Disclaimer: These folks don't belong to me. I stole them from MGM's toybox without asking their mommies for permission. I promise to return them more or less unscathed.
Archive: Yes, just let me know where it'll be.
Notes: I can't do a music video, but the lyrics of the song 'Insatiable' inspired this. Consider it my version of a vid. <g> There's one teeny thing that may seem like an inconsistency or a mistake at first, but keep reading to the end before you call me on it ;-D
WARNING: DON'T READ THIS IF YOU ARE AT WORK/SCHOOL/IN MIXED COMPANY/EMBARRASSED EASILY. GEONNCORP WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR REDDENED FACES OR UNCOMFORTABLE WORK CONDITIONS. PROCEED WITH DISCRETION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Summary: Hot town, summer in the city.
Special Thanks to Mesh for the banner.
God, I'm on fire. Temperatures that have nothing to do with the mercury-bursting heat wave going on outside my door. A fire that no one has been able to douse in a long, long time. No one since you. The heat is unbearable and I hate to sweat... you know how much I loathe it.
Where are you when I need you, baby? Where are you hiding yourself?
I'm sitting inside of my bedroom, the window open to allow the few cool breezes inside. I welcome them, tilting my head back and accepting their gentle caress over my throat. I'm wearing that dress you like; the sundress that hangs open and lets you see nearly everything. I love watching you when I wear it. I love seeing that fire light in your eyes. I know that you're busy examining the parts everyone else doesn't get to see. I know you've catalogued me, baby. I want you here. Now. Sweating isn't so bad when you're doing it for the right reasons...
I hear you outside and my heart skips. You're in the hallway, walking down the corridor. My body and mind argue about whether or not to greet you at the door. I compromise and stand up, turning and kneeling on the seat of my chair. I cross my ankles and curl my bare toes, holding my hands behind my back and arching my spine to thrust my breasts in the direction of the door. Why is my hallway so damned long!
Finally, there you are. You enter the bedroom, my bedroom, as if you own it. And, my dear, you know you do. It, and everything I have, is yours. You see me and smile softly, letting your eyes enjoy my sweaty-form. The dress is clinging to every part of my body by now; you can see everything clearly. I watch you lick your lips and close the bedroom door, slowly easing out of your jacket.
You're carrying a bottle of water and you offer it to me. I'm parched, but I can't take your water. Sensing my hesitation, you take a long drink and press your lips to mine. You part your lips and I feel the flood into my mouth; ice-cold water, fresh from the freezer, chills my lips and tongue, numbing them as you make you entrance. Your tongue easily subdues mine and I bring my hands around to the front, resting them on your chest.
My hair is drenched, hanging limply around my head like a crown of limp reeds. You brush the moist strands aside and kiss my forehead, your tongue tasting my sweat... I want you to taste lower and tell you as much. You chuckle and let your hands skim my body, as if there's a 'do-not-touch' sign hanging around my neck. My pulse beats your name as I anxiously await your fingers on my flesh.
After an eternity of teasing, your hands dig almost painfully into the soft flesh of my buttocks, squeezing them and pulling me forward. I scoot forward on my knees, my belly pressing against the back of the chair that separates us. You release my cheek with one hand and retrieve the bottle once more. You press the chilly plastic against my face and I close my eyes, rolling with every move you make. I'm putty in your hand, butter to your hot knife.
Tipping the bottle slightly, I feel a wet splash on my chest and look down. Perspiration is suddenly not the only moisture on my dress. You tilt the bottle again and splash my breasts equally. My nipples protest the cold, rising up in anger as the ice works its way through my skin.
One simple word, barely spoken, and I'm already moving. My hands tremble as I undo each button of my dress... pulling my arms from the sleeves and dropping the clinging material to the floor. You smile, and I don't know whether you're pleased by the sight of my nudity or my compliance. I never know... until you lower your head to my breast and tenderly flick your tongue across my nipples. I utter your name reverently, the sound a half-moan and a half-whimper.
Your hands mold my breasts lovingly, lifting the nipple up so you can give it the attention you believe it deserves. I watch you suckle like an infant at my breast and run my hands through your hair. The heat, I can tell, has gotten to you, too. You switch breasts, moaning as you practice equality in your seduction. I can feel your hands when they return to my ass... kneading, squeezing, rubbing. Waiting for the code word. I whisper it softly and huskily and you jerk slightly as I give you the okay to do what you want.
Leaving my breasts for the moment, you raise up and look me in the eyes. Your hands are resting lightly on my ass as we stare each other down. I bite my lip and you lightly slap my asscheek. You've always liked to spank... to be spanked... but you won't do it to me unless I ask. I love you for that, and for so many other reasons. I ask again and you swat me once more, harder this time. I whimper slightly, all a part of the game.
I'm so wet by now. Sweat glistens on my body as I lean back, allowing my hands to migrate to the crux of my entire body, the center of my soul at that moment. You watch, eyes wide and unblinking as I part my folds and reveal to you the glistening flesh within. Flesh you know all too well. Your heart is pounding, I can hear it. Your mouth is dry, I can almost taste it. Your hands tense on my recently-spanked buttocks, holding me securely as I dip my middle finger into myself.
You shudder and it translates through my body. I bite my lip and sheathe my finger up to the second knuckle. It feels so good, feels so much better knowing you're watching me. You move to place your hand atop mine, but I shake my head. This is just for you to watch. My index and ring fingers are massaging my outer lips as your substitute gently begins to pump. I put my free hand on your breast and feel your heart pounding against my palm. "What do you want me to do?" I ask.
