Love & Relationships


Posted By

On Feb 5, 2016

By Fran

She asks me to stand up, stand right in front of her. She tells me to undo my pants and lower them. I hesitate. This is not what I signed up for. She asks me again as her eyes dance with childlike curiosity. I oblige.

She watches me silently as I fiddle with my zipper. My hands are shaking. I am afraid that if I lower my pants, she will see the effect her words already have on my pussy, which is wet, already pulsating with want. ‘Lower’, she says. I pull them down to my knees.

I feel naked already, although technically I am fully dressed. She watches me, head tilted, seeming slightly amused. I can feel my cheeks redden under her gaze.

Touch yourself, she coos. I can’t. It’s too…


But I start to, and I feel powerful, freed even. I can feel the effect of pleasuring myself as she watches me. And then the hairs on the back of my neck start to tingle as I feel her breath on the back of my neck. She is so close to me, I can smell the SM cigarettes she smokes on her skin.

God, it is intoxicating.

With the words ‘can I touch?’ she offers me something delicious. I do not have the strength nor the will to stop her. I couldn’t, even if I tried. I had craved for her touch for so long, her fingers feel soft against the fabric of my panties. I will her to be less gentle, to stop teasing, but I remind myself not to be greedy.

Good things come to those who wait.

She works her way around my panties, a gentle brush here, a slight tug there. I am dripping. I want her to take me. My breaths come in sharp and short. She notices this. She knows how much I crave her, and she takes her time.

My panties are over my knees. I am naked and the smell of my sex is intoxicating. I pulsate when she runs her fingers over the length of my slit. Her fingers are magic. It is taking all my willpower not to crumble in a heap at her touch. Her touch is the kind that has known a woman, and she uses this to her advantage.

She circles my clit ever so softly, as if worried she may hurt me. My mind goes into overdrive. I want her fingers inside me, I want to hold on to her for support, because I do not trust my legs  with the important job of holding me up.

When her fingers finally find their destination, I cry out. An intensity so great, so out of this earth, when she starts pumping, thrusting, and my pussy opens up to her like a flower in spring. My juices gush over my thighs.

Too soon, juices. .Too soon. She seems to like this, and she increases the intensity.

Suddenly she flips me and has me laid out on the couch. Easier access, I muse. I am bare before this goddess of sex, my wetness glistening along my thighs. She doesn’t stop, even when I can feel a mind blowing orgasm washing over me. She continues her rhythm, consistent, until my juices cover her magical fingers, and I am happily spent.

She lifts me off the ground, I don’t remember falling down, and helps me back on the couch.

I have trouble breathing. My legs are still shaking. She lights two cigarettes and hands me one. I can’t speak.. I smoke silently, thinking about what I just experienced.

She throws me an easy smile, or was that a smirk? She knows her women, this one. I will definitely be back for seconds.

For more stories on that hot sex check out what women do, tastes of a continent, an aggressive apology and reuniting with my lover

*leave a comment on the post, you can write it under a different name and your email will not be published.*

To submit to HOLAA! email