The Hunt

Blindfold me.

Go and hide.

Let me search for you.  I'll hunt you with touch, by listening for the sound of your breath and movements.

I will stalk you like a predator.  When I find you, try to escape.  Pull, tug away, grunt, break free and run again.  It'll be easier to find you the second time, with your breaths more labored and my adrenaline burning like fire in the veins.  Keep fighting and eluding.

You won't be able to escape when you're backed into a corner.  I'll grab you, and you'll still struggle as I spin you around and run myself between the perky cheeks of your ass.  My fingers will twine through your hair, pulling your head back, letting you know that I've got you, you're captured, you're mine.

Your body will betray you.  I'll reach down and feel your rich moister running down your thighs.  You'll moan even as you struggle against me.

Your hands will be pinned, hard, above your head.  There's no running now.  You were my prey.  Now, you're my feast, to be devoured and ravished.

I'll be posed at your entrance.  I'll take a moment to listen to your quickening breath and feel the tension in your body.

Then, my hips will drive purposefully forward...

Yearning

So.

So I keep thinking about kissing you. Your lips moving over mine. Laying you down and ripping that fucking shirt off.

And my lips move and glide.

To your throat.

Collar.

Between your breasts.

Down your smooth stomach.

To the top of those damn panties.

And I keep thinking of how you groan when I'm pushing against you from behind, hand down the front of those jeans, teasing you, tugging and tickling your pubs, massaging your mons.

And right now? I'm thinking of the way you lay on top of those sheets, head resting of your forearms, ass raised up so invitingly. That look in your eyes.

Seems I just can't stop thinking...

FFF, August 5th, 2011: Not a Sound

The challenge for this week was to use the picture below to write a short fiction between 80-160 words. Additionally, a key phrase was provided that needed to be included in the submission: "... strangled cry..."

To see who else is playing, and to find out how you can play too, just check out PB's blog. Thanks for reading!
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As his cock filled her, as his desired bucked her, as his lust dominated her, his words continued to thump in her head:

"Don't make a sound."

And so she hadn't, but fuck... she hadn't realized how hard it'd be. She'd never imagined how much it'd turn her on, people changing in the dressing rooms around them, unaware to the powerful ravishing she was receiving next door.

Then, she felt it. Felt him. He was tensing. Driving himself harder, faster, and she knew. He was close.

Her mouth hanging open, the strangled cry shot through her head. Yes! she thought, Fuck yeah! Cum in me! Fill me up! Fucking claim me!

Abruptly, in a swift motion, he pulled out from her. She suddenly felt empty, her longing and heat dripping, unquenched.

He pushed past her, adjusting pants and belt, zipping the fly, and remarking, "There's another department store a half a block down. There, in the dressing room. Ten minutes."

The Show (Part I)

You emerge into the hallway.

Your hips whisk to and fro in your black boyshorts,  knee-high socks stretching over smooth flesh. Thighs tease and flex. Your hair's down; you know how much I love it when your hair's down. The locks fall casually, almost innocently, over one bare breast, the other naked to my exploring gaze.

You raise your arms, spreading your hands over both sides of the hallway, silky hands running over the hard walls. Hips cocked sideways, legs shoulder length apart, like a crooked T, and your head tilts down and forward, eyes looking at me sitting in the chair.

A smile entices your audience.

Now, you're my show. My personal exhibition.

My member begins to perk up, an acknowledgement. "Begin."

With a small roll of bare shoulders, you do.

You stretch your body. Limbs flow to various, sinful positions as you warm up. Placing both hands upon a unyielding wall, a covered foot runs easily upward along the opposing, spreading legs and thighs as you push your body up and down.

You chance another look at your one-man audience, beholding a hungry, predator's gaze, and you smile and laugh lightly. You know I'm restraining myself; I could take you-- claim you-- in a heart beat.

But I don't. I restrain the beast.

And you curl that toe towards your beautiful head, and part your moist lips, and tempt.

Now, you begin to mimic me fucking you.

Arms pointed downward, a leg drawn in and bent towards the soft crease of your bellybutton, you rise and fall. Slowly. As if my cock was between your drenched lips, as if you were sliding along my shaft, you rise and fall. Eyes locked upon me, ass tightening and tensing under your underwear, you rise and fall.

As if oblivious to your audience, you continue to stretch. You warm up for your show. Turning, churning, bouncing, rolling, straightening and bending limbs move over the walls. Fingers trail over exposed flesh, hair falls over vulnerable shoulders.

Your movements milk my desire. 

It feeds you.

You glance back over your shoulder and give a devilish, laughing smirk when you see my hands gripping the arms of the chair, my cock engorged, veins throbbing, hard muscles clenching. So amused are you that the beast is being kept behind bars. 

Finally, placing your head against one wall and a foot upon the other, your hands run downwards, to your night-black boyshorts. Nimble fingers twist around the material, and gradually, excitedly, begin to tug...