Other factors? You are almost certainly asking yourself.
Yes, other things. Like the fragrance of ‘us’ wafting up from between my thighs.
I was puttering around in my vocal booth (for recording audios) when my lover shocked me there. I was on tip-tip toes, my arms spread wide above my head, when his hands closed around my wrists, pressing them down onto a shelf. He pressed himself against me, scraping his shadow along the back of my neck.
I moaned.
How could I not? There's anything about that burning scrape which is so pleasurable that my skin pebbles and I gasp. And moan. And I ground myself back against him, arching my back, wriggling my hips and ass within a belly-dancer’s figure-eight till he was difficult adequate for me to feel the heat of him. He released one particular of my wrists long sufficient to open his pants and no cost his cock, then he pressed it against the thin silk of my pajama bottoms, searing me with his heat.
I attempted to turn around. I wanted to taste his lips. Wanted to thread my fingers by way of his hair and pull him toward me. But his hands held my wrists firmly in spot. Words weren’t essential. The band of his fingers around my wrists communicated everything I required to know. I drew my legs collectively and arched my back so my ass flared into him and I let my head drop involving my arms. Staring at my toes, I sighed. A sigh of longing. A sigh of surrender. He knew what that sigh meant, naturally, and using a squeeze, he released my wrists.
I held my position. Held it even as his hands slid down my arms and around to fondle my breasts. He teased my nipples till they were lengthy, challenging points of longing, until my breath was coming in tormented gasps, until I was dizzy and writhing.
And wet.
I could really feel that wetness as he pushed the silky pants down more than my ass. Felt the hot smear of it on my thigh. He swilled his fingers in it, teasing my labia, pretending to possess difficulty getting my clit. I began begging and bucking, trying to force that slippery electric speak to. But his fingers eluded me, frustrated me. Slipped deep inside me and out once again, arrhythmic. It was maddening. Ratcheting up my arousal level without creating up orgasmic tension. I wanted to grab his hand and put his fingers on my clit and rub them there - there - There!
But I didn’t. I held my position stretched out within the closet, fingers clinging to the major shelf, body arched and swaying, and let him do whatever he wanted. It felt too great to stop.
When I felt the head of his cock nudging involving my lips I believed I would scream with relief. I was trembling with the tension, aching for that moment of penetration. And it was upon me.
He was upon me. Up in me. Pushing slowly, wedging himself into me, his hands gripping my hips.
I took him into me, in to the warm and slippery heart of me, and when he could go no additional, I clamped down on him, trying to enclose the length of him, to prevent the inevitable prelude to aching emptiness: his withdrawal.
We remained that way to get a lengthy moment, his chest pressed against my back, his breath stirring the hair close to my ear. And we breathed together, and as we did the two of us became as one. Breathe in… Clench and hold… Release. Breathe in… Clench and hold… Release. A dozen times, maybe more, and after that we began rocking collectively, eventually breaking that rhythm to collide against each other, our bodies thudding, thudding, thudding. Faster and quicker.
Breathing sexual fire, trembling around the verge of orgasm, I sank my teeth into my forearm and screamed my release. He hastened to meet me there, jabbing upwards into me, his fingers biting challenging into my flesh. I felt that pulsing, heard that sound he makes, that balls-deep groan that signifies an intense orgasm.
And after that his scruff on my skin once again. Generating me hiss and twitch as I hung by my fingertips from the shelf, unwilling to trust my wobbly legs to bear my weight.
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