Based on a true story. A super fuckin’ hot true story. First published on MC Stories March 2018.
I stretch, yawn, rub the sleep from my eyes. Morning light is filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and the room is cool and still and silent. You lie next to me cocooned in blankets, hair splayed on the pillow. I can’t help but smile.
Slowly, very slowly, I peel the blanket away from your torso. You’re naked underneath, of course, as am I—last night we fucked each other’s brains out, and fell asleep as limp puddles of pleasure, entangled in each other’s arms. Now, you stir but don’t wake, rolling over to your back so your chest is exposed to me. I take a moment to drink in the sight.
As lightly as I possibly can, I brush a hand across one of your nipples. Pause, study your face for a reaction. Then again, my hand grazing your nipple ever so lightly. Once, twice, three times more.
The changes in your body are almost imperceptible, but then again, I’m paying very close attention. Your lips part; your breathing becomes ever so slightly heavier; you arch your back just a bit towards my touch. I draw one finger slowly, lightly, up from your breasts and along the length of your neck. Even asleep, you make a tiny sigh of pleasure. I trace the same path with my tongue, and you squirm ever so slightly under me.
As I gently fondle one of your nipples, coaxing it to stiffness, you start to stir. “Hush sweetheart,” I murmur in your ear, my fingers still at your breast; “It’s okay, you’re asleep.”
Your face creases in confusion, eyes still closed. “’M’asleep?” you slur.
“Yes, so deeply asleep.” My voice is low and soft and honeyed. “It’s so much trouble to wake up, why bother when it feels so nice to drift, to doze, to stay so very soundly asleep? And besides…”—I bring my mouth right up to your ear—“you were having the most wonnnderful dream.”
“I… was?” you manage—I can tell by the way your face goes slack that you’ve slipped straight from sleep into trance. “What… dream?”
I smile down at you and caress your arm. “You’re dreaming it right now, sweet. Dreaming of being so nice and calm and content. Dreaming of…” I pause, cast around for inspiration. “Dreaming of being laid out on a table at an incredible spa, where they’re going to make you feel so amazing and soooo relaxed.”
Responding automatically to my words, you shift, settle, sigh in contentment.
“That’s right, already feeling so relaxed from the scented steam in this room, the soft lighting, the music, the promise of it all. You’re slick with oil and there’s a beautiful woman massaging you and it feels amazing.”
I start to work at a knot of muscles in your pectorals. “Just feel her hands all over you,” I instruct, “softening your muscles, melting away all of your tension until there’s nothing left. No tension, no thoughts, just relaxation…”
I can see the muscles in your face go slack as you imagine the scene I’m painting and give yourself over to the sensations in your mind. “Feeling so incredibly relaxed that you hardly notice when her hands brush across your nipples”—and I touch your nipples very lightly and you draw a soft breath in surprise. “Hardly noticing when her hands brush across your nipples because you’re just so relaxed, no room for thoughts when you’re so full of calm, and when she starts to gently push and pull your nipples it’s just one more good sensation, one more way she’s making your body feel amazing, and so you just relax into that pleasure and let her make you feel so good…”
Your nipples are stiff underneath my hands, and as I play with them you arch your back, pressing up into my touch.
“And you feel so good and relaxed and mindless that when you start to feel other hands on your body”—you make a small noise, and I grin and continue—“when you start to feel other hands on your body, you’re not worried or surprised, you know that this is perfectly normal, that this spa just wants to bring you pleasure and make you feel good, so you give yourself over to the sensation of uncountably many hands touching you allll over your body…”
Your mind is laid open to my words, and as I speak them, they become your reality. I watch as you squirm under the ministrations of a hundred unseen hands, and the sight goes straight to my cunt.
The motions of your body are more pronounced now, in the way that means the pleasure is starting to build in you, and I am delighted to stoke the fire. “Feel every single one of those hands,” I instruct. “They’re finding all of your most sensitive spots: on your neck, your side, inside your elbow, behind your knee…” With each of your favorite spots that I list, you give a little twitch.
“And in addition to all of these incredible hands, these hands that know just how to touch you and how to make you feel so amazing…” I pause, grin. “You can feel yourself being kissed, and licked, and bitten…” I dig my nails into your shoulder to let you feel that sensation, and you gasp. “Feel yourself being pleasured by uncountable mouths, by expert tongues, finding all of your most sensitive spots and secret places. Feel those mouths all… over… your… body.”
I drag the last words out, and every syllable elicits a sharp breath. I pick up my pace, let my words and my images gather momentum: “There are hands and tongues and lips everywhere,” I tell you, “filling you up with pleasure so there’s no room for thoughts, no room for anything but the sensations and how good you feel. If you could think, you might realize that you’re lying on a massage table at a spa being touched and licked and sucked, and squirming like a wanton slut”—those words make you moan deep in your throat—“but you have no room for thoughts, not with all the pleasure building in your body, not with all the touching and licking and sucking and caressing every inch of your skin…”
You’re moaning in earnest now, writhing in that sleepy trancy way that means your body is full to the brim with slow-burn pleasure. I draw curlicues on the flushed skin at your clavicle, reveling in the sight of you like this.
