Clitorectomy
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Shana woke up tingling, as if her body had awakened moments ahead of her mind. She floated straight out of dreams into a half delirious sense of desire filtering into her pulse through the surface of her skin. She stretched, feeling the rub of the sheets against her body. She could have sworn she felt every cell.
Body heated cotton on her skin let her feel the shape of her own body like something she’d always felt but never seen. Her skin was a beautiful place for her to spirit to live inside. She placed her hands on each juncture between hip and thigh. A current of warmth seeped in through her fingertips, following a languid circuit through her body. She touched and felt at the same time.
She became a profusion of contours and silk.
A sleepy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she thought back on the voice of the man in the elevator the night before.
As she stretched her sinews hard and taut in her bed, she could almost feel the strength of the hand that had suddenly gripped her shoulder from behind. The cut of her panties pulled against the motion of her hips as they rolled against the mattress. The tapered edges of the gusset cupped her mound. She remembered the hand and voice and felt the tingling warmth flush through her skin.
“Don’t turn around,” he’d said.
The whisper had slithered into her ear like a trickle of warm cream. There’d been no threat in his tone. No more than the force of his ardent what ifs. His grip had merely been firm enough to suggest he had the strength to hold her, but giving her room to pull free if she chose. The whisper, she knew, had been because the elevator was crowded.
She hadn’t turned - hadn’t pulled away – but smiled to herself at his clandestine audacity.
She reached up along her body and touched the hollow at the base of her throat, simply feeling her breath go in and out a moment or two before letting her hand drift back down. Her palm made the slow, upward scoop over the smooth swell of her naked breast, her nipple puckering toward hardness. She paused to pinch the smoldering nub and remember. She paused again – pinching again – harder – just to feel herself in the here and now of a brand new morning.
This morning, she was a luxury only she could afford.
Her hand started to move further down but then stopped and changed direction, sliding back up to slip over the other breast. She closed her eyes and languished in the feel of her own flesh. Breasts were beautiful. Her breasts were beautiful. Her hand slipped up and over one and then up and over the other. Hardening nipples softly scraping against the undersides of her fingers. Then she clutched herself lightly, fingers mashing into her pliant mound.
She kneaded herself with a sigh.
“Your perfume is slaying me,” the man had whispered in the elevator. “I saw your face when you got on, and now your hair is gleaming even in this dingy light.”
She felt herself blushing, even now as the morning sun slanted through her windows. Her knees rose up and her heels dug into the mattress as she raised her ass in the air just to feel the play of interconnected muscle and sinew, from her ass down through her thighs and calves.
Her left hand clamped over her right breast while the right slid down her skin – I am my own Silk Road, she sighed - until the tips of her fingers found the edge of her white panties. They were thin and lacy – sheer – and she was starkly aware of the way her sweetly pampered slit was visible through the film of fabric.
Clustered fingers moved slowly over the silky skin of material - sliding and curling – forming to the flared shape of her pouting mound. Her ass slowly drifted back to the mattress, but she kept her knees in the air. The supple skin of her thighs formed an aura of warmth around her cupped hand as she pressed into the meat of herself.
A sigh escaped her throat, as if the gentle dig of the hand between her thighs was pushing the air out of her body.
“I want to be drunk on the taste of your neck,” he whispered. The elevator had stopped. Three more people got on and he guided her backward into the corner, still not letting her turn and see his face.
Her fingertips made a light drag over the simmering slit beneath her panties while she felt his voice as if it were still in her ear. The skin across the pulsing vein in her neck remembered the humid brush of his pineapple breath. Her mound began to throb lightly with the warm rush of blood into the puffed flesh beneath her fingers, searching into her own pleasure through the soft texture of her panties.
“I want to tell you more,” he’d whispered next in the corner of the crowded elevator. She remembered nodding, letting him know she was listening to whatever he had to say.
As she ground her spherical ass against the mattress, it was as if the same tingling she’d felt last night was returning – as if her own senses hadn’t finished what they’d started the night before - as if the same shivers his voice had sent through her then were coming back home to her smoldering skin.
“One day soon,” he’d said in a near moan, “a man you haven’t known long is going to strip you down with his bare hands.”
Her fingers rubbed harder against the moistening lips trapped inside her panties as she let her mind drift back those few hours before. The fabric was already saturated with the rising heat of her yearning pussy, yet just beginning to feel damp under the dig of her fingers.
“He’s going to tell you how your dark hair captures light the way midnight imprisons the stars. He’s going to say how exquisitely beautiful you become when he rises above you hard, aroused and burning with hunger – and then peel you open like a ferocious jungle blossom dripping with pollen tainted dew.”
