Flowers and Smoke - Part 1
Another original story by connie k. from our community.
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Tonight, weāre having a date.
Something different. Weāve known each other for years, though I canāt piece out how or exactly when we met. She has just always been here. We live together, but I still have longing and emptiness inside when sheās away or weāre both at work. The times weāre actually together are too brief.
Weāre together now. Nothing makes me happier. No one can do to me what Jessica can.
She likes chardonnay, which is a good thing since wine is all I have. I like reds too ā maybe itās because of her hair ā but I pour what we both will like. I donāt care that āitās bottled.ā Her red hair is the perfect shade -- fiery red, almost neon in the right light, and she keeps it short so I can see all of her face all of the time.
Her favorite spot is on the arm of my couch, and I see one side of her shapely ass in the skin-tight jeans, the smoothness of her leg as it dangles over the edge. That emerald green bustier is my favorite. She wears it a lot.
Jessica isnāt dainty or skinny. She admits sheās carrying a few more pounds than sheād like, but I could care less! Sheās beautiful, perfect. Voluptuous. Ā Perfect in every way. Her bust, her hips, her arms. I donāt need my fantasy girl. I have Jessica ā or, should I say, she has me.
The salmon is almost done. She knows Iām a great cook and she loves salmon too. Itās a date night, after all. I want to cook something that she will enjoy. Sheās sitting higher than I am. Maybe itās symbolism. But I look up at her face, not even thinking about how I look ā back straight, my hands almost detached from my body, my fingers detached from my hands. Iām just staring at her, anxious for her to speak again.
<Jessica> The wine is delicious, babe
I have that thrill of approval that never seems to wane.
<me> Iām so glad, Jessica
Even after all this time, I still can almost hear the excitement in my response when Iāve done something that pleases her. We may be in my apartment, but it feels like weāre in a restaurant. Weāre across a small, intimate table with white linens and a soft glow.
Weāre talking about our day, how nice it is that we can share this special time and every word that leaves her luscious red lips is like a handās stroke along my body. Those lips. Itās my weakness, really, and she knows it.
Whenever she gets playful, sheāll lick them and everything else just ā¦ fades away. Ā Shit, I completely forgot about the salmon, the asparagus, the side of rice. But our plates are empty now and sheās dabbing the side of her mouth with her napkin ā that seductive way she does most everything. Jessica never does anything without meaning behind it.
<Jessica> It was wonderful. My compliments to the chef
I hope she didnāt hear me squeal. I squealed more on the inside than out, but Jessica always knows. The grin sheās flashing lets me know Iām giving myself away. My dinner was a success.
No one touches me like she does. Not even close. And she knows exactly where to do it too. My hips are her favorite target and sheās running her fingers slowly across them. I moan. I always moan. Sheās had me so many times in so many different ways, but that light touch against my skin just sends me. Ā Jessica knows all my weaknesses ā I have none to hide.
Sheās looking down at me again. Iām lying back on the bed, my dress is in a bundle above my head, I think. I donāt remember if I pulled it up or if she did. She undresses me with her eyes all the time.
Her eyes are fascinating. Sometimes theyāre blue like the hottest heat of a flame, sometimes green and lush like a cool forest. I donāt really wonder how she does that. Theyāre always the perfect color.
I love feeling this way ā on my back and completely exposed to her. And those eyes. Towering above me, she makes me feel helpless and small. Itās a wondrous feeling. Not helpless like I have anything to fear. Not small like my body wonāt fit perfectly with hers. Thereās just less of me and more of her. The way it should be. The way I want it to be. Itās the way she wants it.
<Jessica> I have something special planned tonight love
Every night with Jessica is special, but I can tell she means VERY special. There have been nights with her that I can remember so clearly, so intensely, that I almost burst when I recall how I felt in those moments. Yet, there have been nights weāve spent together that are only flashes and blurs. Exactly what she did to me may be buried in the deep recesses of my mind, but what always endures is that my bond to her has been made stronger. Like iron links in a never-ending chain. Remembering then forgetting is what she wanted that night. Besides, my body never forgets.
Weāre girlfriends, she likes to say, and thatās true some of the time, when weāre just doing what normal people do. Ā Most of the time, though, itās far beyond girlfriends. What someone else might consider playful teasing is really just foreplay. I donāt call her Jess or sweetheart or honey. Itās Jessica. As if her name is a title.
