Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share The Pilot & the Spy
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
The Pilot & the Spy
A WW2 fantasy: a spy and a pilot take refuge in each other.
by PeriodPorn. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Max turned around, still half asleep, pulling my body into the
half-moon of his own. We lay on a straw mattress in the loft of a barn
that had been taken by the resistance here in rural France, and for
modesty’s sake we had retreated to either sides of it; a difficult task,
now made more challenging by the pilot’s movements.
He took a deep inhale, his face nestled into the back of my neck, and
exhaled warm breath onto my tingling skin. Now, with me in his arms,
his nightmares were retreating into the dark recess of his subconscious.
We had slept beside each other for four nights now. That was how long
it had been since we had found each other on a backroad from the
border, him separated from his grounded plane and me… well, I had kept
myself separate from everything in order to remain undetected. Every
night he had been wracked with awful nightmares; this was the first he
had touched me in his sleep.
I knew that this respite from undoubtedly horrid images should be
protected, but an itch inside of me yearned for his hands, now securely
fastened at my waist, to animate themselves and explore my body. He had
removed his cotton undershirt to sleep better in the heat, and in the
dappled moonlight of the barn I could make out the sinews beneath his
bare skin.
“You hardly know him”, my brain hissed to itself, cannibalistic in
it’s determination to stifle the urges. “And he’s not even awake so he
doesn’t know what he’s doing”-
Yet, I tilted my pelvis back ever so slightly. I sighed, trying to
mimic the unintentional sounds of someone asleep. The movement made my
body arch back into his groin. His body seemed to instinctively tighten
around me, welcoming the way the space between us vanished. I felt
small, childlike inside his broad, muscular frame.
I tilted my pelvis back yet again, hoping the rhythmic movement might
stir some kind of consciousness into his lower half. I moaned, as if I
was the one having nightmares now. His arms, once slack against my lithe
torso, now stiffened.
That might have done it.
I continued to keep my eyes shut, gripping my arms tighter against
his, as if I were protecting myself. The more I created this fiction,
the more real it felt. Hadn’t I been trying to make myself invisible,
protecting myself from enemies this whole time?
“Natalie?” He whispered, his Scottish vowels thick and low in his hoarse semi-consciousness.
I waited a moment, then pretended to rouse myself. I murmured a little.
“Natalie,” he said, more gently this time, “I think you’re havin’ a nightmare.”
You’re a sneaky bitch, my brain thought- but his arms were so strong,
his chest so firm against my back. I hadn’t felt this safe since the
start of the war. I was alone then… I had been alone for years. I had
used men sexually, of course… but not for my own comfort. Not for my own
pleasure. Hadn’t I known from the moment he smiled from beneath his RAF
cap that this could be a different kind of ally?
“You’re having a bad dream,” he repeated softly, with a tenderness I
almost couldn’t bear. As if I’d known him for more than two days. As if
the thought of me, my safety, and my unreachable subconscious was of the
utmost importance to him.
I turned in so I was facing him, curling inwards and tucking my face
just below his chin. I would never admit to being frightened by
daylight, but in the darkness, I permitted myself this luxury; comfort. I
had been frightened for so long, one almost comes to accept it; it was a
fear people who did not know wartime would never understand.
One of the pilots arms wrapped around my back and scooped me up, the
other wrapping underneath my neck to cradle the nape of my hairline. His
fingers were coarse unlike mine which were still soft from handling
weapons of a slightly different kind: transistor radios.
“Shhh,” he whispered sleepily. “It’s alright.” His hand was so big
that whilst still cupping the back of my head, his thumb could rest
against my cheek. It stroked my face calmly, sending chills from the
root of my torso up my spine.
My breath caught a little, suspended between us. His other arm was
still draped around me, no doubt feeling the change in my body. His body
stilled too; he was suddenly holding his breath as well. His thumb,
however, maintained its steady rhythm.
I held my breath still, willing it to edge closer towards my parted lips.
And then, it did. I could feel it… His thumb was edging closer and
closer towards my lips, and then dared to caress them, catching slowly
against my full lower lip as it did.
The moment his thumb caught my lower lip, I exhaled, a light breeze
brushing against his skin. His thumb lingered there, against the warm
and wet skin inside. He was waiting for me to protest, to push him away.
