Unexpected...
You can find a complete chronological listing of letters, including links and short synopses here.
Dave gathered himself to speak several times, before he let go of my waist and twined his fingers through mine. Raising one hand to his lips, he kissed my palm, his tongue tracing the lines that seamed my skin. He told me he'd show me what he wanted; then he let me go.
His hands came to rest on my shoulders, before migrating downward to caress my breasts. His thumbs circled my nipples, fingers pinched them to hardness. Then he moved to my hips to trace the arcs of bone. He continued downward, hands mapping my thighs, knees, ankles. When he knelt at my feet, I could hear his knees creak in protest.
He lowered his head and kissed my ankles, moving back and forth from one to the other. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he started moving up my calves to my knees. He urged my legs apart to lick at the sides and back of my knees to reach the insides of my thighs with his mouth. I could still hear Viggo and Sean-mostly Sean-but they seemed so far away. And that was the way it should be: you shouldn't be more focused on the men having sex in the next room than you were on the one whose mouth was inching toward your groin.
Dave worked his way back up to my waist, rubbed his cheek against my belly. The scrape of his beard against sensitive skin made me shudder. Once he wrapped his arms around me, he looked up, smiled when he saw that I was watching him. He kneeled up, unwrapped an arm from around me. He slid his hand between my legs.
"Viggo and Sean-they are lovely, aren't they?" He slipped his fingers inside me smoothly. Point for him. There were plenty of men whose hands felt like prospectors digging for gold or doctors performing exams. Not Dave. He was all gliding, teasing caresses. To be honest, I think that's how things had gotten to this point between us. No, not the clever hands (though they were certainly a bonus): the fact that he wasn't like plenty of other men. I didn't know what to expect from him. Now, I don't usually like surprises, but I could learn to make an exception for him.
He licked the underside of one breast, then the other, before resting his head against my chest. He was still going on about Sean and Viggo, punctuating each word with a stroke across my clit. I'm not sure if he kept talking; I am sure I stopped listening in order to concentrate on the pleasure spreading through me in a warm wave. I leaned back against the wall, using it for support.
One of my hands tightened in Dave's hair. His fingers kept circling, teasing, rubbing. I spread my legs a bit wider. Let the sensations that rippled up my body roll through my hips, arch my back and neck. My other hand combed through my hair, pulling it back from my face, clenching into a fist at the nape of my neck.
As nice as it was, it wasn't enough. Not nearly. I clutched at his hair. "More." Urged him downward. "Put your mouth on me, Dave. Taste me. I know you want to. You know you want to."
He sighed, his breath warming my skin. "Want to. Yeah. 'Course I do." He rubbed his face down my body, stopped to tongue my navel. Good thing I'm not terribly ticklish. As he moved lower, I let the wall support more of my weight and draped a leg over his shoulder. His fingers opened me for his mouth. The angle of his neck may have been a little awkward-and let's be honest here, most sex that happens against a wall is awkward as ass-but I couldn't tell from the circling, licking, stroking of his tongue, from the gentle and not so gentle suction of his mouth, from the quick nips from his teeth.
Good fucking god! I grabbed his wrist, drew the hand that had been rubbing circles on my stomach to my mouth. Pressed the palm against my lips to muffle the cries I couldn't contain. Close. I was so close. I could feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, until it broke under his teeth and tongue, washed though me. I bit down on his hand, teeth sinking into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
I unclenched my jaw, but didn't let his hand go. I twined my fingers through his and squeezed. Hard. He returned the pressure. He wiped his face with the back of his other hand, looked up at me. I let my gaze linger on his lips before moving down his body to his cock. There were days when one good orgasm left me sated, and other days when it was just an appetizer. This was one of those other days.
Who could blame me? How many women would be able to resist a lovely man at their feet? I only wished I was at home, because there was so much more I could do there. That was when I remembered the mail the postman had given to me when I left the house to come over here. I smiled.
I ruffled Dave's hair. "Don't move," I told him. "I'll be right back."
I dug through my satchel, bypassed several bills, a flier from The Wicked Bean, and a letter from a school chum before I reached the padded mailer. I ripped it open. Inside were the nipple clamps I'd ordered. They were weighted with teardrop-shaped pieces of a polished chocolate-brown agate. Bits of quartz and veins of peach and almost-lavender stone ran through them. They were even lovelier than they looked online. They were going to look lovelier still against Dave's skin.
He was still sitting on the floor, head bowed, hands curled into fists. Odd, I'd expected that he'd have gone over and amused himself with watching Sean and Viggo while I was gone.
I straddled his lap again, but this time there was no clothing separating us. His cock was heavy and warm against my skin. I leaned over, kissed him, then worked my way down his throat to his chest. I turned my head to lick his right nipple. I sucked it into my mouth, swiped it with my tongue. I bit down on it lightly. Dave sighed. When I reached up with the clamp still hidden in my hand and fastened it on him, he cried out in what I hoped was more surprise than pain.
He looked down, staring at it. Then he looked at me, and I smiled. I gently flicked the stone with my finger to make it shift, and Dave shuddered. Beautiful Dave. When I moved to the other nipple, he knew what to expect, but that didn't mean that he was ready for the sudden pressure. He only caught his breath as I tightened the clamp around him.