Shana kicked the sheet off her feet and dug her heels into the mattress again, lifting her ass into the air as she reached for her inners thighs with both hands. Her breasts gathered into plush mounds between her down-thrust arms, her palms grinding against the flesh of her thighs while her pussy ached and flushed. Her hands drew up along her thighs, the left drawing the gusset of her panties to the side while her right drew patterns up and down the length of her seeping pussy.
“I…I want,” she crooned, as if he were still right there behind her.
In the elevator, his voice had suddenly dropped half an octave as he told her he was going to, “…lick a long, slow river of mouth heat up along your calf…”
“I want…,” she groaned with mounting resolve, her fingers banding together to grind hard circular sweeps over her distended lips and clit.
“…to the inside where your legs bends….and then along your thigh in wandering circles…”
“Oh…fuck, I want…,” she moaned to herself.
Two of Shana’s fingers sought the wet grip of her sheath, driving inside to fuck her as she clenched her eyes shut and remembered the voice and imagined the feel of his pumping cock in their place.
“…until my tongue slips up along your slit and delves so deep inside you for a lick…”
“Baby,” she gasped as her body shook. Her wet fingers finally withdrew and scraped mad circles around her demanding clit. Her entire body arched, her ass still raised off the mattress. A swarm of hot sensation curled up and gathered in the core of her body. It began to turn and swell like a sudden water spout rising off the sea on a seemingly calm day.
“…and then I’m gonna suckle your clit until you shudder and swear you’re mine.”
The whirlpool rose higher and spun faster as Shana’s hand furiously ground and slapped at her erupting clit. Her muscles tensed into rattling shudders. Her breasts ached and heaved, her thick, rigid nipples throbbing with burning tingles as the swirl of sensation took her. His voice. Hot breath on her neck. Smacking, digging fingers spanking her cunt flesh into an overload of crashing waves following the ebb and flow of her gasping breath. Furious staccato of rampant slicking fingers grinding and slapping…just fucking clawing…
“Just…fucking…want me like you mean it!” she gasped through coursing spasms gripping her body.
“When it happens,” he’d said, “remember this moment when we met. Remember how the mightiest fires grow from the tiniest sparks.”
When the elevator had stopped at the third floor, he quickly brushed passed her and got off. All she’d seen as he turned out of sight was the flutter of his long, dark coat.
Her body slowly floated back down, settling onto the sheet as the grip of her sensations lingered in her skin. She felt beautiful – even to herself just then – in the way a thing can be beautiful because it’s not only beautiful but hidden, and is only ever seen by the few who have the vision for such things.
She turned her head to the side, chocolate hair fanned across her pillow as she listened to her breath rise above the fading memory of his mysterious promises…just before he disappeared.
Body heated cotton on her skin let her feel the shape of her own body like something she’d always felt but never seen. Her skin was a beautiful place for her to spirit to live inside. She placed her hands on each juncture between hip and thigh. A current of warmth seeped in through her fingertips, following a languid circuit through her body. She touched and felt at the same time.
She became a profusion of contours and silk.
A sleepy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she thought back on the voice of the man in the elevator the night before.
As she stretched her sinews hard and taut in her bed, she could almost feel the strength of the hand that had suddenly gripped her shoulder from behind. The cut of her panties pulled against the motion of her hips as they rolled against the mattress. The tapered edges of the gusset cupped her mound. She remembered the hand and voice and felt the tingling warmth flush through her skin.
“Don’t turn around,” he’d said.
The whisper had slithered into her ear like a trickle of warm cream. There’d been no threat in his tone. No more than the force of his ardent what ifs. His grip had merely been firm enough to suggest he had the strength to hold her, but giving her room to pull free if she chose. The whisper, she knew, had been because the elevator was crowded.
She hadn’t turned - hadn’t pulled away – but smiled to herself at his clandestine audacity.
She reached up along her body and touched the hollow at the base of her throat, simply feeling her breath go in and out a moment or two before letting her hand drift back down. Her palm made the slow, upward scoop over the smooth swell of her naked breast, her nipple puckering toward hardness. She paused to pinch the smoldering nub and remember. She paused again – pinching again – harder – just to feel herself in the here and now of a brand new morning.
This morning, she was a luxury only she could afford.
Her hand started to move further down but then stopped and changed direction, sliding back up to slip over the other breast. She closed her eyes and languished in the feel of her own flesh. Breasts were beautiful. Her breasts were beautiful. Her hand slipped up and over one and then up and over the other. Hardening nipples softly scraping against the undersides of her fingers. Then she clutched herself lightly, fingers mashing into her pliant mound.
She kneaded herself with a sigh.
“Your perfume is slaying me,” the man had whispered in the elevator. “I saw your face when you got on, and now your hair is gleaming even in this dingy light.”
She felt herself blushing, even now as the morning sun slanted through her windows. Her knees rose up and her heels dug into the mattress as she raised her ass in the air just to feel the play of interconnected muscle and sinew, from her ass down through her thighs and calves.
