Tag: cambridge

Needle

A Night in a Year: 55. Needle

Under Orhan’s fingers, her clit is a tiny pulse of pleasure. His touch is so precise that it hits the tender under hood of it, a light bouncing motion at first. She sighs each time, and it sounds more like panting, so quick and rapid. Each touch both heightens her awareness of her body and makes the whole room blurry. All of the pleasure is buzzing at the base of her skull, wanting to break out, wanting release, wanting to be unleashed into the room and let everything about her go and escape from her body.

Her clit, she’s aware, is less like a tiny ball and more like a thick needle. It seems Orhan knows this very well, for now, he rolls it a little, but mostly, he rubs down its short length, coaxing it, making it harder and yet more tender. And like a needle on thread, the sensations shoot through her, binding her nerves at the same time as fraying them. In her shoes, her toes point and flex, and she wants to fucking scream.

At her jaw and throat, Jeroen chuckles.

Her hands fall further down Jeroen’s back, sliding to his arse. She digs her nails in, feeling them firm, something to stop her from falling over. She wants to get some purchase on their bodies, beyond just holding them to keep herself up right. She wants to grab more than buttocks. But to move, to adjust so she can do that, would mean leaving the humming, burring space where all the particles of her skin are alight; the slightest shift now would break the rise crescendo within her.

She’s almost there when Jeroen frames his thumb and forefinger around her chin and forces her to look up at him.


Next: 56. Energy

Image found on flickr, by Antonio Fidalgo, used under the Creative Commons License.

Throat

A Night in a Year: 54. Throat

Her neck is only arched back for a moment, before Jeroen swoops down on her exposed neck like a vampire,, but instead of bites, he licks and kisses. The way he brushes her with his tongue leaves her fully aware of it as a muscle, its elasticity and strength along her skin and pressing into her nerves, insistent and slippery, beautiful.

She feels her mouth open, and forces it closed again. She tries to bring her neck back down, to leave her less open, but she only gets a little back, when Jeroen kisses her below the ear, and rains kisses down the muscle in her neck. It is so intimate, that spot, she turns her head away. He seems to understand, so instead, his teeth nip along the hard line of her jaw, and his fingers play at her the base of her throat. It forces her neck back, turns her face into the lights above them.

Blue, green, red, yellow, they flash with the music, such contrast to the burgeoning in her body, the swell that Orhan’s fingers and nails, and Jeroen’s teeth and lips, are engendering. Orhan’s strokes her like her cunt lips are the strings of a harp; the pleasure is soft but precise, and sometimes, rings through her.

The music takes a stronger beat, but she isn’t moving. The two men are doing that for her, swaying her in time to the electronic sound, all the while, both lulling her, and keeping her sharply aware of herself. Of the edge that she is teetering on.

Until Orhan’s hand sweeps upwards – such a short distance, but he still sweeps – and his fingertips find her clit. Sharp pleasure sears through her. She’d stagger if not held upright by two bodies, and a cry catches in her throat.


Next: 55. Needle

Image found on flickr, by pumpkinmook, used under the Creative Commons License.

Folds

A Night in a Year: 53. Folds

Orhan tugs at her curls a few more times, and the lets go, laying his hand over her mound, and makes a shushing noise in her eyes, a long, drawn out sound, a wind whistling through the mountains. The music around them changes, and she feels jostled. She looks around briefly, and sees the dance floor has swelled, if that were possible, since they came onto it.

More people, she realises, not having thought it before, to see her come undone. She’s never done that before, so publicly, and she wonders how it will feel when it happens.

Then she giggles to herself. She’s assuming Orhan can make it happen for her. Maybe he won’t—
Her thoughts on that swing when his moves his hand down, splaying fingers, to cup her cunt so his nails can trace the folds of her labia.

He moves them like he’s peeling her, pushing her lips aside like the slow stripping of a bed, and pulling them back, nail dancing along, sometimes pinching softly. She hadn’t truly appreciated his nails before, the flat of them on her skin a simple distraction. But now, her teeth sink into her lip to stop from moaning. No one could possibly hear her over the music, but they’d see her eyes and mouth, her straining face.

