Tag: serial

Nibble

A Night in a Year: 49. Nibble

The music starts again. A happy yell from the crowd. It takes mere seconds for the dancing to commence again, and for her to pull them back to her, her hips pressing to Orhan’s, her arse against Jeroen.

And now, their hard-ons press into her. Jeroen’s sits perfectly where her arse cheeks meet, and Orhan’s nudges her hip bone, swelling on the line of it.

“Naughty boys,” she says. They all laugh.

She runs her hands up Orhan’s back, bracing his shoulder blades. She draws him back a fraction, so she can see more of him, more of his chest.

She is rewarded for that: Orhan’s collar is open, revealing his clavicle. The smooth ridge of bone beneath skin begs to be traced, and she bends her head, and does so with her tongue. She can taste the salt of his sweat, smell the spiciness of his aftershave, the musky maleness of him. Orhan’s movement stutters, but only for a moment; he adapts to her careful tongue and from behind her lashes she can – and it so pleases her – see his lips quirking and twitching.

Jereon’s face falls against her shoulder. With the bulk of him bending over her, it is like being drawn into a cloak, being covered. His face turns, and suddenly, his teeth sink into the side of her neck, lower down, closer to her shoulder. She gasps, pulling up from Orhan’s chest. It allows him to kiss her, on her cheek beneath her ear.

Then he finds her ear, and with a slow, delicate bite, nibbles at her ear lobe. She quivers, and when his tongue flicks out to lick as well as bite, desire swells in her chest, and seeps around her body.

“Oh God…” she whispers.

Her cunt once more begins to drip.


Next: 50. Hem

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

Wait

A Night in a Year: 48. Wait…

Like a clap of thunder, the music stops. The DJ shouts “Fuck!” and the dance floor is restless rather than pumping, edgy and discordant rather than in harmony. There are calls of ‘what just happen!’ and the DJ still cursing about a technical glitch, and everyone waits. The lights are garish without the accompanying beats.

Jeroen’s hand squeezes her shoulder, Orhan fingers dig into her back, and a chill falls over her body.

There are times like this when she freezes, and she feels herself watching the scenario play out before her, rather than participating. Where she doesn’t see herself as in control, as teasing and stroking the men either side of her, but as the meat in the sandwich, as someone – or even something – who could be tossed between two uncaring men like a toy, whose arms and legs could be pulled off on a whim, and the sight of her limbless would be amusing rather than cause for sympathy.

She stills herself, eyes down, not meeting either Orhan or Jeroen’s. She doesn’t need their reassure, not right not. She needs for them to relax their hold on her, needs to break out from the cage of their arms. Her breathing becomes more rapid, her chest heaving. She rolls her shoulder under Jeroen’s hand, hoping, hoping she’ll get away without needing to fight… and his hand flexes, not quite away, but he asks, in a normal voice, now capable of being heard in room, “You ok?”

She looks up, meeting Orhan’s eyes first. He stares down, frowning, concerned. The pressure of his fingers ease, and instead he rubs her back. Jeroen likewise rubs her shoulder, rough enough to be friendly. She turns to both of them, smiling, feeling the air in the space between them, freer once more.


Next: 49. Nibble

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

Undulate

A Night in a Year: 47. Undulate

A new song starts, a quicker, more rolling beat, and Orhan’s hands drift further down, now emphatically on her hips, fingers splaying, digging in. The line of politeness has now been crossed, and sex can be the only intent. She smiles, and in time with the music, turns in her centre spot, and slides her arms around Orhan’s neck, resting her wrists over each other. It brings his smiling face closer, so their noses are nearly touching. Her breasts meet his chest, her nipples pushing against the material, eager to rub against his muscles, and behind her, Jeroen closes the gap, and now nothing could pass between the three of them, not even air.

She’s never been good at just moving her hips, but she tries, gently gyrating them. The two men pressing against her mean she’s restricted, but it creates a tender friction. Orhan moves in counterpoint with her, and she can feel his jeans rubbing through her dress. Not on her clit, but on the pubic bone, which almost serves as a shield over her clit. She senses it, not quite ready, not quite there to be excited and teased. Close though; the stirring in her stomach is quickening as she continues to dance almost solely with her hips.

Then, from behind, Jeroen slips his hands upwards, and they sit under her breasts. She bites her lip, holding in a sigh. Orhan smirks, and winks at Jeroen over her shoulder, upwards to accommodate his height.

“You move very… nicely,” Jeroen says, his voice low, so much that she more feels his words than hears them. She is about to respond, when he glides the edge of his large thumbs along the underside of her breasts.

And swiftly, she wishes that she was naked, and her clit begins to hum.


Next: 48. Wait…

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

Sway

A Night in a Year: 46. Sway

Orhan lets go of her hands, moves them to her waist. His fingers rest at the place were her stomach ends and her hips begin; a place, she’s always thought, that marks where touching above is gentlemanly, and below is sexy. It’s the perfect place, she thinks, for him to linger for a while, between chivalrous and seductive.

The music changes, a slow beat, its rhythm lulling, almost soft. The kind that makes her step gently from one foot to the other, a slight shift in weight rather than taking her foot the ground. Jeroen in front of her falls in pace with her, while Orhan moves his knees; she feels his thighs bump softly against the back of her own.

The music starts to seep under her skin. Her pulse falls in with the beat, or so it seems, for it throbs right through her, from the base of her neck to her clit. The lights too flash in time, and the three of them, together, sway like they are connected by more than clutching hands and sensual desire. For a moment, she closes her eyes, and she enjoys the warmth of the two men, and the surrounding sound.
When she opens them, Jeroen tries to move closer, but she shakes her head, lolling it in time to the music.

“Take it slow, take it slow,” she says, exaggerating her lips so he can read them, so she doesn’t have to shout.

Jereon rolls his eyes, but with humour, and keeps that tiny distance that would take only a nudge from someone passing by to close. Though it is like they are in a bubble, enclosed and separated by a membrane of light and sound waves from the other dances, moving in time with them, but not able to touch.


Next: 47. Undulate

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

A Night in a Year: 45. Three

ThreeJeroen blinks, and she realises that he hadn’t noticed Orhan attached to her. His expression sours, and he starts to slide away. She grips his hand tighter, steps towards him, Orhan in sync with her. She looks back at Orhan – his teeth are bright white in the flashes of light, and his eyes are open, accepting, while Jereon’s face is hard, irritated.

“More fun with three,” she says, adding a chuckle to make it seem the most obvious thing in the world.

But Jereon doesn’t respond directly.

She watches as the instinctive unwillingness to share flash across his face. His eyes looking on her greedily, possessively, and flicking with annoyance back at Orhan. But she keeps Orhan’s hand close to herself, holding it near the top of her thigh, and she looks up at Jeroen, unable to keep the begging from her eyes, but steely enough to let him know that this is all or nothing.

Orhan shuffles closer to her, and she can sense from how near he is that he will not need convincing. Jeroen purses his lips, and looks between her and Orhan. But he hasn’t let go of her hand, so she ducks her head a little bit, her eyes casting down, and she peers back up through her eye lashes, demure, pliant, and her body almost shudders when Jeroen drops her hand, and grabs her shoulders, pulling him to her with Orhan pressing in behind her.

“You’re too kind,” she says, teasing, not to let him know she was ever worried that he might say no.

“Just shut up and dance,” he says, wry, a fraction perturbed, as if his pride has taken a tiny blow.

Not because he’s had to share her, but because, in the battle of wills, she won.


Next: 46. Sway

Image found on flickr, by Dr Stephen Dann, used under the Creative Commons License.