novelraw Forty
Forty
#chapter Forty
Ian and I are going dancing tonight.
Really, I’m going dancing with Shelly and a group of her friends, for her birthday. But Ian will meet us there. It’s our anniversary, after all. We met a year ago, tonight.
In the past few weeks, we’ve been talking every day. Sometimes multiple times. I should feel guilty about this, except that for the past year, all we’ve done is talk. Yes, sometimes the talk has slipped into flirting, but where’s the harm in that?
In the shower, I smooth shaving cream over my legs. The razor strokes my skin, leaving it smooth. I scrub and exfoliate, wash and condition. Then, with one hand on the wall and my head bent beneath the almost-scalding spray, I run my hand over my body.
I imagine my touch as his.
Shuddering, I pinch my nipples to tightness. There’s an answering pull of sensation in my cunt, but I don’t touch myself there. Not yet.
There’d been a time when I was sure I would never feel this way again. Needle prickles of arousal all over me. When the mere sight of a notification on my phone could make my heart leap, my breath catch, and the sound of his voice, that low and somehow secret laughter, could make me want to writhe.
The truth is, I have never felt this way before about anyone. Lust, yes. Love, too. But never this powerful pull, this instant reaction of my body to the simplest of stimuli. Everything about Ian turns me inside out. Makes me needy.
I open my mouth to the water and imagine the taste of him. The stroke of his tongue on mine. I want Ian to kiss me so much it’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past few weeks, ever since I’d casually dropped into one of our instant message conversations that I’d be going out with Shelly to the same club where he and I had met.
“Yeah? What night?” Ian had asked. “Maybe I’ll see if some friends of mine want to go out, too.”
“Sure, that would be fun.” Oh, fun. Oh, foolishness. The right response would be to tell him that isn’t a good idea, but who am I to say he can’t go to a public place? “Maybe we’ll see you there.”
I will see him there, tonight. Will he ask me to dance again? Will he pull me close, nudge a knee between my legs? Will he put his hands on my hips and nuzzle at my neck?
This time, will I let Ian kiss me?
Oh. Yes. I will. And if he doesn’t try, I think I will push him into some dark corner and take that kiss even if he doesn’t offer it, because I can not get the thought of his mouth out of my mind.
The water is so hot my skin has turned red and the shower is thick with fog, but still I shiver. The water has washed away wall remnants of soap, but between my legs I am slick. My fingertips slide against my clit. The fingers on my other hand curl, nails scratching on the tiles.
I am no stranger in how to bring myself pleasure. I discovered the joys of orgasm in my early teens and there aren’t many days in a row that pass without me making myself come. Climax is as important to me as clean hair and shaved legs, and there’ve been days when I substituted a ball cap and knee-high socks for those, but still spent a few minutes getting myself off. But most of the time, it’s fast and easy. Self-maintenance, not indulgence.
This, on the other hand, is pure indulgence.
Slow, slow, I rub my clit in small circles. Every so often, I slide my fingers lower to push inside. I tease myself until my legs shake and I have to fall onto my hands and knees.
Head down, ass up. If Ian were here right now, he could fuck me from behind. All we did was dance once a year ago and talk for hours since, and yet here I am, imagining the length and width of his cock filling me. Shelly is fond of saying that you can tell how a man will fuck by how well he dances…and Ian is a really good dancer.
I could’ve come already, and in fact the water will soon run cold. I’m going to make myself late to meeting Shelly, late to seeing Ian for real, if I don’t finish up soon. I think about edging myself close to the brink and stopping so that when I do see him, it will be with my pussy already wet, my clit already swollen.
“Wow,” I mutter, voice thick and masked by the pounding of the water. “Filthy, Maura. So fucking dirty.”
I’ve climaxed with the water pounding down on my clit before, but I’ve teased myself too long. The water is lukewarm now, not conducive to passion. On weak legs I turn off the water, towel myself dry. Run a comb through my hair. I rub my skin with scented lotion, all over, and add a matching body spray. Layering the scent so it lasts. I put my wrists to my nose and draw in a deep breath, loving the smell. It makes me think of sex, but then lately, so has everything.
Naked, I stand in front of the mirror and assess. I cup my breasts, lifting them. I have pretty lingerie to wear, a bra that will push my tits up and out, but even if I didn’t, I’m not unhappy with my breasts. I flick the nipples again until they stand upright. The dress I’ve picked out for tonight is casual enough to look like I’m not trying too hard, made of t-shirt material. My nipples would show clearly through it…if I was so bold as to go without a bra. The thought excites me even as I curl my lip. I’m not in the habit of going without a bra. I’d think that was trashy on someone else. Yet knowing Ian could see that I’m aroused…
Fuck, I’m so wet, so fucking on edge. I pull lacy panties from my drawer, along with the matching bra, but I don’t put them on. I pace a little, wondering what madness is this, that has made me incapable of making the simple decision about what to do next — get dressed, dry my hair, put on my makeup. My mind’s a jumble of images culled from porn and movies and my imagination and real life experiences, all cobbled together in an erotic collage that pushes me, finally, to my bed.
Most of the time when I make myself come, I use my hand. But I do have toys I sometimes like to use. I won’t need the extra stimulation of my vibrator, but there’s something else tucked away in bedside table. I haven’t used it in months, maybe close to a year. I’m not a huge fan of internal stimulation when I play with myself; not sure why, just that usually I’m fine with getting off from clitoral stimulation.
Tonight, though, with Ian on my mind, I am open and aching with the need to be filled.
The piece I pull from the drawer is weighty. Made of medical grade steel, about eight inches long, and curved. One end is rounded, the other pointed with a series of ridges. That end is made to go in your ass, but I’ve never used it that way. You could probably kill someone with it, it’s that heavy, and the sharp end could easily crack a skull. It looks like a weapon, not something made for pleasure, and that might be why I hardly use it, though tonight it seems perfect.
The metal’s cold when I push the rounded end inside me. A low, breathy moan escapes me as the curved metal presses upward on my G-spot. It warms quickly from the heat of my body as I slide it in and out. I’m so wet there’s no need for lube. It’s longer than any cock I’ve ever had inside me, so long it presses my cervix when I push it in all the way.
In, then slowly out. Smooth, smooth, the metal unyielding, not at all like flesh. Maybe that’s what excites me. Or maybe it’s the flash I have of last year, dancing with Ian to something mournful and sexually tense by Kings of Leon. How he pulled me close, right up against him, how he smelled, how his hands felt on me, how his knee had pressed so briefly, so quickly against my crotch…
Then, oh, fuck, oh yes, that’s it. I’m coming. Hard and strong, my hips pumping. I haven’t touched my clit since the shower, but nevertheless, my entire cunt clenches down on the metal toy still pushing in and out of me. Pleasure bursts through me, leaving me weak and panting and trembling, but not even close to sated.
I get up. I put on my pretty bra and panties and the blue dress I picked out especially to please Ian. I do my hair and paint my face. I slip on shoes comfortable enough to dance in but sexy enough to show off my legs. And on the dance floor this time, when he pulls me close, I don’t pull away. I melt into him. I put my arms around him.
This year, when Ian leans to kiss me, I let him.