The silence between us felt electric. I moved one of my legs to
negotiate the space between his, hooking myself around him so that our
bodies could press together. With my chest now against his, I could feel
the air between us thudding with quickening heartbeats.
He did not remove his thumb from the entrance of my mouth. He was waiting for me to give him a signal to proceed.
I gently brought his thumb between my teeth. It felt both coquettish
and primal; the feeling of something fragile, soft, ready to be
destroyed.
Yet, his thumb retreated. I might have lost hope there, embarrassed
and rejected, were it not for the feeling of his thrust pulsating
against my lap. An unmistakable reaction of longing.
I should not have worried; his retreating thumb dragged down my chin
and neck slowly, leaving a slightly damp residue behind it that cooled
quickly in the night air. Simultaneously his other arm brought me even
closer to him, his breathing quickening.
“Natalie,” he whispered, betraying a deep sense of longing. I knew he wanted me, then. He wanted me quite desperately.
But I did not want it to be quick. I wanted it to be slow.
I brought my free arm up behind his head so I could drag my fingers
from the back of his head to the back of his neck, bringing my face up
to meet his. Would he take it from me greedily, as if I were some street
woman in a foreign city, an anonymous body that he could hide inside
until his grief had retreated?
He seemed to sense this. Instead of greedily launching at my mouth, he held me there.
“I wish I could see your eyes,” he whispered urgently. “Your eyes…”
“You can,” I promised him. “What do you see?”
I was terrified of his answer, because I knew that so many men had
answers readily prepared for questions like this; it didn’t matter who
was looking at them or who was asking. Intimacy was a game, a war they
could win on foreign shores before returning to their squadrons to
regale their mates with their conquests. I felt too deeply for that.
Losing this moment to a parlour story meant for male amusement would be
too painful.
He was silent. Then, in a voice of resignation and sadness:
“I saw a lot of pain.”
There was no pretence, no air of manipulation. There was familiarity,
however; a sense that he recognised it in me because he felt it
himself.
I held his neck here, hit with a wave of grief for us both. I would
have pulled him so close that his body merged with mine, if I could. But
this hand released him as soon as it held him there, tracing down the
skin of his spine until I could pull it inwards towards our stomachs and
continue this unbroken line, ever so slowly, around his side and drag
it upwards between us against his almost hairless chest.
I felt his heart beating there. His mast continued to throb against
me, but it did not cheapen the moment. It intensified it. I knew he
wanted me, and that it took everything in him to restrain himself…
because he needed me more than he wanted me. He needed me to be here, in
whatever way, and he wouldn’t do anything to risk it being taken away.
“I need you too.” I breathed. He could have me in whatever way he wanted… if that’s what he really wanted.
I could feel his face tilting towards mine, slowly, until his breath
whispered against my mouth. Our lips were so close, his breath sweet and
warm, smelling of the mead we’d drank with the resistance soldiers
downstairs.
His lips were soft against mine. I realised then that I had imagined
this moment every time I looked at them, plump and full. His wrested
with mine, not trying to part them but just enjoying the way they melted
into each other.
I was hungrier, it seemed; I gently parted his, daring my tongue to
trace within just has his thumb had done only a few moments before. He
drank me in. His warm tongue wrapped against mine, sending tingles
through every nerve ending available, making me hungrier and hungrier.
He finally broke his stillness. He gave in to his urges and grasped
my body firmly. He positioned me on top of him as if I weighed nothing.
My groin could not be separated from his, seeking heat and pressure,
pressing against his shaft and his lower abdomen as I righted myself on
top of him.
Electricity surged inside of me, moving me to sit up away from his
intensifying kiss so that I could straighten my arms and brace them on
either side of his shoulders to slowly rock the seat of my body against
him. I was abreast a wild horse, willing it to pursue.
He groaned quietly, rock-hard beneath me. I continued to work him,
wanting to feed the desire I knew was raging inside of him. It became
too much to bear; he reached up with one hand and secured it behind my
neck, bringing us together so that he could kiss me again, more urgently
and messily this time.
I slipped one of my arms down against his chest again, wanting to
coax the creature that was aching for mine. He almost snarled inside my
mouth as he grabbed that same hand and used his body to deftly spin me
to my back, pinning both arms up on either side of my head. I exhaled
through a smile, exhilarated by his careful control of my body.
