Silk Scarf
Silk Scarf
Crochetporn by Bladerunner
© 2006 - I’d rather you asked first. But if you’re going to copy and distribute it anyway, at least do me the courtesy and yourself the karma points of keeping the title and byline attached, m’kay?
Marla sat on the sofa, her long, tan, bare legs stretched out from under her skirt and rested on the coffee table in front of her, knees up and together, feet apart on the coffee table. The table was a bit taller than the sofa. She was working on a scarf with multiple strands of thin black and grey silk. Her sweetie, Jake, sat across the room from her in his easy chair reading a book. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon spent as they usually spent it - doing the things they most enjoyed.
Jake would look up from time to time. He liked watching Marla’s face as she worked. He liked watching her expressions when she crocheted: frustration with a tricky stitch, confusion at a new technique, contentment when the project seemed to just hum along. He liked how the tip of her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she worked the stitches on the edge of each row.
When he looked up this time, he realized he could see her panties. He quite enjoyed this sight. He pretended not to notice for a while, just sneaking looks between paragraphs in his book. Finally, he gave up pretending and set his book down in his lap. She didn’t notice at first. Then she said, “What are you looking at?”
“Just you.”
“What about me?”
“Just enjoying looking at you.”
“What? What are you looking at?”
“I’m enjoying looking at your pretty pink panties while you’re working so hard and carefully on your project.” He grinned. She realized it was one of those grins.
She smiled back and continued to work. She liked that he liked looking at her.
After a few minutes, he said, smiling, but with a firm voice, “open your legs.”
She looked up, cocked an eyebrow at him, and spread her legs apart.
“Wider.”
Somehow, that always got her juices flowing. His voice, his enjoyment in looking at her, the fact that he knew exactly what this was doing to her; she felt a surge of wetness between her legs. She went to put her crochet work away in the basket next to the couch.
“No. In fact, I don’t want you to drop a single stitch.”
She looked up at him again.
”Is that clear? Not a single stitch.”
Her spine tingled. She nodded and kept working.
He got up from his chair, setting the book on the shelf beside him. He walked over to her. She kept working. He knelt on the opposite side of the coffee table where he had the best view of her pussy. Her skin flushed, burned with being examined so closely, so obviously, so… blatantly. She knew he could see how wet her panties were getting. It was becoming an effort to keep up the crochet.
Jake stepped over the coffee table to between her legs. He pushed her knees farther apart and sat on the coffee table between her legs. Marla started breathing harder, excited at being so open for him.
Thank heavens it was an easy stitch.
He smiled again at her. “Good girl. Just keep working.” He brushed his knuckles against the damp fabric. She made a faint noise.
“That’s my girl. My busy, busy girl.” He kept stroking. Her hook moved slower, slower…
“Uh-uh. Don’t stop working. You stop, and I’ll stop.” He held up his now moist hand. “Understand?”
She nodded and quickly picked up the pace with her H hook. He went back to stroking her, watching her struggle to keep working when she so clearly was becoming lost in the sensations.
Jake raised her legs straight up into the air. He reached under her and wiggled her panties off of her bottom then up off her legs. He spread her legs wide open again and set her feet back onto the coffee table. He leaned forward against her body. Marla could feel how impossibly close he was. He kissed her lips and bit at her neck. It was hard to work with the hook trapped between their bodies. Jake sat back up. The fingers of his right hand were now pulling at her labia. His left hand reached through the yarn to unbutton her shirt and pull the cup of her bra down. He leaned over again, this time licking and gently biting at her nipple. Without raising his head, he reminded her don’t stop crocheting. Still licking at her nipple, he reminded her, don’t stop crocheting. Biting at her nipple, working the fingers of his right hand into her pussy now, he reminded her, don’t stop crocheting. Kissing her mouth, he reminded her, don’t stop crocheting. Her breathing became ragged, louder, became moaning.
“Did you stop working?”
She moaned a little, lost in the feeling. His fingers paused. “Did you stop?”
“No, no, no,” she begged, “I didn’t stop, I didn’t stop, please don’t stop, I didn’t stop, please don’t stop.” Jake didn’t stop. He did slow down as he watched her fight to focus long enough to get the yarn around the hook. He slowed down as she strained to pull the yarn through the stitch. Marla thought she was going to explode. She begged and pleaded to be allowed to come. At last, he said yes, she could come. He continued to work his fingers inside her - just because she was such a good girl, he said - for an additional orgasm or two, her noises becoming screaming as everything inside and out became more sensitive. Eventually, he backed off, not taking his fingers out of her just yet, but slowing down, slowing way down, keeping contact with her, staying close.
They kissed, sweet kisses, sweet close kisses. His hand slipped out of her. Jake hugged his arms around her waist and pulled her to him as he sat back up on the coffee table. Marla realized her left hand was still cramped around her scarf and hook. He looked at her questioningly. She held it up so he could see. They both laughed. Stitches in the wrong place, tension fouled up, strands dropped and doubled at random, chains absently extending from the body of the work, the whole thing is a hairy mess.
“Wow, I thought you were better at crocheting than that,” Jake said, chuckling.
Marla briefly considered stabbing him with the hook. She decided to kiss him again instead.