Breakfast With Elisha

I snuggle next to Elisha, enjoying the sweet drowsy softness of her body against mine. I pull her just a bit closer, giving her a little squeeze.

The sun is warm where it falls through the lace curtains. It's going to be a hot day. But right now everything is perfect. The warmth, the sun, the long day ahead...I sigh in contentment.

"What's for breakfast?" Elisha mumbles.

"Mmmmmm," I respond. "Bring me coffee."

I roll over, grateful for a few more minutes of sleep.

Elisha giggles and gives my ass a little squeeze as she slips from the bed "Yes, Miss Monster. Will there be anything else for you, Mistress? Shall I shine your shoes, Mistress?" She laughs as she pads out to the kitchen.

My face breaks into a sleepy half-smile as I listen to her leave. "Mistress." "Monster." What must she really think of me? A neat freak, a nerd, a wine lover, an opera fan. What could have drawn us together?

I glance at the stack of papers on my nightstand. I barely looked at them last night. I smile as I remember how my professional interest evaporated. Well, who's to say editors aren't allowed a night off?

Remembering the night brings a warmth, a particular itch to the heart of me. Saturday. Just the two of us. Here, alone. We can turn off the phones, unplug the Internet...bliss.

I hear light footstep in the hall and then Elisha backs into the room with two mugs, bumping the door open with her lovely butt.

"Strip," I say. "Sit."

Elisha raises an eyebrow and does as she's told. She sets down the mugs, pulls off the t-shirt and panties she slept in, and folds herself into the armchair we picked up at the estate sale last month. "Just sit," I repeat.

I sit for a moment, gazing at her sweet face. I'm remembering last night. The way I pretended not to notice, like always, when she cheated at Scrabble. The way we fell on each other like hungry animals. I take a deep breath of morning air still perfumed with the musk of last night's encounters. The heat rises inside me.

Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I raise my hand and slide my fingers across my neck, my collarbone. I'm wearing a tank top, tight against my body, so Elisha can see my golden skin under my fingers.

A trail of goosebumps follows my fingertips across my skin. I glide them across the top of my chest, above the scoop neck of my shirt, across my body to the other shoulder. Slowly, slowly, and very deliberately, I caress myself. The light touches awaken my body.

A wave of heat moves through me. And so far it's just fingertips on my neck. And thoughts of Elisha, of course, sweet savage Elisha. Those thoughts are never far from my mind.

Her eyes follow my hand, constantly darting back to my eyes as I stare deep into her, declaring desire without uttering a word. Her gaze follows my hand as it rises and falls, travels from one shoulder to the other, the simple act become erotic in this place of shared understanding and desire. She fidgets in the chair and the movement of her hips reminds me of last night, the two of us locked in passionate embrace, the world melting away around us.

"Don't. You. Move," I say, my eyes boring into hers so she can't miss my intention. "Don't."

I relax into the warm, soft pillows and widen the scope of my fingers' wanderings, letting them graze against my small breasts through the thin fabric of the shirt. I find my nipples already hard beneath my touch. I suppress a smile at the knowledge that Elisha is able to see my dark nipples through the cotton.

My fingers are having a predictable effect on the intensity of my arousal. I kick the quilt off my legs, leaving me in shirt and panties, exposed before her. I draw my feet up and let my knees fall open. I want to touch my legs, the smooth skin of my inner thighs, but I force myself to wait.

I inhale deeply and hold my breath as another wave of pleasure moves through me. I see Elisha's eyes on me, I see the desire on her face and chest, and that desire bumps my own arousal up a notch. I want to see her desire become hunger, the hunger become need, the need consume her.

I'm glad the curtains are open. The chances of someone seeing into the room are virtually zero, but the open curtains are still a turn-on to both of us. I smile again, certain of my ability to arouse her need and confident that her desire will fire a matching passion within me.

The only question, really, is which of us will break, will give in, first.

Elisha's gaze on my body feels like a cool blue flame. Every time I graze my nipples with my fingers I feel a strong current pulse through me, ending with a jolt at my liquid center. There is something about being watched, about knowing that I am turning her on, that I am filling her with need, that makes me feel sexy, strong and powerful, desirable.

I don't want to rush...but I can't wait any longer. I reach down and grab the bottom of my shirt with crossed hands, then pull it up and off all at once. I sit back, my breasts caught in a beam of morning sun, and enjoy the look on Elisha's face.