Now he had me pinned, and with a masterful restraint pulled his
crotch away from mine so he could move quickly down towards my base. It
was yearning for touch.
I found myself nervous; he may not do this for women, I thought. A
lot of men don’t. Yet his fingers must have found the hem of my silk
nightgown resting at my thighs because I could feel the roughness of his
touch grazing upwards against my sensitive, soft skin towards my mound.
I was not wearing undergarments. The pair I used were precious and
currently drying somewhere… does he think me a whore, I worried-
He seemed to sense my mind fretting because one of his hands felt
down the side of my body slowly, taking in my shape. He was soothing me,
willing me to relax. His caress was deliberate, careful, finishing at
the side of my body where he gripped my hip, his fingers sinking into my
soft arse cheeks.
He audibly groaned here, starved for the softness of a woman’s body.
“Fuck,” he breathed, using his free hand to gently part my knees even
further and position himself at the entrance. His head remained above
water, however, and I could feel his eyes searching for mine through the
dark.
“Please…” he begged gruffly.
“Please,” I exhaled urgently, bucking my hips upwards in an attempt
to bring him closer to me. I felt his dark hair, dark brown and curly in
the daylight, tickle the sensitive inner side of my thighs, signalling
his descent into heaven.
“Slowly,” I begged, my body already wired with so much desire that I
felt I might break if he touched me too quickly, or too hard.
He slowly kissed along the parting of my lips. This was almost too
much; my inhales were short and sharp. He finally slid his warm, wet
tongue between the folds ever so slightly, barely reaching the pink
beneath that was slickening in preparedness.
I groaned now, all other thoughts fleeing my body in anticipation for
the moment his tongue would properly enter. When it did, I felt a rush
of warmth cascade from my feet upwards. I could hear the sound of his
wet tongue against my own moisture, lapping upwards towards the golden
crown at the top. He was slow and deliberate, without feeling mechanical
or procedural; He was listening to my breath, instructed by the
movement and response of my body.
I made a guttural sound as he reached the sacred place, his tongue flicking against it gently before massaging around its edges-
“Yes,” I gasped, “like that-”
But he didn’t need my help, because my body was riding against his
face, helping him reach the momentum it needed. His tongue quickened its
pace, sensing that I was riding towards something that was fast
approaching-
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming” I chanted breathlessly, the
ebbing of warmth in every part of my body concentrating into an intense
beam that was crescendo-ing into its peak. It had been so long since I
felt this.
His tongue, darting deftly, was only seconds away from that final
stroke. When it finally came, the crest of the wave brought a spilling
sensation that had my legs quivering around the sides of his head. Then,
my body felt as though it had melted away entirely.
He hungrily kissed upwards from my abdomen, resurfacing to kiss my mouth with stubble wet from my release.
“Max,” I whispered. I was panting slightly, my eyes still rolling
backwards towards the darkness above. I was immobilised. “I’m sorry, I…”
“No,” he stopped me. He didn’t care if I returned the favour; he was
too busy kissing my body lightly, devouring every inch he could. I must
have tasted salty with sweat. I smiled, willing myself to return to
reality.
I reached for his hand, guiding it up towards my breast. His body
came with it, softly pressing against mine. I could feel his member was
already stiff – it seemed to have only strengthened in the time since
I’d last felt it in my hand – but with the mention of my soft breasts,
it quivered against my abdomen.
His fingers started to gently coax the nipple, sending goosebumps
down my torso. He was not like other boys, who grabbed and pinched. He
took it into his mouth, sucking ever so gently. My other hand felt for
him, moving from the base towards the tip ever so gently.
“I could do this to you all night,” he promised me quietly-
“No.” It was my turn to stop him. My strength had returned.
I slunk downwards towards his cotton pants, bulging against what was
within. I pulled them downwards, feeling his legs start to kick them
away. We had showered hours before for the first time in months; his
body smelled faintly sweet, a musk of summer sweat just starting to
descend upon both of us.
I kissed the inner sides of his thighs and up around his navel,
wanting to draw out this moment for him. I moved unpredictably towards
his erection, trusting that in the darkness he was relying on the
sensation of touch alone. When I finally and slowly licked the length of
his shaft, I heard him gasp in the darkness above me.
“Natalie,” he exhaled with something that sounded almost like awe.
