I know he’s there, because I can smell him. It’s that cherry lip gloss he knows I like, though god knows where he’s put it. On his lips? Too conventional. On his nipples? They’re small and perky and would look delicious coated in something slippery, but I doubt it.
I’m betting on his cock; undoubtedly on his cock. And while I’m lying here blindfolded and largely helpless, he’s going to make me taste it⎯that cherry-scented, cherry-flavored curve of flesh.
I can just picture him now, getting closer, with it bobbing between his thighs. His breath is unsteady, though his resolve seems to be holding, and every now and then I can hear him, moving in close.
There’s just that hint of too close, like maybe he can’t quite help himself.
I think that sets me off more than the blindfold⎯that sense of his bucking arousal, trying to lunge at me. How it excites him to the point of teeth baring and flushed cheeks, to think of me cut off like this: entirely unable to tell what he’s going to do next; not sure which body part he’s touching me with.
Is that his finger, trailing over the curve of my hip? I’m spread out on the bed, legs wide to show off my already glistening pussy, so there’s plenty for him to go after. But he chooses just that tiny innocuous spot, with the edge of something light and small.
And then I feel something moist and sudden, against the squeamish inside of my right elbow.
Read the whole story in Women in Lust: Erotic Stories.
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