Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Saturday Morning

 by Dorla Moorehouse

I struggle into consciousness with the feeling of words forming on my clit.


“It's too early,” I mumble, and try to roll over, but Lily has my hips pinned down. And anyway, I'm not sure I really want to move.


Her tongue is firmer this time; my knees twitch from the added pressure.

“Why should I? It's Saturday; I want to sleep late.”



Lily slows down as she writes, emphasizing "fuck" in huge, wet strokes.

"You were well on your way to fucking me before I was even conscious."


"I'm not sassing you. I'm stating the obvious. Maybe you need to be more observant."



"I'll be whatever I want."


My body starts to liquefy as her strokes become more intense, but I'm not about to let her lick me into submission.

"I'm awake - but I'm not going to fuck you if you're going to be so demanding."






I struggle up, but as I try to swing my legs off the bed, I find my range of motion is limited - Lily already tied my legs up while I was sleeping. With no way to move and no other options, I settle back down.


She even draws out the punctuation mark, jamming her tongue against my clit with the final dot.

"No," I gasp, unable to contain my pleasure, but still not ready to give in.

Lily sits up, crawls over me, her cunt positioned right over my face as she grabs the ropes over the headboard and ties my wrists to the bed. Then she settles herself a little lower, until her cunt is pressed directly against my mouth. She doesn't need to give any orders; I know what to do. Arching my neck for a better angle, I stroke my tongue up and down her lips, then plunge it between those soft folds to get to her clit. I don't spell words out the way she does, but instead make abstract shapes: deep swirls, jagged lines, polka dots. I draw on her, turn her cunt into a work of art visible only to me.

Ever stoic, Lily tries to be silent for as long as possible. She knows I love to hear moans and screams, that vocals turn me on. When she wants to control me, she doesn't say a word, commands with her body and the words she spells with her tongue, and only makes a sound when she comes. I feel her thighs start to quiver and I know she's close; I've learned how to read her body. When her hips quake, she she lets loose a man and almost collapses. But she maintains her composure and slides back down to my clit.


"You know I am."

I look down my nose to see her lift her head, raise her eyebrows.


"Or else?"



The threat makes me even hornier, and I know she's right. I'm tied up, and if I protest, she'll leave me bound in bed for as long as an hour to teach me a lesson. She'll sit right






next to me, reading a book, acting like I'm not even there. Or sometimes, if I'm really naughty, she'll untie me on the spot, let me go and act as though this game never even started. That's worse than the torment of waiting. But I've been horny since I opened my eyes; I need release; this is not the time to tempt fate.

"I'll be good," I whisper. "I promise."

That's all Lily needs to hear. She quits the spelling and plunges full force into my cunt, letting her tongue run wild. Then I feel two fingers ease up inside me, press against my G-spot. The buildup overwhelms my body and I explode, thrashing my limbs as best I can despite the ropes. When the orgasm subsides, Lily breaks away, undoes my bonds, goes downstairs to make coffee. I can go back to sleep now, and join her when I'm ready.

Dorla Moorehouse is a writer and dancer living in Austin, Texas. Her favorite word is "corroborate," and thinks it sounds more beautiful than "cellar door." Her least-favorite word is "underwear," largely because she hates wearing the stuff. Dorla's writing appears around the internet, most recently at The Erotic Woman and Tinglemedia.com. You can read more about her work at http://dorlamoorehouse.blogspot.com

1 comment:

  1. Holy Fuck.
    That was the steamiest thing I've read in forever.
    Beautiful too.