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The girl sighs as she stretches, her back arching and her body covered in his thoughts. He thinks she is the most incredible thing he has ever imagined. She is here, she is now, she is alive, she is aware, and she is wonderful. The guy can’t imagine what he did to deserve her. She is such a beauty, such a stark contrast to him. She is graceful, small, feminine, and beautiful. He is awkward, tall, masculine, and bland. She is the girl at the bar that everyone watches, he is the guy that everyone avoids. She is confidence, he is invisible. He knows he should do something to break the ice, he wants to caress her but knows better. He never knows how to start these things, and so he waits for inspiration that never comes. Finally, he realizes that the inspiration isn’t coming, and he has to do something. He leans over and gives her an awkward sort of kiss on the cheek. It was too hard and he hit her cheek with his nose. He wants to collapse inward, implode, disappear, die, shatter. She smiles. She takes his hand and touches her cheek with it, gently running his fingertips over the smoothest skin he has ever felt, brushing her lips, her eyebrows, her soft hair. He attempts the kiss again, this time kissing her closed eye gently. He tries to make the kiss everything that she is, soft and warm and loving. He thinks that it worked, at least it feels that way to him. “It’s okay,” she says. And he knows that it is. He wants to tell her everything, the way she can draw a smile out of him, the way he feels when he sees her, the way he feels when she leaves. All he can manage in response is “teach me.” She moves close to him, kisses him with soft lips, and draws his arms around her. He is embarrassed by the closeness. She can feel how hard he is, has been since she came into the room. He wants to hide his lechery, this physical reflection of his desire. Nowhere to hide. She presses herself against him, applying pressure to him and making him shiver. His breath is coming in hitches that he tries to disguise by not breathing. Her hands are moving, one to his hair and the other down his back. He holds her tight, no longer ashamed. And they caress. |
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When she pulls away he is frightened. Perhaps she is unhappy? Is he doing it wrong? Too fast? Too slow? She smiles and his fear falls away again. Suddenly he realizes that everything is fine, that she is here and understands. A feeling wells inside him that he would not recognize to call confidence. She slowly lifts her shirt, making him wonder at every inch of flesh. Her stomach is toned and flat, but still feminine and alluring. Her skin is lightly tanned. As her breasts come into view he makes an odd sound, a cross between a sigh and a moan. They are wonderful, just the right size and shape, the nipples delicate and erect. Her nipples are pierced, and the little hoops captivate his thoughts. He knows how sensitive her nipples must be now with the metal rings, and it drives him wild. Still he stands and watches. Her hand frees the top button of her pants and slides the zipper down easily. The pants come off quicker, revealing the firm legs of a dancer and the ass he has sneaked looks at so many times before. She is wearing only a thin patch of fabric that somehow manages to maintain all the mystery he has been dying to dispel. The fabric is damp in patches, and that sound slips out again. She moves to him now, lifting his shirt off by running her hands up his stomach and chest. He knows he is not going to win any awards over his body, but she does not seem to notice. She lifts his shirt away, then runs her hand over his chest. Her hand slips around to his back, around the curve of his ass, and then back to the front to feel him only for a moment, then darting up to undo the pants. She pulls them down to his ankles, and he almost stumbles as he steps out of them. As she slides the underwear off, her hair glides across his waist and dick, making it clench. She is kneeling before him, smiling up at him. She moves closer, takes him into her mouth. He has never had this before and his knees buckle. It was so incredibly warm and soft. Now he has slipped and fallen in front of her, and he blushes. She laughs, but not at him. She moves over him again, licking, nibbling, tasting him. He is happy that she is not looking at his face, because he knows how stupid he must look. He stops her. |
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She lies back at his beckoning, and he takes a moment to look at her again in her splendor. He wants to kiss everything from her forehead to her toes, to make her understand that it’s not about him now. Her skin is warm to his gentle kisses. He takes the time to taste every inch of her, enjoying the smell of her hair, the feel of her nape. When he touches the rings in her nipples she sighs and involuntarily bucks her hips. He is possessed. Gently, he explores each breast with his tongue, teeth and hands. He knows not to focus on the nipples, and not to be rough. Each breast is lifted in his hands, softly caressed, his fingers sliding down towards the nipples, then nudging the rings. His tongue brushes each nipple, tugs the rings lightly, tastes the salty sweat that is appearing between the breasts. He wishes he could do this all day. Suddenly her hand is on his head, moving him down. She is still wearing the scrap of material between her legs, reserving the right to remove it for him. He hopes he does it right. With reverence he pulls it slowly down, the material stretching and twisting as it travels down her legs. He has never seen anything so desirable. He kneels to pray, his kisses causing her to arch her back and moan. His tongue lazily flits over her lips, finds the button and presses. She tastes so sweet to him. He matches the speed and force of his lips and tongue to the speed of her breathing. Gentle bites bring pleasure-ache sounds from her mouth. Sucking her pearl makes her shiver. Her body responds to his efforts. The sighs give way to grunts, groans, gasps. He feels selfish from how much pleasure he gets from her reactions. When she comes, he feels like a God. Her hands find him as she shudders under the power of her orgasm and she pulls him up. Her hand finds him and drags his head across the soaking lips of her pussy. She can feel him accidentally flex in her hand with the contact. Suddenly he is in her and everything that came before is pale in comparison. He can’t remember ever not wanting her. He can’t think of a time when she wasn’t an unattainable goal that he dreamed about. Now they were here, and it was more than any of his fantasies could have conjured. They moved slowly. Gazed into each other’s eyes. They lost track of the time, lost all thought of anything but each other. Now he was on top of her, now she sitting on his lap with her nipple ring in his tongue, now facing the other way but still sitting, now on their sides. He could take no more, and she knew it. Together they sped up the pace, almost immediately bringing her off again. She grunted and wheezed, and the desire in her throaty voice brought him over the brink. They lay together for a while, kissing and talking and laughing. Everything was right, he was so glad for her. “You really are amazing,” he sighed. “You don’t know the half of it. That was making love. Now we fuck.”
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
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