Skin

It's those couple of inches of skin that you've left exposed that start my imagination. Winter's come back to Vancouver and it's cold, which means a return to wool coats that come below the knee and bundled up layers of fabric hiding beautiful figures.

I took the bus to work the other day, which I don't do very often and you were there sitting. I stayed standing, and noticed you almost immediately. Red fingernails, a vintage green vinyl bag right out of the 70s were the first things.

I was drawn in by those couple of inches of skin between the bottom of your skirt--not too short, by any means, it probably slid up when you sat down--and the top of your knee high leggings.

I imagine kneeling in front of you, your legs spread just slightly. I kiss you lightly just above each knee before my hands touch you, the fingertips sliding just under the hem of your skirt. My hands are warm against your cold skin and I slide your skirt up as you lift yourself just slightly off your seat.

Kissing my way up your thighs your legs spread slightly as I get higher and my fingers move to the elastic waist of your red panties. They match your fingernails. Nice.

I slide your panties down exposing you and my tongue enters, probing deeply. Sliding from the bottom to the top. After a moment you lift your feet and I slide your panties off over your feet, putting them in the pocket of my jacket.

My tongue works, up and down spreading your folds. A finger slides in, then two. Your hands--those fingernails--grab the back of my head and pull me in closer as your pussy dampens. My face is covered with your juices. I hook my fingers, finding that place  inside you that arouses you so much. Stroking it, applying pressure, you lips part and you moan. You plead for more.

My stop, I stand and slide your skirt back down. My tongue probes your lips, your mouth, you taste yourself on my and I walk to the back doors, your panties still in my pocket, your scent still clinging to my face.

Thank you, for those couple of inches of skin.

Bound

Things don't have to be complicated. Simple things can set the mind wandering, sometimes at the most awkward moments.

A mental image of you walking towards me, our lips meet. Gently at first, and then with more force.

I turn you around to face the wall, and reach out to the shelf where I was working, Pushing you into the wall with my hardness I peel off the edge of the tape. Grabbing your hands I push them together behind your back and start to wrap your wrists in tape, binding them together.

I bending you over and you turn your head so your cheek is lying on the pillow rather than your face. This small bit of control you can take: leaving you the ability to talk, to moan, to beg me to enter you as my hand lifts your skirt and my fingers run over your moist panties, gently probing.

My hands reach for your hips, and pull your panties down your thighs, along the leather of your boots. You lift one leg and I slide one side of your panties off, leaving them hanging against the leather. The red contrasting against the dark leather.

Your legs spread slightly as I fall on my knees and lick you from top to bottom, then insert two fingers as you moan.

The good old hockey game...

Vancouver has been overrun with visitors for the last two weeks, the 2010 Winter Olympics brining millions to town to admire, celebrate, and party. It seems like mostly just party much of the time. Good times.

Your knock on the door was quiet, almost timid and I almost missed it. Opening it for you, you came in dressed for the rain: the boots I love, the neckline of your red sweater contrasting with the white skin of your cleavage, covered by your long trench coat. Peeling it off, I hang it in the closet the water dripping slowly off of it. A gentle welcoming kiss, as always, before heading to the kitchen to get ready for the game. Watching hockey isn't something we do, but it's the Olympics and it seems like a good, quiet Friday night.

Food and snacks make their way from the fridge, to your fingers, to mine and then finally to plates and the table. We sit down together as the game starts, distracted by each other. Facing each other on the couch, we talk about the day, our legs entwined, the game on in the background. A distraction as much as anything else.

Your feet wander between my legs, gently stroking my length beneath my jeans and it grows slightly. You smile as a carrot stick enters your lips, your tongue reaching out to lick the creamy dip off of it. It's a smile that somehow manages to combine wickedness and evilness in one.

From outside, noise erupts on the street and we turn to the TV for a moment. Canada's scored, and the city is happy. The distraction is welcome.

Back to our conversation, you lean forward for a moment and peel your sweater off. Its unseasonably warm, and this leaves you in only a white t-shirt and your jeans, the lacy texture of your bra shows through the t-shirt teasing me.

As we finish our first drink, my foot has joined yours: resting against your sex, I can feel the warmth through your jeans. You get up, going to the kitchen to get another drink.

A few moments later you return, carrying a drink, a bowl of strawberries and your jeans are gone. Sitting on the couch again, you lean back, your thighs spread slightly and the red panties (how patriotic) showing me your sex. Staying like that for a moment, a single strawberry between your lips you bite, then place the bowl between your thighs. Hiding yourself, ever so slightly, from my view.

