Re: Not Very Princess Like (2/2)
anonymous
June 16 2011, 01:59:29 UTC
She grinned, closed her eyes, and let her imagination run rampant.
Eugene’s hands cupping her breasts, the coarse texture grating and painful and exciting through her thin dress.
Eugene’s hands running down her stomach, catching at the fabric of her dress, bunching up the muscles in her stomach into a tight little ball of desire.
Eugene’s hands pulling up her skirt to rub against the inside of her thigh. The texture was abrasive, like the stubble along his jaw, and she squeezed her eyes closed and squeezed her legs together around her pan in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable and yet felt so deliciously good. She writhed to try to get more, to feel more. She bit back a plea for Eugene to keep going and then bit back a moan as the lip of the pan grazed against her core.
For a moment she ground against it - Eugene’s hand, her frying pan, whatever, she didn’t care. Her hips jerked and her fingers clenched around the skillet’s handle. Everything about it was crude, from the way she was acting (very un-princess like indeed) to the way she was enjoying it, to the texture of the cast iron, to the look she imagined would grace Eugene’s face.
It was the thought of his face that made her spin the pan around, jerk her panties to the side, and pull the handle inside.
Her eyes snapped open with a gasp.
It was… it felt…
Oh God…
It was stiff and rough to the point of being painful, and she cringed and shifted, only to groan with pleasure. Tiny, passionate prickles radiated from deep within her, crawling through her body and making her tremble.
She shifted again and moaned again, making sure to be cautious and tender. She felt so close to hurting herself that it was a bit exciting. Spots dancing before her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps synced with the rhythm of her movements.
She imagined how Eugene would see her, spread out like this, arched in pleasure with her chest heaving. He’d think she was ravishing. His eyes would burn.
She gave the pan a gentle twist, the flat handle stroking her and stretching her in new ways while the pan pressed into her legs and eased them wider and wider and-
“Ah…”
She imagines that Eugene is kissing her while the very air around her dances. Her skin sings and everything just stops for a beautiful moment of perfection.
Then she goes limp and eases herself free of her frying pan.
She takes several moments to catch her breath before she looks down at her most treasured possession. She shakes her head at the handle that’s now slick and from her orgasm. Not very princess like at all.
If Eugene ever holds that handle again she’s going to go into fits.
Eugene’s hands cupping her breasts, the coarse texture grating and painful and exciting through her thin dress.
Eugene’s hands running down her stomach, catching at the fabric of her dress, bunching up the muscles in her stomach into a tight little ball of desire.
Eugene’s hands pulling up her skirt to rub against the inside of her thigh.
The texture was abrasive, like the stubble along his jaw, and she squeezed her eyes closed and squeezed her legs together around her pan in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable and yet felt so deliciously good. She writhed to try to get more, to feel more. She bit back a plea for Eugene to keep going and then bit back a moan as the lip of the pan grazed against her core.
For a moment she ground against it - Eugene’s hand, her frying pan, whatever, she didn’t care. Her hips jerked and her fingers clenched around the skillet’s handle. Everything about it was crude, from the way she was acting (very un-princess like indeed) to the way she was enjoying it, to the texture of the cast iron, to the look she imagined would grace Eugene’s face.
It was the thought of his face that made her spin the pan around, jerk her panties to the side, and pull the handle inside.
Her eyes snapped open with a gasp.
It was… it felt…
Oh God…
It was stiff and rough to the point of being painful, and she cringed and shifted, only to groan with pleasure. Tiny, passionate prickles radiated from deep within her, crawling through her body and making her tremble.
She shifted again and moaned again, making sure to be cautious and tender. She felt so close to hurting herself that it was a bit exciting. Spots dancing before her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps synced with the rhythm of her movements.
She imagined how Eugene would see her, spread out like this, arched in pleasure with her chest heaving. He’d think she was ravishing. His eyes would burn.
She gave the pan a gentle twist, the flat handle stroking her and stretching her in new ways while the pan pressed into her legs and eased them wider and wider and-
“Ah…”
She imagines that Eugene is kissing her while the very air around her dances. Her skin sings and everything just stops for a beautiful moment of perfection.
Then she goes limp and eases herself free of her frying pan.
She takes several moments to catch her breath before she looks down at her most treasured possession. She shakes her head at the handle that’s now slick and from her orgasm. Not very princess like at all.
If Eugene ever holds that handle again she’s going to go into fits.
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And the other part is like: "Damn this is good!"
And the end result is: I love you.
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