If you've come across 'The Day we Didn't' – perhaps this is those same two, some time after the storm, but before they wake that night. Perhaps – or perhaps not. The choice, as they say on all the bad games shows – is yours :-). And if anyone really wants one, I could try a version from the male partner's perspective - but I think the poor man would spend most of time in a state of total confusion. Not, I confess, uncommon when men think they're leading a dance :-).
As ever, I’ll leave the judgment as to whether this is erotica to the reader. The writer has, I think, no say in the matter. If you like it, it’s yours to use. If you don’t – the fault is mine entire, and my apology. Thus and so. Fire. Over to y’all.
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FIRE
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[F]
The last days of Fall are passing into silence. Outside, the air is already hanging still and clear, and I can easily smell the crisp edges of Winter, all too ready to chill the skin. But I watch you add more logs to the flames, and I know the chill is going to stay safely outside.
The windows are dark. The nearest street light is a distance away even a cab would take a while to drive. A gleam spills through from the sickle moon, and stars that keep steady, un-winking eyes on the night. But the fire is all the light I need as I watch you stoke the logs. You lay the last log carefully to the flames, then stand from your crouch. You pick up the used plates and the empty coffee cup. "Oh, let me help you with those..." I say.
You grin. "Ah, worry not, fair lady. That's what maid service is for."
I startle. "You have maid service? Way out here?"
You laugh. "Well, sort of. I have this neat little pinafore I put on, and high heels..."
It’s my turn to grin. "Now that I'd like to see. I might have to get you one."
You smile, "Oh, I think I can live without one. But I'll take care of these. There's this new technology called a dishwasher. You may have heard of it." You leave the room. But in a minute or so you’re back. "When's the cab getting here, heart?"
I look at my watch. "Oh, not for a while yet. They said they were busy."
You laugh, and tell me how much you like overworked cab services. I grin too. It’s starting to be a habit, one I rather like. You open a cabinet and pull out cushions, scattering them in front of the fire. Then you fall on them, and raise your arms toward me. You make it look easy, like you'd had a lot of practice. That... isn’t good.
I get up from the couch, and lower myself into your arms. Your legs spread a little to let me settle between them. I look down at you. "A very convenient set of cushions. You do this often then?"
You fold your hands behind your head. "Oh, yes." I know you see the look in my eyes. “On my own”, you say. “Daftie.” And you kiss me. Just the tip of my nose. Then you kiss it again, and the tip of your tongue licks my nose.
I pretend to head-butt you, and my lips find yours. I kiss you, long and slow. “Bastard”, I whisper into your mouth. I realize I’ve never been very good with pet names. But it’s the best I have, so I say it again. “Lovely, lovely bastard.” And I lick your tongue.
You tell me I’m cheating. You say “A woman may speak a million words, with just one moan.” I can’t resist. I moan into your mouth, my tongue dancing along your lips. Your hand flutters over my behind, caressing me. Your tongue presses at my lips, and I let them open. You enter my mouth, such a sweet penetration. Then you withdraw, and look at me. “Is it ill” you say “to have such thoughts?”
I smile. "Oh yes, very ill. You must banish all thoughts of the flesh from your mind." I lower my head, and my own tongue probes at your lips again. As yours open, my tongue slips into your mouth. As I kiss you, I whisper.. "Desist...desist." My left hand slides between the buttons of your shirt, my fingers untwisting one to give me greater access. My hand slides through your chest hair. I find my target, and began to play with your nipple, stroking, twisting. I feel it harden. As I touch it, tease it, your head and mouth seek my neck, nipping and biting, kissing and licking. I close my eyes, but my fingers never stop their play. My other hand wanders, and I rest a finger on your lips. Your mouth opens, and my finger enters, piercing you. You bite, you suck. Until you take my hand, and place my finger against my own lips. I open my mouth and suck the taste of you from it.
I can feel your hand where it lies on my buttock. I haven’t stopped it getting there, but it isn’t... right. Not for here. Not for now. So I twitch the cheek where it lies, bucking my hips slightly. You understand, and your hand begins to move, but as it moves I knew you haven’t quite got my message. I reach back and stop it. Catching your eye and holding it, I put your fingers to the waistband of my jeans, then gently push your hand in the direction I want it to go. It slips down, inside my jeans and over silk. I smile, and give my head a little shake. I twitch my buttock and buck my hips just enough for you to feel. You raise one eyebrow, and I nod. Your hand moves again, and slip under the waistband of the silk. I feel it warm on my skin, and smile into your eyes. "We're not in a race. But we don't have to run too slowly, either."
I look at my hand inside your shirt. "Would you be too upset if I said you were wearing too much?" I take my hand out of your shirt, undo the rest of the buttons and open the shirt wide. You try to get up, perhaps to take it off. But I push you back, and lie my head against your chest. I kiss your breastbone, then decide your nipple is a more interesting destination. I lick the hard tip. You gasp. I grin to myself, and lick again. “You know,” I say “I'm wearing a very short top. I'm sure the buttons will hold though. Probably..." I bite my target. You gasp. The hand not in my jeans reaches behind my head and scratches along my spine, then caresses the pulsing artery in my neck. It’s my turn to gasp - and I do. The hand inside my jeans kneads my cheek. I squirm, the touch of your fingers like little electric shocks.
I know you can’t help but feel my nipples rub against you. For sure I can feel your own growing erection against my mid-section. My right leg lifts up and over your left, then drops the other side, so your leg is between mine. My mouth opens, and I suck your nipple in. My other hand slides between us, and my buttons, once done, are undone – and I wonder if I am too. My breasts crush against your chest, the tips hard between us. And I reach to your other nipple, twisting gently and teasing. Unable to control myself, I feel my mound grinding into your leg, the button inside as hard as any rock. I push myself against you, lightning bolts flying along the nerves between my nipples and clitoris. I gasp some more, and pull myself up your body, deliberately dragging my pussy and hard clit as firmly as I can along your leg, my breasts burning on your chest and my stomach caressing your hard cock under your jeans. Your hand on my buttock tightens, grips, and your finger probes at my asshole. I wonder if it is too late to stop... I wonder if I care.
But you stop. Or at least, you slow. You kiss me, deep. As your tongue teases me, I can feel you licking all round my mouth, then slowing, teasing my own tongue... till it’s licking gently at my lips. As you lick, I feel my own control return, the grind and buck of my hips slowing as you slow. I lift my head and stare at you. "Damn. I never knew I could run so fast." I shake my head. "What is it they say? Time waits for no man? Well, it doesn't wait for a woman either. I need my beauty sleep." I get up and walk towards the door.
You turn your head towards me, still lying there. "Damn. I didn't hear the cab."
I look back at you as I reach the door. "Well, things were a little... intense, no? You were probably distracted.” I smile at you. “Or you'd better have been. Of course, there is another factor." I grin. "I never called one." And I lock the door.
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The last days of Fall are passing into silence. Outside, the air is already hanging still and clear, the crisp edges of Winter easily smelled and all too ready to chill the skin. But inside the cottage - a fire is burning.