I continued to slick his shaft with my tongue, working my way up
towards the tip carefully, only tempering it ever so delicately. I
needed to take it all into my mouth, though; I did, working up and down
slowly, creating pressure with my lips as I went.
“Ugh,” he groaned, “Oh, Jesus…”
I worked him at the same slow pace, feeling his member throb with the
base of my tongue. He was writhing beneath me on the bed, his hands
grasping for my hair, my arm. The slowness was excruciating-
So I replaced the pressure of my mouth with the pressure of my hand,
gently increasing the pace. He was in ecstasy, laughing amidst the
groans of delight.
“You’re amazing”, he exhaled in disbelief. I could hear his smile. I
would have continued for as long as he would have me, but before long he
was begging.
“I need to be inside you.”
I was quick to oblige, my opening aching with the promise of him. I
straddled him once more, one hand bracing gently against his firm
abdomen while the other hand guided him inside.
There was little resistance; I was already so wet, enveloping him as
if we had been designed to take each other and each other alone. He was
the one who wanted to go slowly now, starting to buck his own hips up
underneath me to feel me tighten around him… but I wanted to stay in
control now, in the same way he had taken charge of me.
I rocked forwards and back on him, riding him so that my pussy moved
up and then back down to the base of his shaft with every stride. It
felt as if he were entering me for the first time, over and over. I
pinned his arms down, letting him relax into the feeling of being taken.
He sat up abruptly, laughing in delight, pulling my torso towards his
so that he could position me to be leaning back a little. He held me
there easily with one arm, using his strength now to push upwards inside
of me, pulsing harder and faster.
I groaned, feeling him start to hit the wall of my cervix and hint at
that inner spot, a different kind of dulled pleasure starting to
awaken. I gripped my legs around the back of his torso to intensify it.
He responded by taking both arms around me and standing up, lifting me
easily and turning me over onto my back, gently laying me down while
still maintaining his anchor inside me.
He pumped inside of me here, harder than he had before. I wanted him
to. He was starting to give in to his own needs now, rather than only
thinking of mine. It was not reckless, or angry; it was deliberate,
controlled. He was starving, but I knew too that he would hold out as
long as he could.
I felt my inner centre start to glow with the promise of a different
kind of climax. I was surprised. I let out a low, sustained moan and
positioned my legs so that they would tuck over his shoulders. I needed
him to go even deeper now.
He obliged, pumping. His breath was short; I could hear he was
getting closer because he was exerting more and more force in his
breaths, trying desperately to hold out. But I wanted him to surrender.
With my face beside his head, my soft mews of encouragement were right
beside his ears. Nothing was lost on him, and every sound I made egged
him on.
“I want you,” I said in a low whisper. “I want you.”
This was too much for him; he spluttered, his body spasming suddenly.
I could feel his rod giving it’s final quiver, releasing his load
inside of me. This filled me with such intense satisfaction that I rode
my own kind of second wave of pleasure.
He sighed, falling against my breast bone and burying his head into
the side of my neck. He inhaled here, holding my head in his hand,
cradling it. The pressure of his body against mine felt like home. I
felt safe.
“Natalie…” he murmured. I don’t know what followed in his mind, what
he was thinking but not saying, but it didn’t matter. He rolled over
onto his side, stroking my face in the darkness. Accustomed to the
darkness now, I could see his eyes, searching for mine.
I allowed myself to blink once or twice and look up at him. I didn’t
want to be separated from him… but I tore myself away to clean up.
The air was fresh around my body, naked of it’s covering, somehow
removed in the throes of ecstasy. I hoped this would bring him relief,
that he could sleep now, that I would return to the bed to find him
sound asleep. His body was sprawled on its back, the moonlight
illuminating his gorgeous expanse of chest, muscle and smooth pale skin.
I found my place beside him, trying not to disturb. But within moments,
he had turned himself inward to hold me again, our bodies returned to
their half moons, only now there was only skin separating us.
by PeriodPorn for Literotica.
View all episodes
By Steamy Stories
3.7
1919 ratings
A WW2 fantasy: a spy and a pilot take refuge in each other.
by PeriodPorn. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Max turned around, still half asleep, pulling my body into the
half-moon of his own. We lay on a straw mattress in the loft of a barn
that had been taken by the resistance here in rural France, and for
modesty’s sake we had retreated to either sides of it; a difficult task,
now made more challenging by the pilot’s movements.
