Skip to main content

Teeth and Hands


“Will you help me out of this dress”, she asked, not quite needing help, though the dress was a bit difficult, but yet wanting to surrender it to him, to have her nakedness be the work of his hands.

His hands were nice, she thought. And she liked the way they felt.

He began to unfasten the rather complex closure of the dress, and her heart ran a bit faster. No one knew where this would go, but here her dress was coming off, the work of those hands.

She got a sense for a moment as he worked the clasps that he'd very much rather be tearing it off, making a rag of the dress she had spent so much time selecting for this night, but he patiently did as he'd been asked, and the dress fell, intact, to the cool stone under her feet.

A little gasp escaped him, and she realized that he liked what he saw.

His hands were resting on her shoulders, and they were silent, still for a moment. The next thing was obvious, but she suddenly felt shy about asking, so she did not speak. And then his hands moved, and she drew in a little breath as he unhooked her bra, undid the clasps. She could not see him, he stood behind her, but she felt his hands work, and the bra joined the dress.

His hands slid down to her hips, and again silence, stillness. She listened to his breathing and soon found herself hearing her own. No one spoke. Still. Then, the fingers slid into the waistband of her panties, and they also joined the pile of clothing formed at her feet.

She stepped out of the pile, and her shoes, and stood on the stones, feeling the coolness, and, at once, feeling rather warm.

He stepped forward also, and he was close, his hands on her again.

She felt them tense, and his thumbs dug into her shoulders. He kneaded and worked them, pressing hard into her muscles, and she relaxed into it, into the rhythm of his motions. His hands moved down her back, and he came closer.

And then she felt his teeth. He bit her gently at first, gnawing playfully at her softened shoulders, but each bite was firmer, more earnest, and it seemed to her that he was slipping out of his polite mask, and that, more like an animal, he was in danger of devouring her.

His teeth dug into her, and she heard moans and gasps, her own, encouraging him as his teeth worked over her body.

His hands held her and pulled her into the bites, and she pulled him, and all pretense was gone.

She was on her hands and knees, and he still biting her neck, her shoulders, but pressing himself into her. She cried out, finally, and he, so polite, so careful with his words, told her to be quiet. Be still.

And so it was quiet, as they lay on the cool stone, holding hands, feeling the stillness.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Rambling About Beauty

Beauty is personal, and it is cultural, and it is considered a shallow and fleeting thing. It is the number one hit on the empty flattery hit parade, and one could be forgiven for heavily discounting it. It is not the most important thing, but to deny that it has any importance at all is a lie.

I am very aware of beauty, in general, and as it applies to people (with emphasis on women). I think about what it is, and what it means. People often speak of beauty and attraction as though there is some kind of mind body dichotomy. People speak of someone having a kind heart, or a beautiful soul, and they also speak of a beautiful (or hot) body, and these things are spoken of as if they have no connection, and are entirely distinct realms.

I do not agree with this. A person's appearance is, to some extent a phenomenon of matter. People are constructs of flesh and bone, muscle and sinew. But they are alive, and they look alive because the person, the person within animates the stuff of thei…

Desk Job

It seemed an unusual order. She was just to go to her desk in her office, and sit and work. And she was to wear a dress.

She figured he was planning to take her somewhere after she worked. Maybe he would show up and surprise her.

The office was dark and quiet, as it always was on weekends.

She drank some of her coffee. She plugged in her laptop. And she sat down.

There was an email message from him. “Don't move, or jump, no matter what you feel. Keep working.”

She began to suspect what was about to happen, but not before she began to feel a hand slide up the inside her thigh.

At first there was an occasional stroke on her panties, then a pause.

This went on, making her jump each time. She began to notice that the strokes became more frequent several minutes after that.

Quickly, it became a continuous rubbing. Email came. “Keep working”, it said. How was he doing that with one hand?

She could feel her panties being pulled off, and the hand playing with her clit, teasing it. She could hear h…