“If you had any thoughts left in your head,” I tell you, letting a hand stray down between your legs, “you might be surprised to suddenly feel someone’s mouth inches from your pussy.” I let my hand brush ever so lightly across you, letting your mind transform it into a mouth, letting you feel that anticipation. “If you had any thoughts left you might feel confused, or ashamed… but you don’t have any thoughts left, do you?”
Even deep in trance and awash in arousal, you can tell when I expect an answer from you. “Nno,” you say thickly. “No thoughts.”
I smooth your hair with the hand not playing around your pussy. “Good girl. No thoughts. Just pleasure.”
“P-pleasure,” you repeat back.
“That’s right. Too full of pleasure for thoughts. Too full of pleasure to be embarrassed or confused. All you can do is squirm and writhe and beg that anonymous mouth to eat your pussy.”
“Fffuuuck,” you grind out. “Ppleeease?” You’re bucking your hips against my hand now, urging me closer, but I withdraw the same amount you thrust forward, not giving you one iota of extra contact.
“Even as all those hands and mouths continue pleasuring you, all you can think about is how badly you need that mouth on your pussy.” You whimper pathetically, and with soft steel in my voice, I order: “Beg.”
“Please,” you gasp at once, “please lick me, lick my p-pussy, I’ll do anything, I-i need…”
“And if you had any thoughts left,” I continue, shifting, getting up, “you might be shocked and offended”—I straddle your face, and you inhale my scent and gasp—“to suddenly have someone’s cunt in your face, wouldn’t you?”
Already you’re craning your neck upwards, trying to lick me. I stay deliberately just out of reach, and you whimper again. “But no, you’re so blank and mindless, you’re a slave to pleasure, and all you want to do is lick and suck and bury your face in that pussy, don’t you?”
“Yyyessss,” you moan, “let me lick, let me—”
“Still feeling that mouth between your legs, teasing you,” I remind. “And you know that when you start licking, so will that mouth, that any pleasure you give to this perfect pussy above your face, you feel ten times over in your own body.” You whimper and struggle to reach me with your tongue. “Needing so badly to lick and be licked. To fuck and be fucked. The only thing that matters now is making this pussy feel so good, making it explode all over your face, so you get to explode too, so those hands and those mouths get to make you come harder than you ever have in your life…”
“Fuck,” you gasp, “please…”
I lower myself onto your face, and you dive into my pussy like it’s your first sip of water after days in the desert. Your tongue feels amazing and I moan deep in my throat—and I feel rather than hear you moaning along with me as an invisible mouth licks you just as expertly and as desperately as you’re licking me.
I would keep talking, keep dripping honey in your ear about the pleasure you’re feeling, but your mouth is unravelling me, and all I can do is grasp at the headboard and moan in pleasure and press myself into you. I don’t need to speak, though—from the way you tremble underneath me, I know the pleasure building in my body is building in yours too, know that the phantom tongue between your legs is driving you wild. Your tongue slips inside me and I grind into you.
Fuck, I’m close. “Don’t stop,” I rasp out, and your tongue flicks across my clit with renewed speed, and fuck it feels amazing. You’re whimpering desperately into me, I can feel the vibrations of it through my cunt, and you’re humping the air as you lick me. “So close now,” I manage to say; ”I’m so close, you’re so close, get ready to come with me, sweetheart, get ready to…”
You suck my clit into your your mouth and I dissolve. Screaming, I buck against your face and come, and you greedily suck my clit and cry out a muffled cry as you explode beneath me. Your hips spasm uncontrollably, all of that built-up pleasure bursting out of you and mingling with mine; our orgasms feed each other as, shuddering and gasping, we both come hard enough to see stars.
* * *
It’s a minute before either of us can move. I peel myself off of your face, stiff legs protesting, and flop down beside you. Blearily, you stir and open your eyes—and I snag the towel from next to the bed and wipe my juices off your face before you can get any on the sheets.
“Good morning,” you mumble thickly, smiling up at me.
I grin back. “The fuckin’ best morning.” My head is still spinning, and I know I must sound about as addled as you do right now. “I could get used to this.” I lean down and kiss you on the forehead.
“So could I.” You give a sleepy, contented sigh and I pull you into me.
We lie there entangled for a bit, not speaking, just reveling each other’s bodies. After a minute, I feel rather than hear you speaking, and pull away a bit so I can look at you. “Sorry, what?
“I was saying,” you begin, with a sly smile on your face, “that I just had the sexiest dream…”