Now for something entirely different--there's a subreddit called "dirtywritingprompts," with ideas for us perverted smut writers. The writing prompt for this piece was: "You lose the power to climax at all. Instead pleasure is reduced [and] you become much more horny."
It was maddening. Over three weeks she sent me photos, an open arrangement she had termed "preparation for my visit." No other instruction, and scarcely a dirty word. She said little more than a place and time, and practically purred at me, "Don't miss it, or you'll regret it."
She looked fantastic when I first saw her across the brightly sunlit room. A loose dress, blown out auburn hair, piercing green eyes. Like something drawn, not born, ripped out of a comic book and given flesh. Now I'm starting to wonder if meeting those eyes with mine was a mistake.
You see, she looked great disrobed as well, a fact plainly visible as I scrolled through the photos on my phone. Curvy, great skin, and those lips. The side of her mouth was ever pulled up in a smirk, always smirking. Truth is, I had developed a nigh-Pavlovian response to the sound of notifications from the texting service of her choice. Weeks later, I was still feeling the same effect--a familiar bulge in my trousers, my mouth watering in anticipation of putting my lips on that flawless frame, but yet, no end to my frustration.
I can't explain it, but as turned on as I always was, I could never, ya know, finish and clear my head. As I said, there was little instruction on her part, and little instruction did not include any admonishment--nor encouragement--to fully avail myself of the photos she was sending. It didn't even feel as good as it had before her. By this point, my nights had become too familiar: a notification sound from my phone, the inevitable hard-on, rub myself for 10, 30 minutes, an hour, and nothing. Eventually I would have to forcefully push her out of my mind, and I could swear I was hearing a ghost of her fruity laughter from that initial meeting in the back of my head.
The good news is it was finally time. I was on my way to meet her, at a locale of her choice. I wasn't even entirely sure if this was a neutral site or her place. She had been out of town for a month and I hadn't thought to scout the place out. All I could think about was getting some release, sight unseen, trying to carve her out of all this headspace she was renting. At least, so I hoped.
I rapped on the door of a ranch-style home, a bit off the beaten path, and it was immediately clear she wasn't wasting any time, as I wasn't--I was quite punctual. The door opened right away, and there she was, in a silky, floral print robe that barely covered the essentials. It sure didn't look like she had on any garments underneath.
"Are you coming in?" she asked, voice full of mirth. I must have been gawking. Shaking my head, I nodded silently, and crossed the threshold. She closed the door behind me.
After the door shut out the cool night air, she gestured down a dimly lit hallway with an outstretched hand.
Thank god. No small talk, no offers of refreshment, no "how was the drive?" Just getting down to business. Exactly what I needed.
I followed her to the back, watching her surefooted stride and listening to the swish of the robe as she walked. A scent wafted behind her, something I couldn't quite place. It had floral notes, and something else resembling that smell outside after a rain. She stepped into a bedroom, lit by candlelight on either side of the bed. Pale, gentle moonlight filtered through a large window off to the side of the room, curtains drawn back.
She stepped in front of the king-sized bed and turned around to face me. Hips askew, arms outstretched, and that knowing smirk. She didn't even have to say, "well, shall we get started?"
I crossed the short distance between us and closed in. All that pent up energy, all that frustration, I could put it aside for this moment. I pressed my lips to hers and wrapped my arms around her. It all smacked of pure comfort: soft lips, the silky, cool feel of the robe but with all that heat underneath. She breathed a moan against me as she kissed me back.
I had already decided I wasn't going to take it slow. I moved my lips down to her ear, her neck, and took in her scent while I nibbled. I was dimly aware of her own hands on my waist, pulling me into her, but I was too focused on my pleasure, my need. I pushed her down onto the bed, loosened the waistband of her robe, and flung it open.
She looked amazing there in the candlelight, my hand-drawn, frustrating temptress. Her hair was spread out on the topsheet, along with the open robe. Her nipples began to harden in the cool air, and me, ever hungry, had to have them in my mouth. Again, that same sensation tugged at me as it had all month, that need, that desire, that drive, but something still felt off.
Her hands were in my hair as I trailed away from a wet, taut nipple, and made my way down, down, down. Soft, smooth alabaster skin ran past my vision as I kissed every bit I came across. I was still in a hurry though, and I didn't linger long. Ready for more, I spread her legs, and ran my tongue flatly over her slit.
She gasped, loudly, and squeaked in delight. You know, she still hadn't said a word since we got in here.
No matter. I just wanted her wet enough to plunge into comfortably. I needed it, and mercifully, she didn't take long in getting ready. I trailed my tongue upward in firm strokes and sampled her with a finger. It was time.
As she looked up at me expectantly, I undressed quickly. She ran her hands over my bare chest, allowing just the hint of a bite of painted nails. I was relieved to finally pop out of my pants, unrestrained. I moved swiftly in between her legs, barely needing to adjust for entry.
It was so good, finally being inside her. So hot, so warm, so wet. I don't think I realized until this very moment how long I had needed this. She had arched her back in pleasure as I fucked her with short and deep strokes. Again, that nagging feeling in the back of my head was back; I couldn't really work myself in a great rhythm. She sure seemed to be enjoying it, though, considering all that moaning and writhing. Must be nice.
I was finally here, finally inside her, and still, nothing. Minutes passed by, as did irritation, and then frustration, and eventually, fatigue. I wanted nothing more than to fill her up with what would surely have been an earth-shattering orgasm, but it would seem my body wasn't having any of it. I withdrew from her, and rolled over onto the bed to her side. My moist cock bounced up in the air as we lay there, gasping for air. And yet, I still wanted more. What now?
She caught her breath, tossed off her robe, and crawled on top of me, positioning my cock for entry once more. Oh no, she wasn't done with me yet. She rode me fiercely, her tightness still wrapped pleasurably around me, but still definitely not enough for me to get any release. I caressed her thighs with my hands as she bounced up and down on my throbbing cock, and she dropped a pointed, pink nipple toward my mouth. Eager for any change in sensation to push me over the edge, I complied.
Still nothing. It was surely at a rhythm that worked well for her, though, given the pulsing I felt around me every few minutes. She would writhe on me, stop, and then go again. That damnable smirk was there, too, every time we made eye contact.
I don't really know how long this went on for, but I can tell you it left me in the same place I was at the first time she sent me those damn pictures: hard, indignant, and unsatisfied. My partner, on the other hand, was flush with sweat, and smiled at me as she lay next to me, rubbing a leg over top of mine.
"So, same time next month? I'll send you more pictures. I know how much you loved them..." she trailed off.
I could only nod.