Thinking her storm has passed, I speak, my voice thick with undisguised yet clearly restrained lust: "If that was what a finger on your shoulder did, imagine a tongue running down your back." To my surprise and satisfaction, her one-eyed look at me unfocuses, and she buries her face in the pillow, off to the races again. She must be just as curious about her state as I am, since she keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the mattress above her head, rather than reach down and touch herself. Her staccato grunts become choked up for a moment, and then her left arm flails, clumsily catching the pillow under which her head was caught, and flings it off the bed. She gasps, face away from me and eyes wide but unseeing. Her arm rests flat and awkwardly next to her side, hand near hip, probably because of her shoulder issues. I lean forward slightly, thinking to touch her again, when she gasps in a voice not unlike Christian Bale's Batman, "What'dyoudotome?!"
I freeze in a mixture of fear of her and fear of laughing. Ignorant of my aroused confusion (or confused arousal) she turns her face into the mattress, slides her other hand down beneath her chest, and squeezes a breast and a hip simultaneously. A long, lewd, bleating moan begins, first muffled by the mattress, then filling the room as she lifts her head. She lays her cheek back down, writhing her way through a marginally less intense orgasm, and stares me directly in the eye. I imagine that, if she can register my expression, she sees a mixture of excitement and rigid self-control fighting with just a hint of fear. She's always scared me, one way or another. In her eyes, I see something like animal lust and perhaps pain of some kind; her eyes are so pretty with just a hint of tears there.
Gravely with arousal and almost inaudible, her voice is almost unintelligible. Knowing her, I expect an order, so parsing her phrasing is exceptionally difficult. "I need you to fuck me. Please fuck me~" an orgasmic spasm- "I need your cock in me-" a harsh grunt. For her, this is begging. For a second, I consider taking pity on her, but she looks like whatever's happening to her is much more enjoyable than having my cock inside her has generally been. And anyway, I'd rather have her ass than her vagina. Maybe I could start in the wet one and...
She's speaking again. I snap out of my reverie. She's saying something glib about being glad one of us has enough self control to be responsible. She turns even redder, blushing, which I couldn't have imagined would happen, and she mumbles "So how ashamed should I be for breaking character?" What little blood is left in my brain certainly isn't being split between processing that and keeping myself from attacking her, so I just give a blank, dumb smile. "I don't beg very well, do I?" She punctuates that sentence with a brief, harsh laugh, and then looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
I think I remember her saying something about losing control. I assure her I've never felt like she wasn't in control when I'm around her. She seems surprised, and a little satisfied, if confused. She turns on her side and curls up facing me, knees against my stomach and face resting on my bicep, nuzzling against my collarbone. I pray she doesn't nibble; I will my penis to deflate just enough that she won't brush against it with her knee. I pull the covers up over her and throw an arm around her back, over the covers. I'm getting ahold of myself: my burning arousal has reduced to hot coals in the pit of my stomach. I can't do to her what I want and need to do, though. I'm sure she understands. My self-control only goes so far.Still, I wish I could have all of her. Tenderly, I kiss her forehead; she mewls contentedly and makes a tired attempt at a nuzzle. What a strange and unexpected experience. If I knew then what I know now, I would have brought her back chocolate ice cream later, instead of lavender.
