Did you miss the first two segments of Escaping Repressions? Find them here.
…Sliding my hands down from her hips I lift her butt from the table for a better angle. With my head bent back I can look over the horizon of Marilyn’s mound, can see directly into her wide green eyes. Strangely, I feel almost like an artillery commander, getting the bearings on multiple targets before laying waste to the landscape. My eyes lock onto Marilyn’s face at the same time that my tongue strikes her sex. I lick her in one long motion from bottom to top.
Her taste is exquisite. Warm, clean, sweet. A milk and honey taste. But her reaction is even better. Her eyes close automatically and her back arches, hips coming high off the table, instinctively moving towards my tongue. I am just as lost in this as she is. It has gone beyond simple want now. I need her taste. I need to see the look on her face as she comes. I lick her from bottom to top then back again. I skirt the outsides, running my tongue along her lips then sucking them gently. It’s almost like a kiss. First sure but gentle, lingering, then deeper, tongue probing the way until my tongue is buried so deeply inside her that every breath I take is scented by her.
Marilyn’s moans fill my ears, blocking out every other sound of the party. I can barely think past the feeling of her flesh on my tongue. As a woman I can almost feel her inner muscles tensing and rippling.
Somewhere, in a place that seems far away, I feel hands on my body, massaging, stroking. My underwear is peeled away from my hips and I am left bent over the table, exposed, open to anyone’s interests. But between Marilyn’s legs, with my mouth open and suckling I can not, will not offer the slightest protest. I am on the dark side of the moon, making my way toward the sun. There is no other place I would rather be.
I slide first one finger, then two inside Marilyn and instantly understand why men dream about this so much. What it must be like to have the most sensitive part of your body sheathed inside a woman, to be gripped by muscles that are so strong and so very soft. To be thrusting myself between a beautiful woman’s legs. To tense, spasm and spend myself deep inside her. At the moment this thought crosses my mind I feel a hand slip between my legs. A finger slips inside me and another massages my clit in slow circles. It starts to tip the scales inside me. My body tenses, my breathing becomes even more labored than before. Whomever the hand belongs to, man or woman, they know what they are doing. I am going to come soon but I will be damned if I am going alone.
With my fingers slipping in and out of Marilyn I slide my tongue up the groove of her sex until I can feel her clit under the tip of my tongue. In short, quick strokes I begin to flick it again and again. The sounds escaping Marilyn’s throat are guttural. Like the growl of an animal hiding in the brush. The finger inside me speeds up, it pistons in and out and that finger on my clit is driving me crazy. My whole body begins to hum. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, the moans that escape me force my tongue to vibrate. The orgasm building in me seems to touch Marilyn as well.
Everything that is done to me comes crying out of her as if our bodies are connected, the transformer and the power line with a current running through us. My legs are shaking, the edges of my vision start to turn white, but I have just enough presence of mind to slip my fingers deeper, to flex them up and brush that small pad of flesh just behind Marilyn’s pelvic bone. My fingers stroke it, my tongue flicks her clit and it is too much. She comes undone.
Marilyn screams, her fingers claw the table and her back bows. It is one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen, but I only have a moment to memorize it. A split second after Marilyn’s orgasm bursts through her, the fingers between my legs slide and circle me that one last time needed to push me over the edge. Marilyn screams and I join her, both of us locked together, able to do nothing but ride it out and wait for the world to come back into focus.
Colors are the first things I can distinguish when I open my eyes. Red, gold, brown, white, beige, pink. I am possessed by the afterglow of my orgasm. Filled with the need to do anything and absolutely nothing. I want to jump up and run around the house singing just because I feel like it. And I want to simply lie here, unmoving, caught in this dreamy half space until dawn.
Eventually, the colors start to form themselves into shapes. Then, soon after, the shapes start to make sense and I can pick out the hard lines of furniture, the supple curve of bodies. I see black hair, red, blonde and eyes of every shade. Marilyn’s thigh solidifies in front of me and I kiss it because it’s there and I can. She jumps a little then smiles at me and I smile back. A kiss is planted along my spine and now it is my turn to jump a little. We are both at that post orgasmic stage where even the slightest sensual touch makes you shiver. I turn my head and look over my shoulder. Chris is staring at me with a cat who got the cream smile on his face and a heart pounding look in his eyes.
