Day 29: "Tumbling After" (Nursery Rhymes, Jack/Jill, NC17)
Title: Tumbling After
Fandom: Nursery Rhymes again
Characters: Jack/Jill
Rating: NC17
Words: 550
A/N: And again, porn hundreds of words longer than the source. :D
Tumbling After
Pail of water.
Metaphor, you see. I mean, not that it's as big as a bucket--good lord, that'd be a bit of a situation, wouldn’t it?--but of course, the reference is to the gushing wetness when she responds.
And she's responsive as hell, when I catch her in the right mood. Or when I put her there.
I generally start her off before I see to myself; she'll be sleepy, sexy, heavy-eyed and warm. My fingers curve over her hip, nudging her onto her back so her thighs fall loose apart, and if then she objects with an obstinate grunt, it's still easy to bring her around with gentle touches. I stroke down delicately over flesh that's moist but still, at this point, tacky, then pull back up, dragging more moisture along, as the heel of my hand climbs this hill, settling so two fingers circle, slowly at first as she blinks her eyes open.
"Jack?" she'll mutter. "Time's it?"
"Early, baby," I'll tell her, smooshing a kiss on the soft hot skin of her shoulder, where it's been pressed smooth against her chin.
She'll mumble more, but it's rarely a serious dissent; more often it's a word or three of chastisement about her lost beauty sleep, which I always tell her she can't need. I'll press another kiss, still rubbing smooth circles with the occasional dip lower as the wetness starts to flow, as her hips start to drive my hand, rather than the other way about.
Sometimes, here, she'll turn to me, roll me on my back and straddle me, but neither of us sees that as the only real way to do this, and most of the time, in drowsy morning hours when I'm awake, but she's not quite, she prefers the lazy easy press of fingers. I'll pull up my thigh over hers, tucking a towel under us because after this, she'll want to sleep another half hour, and no one likes sleeping in the wet spot, and slide against her thigh and hip in time to her movement.
Being a guy, I'll have wakened primed to do this, so it won't take me long to go from slow presses to anxious thrusts, but I like to hold on and bring her to the edge, bring her to where she's just at the crest of the hill, ready to fall. So I will--bring her there--and then when she pushes my hand aside, taking the control of her own ride, I'll nuzzle against her neck and shoulder, and move my wet fingers to myself, using quick rough jerks of my fist to tumble myself over.
Yes, I know, breaking my crown is a marginal metaphor for bursting forth fluids from my head, but the rest follows: I'm not sure, and neither is she, whether it's the sounds I make, or the way I bite my lip as I push, or the gush of semen on her skin, but she always follows me down, making sounds of her own, bucking against her hand, then relaxing, sated, breath slowing until she is sleepy again. I'll pull up the towel, then, wipe us roughly clean and toss it aside, and pull her boneless against me for that last half-hour nap before the day starts for real.
Fandom: Nursery Rhymes again
Characters: Jack/Jill
Rating: NC17
Words: 550
A/N: And again, porn hundreds of words longer than the source. :D
Tumbling After
Pail of water.
Metaphor, you see. I mean, not that it's as big as a bucket--good lord, that'd be a bit of a situation, wouldn’t it?--but of course, the reference is to the gushing wetness when she responds.
And she's responsive as hell, when I catch her in the right mood. Or when I put her there.
I generally start her off before I see to myself; she'll be sleepy, sexy, heavy-eyed and warm. My fingers curve over her hip, nudging her onto her back so her thighs fall loose apart, and if then she objects with an obstinate grunt, it's still easy to bring her around with gentle touches. I stroke down delicately over flesh that's moist but still, at this point, tacky, then pull back up, dragging more moisture along, as the heel of my hand climbs this hill, settling so two fingers circle, slowly at first as she blinks her eyes open.
"Jack?" she'll mutter. "Time's it?"
"Early, baby," I'll tell her, smooshing a kiss on the soft hot skin of her shoulder, where it's been pressed smooth against her chin.
She'll mumble more, but it's rarely a serious dissent; more often it's a word or three of chastisement about her lost beauty sleep, which I always tell her she can't need. I'll press another kiss, still rubbing smooth circles with the occasional dip lower as the wetness starts to flow, as her hips start to drive my hand, rather than the other way about.
Sometimes, here, she'll turn to me, roll me on my back and straddle me, but neither of us sees that as the only real way to do this, and most of the time, in drowsy morning hours when I'm awake, but she's not quite, she prefers the lazy easy press of fingers. I'll pull up my thigh over hers, tucking a towel under us because after this, she'll want to sleep another half hour, and no one likes sleeping in the wet spot, and slide against her thigh and hip in time to her movement.
Being a guy, I'll have wakened primed to do this, so it won't take me long to go from slow presses to anxious thrusts, but I like to hold on and bring her to the edge, bring her to where she's just at the crest of the hill, ready to fall. So I will--bring her there--and then when she pushes my hand aside, taking the control of her own ride, I'll nuzzle against her neck and shoulder, and move my wet fingers to myself, using quick rough jerks of my fist to tumble myself over.
Yes, I know, breaking my crown is a marginal metaphor for bursting forth fluids from my head, but the rest follows: I'm not sure, and neither is she, whether it's the sounds I make, or the way I bite my lip as I push, or the gush of semen on her skin, but she always follows me down, making sounds of her own, bucking against her hand, then relaxing, sated, breath slowing until she is sleepy again. I'll pull up the towel, then, wipe us roughly clean and toss it aside, and pull her boneless against me for that last half-hour nap before the day starts for real.