"I was right. They do look pretty on you." I gave the stones a gentle tug that had him arching his back and moaning.
I kneeled up. I was going to take him so slow. What I didn't count on was his hands (which I thought would just steady me) pulling me down onto his cock as his hips thrust up. My back arched. I cried out. My nails dug into his shoulders. He made a low growling sound in the back of his throat, and in one fluid motion his arms came around me and he was pushing me back onto the floor with his cock still deep inside.
Fucking hell! I remember my legs wrapping around his waist. I remember writhing under him. I remember him grabbing my wrists, pinning them above my head. I remember cursing him. I remember my hips rising to meet his thrusts. I remember his mouth on my breasts and throat. Remember him sucking on my flesh. Marking me. Remember him letting my hands loose, holding onto my shoulders, bracing me as he thrust harder. Remember my nails sinking into his back.
Most of all, I remember his eyes. Utterly focused. Frightening in their intensity. Locked with mine.
Most of all, I remember his eyes. They're the last thing I remember before everything went white.
"Is everything alright? I thought heard..."
I opened my eyes. There was Peter. Upside down to my point of view. Standing in the hallway. Upside down. Staring. What was good: Dave was covering me as effectively as a blanket. What was bad: he was still inside me, half hard and both of us coming down from orgasm. Dave looked up, groaned, and then let his head fall back on my chest.
He tensed as we heard, "Peter, is everything-" just before Fran appeared.
Fuck! Dave and I were proving more popular than the Sunday matinee. If this continues, we ought to consider selling tickets.
Thankfully, Sean rescued us from the awkwardness of having to make polite conversation by yelling, "Yes, harder," a couple of times. Peter's mouth fell open; Fran's eyes widened. Fran grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of sight.
I could just hear him saying, "But wait... Wait a minute..." While Fran said, "We are leaving, Peter. Now."
Dave began shaking. I touched his shoulder, and he raised his head. Ah, laughing. I grinned. This was one of those "laugh-or-cry" situations. And laughter is always preferable.
To: David Wenham < secondson@gondor.co.nz >
From: Cate Blanchett < galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz >
Subject: Too Quiet
David,
I'm not sure what to think. You made assurances that you'd keep in touch while I was away, but so far, you've been very quiet. That's so unlike you. Really, I can't believe that things are so deathly dull that you have nothing to say.
You know, part of me wonders if you are avoiding me. Perhaps because of our little wager. You remember, don't you?
The one about Miranda.
~ Cate
Dave gathered himself to speak several times, before he let go of my waist and twined his fingers through mine. Raising one hand to his lips, he kissed my palm, his tongue tracing the lines that seamed my skin. He told me he'd show me what he wanted; then he let me go.
His hands came to rest on my shoulders, before migrating downward to caress my breasts. His thumbs circled my nipples, fingers pinched them to hardness. Then he moved to my hips to trace the arcs of bone. He continued downward, hands mapping my thighs, knees, ankles. When he knelt at my feet, I could hear his knees creak in protest.
He lowered his head and kissed my ankles, moving back and forth from one to the other. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he started moving up my calves to my knees. He urged my legs apart to lick at the sides and back of my knees to reach the insides of my thighs with his mouth. I could still hear Viggo and Sean-mostly Sean-but they seemed so far away. And that was the way it should be: you shouldn't be more focused on the men having sex in the next room than you were on the one whose mouth was inching toward your groin.
Dave worked his way back up to my waist, rubbed his cheek against my belly. The scrape of his beard against sensitive skin made me shudder. Once he wrapped his arms around me, he looked up, smiled when he saw that I was watching him. He kneeled up, unwrapped an arm from around me. He slid his hand between my legs.
"Viggo and Sean-they are lovely, aren't they?" He slipped his fingers inside me smoothly. Point for him. There were plenty of men whose hands felt like prospectors digging for gold or doctors performing exams. Not Dave. He was all gliding, teasing caresses. To be honest, I think that's how things had gotten to this point between us. No, not the clever hands (though they were certainly a bonus): the fact that he wasn't like plenty of other men. I didn't know what to expect from him. Now, I don't usually like surprises, but I could learn to make an exception for him.
He licked the underside of one breast, then the other, before resting his head against my chest. He was still going on about Sean and Viggo, punctuating each word with a stroke across my clit. I'm not sure if he kept talking; I am sure I stopped listening in order to concentrate on the pleasure spreading through me in a warm wave. I leaned back against the wall, using it for support.
One of my hands tightened in Dave's hair. His fingers kept circling, teasing, rubbing. I spread my legs a bit wider. Let the sensations that rippled up my body roll through my hips, arch my back and neck. My other hand combed through my hair, pulling it back from my face, clenching into a fist at the nape of my neck.
As nice as it was, it wasn't enough. Not nearly. I clutched at his hair. "More." Urged him downward. "Put your mouth on me, Dave. Taste me. I know you want to. You know you want to."
