AislingWeaver, D/s, Erotica, F/F

#WankWednesday :: #Utensil

It’s a bit late, but I thought I’d take a run at Ruby Kiddell’s #wankwednesday prompt this week.  Should prove interesting! Do swing by her place to see the rest of the offerings!


Breathe. My hands shook, my heart stumbled.  I made myself finish my task, storing every plate, cup, and utensil in its proper spot before turning around.

She waited.  Patience and nerves writ plain in the gentle smile on her lips and the twitch of her fingertips.

Beyond her my home glowed with sunset’s reaching rays and the soft halos of candles.  I blinked.

“I drew you a bath,” she said, rising from the table, holding her hand out to me.  My fingers nestled into her grip, the soft strength of her touch skittering up my arm.

Every particle of moisture in my mouth fled, wicked to my cunt by the simple touch.  I followed her.  Flames alone lit the bathroom.  A stack of towels waiting beside the tub.  The air clung to my skin, replacing the weight of fabric as Hannah undressed me.  Silence wrapped around us, held us.  A draft slithered up my bared spine, a sylph come to love my body with her.

My lover handed me into the water, the slosh and rock of it loud in the space left by the absence of our words.  I swallowed.  Somewhere in a span of breaths the night turned sacred.

Hannah bathed me.  Every twitch of my fingers to help she calmed, until I sat, languid and quiescent beneath her hands.  Warm water cascaded over my head, streaking down my cheeks, my back, over the swells of my breasts.  Her eyes glowed in the gentle light, flecks of gold picked out in the thin ring of green about her dilated pupils.  The cloth, soft, still chased urgent signals of sensation through my nerves.

She permitted me no allowance to urge things along.  The warmth seeped into my body, easing sore muscles and aching joints.  Hannah washed every inch of me from my toes to my head. I drew a breath when she pushed me under water.  One hand splayed across my sternum, the other rinsed the soap from my hair.  I floated.  Bubble by bubble air slipped from my lungs, popping on the surface.  And still she held me down.  Instinct whispered from a dark corner of my mind and I ignored it.  Her touch had laid claim over every inch of me.  I didn’t count; not the seconds nor the bubbles.  My only mark of time arrived with the burn of my empty lungs, my hungry aveoli crying out for oxygen.

And still the water sloshed around my head, over my face.  The pressure on my chest eased when the darkness behind my eyelids grew darker still.  I emerged from beneath the water with my veins pumping hypoxic blood.  I blinked.  Her fingers touched my lips.  “Breathe,” she whispered and I did.  Life rushed through my body, spinning me though I didn’t move.  She pulled the plug, drained the water, refilled it.  It lapped around me, hotter than before.  I moaned when Hannah dragged her thumb over my lower lip.  “This is love,” she said, low and soft.  Her mouth followed her thumb and I melted into her kiss.  Her teeth teased my lips, her tongue delved my mouth until I sagged against the cool porcelain edge.

Again she tilted me back until I lay cradled by the hot embrace of the bath.  Her fingers returned, touch just as soft but somehow wielding the keen edge of desire.  One hand dipped beneath the surface to finger that distinct estuary where my own lust met simple water.  Then she pushed deeper.  My neck arched.  Her free hand twined into the float of my hair.  “This,” she breathed against my lips, my vision full of her eyes, “this is trust.”

The sound of sloshing water and pounding heartbeats filled my ears as her grip pulled me under.  I stared up through the sparkling water, watching her watch me.  Her fingers thrust into me, thumb sliding up and over my clit.  Hannah fucked me with her strong fingers and the hot rush of the water against my sensitive nerves.  And still she held me under water with her grip and her eyes and the promises we’d made each other.

Trust.  Love.  Lust.  Desire.  Adoration.  Surrender.  Passion.  Pleasure.  Pain.

My chest jerked, I ground my teeth together.  My eyes burned with the rush of the bathwater against them.  My vision clouded, my cunt clenched.  Her eyes closed, hiding a flicker of doubt and I felt her grip weaken.

I reached through the water.  My hand stretching and stretching until my fingers brushed her cheek.  The coil of my orgasm tightened still further, drawing closer to the edge.  My body ceased to try to breathe.  I never do on that edge.  I floated in the water, spine arched between her fuck and the clench of her fingers in my hair.  Her eyes opened and I watched her certainty return.

Come for me. I read her lips.  My body obeyed.  My scream erupted in a stream of endless bubbles, ricocheting through the water.  I lost track of everything in the convulsion of my release, my skin rippling with goosebumps, my cunt flooding.

I sagged against her, aware somewhere beyond the rush of my blood through my arteries that I was sitting up, cradled in the curve of her arms, her legs stretched out on either side of me.  Her lips delivered low words of adoration to my ear, her heart rushing beneath my cheek.  A hum still sang through my body, a resonance of coming, of coming undone.  “Thank you,” she said, so low I barely caught the words.  I nodded, my throat raw and sore, my vision still sparking with bright spots, my thoughts still buried in the crumbling wall we’d destroyed.


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