What feels like his middle finger splashes at the centre of her cunt, the opening, where all of her cum is gathering. His touch releases it, and she tries to press her legs together to stop it running, but his hand keeps her legs just enough apart so she drips, and cannot stop it. Her inner thigh is wet, sticky like honey, and she finds herself trying to bury her face in Jeroen’s chest, cat like, wanting to hide herself and brace the oncoming storm.


Next: 54. Throat

Image found on flickr, by Elina Linina, used under the Creative Commons License.

Curls

A Night in a Year: 52. Curls

When Orhan’s finger is joined by a second, and he press his hard cock against her arse, she grins at the warm, tender feeling of being encapsulated by the two men. But when those fingers leave her skin, and slide into her pubic hair, mere millimetres above her clit, she quivers, her fingers digging into Jeroen’s back.

“Please,” she says as the two fingers roll through the curls. “Please touch me.”

“But I am. I’m touching some very interesting parts of you.” Orhan gives the hair a gentle tug, and releases, and it sends a delicious jolt through her. No one has ever done that before. It’s a feeling of pleasure edging delicately to pain, like the long edge of a broken pane of glass, sharp if touched the wrong way.

He keeps tugging, different parts of the curls. She can almost see in her mind’s eye the rise of the skin beneath the follicles as they are raised, held, and released, in the mere seconds it takes for him to do so. By the time he’s traversed her whole mound, it’s tingling, and she is so slippery between her legs that she tries to keep them closed, not to let her cum run down her thighs. She’s wriggling in Jeroen’s arms, but he isn’t letting her go, and Orhan’s keeping her other hip firmly in place.

“I’m going to keep you right here until he’s done,” Jeroen says to the top of her head.

“You’re so mean…” she breathes.

He chuckles, and kisses her temple. “More fun with three.”

“You’re having fun?”

He briefly tips her chin back with two fingers, so she meets his eyes, and he says, darkly;

“I’m going to enjoy watching you lose it on the dance floor, in front of everyone.”

It is a delicious payback.


Next: 53. Folds

Image found on flickr, by Edward Wilson, used under the Creative Commons License.

Crease

A Night in a Year: 51. Crease

Playfully, she surges closer to Jeroen, as if swaying away from Orhan’s twining fingers. The bulk of him is magnificent: it’s the embrace of a tiger, only barely tamed. Jeroen laughs, and he bends down, takes her lips between his own. It’s hot and sweet, melted chocolate that could burn your tongue if you weren’t careful where it moved in your mouth. His tongue laces along her own, and her stomach turns with the heat of anticipation.

She’s realises she’s forgotten Orhan’s hand when it snakes straight under her dress, and his fingers find the crease where her leg starts below her hip, that line that leads down towards her cunt. She feels his chest murmur with a chuckle; he now must know she’s not wearing underwear. Jeroen’s tongue leaves her mouth, and Orhan’s lips move to her ear.

“Bad girl,” he whispers, and kisses her neck again. “And you know what happens to bad girls…”

“Yes…” The word comes out a pleased hiss.

“Well, you will have to wait for it.”

His fingers dip down the crease, going to the point where she feels him brush her pubic hair. But he slides back up the line, returning to circle her hip bone. His touch is steady and firm, not delicate as before. It’s as if he’s painting something there, leaving a trail of his own making. She sighs, her head falling against Jeroen’s chest. Jeroen’s hand up comes to cradle her head, and Orhan’s finger now slides down further, almost between her legs, linger just near her labia, near the folds of her cunt that are wet and wanting, but he still doesn’t touch it. Instead, he begins to rub up and down, a short, teasing distance.

Jeroen holds her there, at the mercy of Orhan’s finger.


Next: 52. Curls

Image found on flickr, by Jessie Jacobson, used under the Creative Commons License.