He sighed, his breath warming my skin. "Want to. Yeah. 'Course I do." He rubbed his face down my body, stopped to tongue my navel. Good thing I'm not terribly ticklish. As he moved lower, I let the wall support more of my weight and draped a leg over his shoulder. His fingers opened me for his mouth. The angle of his neck may have been a little awkward-and let's be honest here, most sex that happens against a wall is awkward as ass-but I couldn't tell from the circling, licking, stroking of his tongue, from the gentle and not so gentle suction of his mouth, from the quick nips from his teeth.
Good fucking god! I grabbed his wrist, drew the hand that had been rubbing circles on my stomach to my mouth. Pressed the palm against my lips to muffle the cries I couldn't contain. Close. I was so close. I could feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, until it broke under his teeth and tongue, washed though me. I bit down on his hand, teeth sinking into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
I unclenched my jaw, but didn't let his hand go. I twined my fingers through his and squeezed. Hard. He returned the pressure. He wiped his face with the back of his other hand, looked up at me. I let my gaze linger on his lips before moving down his body to his cock. There were days when one good orgasm left me sated, and other days when it was just an appetizer. This was one of those other days.
Who could blame me? How many women would be able to resist a lovely man at their feet? I only wished I was at home, because there was so much more I could do there. That was when I remembered the mail the postman had given to me when I left the house to come over here. I smiled.
I ruffled Dave's hair. "Don't move," I told him. "I'll be right back."
I dug through my satchel, bypassed several bills, a flier from The Wicked Bean, and a letter from a school chum before I reached the padded mailer. I ripped it open. Inside were the nipple clamps I'd ordered. They were weighted with teardrop-shaped pieces of a polished chocolate-brown agate. Bits of quartz and veins of peach and almost-lavender stone ran through them. They were even lovelier than they looked online. They were going to look lovelier still against Dave's skin.
He was still sitting on the floor, head bowed, hands curled into fists. Odd, I'd expected that he'd have gone over and amused himself with watching Sean and Viggo while I was gone.
I straddled his lap again, but this time there was no clothing separating us. His cock was heavy and warm against my skin. I leaned over, kissed him, then worked my way down his throat to his chest. I turned my head to lick his right nipple. I sucked it into my mouth, swiped it with my tongue. I bit down on it lightly. Dave sighed. When I reached up with the clamp still hidden in my hand and fastened it on him, he cried out in what I hoped was more surprise than pain.
He looked down, staring at it. Then he looked at me, and I smiled. I gently flicked the stone with my finger to make it shift, and Dave shuddered. Beautiful Dave. When I moved to the other nipple, he knew what to expect, but that didn't mean that he was ready for the sudden pressure. He only caught his breath as I tightened the clamp around him.
"I was right. They do look pretty on you." I gave the stones a gentle tug that had him arching his back and moaning.
I kneeled up. I was going to take him so slow. What I didn't count on was his hands (which I thought would just steady me) pulling me down onto his cock as his hips thrust up. My back arched. I cried out. My nails dug into his shoulders. He made a low growling sound in the back of his throat, and in one fluid motion his arms came around me and he was pushing me back onto the floor with his cock still deep inside.
Fucking hell! I remember my legs wrapping around his waist. I remember writhing under him. I remember him grabbing my wrists, pinning them above my head. I remember cursing him. I remember my hips rising to meet his thrusts. I remember his mouth on my breasts and throat. Remember him sucking on my flesh. Marking me. Remember him letting my hands loose, holding onto my shoulders, bracing me as he thrust harder. Remember my nails sinking into his back.
Most of all, I remember his eyes. Utterly focused. Frightening in their intensity. Locked with mine.
Most of all, I remember his eyes. They're the last thing I remember before everything went white.
"Is everything alright? I thought heard..."
I opened my eyes. There was Peter. Upside down to my point of view. Standing in the hallway. Upside down. Staring. What was good: Dave was covering me as effectively as a blanket. What was bad: he was still inside me, half hard and both of us coming down from orgasm. Dave looked up, groaned, and then let his head fall back on my chest.
He tensed as we heard, "Peter, is everything-" just before Fran appeared.
Fuck! Dave and I were proving more popular than the Sunday matinee. If this continues, we ought to consider selling tickets.
Thankfully, Sean rescued us from the awkwardness of having to make polite conversation by yelling, "Yes, harder," a couple of times. Peter's mouth fell open; Fran's eyes widened. Fran grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of sight.
I could just hear him saying, "But wait... Wait a minute..." While Fran said, "We are leaving, Peter. Now."
Dave began shaking. I touched his shoulder, and he raised his head. Ah, laughing. I grinned. This was one of those "laugh-or-cry" situations. And laughter is always preferable.
To: David Wenham < secondson@gondor.co.nz >
From: Cate Blanchett < galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz >
Subject: Too Quiet
David,
I'm not sure what to think. You made assurances that you'd keep in touch while I was away, but so far, you've been very quiet. That's so unlike you. Really, I can't believe that things are so deathly dull that you have nothing to say.
You know, part of me wonders if you are avoiding me. Perhaps because of our little wager. You remember, don't you?
The one about Miranda.
~ Cate