alone. Even the rush that she felt when he told her to cum for him on her own fingers she knew she wouldn't get from this comatose heap of boyfriend she'd turned him into. It was her fault for being too good.

In her final moments of clear thought for the night, Clara decided that still, it wasn't enough. For some reason, the need she felt, the desperation pumping through her veins and the ache she felt under her skin on fire, she was not ready to let go of. He would pay for this in the morning, he would make her explode and god damn it he better make her scream. Rolling her body towards him again, she slid her fingers out of her panties and up to her lips leaving a trail of wetness along the way. Rarely did she do this even to watch the twinkle of deep seated lust in his eyes, but tonight she was liberated from inhibition. The silent win of enacting one of his biggest turn-ons while he couldn't see her gave her a subtle thrill of revenge for his behavior. Slowly and with a surprising, scandalous appreciation for her own taste she took her wet fingers into her mouth and sucked, licked, and suckled them clean while soft seductive moans and whimpers were offered next to his ear. Looking down she saw him start to harden in his sleep; "good, suffer in your dreams," she thought to herself and settled into his chest.

For her final act of self torture, Clara once again slipped her hand between her legs and rubbed in long gentle strokes against her panties. That lingering longing for his permission to explode had wedged itself in her clouded mind tonight, and knowing he was asleep and wouldn't say yes was somehow exactly what she wanted. Stroke after stroke, circle after circle, she teased herself and brought herself close to climax. "Please," she whispered, feeling herself gush into the fabric and whimpering softly between held breaths. "Baby, please, I need to cum... fuck... James, may I cum please... I'm so close... Sir, please let your good girl cum." With each begging admission of need and subsequent edged denial, Clara grew more and more lewd and sleepy. And so she ended her night, drifting into a deep sleep, bringing herself so close to release and whispering dirtier and sluttier things into her man's chest as she edged herself. He would pay for this in the morning with hard, passionate love making, even if she was doing it to herself... and the though only made her tease herself more.