I reach out for a strawberry and your foot rises, pushing my hand away. Those aren't for you, you tell me. Their mine. I take a sip of my drink.

Again outside the noise as Canada scores again. The street is busy, overflowing with people. More people than we've ever seen before, more noise than we've heard.

Strawberries disappear slowly, your hand gently drifting over your stomach each time you reach for one, pausing to touch the lace of your panties. The tip of one finger slips just barely in...once....then twice...your wetness is starting to show through your panties, just slightly. A damp spot.

There are only Five strawberries left, and the next one you grab touches your wetness before you entering your mouth. That smile again, a twinkle in your eyes. You're wicked, and you know it.

The next berry is more brazen, two hands. Your fingers lift the crotch of your panties to the side and the strawberry is run up and down your lips, the white creamy moisture gathering on its surface. You lean over this time and reach out with it, inviting me. I lean forward and bite, my tongue licking your finger at the same time. Your taste is sweet.

Three strawberries left, you pause for a moment and lift your t-shirt over your head. I'm now fully dressed while you lay there in your bra and panties. Reaching for the next strawberry it goes directly to your mouth, and you eat it slowly.

You reach behind and remove your bra, your breasts falling gently and your nipples erect. Another strawberry, and you tear this one on half. Each half is rubbed gently in a circle around your nipples, leaving a gently trail of juice and flavour.

Two strawberries left. You lift your hips and hook your thumbs into the elastic of your panties and gently slide them down. Hooking them with one toe you lift them, stretch your leg, place them on my chest and leave them. The crowd outside cheers again, as if for you. Canada's scored, and we lead the game 3-0. Nothing to worry about.

The scent of your sex is tempting.

Reaching for another strawberry again you rub it up and down your lips while your other hand holds them apart. Gently, one finger begins to push and the strawberry slides into you completely, becoming a part of you. You lick your fingertips slowly, cleaning the juice from them. Another moment and I can see the muscles of your pussy move. You stand, and walk over to me, grabbing my hand and placing it gently against your sex. Slowly, timidly the strawberry shows itself and slides into my palm. You bend over, legs straight, and grab it from my hand with your teeth. Picking it up you lean into my face and place it against my lips. My mouth opens, and we both bite, tearing the fruit in half.

With the fruit gone our lips connect, our tongues intertwine and we kiss. You reach for the bottom of my t-shirt and pull it up over my head, the soft your breasts resting against my chest. My hand reaches up and finds your sex, two fingers sliding into you easily. You move forward, putting first one nipple then another to my lips. My tongue slides around them, the taste of strawberry juice still obvious.

I bite gently, you whimper then stand upright. Stand, you ask me...tell me. I do, and you reach for my belt, undoing it and removing my jeans and underwear in a single motion. You pause for a moment, rubbing your cheek against the warmth of my hardness.

Walking away from me, I follow towards the window facing the street. You lean forward slightly, your breasts pressed against the cold window pane facing the crowd on the street just a floor below. Your head turns, your cheek against the window.

Fuck me.

As if you had to ask.

My hands on your hips, I enter you from behind quickly. Sliding in and out you lean forward more, my cock penetrating you deeper...harder...your warmth welcoming me, your moistness making it easy. People stream past on the street without looking up. Your lips part, you moan, your breath collecting on the window pane.

You lean your hands reaching out against the window, your back and arms straight, your head no longer visible to everyone below...just your palms moving slightly with each thrust, adjusting to the impact of my cock. You're moaning louder now, each time my cock fills you completely. More, you say. More.

Your back tenses up as you start to come, and I thrust one last time and join you, forcing you fully up against the window again. The cold shocks your breasts and you shiver, then relax into me as my body presses against yours...my arms wrapped around you. I withdraw, slowly and gently bite your left shoulder. I'll be right back.

Going back to the couch, I pick up the last strawberry and come back to you. I rub it up and down your sex, gently starting to insert it our mingled juices collecting on its hull. I reach up, and place it against your lips...your cheek still against the window. You open, and take it whole into your mouth and bite. Slowly you turn around and face me. I kneel, and run my tongue once from the bottom to the top of your sex. Your hand reaches down to the back of my head, and you gently pull me in closer. I lick once more, and you relax.

Weren't we supposed to be watching a hockey game?