An exercise in describing arousal…
Ellie is sitting in the window of the café as I walk up the steps from the cinema, I pause for a while and watch her eating her soup, a steamy defence against the snowy cold of London that swirls past the other side of the plate glass windows.
I strip her of her cosy jumper and practical jeans and redress her in the slip of coloured silk she wore to dinner last night, though I shorten the hem and lower the neck; I feel the warmth of the thought filter through my blood to gently settle in my cock. I wait a little longer to enjoy the lazy pulse that thickens me against my jeans before going over to claim the stool she has been saving for me.
“Oh, hi! Good film?”
And we’re off, kisses of greeting and small talk; the weather, the traffic, the film and finally onto sex. I watch her carefully as she listens to me tell her about finding my kink, taking note of the clues that will direct my conversation and reveal her preferences.
Her eyes dilate as I tell her about the older lover that took my shy 19 year old self and showed me how to fuck to please a woman. What’s turning Ellie on? The deflowering of youth or the angry fucking? I tell more of the story, she smiles and nods as she eats her soup, listening without eye contact.
There, now. I tell her how I was taught how to lick and suck and bite a woman’s cunt until I was covered in cunny juice; there’s the smile of recognition. I tell her about twisting nipples and slapping breasts; that made her hold her spoon very still as she was listening.
Now I’ve got her, I’m sure the blush in her cheeks isn’t to do with the pepper in the soup or the warmth of the café. She is caught in my story, I imagine her weighed down by words; cuff, tied, restrained, spread. Sentences snaking out of my mouth and between her legs, tapping themselves out letter by letter on her clit, dripping with the sticky honey of her need as they slide down her slick slit and wriggle into her cunt.
She’s finished her soup now and tidied the used crockery in front of her, Ellie twists to face me, we’ve still not touched since I sat down. Her knees point towards me and I scoot my stool closer, arranging my legs so she’s forced to open hers and we sit alternating legs, knee to crotch. I imagine her rubbing against me, humping my leg like a bitch in heat. Of course she doesn’t, instead I lean in and ask her;
“Are you turned on?”
“Tell me how it feels?”
She leans back a little to look in my eyes, check that I’m serious and can be trusted and then she starts, slowly and very deliberately telling me how her arousal feels.
“My face feels warm, I know I’m blushing and that you can tell it is because of you and your stories. I feel a little embarrassed and that makes me blush more because it makes me more aroused. There is a tightness in my stomach, like a lust-spasm when you talk about fucking roughly.
The spasm melts into heat in my pelvis and flows down and settles between my legs, a rippling fluid warmth. I can feel my clit and cunt lips swollen and sticky. The friction of them against my knickers is both a relief and a turn on.
As you talk I watch your lips and fingers and think of them on me, in me and I wonder what you would feel like and how you would make me lose myself. And all the time it is as if the thermostat in my body is being turned up and up and so I press my legs together and shift in my chair and can find no way to sit that doesn’t rub and press and heat me up some more.”
She sits back now and there is a smile of triumph in her face as she looks me in the eye and then looks down to my lap and the very clear outline of my erection in my jeans and a small patch of wetness leaking through and I think maybe I got it wrong, maybe it wasn’t the pain and the roughness of being used that was getting Ellie off in my story, maybe it was the woman’s power over man?