The Literary Courtesan

An erotic salon where my pen will stroke your senses.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Let me tell you a story...

I am going to begin a story here, just the beginning of an encounter. With your suggestions, we'll see what becomes of our two characters.
So, shall we begin?

The restaurant was crowded, but the two of them barely noticed. All of her focus was on his face, watching his eyes as he watched her, mesmerized by the flash of blue that even in the semi-darkness she was locked upon. She kept her eyes open even as they wanted to close, but she wanted to see his face as he observed her reaction to where his fingers had wandered while they were lingering over coffee. She had worn a short skirt and was glad of it. Now, she could feel his fingers between her legs, one finger buried inside her, his thumb brushing her clit. She was sure that if anyone in the restaurant looked closely, they’d be able to see what they were about, but the darkness, the tablecloth, the corner table, all served to camouflage the passion. How could he look so calm? One hand on his coffee cup, the other at play inside of her. She could feel her nipples straining against the thin cloth of a summer shirt, saw him notice how erect they were, and felt herself grow even wetter in response to imagining that he was not in fact sipping the foam off his cappuccino, but was instead teasing the breast with his tongue, bringing her to orgasm by the pressure of mouth against tender flesh, pinching her hard, harder, until she almost cried with the pain of it. She shifted position to allow his fingers further access to her, feeling him stroke the smooth and the ridged and all of it wet and slippery. She wanted to come, could feel herself building to it, but kept pulling back from the sensation, afraid that that once she felt the beginning of the orgasm that she would lose control, begin to moan, draw attention to them. And part of the deliciousness of what was going on was the intimacy of it here in the midst of other people.