Her left hand clamped over her right breast while the right slid down her skin – I am my own Silk Road, she sighed - until the tips of her fingers found the edge of her white panties. They were thin and lacy – sheer – and she was starkly aware of the way her sweetly pampered slit was visible through the film of fabric.
Clustered fingers moved slowly over the silky skin of material - sliding and curling – forming to the flared shape of her pouting mound. Her ass slowly drifted back to the mattress, but she kept her knees in the air. The supple skin of her thighs formed an aura of warmth around her cupped hand as she pressed into the meat of herself.
A sigh escaped her throat, as if the gentle dig of the hand between her thighs was pushing the air out of her body.
“I want to be drunk on the taste of your neck,” he whispered. The elevator had stopped. Three more people got on and he guided her backward into the corner, still not letting her turn and see his face.
Her fingertips made a light drag over the simmering slit beneath her panties while she felt his voice as if it were still in her ear. The skin across the pulsing vein in her neck remembered the humid brush of his pineapple breath. Her mound began to throb lightly with the warm rush of blood into the puffed flesh beneath her fingers, searching into her own pleasure through the soft texture of her panties.
“I want to tell you more,” he’d whispered next in the corner of the crowded elevator. She remembered nodding, letting him know she was listening to whatever he had to say.
As she ground her spherical ass against the mattress, it was as if the same tingling she’d felt last night was returning – as if her own senses hadn’t finished what they’d started the night before - as if the same shivers his voice had sent through her then were coming back home to her smoldering skin.
“One day soon,” he’d said in a near moan, “a man you haven’t known long is going to strip you down with his bare hands.”
Her fingers rubbed harder against the moistening lips trapped inside her panties as she let her mind drift back those few hours before. The fabric was already saturated with the rising heat of her yearning pussy, yet just beginning to feel damp under the dig of her fingers.
“He’s going to tell you how your dark hair captures light the way midnight imprisons the stars. He’s going to say how exquisitely beautiful you become when he rises above you hard, aroused and burning with hunger – and then peel you open like a ferocious jungle blossom dripping with pollen tainted dew.”
Shana kicked the sheet off her feet and dug her heels into the mattress again, lifting her ass into the air as she reached for her inners thighs with both hands. Her breasts gathered into plush mounds between her down-thrust arms, her palms grinding against the flesh of her thighs while her pussy ached and flushed. Her hands drew up along her thighs, the left drawing the gusset of her panties to the side while her right drew patterns up and down the length of her seeping pussy.
“I…I want,” she crooned, as if he were still right there behind her.
In the elevator, his voice had suddenly dropped half an octave as he told her he was going to, “…lick a long, slow river of mouth heat up along your calf…”
“I want…,” she groaned with mounting resolve, her fingers banding together to grind hard circular sweeps over her distended lips and clit.
“…to the inside where your legs bends….and then along your thigh in wandering circles…”
“Oh…fuck, I want…,” she moaned to herself.
Two of Shana’s fingers sought the wet grip of her sheath, driving inside to fuck her as she clenched her eyes shut and remembered the voice and imagined the feel of his pumping cock in their place.
“…until my tongue slips up along your slit and delves so deep inside you for a lick…”
“Baby,” she gasped as her body shook. Her wet fingers finally withdrew and scraped mad circles around her demanding clit. Her entire body arched, her ass still raised off the mattress. A swarm of hot sensation curled up and gathered in the core of her body. It began to turn and swell like a sudden water spout rising off the sea on a seemingly calm day.
“…and then I’m gonna suckle your clit until you shudder and swear you’re mine.”
The whirlpool rose higher and spun faster as Shana’s hand furiously ground and slapped at her erupting clit. Her muscles tensed into rattling shudders. Her breasts ached and heaved, her thick, rigid nipples throbbing with burning tingles as the swirl of sensation took her. His voice. Hot breath on her neck. Smacking, digging fingers spanking her cunt flesh into an overload of crashing waves following the ebb and flow of her gasping breath. Furious staccato of rampant slicking fingers grinding and slapping…just fucking clawing…
“Just…fucking…want me like you mean it!” she gasped through coursing spasms gripping her body.
“When it happens,” he’d said, “remember this moment when we met. Remember how the mightiest fires grow from the tiniest sparks.”
When the elevator had stopped at the third floor, he quickly brushed passed her and got off. All she’d seen as he turned out of sight was the flutter of his long, dark coat.
Her body slowly floated back down, settling onto the sheet as the grip of her sensations lingered in her skin. She felt beautiful – even to herself just then – in the way a thing can be beautiful because it’s not only beautiful but hidden, and is only ever seen by the few who have the vision for such things.
She turned her head to the side, chocolate hair fanned across her pillow as she listened to her breath rise above the fading memory of his mysterious promises…just before he disappeared.
Vicky
- 09.09.2022
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- Masturbation