I let my hands drop to my legs now, my fingers lightly grazing my thighs. I sit before her in cotton panties, turned on, needy, needing to be needed, inflamed by her desire. The knowledge that she wants me makes me want myself too, somehow.

I glance over at the dresser mirror and see my twin there, a wanton slut, her legs splayed open, exposing herself, playing with herself for another's entertainment. Neither my Catholic family in Mexico nor my father's family in Japan would approve of this immodest display. And this, the lure of the forbidden, turns up the heat even more.

I wonder if a spot of moisture has marked my panties yet, between my legs.

I raise one hand to cup and squeeze my breast, kneading it as Elisha has done so many times. I demonstrate with my touch how soft and firm it is, how responsive, how sensitive.

My other hand slides up and down my thigh, getting just a little closer to the junction where the elastic at the opening of my panties meets flesh. I could make myself cum so easily right now. But I need to torture her a bit more first.

I slip my thumbs into the waistband and raise my ass to slide the panties off. Over my ass, down my thighs, down they slide, and off they go sailing toward the hamper in the corner. I crook my finger at Elisha. "Come here, pet."

She swiftly finds her place on her belly between my spread legs, her nose inches from my slick, wet center. "Ah ah ah!" I say. "Don't touch."

I reach down and dip a finger into my wetness, gathering slick lubrication to spread over my clit. My fingers almost touch her nose, that's how close she is. I spread myself with my fingers, showing her how wet and glistening and soft and slick I am. I make a flat surface with three slippery fingers, bring it down on my clit, and begin rubbing in fast circles.

I hear Elisha breathe deep as she catches my scent. I know what it does to her. We've worn each other's secretions as perfume. I love it when the vagaries of body heat and a breeze bring the sweet musk of her pussy to my nose. Running an issue-planning discussion or meeting with potential advertisers, I find myself transported to our bed and a scene like this one.

I rub faster and a little harder, the knowledge that she is watching, frustrated, fueling my rising excitement. I'll cum if I'm not careful, and I don't want that. Not yet.

"Get up here," I say. My voice is a hoarse whisper.

Elisha smiles and scampers quickly up to the head of the bed. She kneels over my face. I tuck a pillow under my head so I can reach her with my tongue, then pull her down so I can bury my face in her warm wet pussy. My tongue pokes out and begins teasing the slippery folds.

Elisha folds herself down so we are in a perfect 69 position, I on my back, she above me. I poke a finger just an inch into her tight pussy and twirl it around as I lick her clit. I stretch her, pulling at the tight fleshy ring in different directions. I feel her tongue at my clit, wet and soft, lively and raspy, better than any vibe. I'm so sensitive from touching myself, I have to will myself not to cum. As it is, I roll my hips upward, thrusting my pussy against her face.

I remove my finger from Elisha's pussy and begin circling the puckered flesh around her asshole with the slippery wet tip, just teasing her. I feel her squirm at my touch and I make a point of my tongue, pushing at her backdoor for entrance as I lap at her.

Elisha is licking me faster now and my body is responding. I feel her hand snake between our bodies and then her fingers are penetrating me and suddenly it's too much to resist. I cry out into the wet flesh of her pussy where I have buried my face. My body convulses, rolling from side to side, bouncing on the bed. I lick Elisha's pussy faster and harder as I cum; the taste intensifies my orgasm, and I love the idea of having my face buried in her sex while I am writhing in wave after wave of pleasure.

I feel Elisha spasm above me as her orgasm takes her. She shakes for a moment, then collapses onto me.

I regain my breath gradually. "Get OFF of me," I say, rolling her to one side. I toss some pillows against the headboard so I can sit up halfway, and I pull Elisha around so I can cradle her in my lap. I caress her bare shoulders and stroke her hair.

We rest this way for a minute or two before I reach for the coffee mug on the nightstand. I bring it to my lips. "Fuck!" I say. "This coffee's cold! You are the worst sub ever. I can't believe you'd let me drink cold coffee."

Elisha doesn't answer, but I can tell from the way her shoulders shake that she is laughing quietly.

I think it is I who will have the last laugh. It's the weekend and I don't have any classes to teach today. I've nothing better to do than spank this bratty sub for laughing at me, and perhaps impose some other luscious punishments.

She certainly has earned them.