The moment I see him the blood in my body starts running fast again. The look in his eyes is enough to make my heart kick. I want him and I give him a look that lets him know. No minced words. His eyes leave my face and look over me. I know he is looking into Marilyn’s eyes. For approval, permission, maybe, I’m not sure. I turn my head to look at her and she smiles at me again. A little breathily she says, “Go on, I’ll catch up later.” Chris speaks from over my shoulder. “We will hold you to that, my dear.” Marilyn only nods and smiles wider, then lays her head back down to rest.
With Chris’s help I stand up on shaky legs. He slips an arm through mine to support me and then guides me out of the kitchen. We pass, Erika, Jessie, Tom and Joe, all leaning against the counter, all resting. Erika and Jessie both smile at me as I pass and I smile back. Tom and Joe watch me as I walk by and it is that sexual, appraising look that all straight men give a woman they find attractive. The one that weighs them and wonders what they would be like in bed. I smile at them too, but keep walking. I have already decided that the only man who will get to find out is the one on my arm. But it is still nice to be wanted.
Chris leads us out of the kitchen and back down the hall. We reach the same junction I stood at what seems like forever ago, but this time, instead of heading for the living room, he turns us towards the stairs. As we climb I catch sight of his erect cock as it bounces inside his boxers with each step he takes. I giggle. I can’t help it. Chris looks at me and smiles. His face is playful but his eyes are still intense, full of passion and need. This is going to be interesting.
We step up onto the landing and turn left around the banister. The upstairs is set in an L. Where we are, at the banister is the bottom end of the L. There is a door immediately to my right and a door further down the hall on my left. Shortly after they moved in Marilyn gave me a tour of the house, so I know that the door on my right is the master bathroom. Through the closed door I can hear the hiss of the shower running and the sounds of laughter. Chuckling, I turn to Chris, “I don’t think you’re going to have much hot water left.” He waves a hand in the air and shakes his head. “There will be plenty for us by morning, I promise.”
Again he takes the lead, guiding me down the hall by my arm. By his manner you would think he was leading me to a royal ball or an international event rather than the bedroom. But then, that is Chris, a little bit of dignity and the absurd in everyday life.
We turn right at the corner heading for the master bedroom. At the end of the hall, something catches my eye. Taped to the door of the master bedroom is a small sign, really no bigger than a sheet of computer paper. The words “Out of Bounds” are written on it in large letters in bright, garish colors. It makes sense really, when you think about it. This party and all its guests, at least for the night, are here to escape their repressions. But even so, most people have at least some boundaries. A place kept separate from the life they lead and the pleasures they pursue.
I turn my head and raise a questioning eyebrow to Chris. “Present company excluded,” he says as he wraps one arm around my waist, resting his palm on my hip. I lean back and sink into his embrace. One of his hands comes up and cups my chin, turns my face towards his. I want to kiss him and wrap him up in my arms.
He brings my mouth to his and the kiss is deep and lingering. More of a kind given to a longtime lover. His tongue slips between my lips, graces my tongue, and I melt into the kiss. I turn my body in his arms until we are facing each other and I can wrap my arms around him. Blindly, one of Chris’s hands finds the door knob and turns it. And suddenly we are stumbling together into the room. It is amazing we don’t step on each other’s toes.
I love the feel of his skin under my hands. I run my fingers along the muscles of his shoulders, down and over each knob in his spine, and finally I slip my hands into his boxers and feel the flex of his ass as I grasp it. I am like a blind woman, letting my fingers create my memories…
This story has just one segment left, so come on back in two weeks and we’ll have the conclusion of this sexy tale. Did you miss the any of the previous segments of this sexy tale? Read them here.
D.E. Carroll is a twenty eight year old writer and poet who has a particular interest in erotic short fiction. He is a part time student and full time government employee who spends most of his spare time either reading or writing.