He took a deep inhale, his face nestled into the back of my neck, and
exhaled warm breath onto my tingling skin. Now, with me in his arms,
his nightmares were retreating into the dark recess of his subconscious.
We had slept beside each other for four nights now. That was how long
it had been since we had found each other on a backroad from the
border, him separated from his grounded plane and me… well, I had kept
myself separate from everything in order to remain undetected. Every
night he had been wracked with awful nightmares; this was the first he
had touched me in his sleep.
I knew that this respite from undoubtedly horrid images should be
protected, but an itch inside of me yearned for his hands, now securely
fastened at my waist, to animate themselves and explore my body. He had
removed his cotton undershirt to sleep better in the heat, and in the
dappled moonlight of the barn I could make out the sinews beneath his
bare skin.
“You hardly know him”, my brain hissed to itself, cannibalistic in
it’s determination to stifle the urges. “And he’s not even awake so he
doesn’t know what he’s doing”-
Yet, I tilted my pelvis back ever so slightly. I sighed, trying to
mimic the unintentional sounds of someone asleep. The movement made my
body arch back into his groin. His body seemed to instinctively tighten
around me, welcoming the way the space between us vanished. I felt
small, childlike inside his broad, muscular frame.
I tilted my pelvis back yet again, hoping the rhythmic movement might
stir some kind of consciousness into his lower half. I moaned, as if I
was the one having nightmares now. His arms, once slack against my lithe
torso, now stiffened.
That might have done it.
I continued to keep my eyes shut, gripping my arms tighter against
his, as if I were protecting myself. The more I created this fiction,
the more real it felt. Hadn’t I been trying to make myself invisible,
protecting myself from enemies this whole time?
“Natalie?” He whispered, his Scottish vowels thick and low in his hoarse semi-consciousness.
I waited a moment, then pretended to rouse myself. I murmured a little.
“Natalie,” he said, more gently this time, “I think you’re havin’ a nightmare.”
You’re a sneaky bitch, my brain thought- but his arms were so strong,
his chest so firm against my back. I hadn’t felt this safe since the
start of the war. I was alone then… I had been alone for years. I had
used men sexually, of course… but not for my own comfort. Not for my own
pleasure. Hadn’t I known from the moment he smiled from beneath his RAF
cap that this could be a different kind of ally?
“You’re having a bad dream,” he repeated softly, with a tenderness I
almost couldn’t bear. As if I’d known him for more than two days. As if
the thought of me, my safety, and my unreachable subconscious was of the
utmost importance to him.
I turned in so I was facing him, curling inwards and tucking my face
just below his chin. I would never admit to being frightened by
daylight, but in the darkness, I permitted myself this luxury; comfort. I
had been frightened for so long, one almost comes to accept it; it was a
fear people who did not know wartime would never understand.
One of the pilots arms wrapped around my back and scooped me up, the
other wrapping underneath my neck to cradle the nape of my hairline. His
fingers were coarse unlike mine which were still soft from handling
weapons of a slightly different kind: transistor radios.
“Shhh,” he whispered sleepily. “It’s alright.” His hand was so big
that whilst still cupping the back of my head, his thumb could rest
against my cheek. It stroked my face calmly, sending chills from the
root of my torso up my spine.
My breath caught a little, suspended between us. His other arm was
still draped around me, no doubt feeling the change in my body. His body
stilled too; he was suddenly holding his breath as well. His thumb,
however, maintained its steady rhythm.
I held my breath still, willing it to edge closer towards my parted lips.
And then, it did. I could feel it… His thumb was edging closer and
closer towards my lips, and then dared to caress them, catching slowly
against my full lower lip as it did.
The moment his thumb caught my lower lip, I exhaled, a light breeze
brushing against his skin. His thumb lingered there, against the warm
and wet skin inside. He was waiting for me to protest, to push him away.
The silence between us felt electric. I moved one of my legs to
negotiate the space between his, hooking myself around him so that our
bodies could press together. With my chest now against his, I could feel
the air between us thudding with quickening heartbeats.
He did not remove his thumb from the entrance of my mouth. He was waiting for me to give him a signal to proceed.
I gently brought his thumb between my teeth. It felt both coquettish
and primal; the feeling of something fragile, soft, ready to be
destroyed.
