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withmyheartwideopen:

I asked my partner “What would happen if you found me like this?”

His response is below. I’m tagging it with my original writing tag so I don’t lose it, but these are his words, not mine.

I would see the sweet, sly smile on your face. I would walk toward the bed, slowly, in that way I have where you know something is going to happen and you have that excitement down low that says whatever it is you’re going to love it. I would lean down, and to others it would look like I was looming over you, but you would feel small in the best possible way: loved, protected, cared for by someone who can — and will — do it for the rest of your days. And while you thought all of those things, I would turn your face so I could capture your lips. I would taste them, and I would taste your tongue, until you couldn’t resist the urge to turn onto your back and reach up to try and pull me down.

But little miss needs to wait and let me please her the way I say she is to be pleased. Little miss will find her hands above her head, wrists crossed, my left hand caging them both together. She will find my other hand cupping her face, then stroking her neck, then moving down to cover her breast. Her nipple will grow hard in my hand. I’ll ask her if she’s ready to be a good little miss. She’ll say yes. I’ll take her nipple between my fingers and pinch, gently at first, asking, “are you sure?” She’ll say yes, and I’ll pinch hard, just to make sure. Then I’ll brush a kiss over the now-sore, now-tender, always-tender area, capturing it in my mouth and teasing it with the tip of my tongue.

She will arch. She will whimper. I will let go of her hands and she will grab hold of the bedspread, knowing she needs to keep them there. I will brush my lips over the other nipple, along the curve of her breast, taking the under-side in between my teeth and biting, softly at first, then hard enough that she whimpers once more, the bright edge of pain warring with the blushing crimson of leasure.

My mouth will work its way down the glorious curve of her tummy. Her thighs will already be parted for me, and as I flick my tongue over the smoothness of her body, I will catch the scent of her arousal.

Then I will give up all pretense of control. I will bury my face in the sweetest, slickest, most glorious part of my little miss, and I will taste her and taste her and taste her until she can’t hold back, until her legs are around my head, until her hands are in my hair and her nails are scratching, until she arches upward and fills my mouth with the taste of her.

Over.

And over.

And over.

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tThis was posted 3 years ago
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