Driftwood Deeds(9)
“A little more, baby girl.” His fingers ran down my spine, pushing through my shirt. “I want your forehead on the floor.”
I pushed until only the tips of my toes still rested on one side of him and I could feel the grain of the carpet pressing into my hairline at the other. My bottom was now the highest part of my body, prone and presented perfectly on his lap. I was holding my breath, waiting for—something, a touch, a smack, anything. But nothing came. Finally, I could feel him shifting under me; I heard a click and then saw his hand enter my field of vision, leaving the recorder next to my mouth.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Iris.”
VI
That one, massive inhale was the first thing I would hear when he’d later play the tape back to me. He was far enough from the microphone to only feature in small murmuring voices but what he said was burned into my mind like everything else.
I could feel the blood rushing to my head, that drowning sound in my ears that I vaguely recalled from practicing handstands as a child.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked and I nodded immediately. “Say it, Iris.”
“Yes,” I exhaled and his fingers connected with the back of my knee. My tights were still intact there but they did nothing to dull the sensation. I groaned in surprise, kicked the air at the unexpected tickle—already I was panting, breathing shallowly and blowing a little storm of static against the microphone with each exhale. He drew circles and runes into the sensitive skin just above the back of my knee and just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he flattened his palm against it—warm and strong. Like a sponge that washed away the chaos on a blackboard. I whimpered and rubbed my forehead against the carpet. Already, the set-up seemed safe and familiar but it was only later that I marveled at how easily I slipped into the part—like finding a bra that truly fits after a lifetime of wearing them a little too small.
He did not disturb the hem of my skirt—not then. But his fingers trailed over the fabric slowly, staying low on that deep, dark curve towards utter oblivion. It felt like getting to know each other in this way, like polite flirting with his fingers even though I was already lying across his knees. I wanted to kiss him for that, for not letting me fall.
He encircled the curve of my hip, humming his satisfaction from time to time or reminding me to breathe whenever he got closer towards the center and I started holding my breath.
“Tell me what you’re waiting for.”
I stuttered out an undignified noise, muffled against the floor. His hand stopped moving and the silence hung heavy in the air.
“I... I don’t know.”
“Of course you do.” Like before, there was no impatience in his voice. He was gentle and polite but I knew without a doubt in my mind that his hand would not resume those careful and almost innocent caresses, until I answered. The incentive was simple and with each passing moment that I spent rehearsing the words in my mind, the part of me that craved his touch like a drowning person craves air, pushed me into bravery almost without realizing the world I had just traveled in my mind.
“For... for you to touch me,” I whispered first and already, that sounded weak to me and I corrected without waiting for him to prod. “I think, I’m waiting for... something to resolve the... the anticipation. Emotional pay-off.”
He laughed and I knew why—I sounded like I was reviewing him and he seemed to enjoy it, at least, his hand started to slowly venture under my skirt, tickling the back of my thighs just before they met my ass. I moaned again.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Yes!” I coughed out, so eagerly it made me blush when I listened to it later. “Please. More.”
His fingers found the panel of my tights and my legs opened. It was that easy to follow the demands of my body, to start becoming one with my desires and my needs, with my vagina and my ass, in a way I’d never been before. He rewarded the simple motion by cupping the entire region in his large hand and holding it tightly, while I mewled and whimpered into the microphone.
He was still holding my cunt like a newly gained possession when he spoke again. “I want you to try something for me. It’s not easy at first but I want you to try, do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Stop waiting. Stop anticipating. Stop trying to figure out the next scene while this one is still on the screen.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. His index finger pushed just a little harder than the rest. I was so wet, it sunk between my labia like a knife through butter even with the fabric of panties and tights still shielding his skin from truly touching mine. I could have cried it felt so good—and then he started rubbing. For a few precious seconds I could follow his demand easily, could sink into a place where the pleasure of the moment filled everything inside of me, and then I wanted more. This was when he stopped and I could as well be falling off a cliff.