Yet, his thumb retreated. I might have lost hope there, embarrassed
and rejected, were it not for the feeling of his thrust pulsating
against my lap. An unmistakable reaction of longing.
I should not have worried; his retreating thumb dragged down my chin
and neck slowly, leaving a slightly damp residue behind it that cooled
quickly in the night air. Simultaneously his other arm brought me even
closer to him, his breathing quickening.
“Natalie,” he whispered, betraying a deep sense of longing. I knew he wanted me, then. He wanted me quite desperately.
But I did not want it to be quick. I wanted it to be slow.
I brought my free arm up behind his head so I could drag my fingers
from the back of his head to the back of his neck, bringing my face up
to meet his. Would he take it from me greedily, as if I were some street
woman in a foreign city, an anonymous body that he could hide inside
until his grief had retreated?
He seemed to sense this. Instead of greedily launching at my mouth, he held me there.
“I wish I could see your eyes,” he whispered urgently. “Your eyes…”
“You can,” I promised him. “What do you see?”
I was terrified of his answer, because I knew that so many men had
answers readily prepared for questions like this; it didn’t matter who
was looking at them or who was asking. Intimacy was a game, a war they
could win on foreign shores before returning to their squadrons to
regale their mates with their conquests. I felt too deeply for that.
Losing this moment to a parlour story meant for male amusement would be
too painful.
He was silent. Then, in a voice of resignation and sadness:
“I saw a lot of pain.”
There was no pretence, no air of manipulation. There was familiarity,
however; a sense that he recognised it in me because he felt it
himself.
I held his neck here, hit with a wave of grief for us both. I would
have pulled him so close that his body merged with mine, if I could. But
this hand released him as soon as it held him there, tracing down the
skin of his spine until I could pull it inwards towards our stomachs and
continue this unbroken line, ever so slowly, around his side and drag
it upwards between us against his almost hairless chest.
I felt his heart beating there. His mast continued to throb against
me, but it did not cheapen the moment. It intensified it. I knew he
wanted me, and that it took everything in him to restrain himself…
because he needed me more than he wanted me. He needed me to be here, in
whatever way, and he wouldn’t do anything to risk it being taken away.
“I need you too.” I breathed. He could have me in whatever way he wanted… if that’s what he really wanted.
I could feel his face tilting towards mine, slowly, until his breath
whispered against my mouth. Our lips were so close, his breath sweet and
warm, smelling of the mead we’d drank with the resistance soldiers
downstairs.
His lips were soft against mine. I realised then that I had imagined
this moment every time I looked at them, plump and full. His wrested
with mine, not trying to part them but just enjoying the way they melted
into each other.
I was hungrier, it seemed; I gently parted his, daring my tongue to
trace within just has his thumb had done only a few moments before. He
drank me in. His warm tongue wrapped against mine, sending tingles
through every nerve ending available, making me hungrier and hungrier.
He finally broke his stillness. He gave in to his urges and grasped
my body firmly. He positioned me on top of him as if I weighed nothing.
My groin could not be separated from his, seeking heat and pressure,
pressing against his shaft and his lower abdomen as I righted myself on
top of him.
Electricity surged inside of me, moving me to sit up away from his
intensifying kiss so that I could straighten my arms and brace them on
either side of his shoulders to slowly rock the seat of my body against
him. I was abreast a wild horse, willing it to pursue.
He groaned quietly, rock-hard beneath me. I continued to work him,
wanting to feed the desire I knew was raging inside of him. It became
too much to bear; he reached up with one hand and secured it behind my
neck, bringing us together so that he could kiss me again, more urgently
and messily this time.
I slipped one of my arms down against his chest again, wanting to
coax the creature that was aching for mine. He almost snarled inside my
mouth as he grabbed that same hand and used his body to deftly spin me
to my back, pinning both arms up on either side of my head. I exhaled
through a smile, exhilarated by his careful control of my body.
Now he had me pinned, and with a masterful restraint pulled his
crotch away from mine so he could move quickly down towards my base. It
was yearning for touch.
I found myself nervous; he may not do this for women, I thought. A
lot of men don’t. Yet his fingers must have found the hem of my silk
nightgown resting at my thighs because I could feel the roughness of his
touch grazing upwards against my sensitive, soft skin towards my mound.
