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Found 2 results

  1. Mired (very NSFW)

    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.
  2. Leather [Semi-NSFW]

    Not too lewd, but would still advise caution on public computers. There was very little soft or gentle about Logan. She was coming to realize this. With a hint of a growl in his voice and eagerness in every move of his powerful hips, her breath was coming in short, gasping groans, her mind going blank as she crested, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, urging him on. Mouth hard on her neck, she felt his hips quicken, followed by heavy grunt as he comes with her, bodies entwined in the shade of a great oak. Their breath keeping time together, as their bodies relax, the chill seeping in as the sun sets. Kissing the hollow of his throat as she tries to curl in closer to his delicious heat, he strokes her back, the simple contact arousing even as it calms. "Alright baby girl, lets get back to bed." A smug little smiles tugs on his lips as she makes no move to disengage, her small, content sighs stroking his ego as skillfully as her body stroked him to climax. Nevertheless, he wanted a bed, and the longer they stayed there, the less likely they were to find one. When a gentle nudge produced little beyond a curled lip and half-hearted snarl, he finally picks her up and drops her on the torn rag that used to be her shirt. Brushing off his pants, he pulls them on before looking over and seeing her flat-eyed glare. Crouching in front of her, he holds up an index finger and grins. "No yelling, no grumbling, and I'll carry you back." The small tilt of her head was only indication she even heard him, until she held up an index finger. Touching the others nose at the same time, he smirks and finds his shirt, tossing it to her to wear while he tracked down her pants. Finding the soft, supple leather in the bushes, he starts back to her, the feel in his hand and remembering the way they had hugged her curves made his mouth water all over again. No longer as thin and boyish as when she arrived, having plenty of food and work to keep her toned, she had filled out into being a perfect chewtoy. One he was eager to sink his teeth into again. He found her standing, and more or less cleaned up, the torn and soiled shirt discarded. Wearing his shirt, almost comically long on her, she reached for her pants, shimmying them up over her hips with a little wiggle that did no favors to his self-control. Unwilling to wait any longer, he scoops her up and trots back toward camp, his footing sure in the deepening indigo twilight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Slipping into their simple, shared cabin, Logan takes a deep breath, smelling the cold ash of the fireplace and something slightly out of place. Dropping Cyra on the bed he prowls the room until he spots the small meal box and note, the faintest scent of sweet perfume telling him Jonathan had come by. Reading quickly, he gives a small snort and brings the box back to bed, where Cyra had sprawled out, leaving him little room. "Jonathan left you dinner," he says, considering where to sit, grumbling a little, "take up lot of room for someone so little." When she simply settles in deeper, he sets the box to the side and hauls her up and off, setting her on her feet in front of him as he takes a seat on the edge of their shared bed. Her eyes still closed, she gives a wide yawn, hair disheveled in a way that soothed and excited him. When she makes no move to undress or get back in bed, he struggles a little between annoyance and amusement, pulling her close enough to tug the oversized shirt up. The faint scent of her trapped in the fibers tickled his nose, a teasing possession that wrapped around his voice, declaring she was his, the same lingering smell on his skin, marking him as hers. His hunger was a warm ember, settling between his legs as he nibbles and nips at the soft skin of her belly, her arms lifting as he draws the shirt further up. Lips drawn to the round swell of her bare breasts making her gasp as his tongue finds the hard nub. Savoring the taste, his mouth pulls gently, drawing small, furtive sounds as she discards the shirt, his hands dropping to settle at her waist. Her fingers tangling in his hair, she pulls a little, tilting his head up. Her eyes were open now, crystalline in their purity, bright with her excitement, she lowers her mouth to his, holding nothing back as she lets him feed her hunger. The fingers at her waist drop to the top of her tight leather pants, breaking the kiss only to watch the supple leather peel away from her pale, shapely hips, exposing a mouthwatering expanse of soft flesh, his for the taking. Her hips swaying as he works the pants slowly down her legs, her impatient, annoyed huff making him smirk as he enjoys the way the pants mold to her body, taking a moment to appreciate the shape of her legs as the thin leather is tossed aside. Taking in all of her taut, enticing curves, she ignites the smoldering ember, looking him in the eyes as she straddles his lap, arms loose around him as she brushes full lips over his neck, feeling the steady strength of his heartbeat as she presses close, breath mingling in the cool air. "Take me," the words a pleading command. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After her hunger was satisfied and the simple meal consumed, Logan contemplated the shapeless bit of leather that lay where it had been thrown earlier. "Where did you get the idea for those pants, anyway? Wouldn't offer much protection," Logan mused, idly stroking her hair. "Oh, hmm, Jonathan mentioned tight leather would be good for riding horseback, thought I would try it," she replies, yawning a little as she tries to cuddle in closer. Logan froze hearing Jonathan's name, tucking her in closer, unsure if his shaking hand was from anger or amusement as he resumed stroking her hair, nearly black against her pale skin. "What were his exact words, baby girl?" "We were by the horse line and I just dropped Jake off when he said, umm, 'a soft, supple leather pant is best if you're going to be riding the beast' and gave me name of leather worker…" Cyra trailed off with a yawn, drifting off in spite of the slight shaking as Logan fought to contain himself. "Remind me to, ah, thank Jonathan tomorrow," he whispered, voice strained. With a small, innocent smile, she just nods and falls asleep in his arms.
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