"Another finger," you manage. I comply, slipping my ring finger inside. Your body is humming, humming, desperately wanting to join those fingers... but you restrain yourself. Spanking is your game... this is mine. I remember the first time I made you watch me. You cried, worried you were being left out. I kissed away your tears as I came. That's simply another in a long line of beautiful memories you've given me. Accept this memory as the gift it is... record what I'm doing so you can replay it whenever we're apart. This is a movie for you, Sam.
The fingers inside continue to pump... the fingers outside stroke my wet lips. You don't know how much I wish this was you, but that's not part of the game. Eventually, I'll feel your fingers, thumbs, tongue inside of me. I'll squeeze you with my muscles and you'll love every second. I know you will. You've told me how you love it and I can see it in your beautiful blue eyes. You love it. You love me.
Your tongue darts out, drawing a wet line over your bottom lip. I tremble and fold slightly forward. Your tongue is a beautiful muscle, an instrument I've gained so much pleasure from in the past. You have no idea how much I want to throw you onto the bed and straddle your face. I'm dying to taste you as you're tasting me. But this must be done first. It's what we did first that night so long ago and I want nothing to be different. I want it all and I want it to be just like the first time every time. Thank you for giving me that, Samantha.
The very thought of your name causes a chain reaction that vibrates through my body. Starting in my chest, it crackles like electricity until it explodes out of my body, leaving my hand glistening with the remnants of my ministrations. I see your throat move as you watch me, licking your lips again.
Withdrawing my fingers, I press one to your lips and command you to suck. As always, you eagerly comply. The heat is rising in my body, the temperature long forgotten though the sweat still cascades down my body. Rivers of perspiration course over my back and breasts, settling between my spread legs and pooling down the crack of my ass. I don't mind; I know you'll clean me in the shower later. You always do.
I laugh out loud as you use your thumb and forefinger to stroke my finger like a mini-dick as it pumps in and out of your mouth. Always the kidder... I love to laugh with you, even when we're making love. I lean forward and press my lips against your cheek, guiding your hand to the hair between my legs. You cup my center and I gasp, closing my eyes as I wait for your finger to explore the terrain I so recently mapped. Slowly, almost painfully so, you slide into me. Your breath catching as I massage the invader with my muscles.
Gradually, tenderly, methodically, you coax me to orgasm in the chair, your finger doing the work your tongue should have been doing. I cry when I come and I press my lips against yours in gratitude. As the instigator of this particular playtime, it's our agreement that I would be the first brought to climax (and my masturbation earlier did not count). Now, it's your turn and I'm eager to repay your kindness.
Your jeans and sweatshirt are quickly doffed and you stand before me in your bra and panties. If Victoria's Secret ever found out how sexy you looked in plain white cotton undies, they'd be out of business in a week. Less... a day. I can already tell how wet you are as I lead you to our bed, laying you down on the mattress and straddling your hips. As I take my place of honor, I whisper how I feel to you. My words probably make no sense, but I see tears in your eyes as I speak. I mean everything I say; you're everything to me. I bend down and kiss your nipples through the material of your bra, my hands working between your legs. My fingers use the soft material of your underwear as an added bonus, working you deeper into a fury as my tongue wets your bra.
I abandon your chest and slide down, pulling your panties down to your knees. You're breathing like a marathon runner, sweat streaking down your stomach and onto the sheets. I kiss your belly button and taste the saltiness gathered there before working my tongue lower. You shaved recently, but I can feel the coarse hairs against my lips as I pass. Perhaps a session with the razor during our shower?
Using my fingertips, I spread you wide and find your clitoris. I can play you like a musical instrument. Your body is my taut violin string and this tiny nub is my bow. Your sweet juices are my rosin and I wet my fingers, painting my lips before closing them around your clit. I hear your whimper and it's music to my ears as I strum you with the tip of my tongue. The lyrics to the song I perform are nonsense, occasional pleas for more, all cresting with a mind-shattering cry from you. I breathe your name against your lower lips and I feel you shudder with pleasure.
At the final possible moment, I release your clit and grasp your hips, slipping my tongue into you and lifting your ass off the bed. You've often commented on how this makes you feel; like you're weightless when you climax. I close my eyes as I take you into orbit, letting you reward me for my concerto. When your rivers have all run dry, I abandon your core and crawl up your body, kissing your breasts and slipping my leg between both of yours.
You hold me, a sensation as sensuous as anything done during our lovemaking. You whisper to me, as scintillating as any dirty talk you may produce as you're trying to get me to come. You brush my hair and it makes me want to cry. You're mine, as surely as I am yours.
Hours, minutes, seconds, decades later, the front door opens somewhere in the Real World and we are no longer alone. We kiss, struggling to maintain the private world we have established, but our hands are far wiser; they are already gathering discarded clothing and underwear so we can continue our ruse as 'just friends.' The shower will have to wait for later. The newcomer to the house turns on the air conditioner, changing the temperature so that it's not overwhelmingly hot.
We climb off of the bed, the altar of our worship, and go our separate ways. You go to the bathroom as I close the window. The snow had piled up on the windowsill and a few flurries have made it inside during our little game. But, for one fleeting moment, we shared that summer day when we first made love. The sweat is still clinging to my body, chilled when I moved towards the open window. I hug myself and go to the closet, pulling out my OU sweater and pull it over my head.
You come out of the bathroom wearing a t-shirt, vest and jeans. I smile and take your hand. It's the middle of winter, but we've just spent a lazy summer afternoon making love. You and you alone have the magic to make that happen. I kiss your lips as we leave the bedroom behind and rejoin the real world.
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