I was not wearing undergarments. The pair I used were precious and
currently drying somewhere… does he think me a whore, I worried-
He seemed to sense my mind fretting because one of his hands felt
down the side of my body slowly, taking in my shape. He was soothing me,
willing me to relax. His caress was deliberate, careful, finishing at
the side of my body where he gripped my hip, his fingers sinking into my
soft arse cheeks.
He audibly groaned here, starved for the softness of a woman’s body.
“Fuck,” he breathed, using his free hand to gently part my knees even
further and position himself at the entrance. His head remained above
water, however, and I could feel his eyes searching for mine through the
dark.
“Please…” he begged gruffly.
“Please,” I exhaled urgently, bucking my hips upwards in an attempt
to bring him closer to me. I felt his dark hair, dark brown and curly in
the daylight, tickle the sensitive inner side of my thighs, signalling
his descent into heaven.
“Slowly,” I begged, my body already wired with so much desire that I
felt I might break if he touched me too quickly, or too hard.
He slowly kissed along the parting of my lips. This was almost too
much; my inhales were short and sharp. He finally slid his warm, wet
tongue between the folds ever so slightly, barely reaching the pink
beneath that was slickening in preparedness.
I groaned now, all other thoughts fleeing my body in anticipation for
the moment his tongue would properly enter. When it did, I felt a rush
of warmth cascade from my feet upwards. I could hear the sound of his
wet tongue against my own moisture, lapping upwards towards the golden
crown at the top. He was slow and deliberate, without feeling mechanical
or procedural; He was listening to my breath, instructed by the
movement and response of my body.
I made a guttural sound as he reached the sacred place, his tongue flicking against it gently before massaging around its edges-
“Yes,” I gasped, “like that-”
But he didn’t need my help, because my body was riding against his
face, helping him reach the momentum it needed. His tongue quickened its
pace, sensing that I was riding towards something that was fast
approaching-
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming” I chanted breathlessly, the
ebbing of warmth in every part of my body concentrating into an intense
beam that was crescendo-ing into its peak. It had been so long since I
felt this.
His tongue, darting deftly, was only seconds away from that final
stroke. When it finally came, the crest of the wave brought a spilling
sensation that had my legs quivering around the sides of his head. Then,
my body felt as though it had melted away entirely.
He hungrily kissed upwards from my abdomen, resurfacing to kiss my mouth with stubble wet from my release.
“Max,” I whispered. I was panting slightly, my eyes still rolling
backwards towards the darkness above. I was immobilised. “I’m sorry, I…”
“No,” he stopped me. He didn’t care if I returned the favour; he was
too busy kissing my body lightly, devouring every inch he could. I must
have tasted salty with sweat. I smiled, willing myself to return to
reality.
I reached for his hand, guiding it up towards my breast. His body
came with it, softly pressing against mine. I could feel his member was
already stiff – it seemed to have only strengthened in the time since
I’d last felt it in my hand – but with the mention of my soft breasts,
it quivered against my abdomen.
His fingers started to gently coax the nipple, sending goosebumps
down my torso. He was not like other boys, who grabbed and pinched. He
took it into his mouth, sucking ever so gently. My other hand felt for
him, moving from the base towards the tip ever so gently.
“I could do this to you all night,” he promised me quietly-
“No.” It was my turn to stop him. My strength had returned.
I slunk downwards towards his cotton pants, bulging against what was
within. I pulled them downwards, feeling his legs start to kick them
away. We had showered hours before for the first time in months; his
body smelled faintly sweet, a musk of summer sweat just starting to
descend upon both of us.
I kissed the inner sides of his thighs and up around his navel,
wanting to draw out this moment for him. I moved unpredictably towards
his erection, trusting that in the darkness he was relying on the
sensation of touch alone. When I finally and slowly licked the length of
his shaft, I heard him gasp in the darkness above me.
“Natalie,” he exhaled with something that sounded almost like awe.
I continued to slick his shaft with my tongue, working my way up
towards the tip carefully, only tempering it ever so delicately. I
needed to take it all into my mouth, though; I did, working up and down
slowly, creating pressure with my lips as I went.
“Ugh,” he groaned, “Oh, Jesus…”
I worked him at the same slow pace, feeling his member throb with the
base of my tongue. He was writhing beneath me on the bed, his hands
grasping for my hair, my arm. The slowness was excruciating-
So I replaced the pressure of my mouth with the pressure of my hand,
gently increasing the pace. He was in ecstasy, laughing amidst the
groans of delight.
