Four writers for the price of one blog
Originally posted February, 2010. Taken down for publication in Slivered Lens. Reposted July, 2016
Start Without Me
By Raziel Moore
“I got this. You go ahead and start, I’ll be right up!”
I meant it as a joke, chuckling to myself while I put away the last of the groceries. Like half of the eastern seaboard, we’ve taken the gloomy half-day before the predicted blizzard to stock up on food and necessities – including treats. I figure, from the way we’d been flirting at the market I’ll find you tucked under the covers, your little crooked smile telling me you were naked for me under there.
I take a little more time, opening a bottle of wine and grabbing some glasses. Prelude or afters, it doesn’t matter really. I know we aren’t planning on leaving the bedroom for quite a while. Hell, if the power goes out in the snowstorm, we won’t leave the bed for a long, long time. With that thought, I pause again and grab some crackers, cheese, chocolate sauce, and a couple other things I think we might need or want in the cocooning night and day ahead.
But I had no idea.
I almost drop my armload of supplies along with my jaw at the bedroom door. “Go ahead and start,” I’d said. And you have. You do have your little crooked smile on, below half lidded eyes, pillowed head propped up and looking at me. But I don’t have to guess you’re naked under the covers. No. There you are, lying in the middle of the bed, pale and beautiful, and spread. Your knees wide apart and bent, I catch your crimson-painted toes digging into our matching comforter. Because you have started without me.
In all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never seen, never watched you masturbate. Nor you me, for that matter. I mean, we each know the other does it, but it never comes up in conversation. It’s for when one of us is too tired, or not in the mood, or out of town, or the other of us is too horny to wait. But now, here, right in front of me, you’re touching yourself, playing yourself, and it is the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I know I’ve said something, probably a curse word, but I don’t know what it was.
“You said I should start…” Your breath catches on the last word, because your wet finger has just crossed over your clit, and I can see the shiver pass through you. You smile at me, wickedly, challenging me. My heart and cock both lurch.
I almost drop the wine and the other supplies again while setting them on the bureau. Only a fraction of my attention is on what I’m doing. Everything else is focused on you. My eyes take you in. You look at me, sultry, wanton, yet private – I’m an observer, not a cause, of your pleasure. One hand gropes your breast, tickling your own side then coming up to circle and tweak one nipple and then the other. Your movements are subtly different than what I do when I touch you there. Of course. You know precisely what to do to get the stimulation you want. I try to make a note of each difference for later.
I look down along your quivering belly, watching your breathing interrupted by the little shucks of pleasure you give yourself. The fingers of your other hand slide between the folds of your slick, flowing cunt. I absently begin disrobing, following the urging ache between my own legs, eyes fixed on your wet fingers delving, dividing, teasing yourself. And you are turning yourself on. I can see it, hear it in your sighing voice, scent it from across the room. Your hips undulate, not like you are trying to entice me, but because you’re getting yourself hotter. You’re getting me hotter, too.
I’m naked, I think, naked enough, anyway; cock free and pointed where it wants to be. I step to the foot of the bed and get on, approaching one knee after the other until I am kneeling between your widespread legs. I know you can see what you’re doing to me. How much I want you. You pause, fluttering. I see the tiny spasm in your wanting cunt.
“Come inside…” you beckon me.
Temptress. Succubus. My reply stutters, my own voice unfamiliar.
“No… not yet. I want to see you. Watch you.”
You raise a brow, and then half close your eyes and moan quietly as your fingers slide down along either side of your clit. My cock is inches from your quivering slit. Your voice is sex.
“You, too,” you say. “Show me what you do.”
My hand is on my shaft, jacking the way I do when I’m alone. But I’m not fantasizing. I’m not imagining anything, I’m watching you. I don’t close my eyes like I sometimes do. I don’t focus on a single image or a single thought in my mind. I’m busy watching your face, hands, and body. My heart pounds in my chest, is echoed in my pulsing cock as you squirm and buck into your hand. Your flood stains the comforter dark. A drop from me adds its own spot.
You’re watching me, too. You’re staring at my cock and what I’m doing to it, studying me as I’m studying you; committing each other’s secrets to memory.
The blush colors your cheeks, travels down your chest. It is one of the most beautiful things I can imagine, watching your orgasm approach. Your mouth begins to form that shape, wanton. Your eyes, seeking mine, begin to lose focus, and I can see your whole body beginning to shudder. I work my cock harder, gripping hard, pumping myself mercilessly.
You go rigid, mouth forming that perfect ‘o’, eyes staring into mine, back arched into plunging fingers.
Now. Now it is too much.
I grab your wrists as I lunge forward, pinning them to either side of your head. My cockhead, an inch from your entrance, stabs straight and true, and I plunge into your pulsing, coming cunt, so wet, hot, tight with the spasms of your crashing orgasm. I force my way through, enflamed, engorged, on the edge myself. Your sigh breaks into a scream with my invasion, and it only makes me press harder, until I am buried in your fluttering, squeezing, coming body, belly to belly.
Your heat and pressure and sound envelop and overwhelm me, pull my cum from my balls. I’ve no sooner rooted in you than I am coming, my pulses matching yours, my voice a rougher undertone to yours.
Seconds pass. Minutes. My head is buried in your neck, our breathing calmed. You giggle and whine at the same time, a sound I’ve not heard before.
“Aww. I wanted to see you come,” you say.
You’ve seen it. You’ve used your own hands and mouth and seen it close up. But I know what you mean. You wanted to see me do it, make myself come. I chuckle back at you.
“I’ll show you. I promise. And I want to see you again, too. All the way through. I just couldn’t help myself this time.”
You make a sound like a purr and wiggle under me. Satisfied. I know you like it when I lose control. We are the same that way.
Some time in the night, after wine, and cheese, and chocolate, the power does go out. We don’t notice until the candles start guttering.