“What’s your next move, Lucky girl?”
I watch her eyelids flutter shut and open back up, her pupils dilated. She likes this game. Good. So do I.
I move in closer to her and put my lips against her ear.
“Do you remember your colors, Clover Jane?” I can feel how scratchy my voice sounds, and I wonder if she can tell how badly I fucking need her.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, and god damn, why does that turn me on so fucking much? The thought of this chaos gremlin submitting to me has me reeling.
Sure, BDSM is the genre of porn I’m into, but I’ve never really dabbled in it in person. The married couple I’m partial to are extremely communicative and also have side videos where they discuss the ins and outs of a real BDSM dynamic, and a lot about the respect side of it.
The last woman I was with, shit, was it four years ago? She claimed it’s what she was into, but what she wanted sounded toxic, not respectful and consensual. I’ve done enough research, and I know that what she was after didn’t align with what I wanted.
There’s no way Clover would be into this . . . right?
“Good girl,” I mutter, snapping back to reality. She whimpers softly, and I press my forehead to hers. I adjust my grasp so both of her wrists are trapped by one of my hands, and slide the other hand down the column of her neck with a feather-like touch. I study her face as I keep moving my hand down her body, and when I reach her stiff nipple and flick it carefully, she sucks in a breath, her eyes full of fire.
“Do you like that, Lucky girl?” I ask her, checking in, allowing her time to use her color code if she needs to.
“Yes, Sir. Green.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from beaming at her, and to direct my attention back, I do it again, a bit harder. She shifts around, but I press her wrists tighter against the wall and move to flick her other nipple.
She squeaks, but when I raise a brow at her, she repeats the color green.
After going back and forth between the two, switching between flicking her nipples and pinching them, tugging them through her shirt, I groan.
I’m so fucking turned on, my cock is leaking.
“If I let go of your hands and take your shirt off, will you put them at your sides and leave them there unless I say?”
She nods and gives me another verbal approval.
I release her wrists, and she surprisingly does as I asked.
I pull her shirt up over her head, and her breasts have the perfectdrop. The natural bounce of them has me groaning, and I immediately take one of her blush-colored nipples into my mouth, biting down gently as a moan rumbles out of her. I flick the tip with my tongue before repeating the process on her other one.
I love that my girl isn’t shy about her body. She is proud of her shape, her curves, the vessel that carries her day after day. I kiss my way down her soft tummy, wishing I had all the time in the world to kiss every dimple and stretch mark of her skin. Every inch of this goddess’s temple that she’s allowing me to serve at.
I’ve reached the waist of her sweatpants—my sweatpants —and I’ve never been more irritated at a piece of clothing. I hook my fingers into the waistband and look up at her. She pouts out a single word, and I’m at her mercy.
“Green.”
CLOVER
I’m not sure how my legs are as steady as they are right now. There’s a gorgeous man on his knees in front of me, pulling down my sweatpants, and I’m suddenly remembering I’m not wearing underwear. You kind of have to pick and choose when you only have a couple of pairs.
When he discovers this, he slowly looks up at me with a wicked grin and licks his lips. I don’t know what fantasy I’ve fallen into.
“Pretty girl,” he mumbles, but it’s not to me directly; it’s for my pussy. This is the second time in only a few days that this man has wanted to devour me, and I’m not one to keep someone starving.
When he parts my lips and flattens his tongue against my clit, I am fully aware that my legs are no longer steady. He moans while he laps at me, and I see his hand quickly moving to unbutton his jeans. He pulls away from me only long enough to work his way out of them and throw them to the side, and I get the quickest glance at his cock before he’s holding me open with one hand, sucking my clit to a cadence only he hears, and I can see his bicep flexing in the same rhythm as he strokes himself.
“Fuuuck,” I drag out, wanting to see him. Wanting to touch him, feel him, fuck him, suck him. I tilt my head back against the wall and lift my knee up, putting it over his shoulder so I’m somewhat splayed out in front of him. Now that his hand is free, he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of me.
Suck, stroke, slide. Suck, stroke, slide.
The rhythm picks up, and I can feel my orgasm cresting. When he hooks his fingers inside of me and strokes the spot that I thought didn’t exist until now, I come undone. My legs shake, and he pulls his mouth away from me, looking up at me with a beard glistening from my wetness and how unabashedly messily he devours me, and he starts encouraging me. Coaxing my orgasm out of me.