“You’re amazing”, he exhaled in disbelief. I could hear his smile. I
would have continued for as long as he would have me, but before long he
was begging.
“I need to be inside you.”
I was quick to oblige, my opening aching with the promise of him. I
straddled him once more, one hand bracing gently against his firm
abdomen while the other hand guided him inside.
There was little resistance; I was already so wet, enveloping him as
if we had been designed to take each other and each other alone. He was
the one who wanted to go slowly now, starting to buck his own hips up
underneath me to feel me tighten around him… but I wanted to stay in
control now, in the same way he had taken charge of me.
I rocked forwards and back on him, riding him so that my pussy moved
up and then back down to the base of his shaft with every stride. It
felt as if he were entering me for the first time, over and over. I
pinned his arms down, letting him relax into the feeling of being taken.
He sat up abruptly, laughing in delight, pulling my torso towards his
so that he could position me to be leaning back a little. He held me
there easily with one arm, using his strength now to push upwards inside
of me, pulsing harder and faster.
I groaned, feeling him start to hit the wall of my cervix and hint at
that inner spot, a different kind of dulled pleasure starting to
awaken. I gripped my legs around the back of his torso to intensify it.
He responded by taking both arms around me and standing up, lifting me
easily and turning me over onto my back, gently laying me down while
still maintaining his anchor inside me.
He pumped inside of me here, harder than he had before. I wanted him
to. He was starting to give in to his own needs now, rather than only
thinking of mine. It was not reckless, or angry; it was deliberate,
controlled. He was starving, but I knew too that he would hold out as
long as he could.
I felt my inner centre start to glow with the promise of a different
kind of climax. I was surprised. I let out a low, sustained moan and
positioned my legs so that they would tuck over his shoulders. I needed
him to go even deeper now.
He obliged, pumping. His breath was short; I could hear he was
getting closer because he was exerting more and more force in his
breaths, trying desperately to hold out. But I wanted him to surrender.
With my face beside his head, my soft mews of encouragement were right
beside his ears. Nothing was lost on him, and every sound I made egged
him on.
“I want you,” I said in a low whisper. “I want you.”
This was too much for him; he spluttered, his body spasming suddenly.
I could feel his rod giving it’s final quiver, releasing his load
inside of me. This filled me with such intense satisfaction that I rode
my own kind of second wave of pleasure.
He sighed, falling against my breast bone and burying his head into
the side of my neck. He inhaled here, holding my head in his hand,
cradling it. The pressure of his body against mine felt like home. I
felt safe.
“Natalie…” he murmured. I don’t know what followed in his mind, what
he was thinking but not saying, but it didn’t matter. He rolled over
onto his side, stroking my face in the darkness. Accustomed to the
darkness now, I could see his eyes, searching for mine.
I allowed myself to blink once or twice and look up at him. I didn’t
want to be separated from him… but I tore myself away to clean up.
The air was fresh around my body, naked of it’s covering, somehow
removed in the throes of ecstasy. I hoped this would bring him relief,
that he could sleep now, that I would return to the bed to find him
sound asleep. His body was sprawled on its back, the moonlight
illuminating his gorgeous expanse of chest, muscle and smooth pale skin.
I found my place beside him, trying not to disturb. But within moments,
he had turned himself inward to hold me again, our bodies returned to
their half moons, only now there was only skin separating us.
by PeriodPorn for Literotica.
More shows like Steamy-Stories
View all
Down N Dirty Sexy Hot Adult Stories from the Street
959 Listeners
Friday's | Hot Passionate Sex Stories to Heat Up Your Nights
240 Listeners
The Curious Girl Diaries
596 Listeners
Erotic Stories from Wylde in Bed
609 Listeners
Cum With Us: Erotic Audio Stories for Women
454 Listeners
My Sexy Stories
306 Listeners
Erotica Lust
218 Listeners
Erotic Stories Network
110 Listeners
Bedtime Stories With Salty Vixen
76 Listeners
78 Listeners
Erotic Stories
872 Listeners
Erotic Stories by Krystine
82 Listeners
The Audio Porn 🔞 | Erotic Stories
259 Listeners
Erotic Audio Stories π by Audiodesires
23 Listeners
Erotic Audio Sex
138 Listeners