Anticipation. It makes my body quiver. She said tonight is going to be special, and I can feel that. As if all of our nights together had been the real foreplay and this? This is the moment weāve both been waiting for.
Iāve had countless orgasms with Jessica, but not a single one have I ever had that she didnāt make me ask for. Sometimes I beg. Sometimes she just knows when Iām about to explode and can hear me pleading inside my own head. I think she likes those few, helpless seconds the most. Just before she says āCum, lover.ā Ā I can see it in her eyes, sensing that throb of ecstasy humming through my hips and there is nothing else in the universe but her.
Sheās running that finger across my hipbone like sheās done so many times before. My pussy is just leaking. Like tears of joy. I want desperately to rub, but tonight sheās not going to let me or I would be doing it already. She loves to watch me behave lewdly sometimes. Playing the slut. Probably because thatās not really who I am. Yet, for her, I can be slutty and openly horny and desperate when weāre together like this because thatās what she wants. Ā Her voice gets thick and lusty. It makes her lick her lips like Iām a slice of cherry pie waiting to be devoured by her. Hot and sweet and just tart enough to make her mouth water.
Itās one of the reasons ā not the only reason ā why I love her so much. Itās not seeing how turned on she gets when I feel the way she wants me to feel. Itās knowing how I make her feel. Ā She loves me too.
Weāre girlfriends, longtime partners. Yet there is so much more. Iām completely under her control when Iām like this. And the more she controls me, the more I crave it. I crave it so strongly that I might just shatter into a thousand fragments from the need. It builds. It is building. Now. Every time I take in a deep breath basking in her dominance or let out a whimpering sigh, her eyes brighten. She licks her lips, just like sheās doing now. I must have just sighed again. I donāt even need to think about smiling to know one is stuck to my face as I look up at her looking down at me.
<Jessica> You enjoy how I make you feel lover?
Sheās been whispering in my ear this whole time. The words are playing with my mind and my pussy in unison. But I donāt really hear them. I feel them. I feel them coaxing out my wetness, feel them massaging my thoughts away. Yet when she asks me a question I am compelled to respond only one way.
Iām shuddering. Asking and answering. Her kiss on my mind and mine given to her.
Thereās something in her hand, but I canāt make out what it is yet. Sheās told me, I think. I can see only her eyes, her lips, her wide smile, her gorgeously round breasts above my face.
Her neck. My neck. Sheās stroking me there and Iām remotely aware of the beating of my heart pulsing through my skin as she plays ā¦ across my ear and down to my throat.
Jessica is whispering. Ā The words are so familiar, caressing my thoughts into nothing. She makes them melt quickly like butter over a flame. Iām forgetting what they even mean before I hear them. Ā But Iām affected by her words. They pass in and out of my consciousness. They donāt even form a thought in my head, although my body hears them. My nipples flare in desire for her, aching for a pinch.
Sheās lying beside me on the bed. Her soft hand sliding slowly down and up. Under my breasts, across my tummy, down to my dewy, tightly trimmed strip of fur. I never shaved for anyone else, but I do it often now, keeping it neat and smooth. Ā She doesnāt want it all off. She likes that I keep my stripe of brown curls there as if itās an arrow pointing down to my clit.
I gasp. She can be such a tease! Sheās flicking my button again and again so she can watch it peek out from my hood like a kittenās head craning for a pet.
I canāt feel my fingers but Iām clutching the bedsheets, my arms spread out, her elbow pressed against the inside of my arm. Even a touch as subtle as this makes my body tingle. Her breath is on my neck and her foot is rubbing teasingly along my leg so that it feels as if every inch of my body is being stroked.
Dinner is forgotten. Just about everything is forgotten. I canāt connect one thought to the next, connect one day from the last. The spaces of time between āGood night, loveā and āGood morning, sweetieā and āWelcome home, babyā donāt even exist anymore. All there is is this moment. Itās like none of it ever happens. These precious minutes with Jessica are more like one long lifetime. There is nothing but Jessica whispering, touching, filling in the widening gaps in my mind, making now forever and forever this now.
I can barely sense the passage of time from second to second. The past, even a momentary flicker of then, is gone and replaced by a new now. Iām caught in the present. Time doesnāt move forward in a line but in a circle. Spinning.
Each panting breath and each heartbeat are the only ones. Every seductive word that fills my eyes and ears is the single most important word. Itās the truth.
...to be continued in Part 2
