Sunday afternoon Shenanigans

It’s been a lazy Sunday afternoon. The rest of the day is looking like more of the same. He’s waiting for me as I exit the shower, a cloud of steam wafting in my wake. The fine water droplets swirl around me, cling to my skin, adding to the moisture accumulated there. I take in his fully clothed form, how his t-shirt spreads over his chest and defines his narrow waist where it’s tucked in, and then I look him in the eye. His gaze says hunger, desire, lust. It’s raw and primal and I perceive it in a wholly animalistic way like he is a wolf, and I have just become his prey.

A familiar pull becomes a tingle as I take in his stance, the look that smolders on his face. My nipples harden and my tongue peeks out to lick my lip as I grip my towel harder, swallowing audibly. There’s an energy that surrounds him, alive and corporeal. It seems as though it should crackle in the air like tiny sparks of lightning. But the air remains clear, though each accelerated breath seems to thicken as I drag it in.

Wordlessly, he moves toward me, grasping my upper arms and my feet move, and I’m unsure If I am moving them or they are moving me. My body turns, and his solidness is pressed against my back. His length is hard and nudges my bum, and subconsciously I press back against it, giving a little wiggle. He awards me with a growl, a primitive sound that’s deep and low and the reverberation sends shivers up my spine. My nipples ache as they stiffen further and I press my thighs together, trying in vain to eliminate the need forming there.

My cheek is pressed firmly to the wall as a single hand slides into my hair, grasping it tightly at the base of my neck. Secured in place, I close my eyes and allow the sensations to wash over me. There’s a change of temperature as he lifts the towel, exposing my nudity to his piercing eyes. Goosebumps form on my arms and I grip the towel tighter still, like it’s a lifeline, holding onto what’s left of my modesty. My hips are pulled towards him, my back arched seductively, and confidently his fingers are there, grazing me gently, lightly. Reverently he caresses my folds. Brushes his fingertips over my bare flesh, humming his appreciation as my legs open, allowing him better access.

He probes and prods until I’m deliriously intoxicated in my arousal. His fingers circle and tease, but never penetrate, although the mewling that has become my language of choice tells him that’s all I want. To be filled, taken, claimed. Surrounded by him, invaded, conquered. To be owned, seduced.

My head clears momentarily as I hear his zipper being dragged down, slowly, so slow. Each tooth clicks as he expertly teases my senses, his fingers never leaving my moist flesh. Each notch reinforces the arousal spiking within, and I feel needy, incomplete, wanton. I try to press against him, to silently tell him what I need, but his hand is still fastened in my hair and I know I’m right where he wants me.

His cock is suddenly there, nudging my entrance, but he doesn’t dive in as I expect him to. He continues his assault, using a new weapon. The bulbous head runs over my cunt, yet never sinking it. He slides his hard rod up and down, between my bum cheeks, then through my drenched flesh like he’s surveying the landscape, deciding the best route of assault. He continues to probe me, fluid accumulating on his cock, and each pass produces an audible delight to the senses.

The back of my towel is tugged roughly, but I hold it tight. One side slides free from my grasp and the thick linen cascades over my back, pooling on the floor. I hang onto a meager corner, holding it in a firm fist, using it as a holster to keep me planted firmly in this moment.

My hair is released only for my wrists to be claimed instead. They’re pulled tightly above me, held firm in one of his larger hands. His other grasps my hip in a vise strength grip and with a single plunge, he buries himself inside me. We both sigh like the wait has been too long. Like we couldn’t go on another minuscule moment without this physical connection. He takes his time, moving slowly, not giving me what I truly crave, never enough to push me higher. I know this is how he wants me, needy, unrestrained, eager.

He releases my hands, but I know to leave them as they are, to remain open to him, to openly receive his endowment. The free hand reaches around and grips my throat like it is the column that he needs to gain leverage. His pace increases then, his hips slapping against my ass in a rhythmic drumming, even as his grasp tightens. The resounding noise echoes back into our ears and it pushes us higher, our joining becoming a frenzy.

With my hands braced on the wall, I thrust back into him, giving as good as I get. I can feel him inside me, deep, connecting with that place that aches to be itched. In the last moments of our lovemaking whirlwind, he slams into me with all his force and stills there, holding us both steady. Affectionately, his stubbled cheek strokes against my own. His mouth moves towards my ear and with the only words he’s dared breathe through our entire interaction, he whispers, “come for me.”

I moan through my climax, spurred on by the jumps and twitches made by his cock. His own follows, announced with a roar. The rumble vibrates through me, and I feel it everywhere. It blankets me, and I revel in its resounding clamor.

He steps back from me as I’m catching my breath. I take him in as his seed leaks down my thigh, drips from his semi-erect cock. I turn in place, a single corner of the towel still tightly in my hand, and smirk as I notice he’s still completely dressed. The only thing out of place is his zipper.

To see who else is saying MMM for #mmmMondays, lick the lips.

For more erotica, see Fiction by MrsK.