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PARK BENCH SEAT (erotic prose encounter)
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PARK BENCH SEAT (erotic prose encounter) PARK BENCH SEAT A drink or two to unwind, to set the working week behind, and we two are close, closer now, crowded against each other on this small table, the chairs barely manageable and yet we laugh and make bad jokes and analyse and judge the clothing choices of those around us as I feel your legs are lying warm against my own, and probably have for been for quite a while but now I am noticing them more. And thrown together, as if from a barroom fight, we are touching at hips, and occasionally at shoulders, and there is a fine and small bead of black, mascara perhaps, which has appeared on your forehead, and I reach up and brush it from your skin, and feel how hot your skin is, and your arms it seems have no place to rest as the table with empty glasses, not all our own thankfully, fills, as people get up and wander around and chat, or dance to the loud music which means every conversation is a shout, or that might in part be the deafness coming from a drink or two, and your hands are awkwardly on my knees, as your arms hang down lost, and I lean back to give you more space, and lean against the wall, my arm naturally, if self-consciously slips around your waist. And you lean in to say something else, then lose the words, and I pursue your face to find the words, and our faces pause a paper breadth apart, and then our lips meet and we kiss. It is the natural end result, and I read a study the other day, the tactile sensations of kissing, the assault of these many sensations, override the brain and mean we can not focus on other things, and I am lost, tracing lips, and feeling your eager tongue meeting my own, and a low groan of wanting I release in midst of our kiss, and the music is no longer loud, and the seats no longer uncomfortable as my entire thoughts and being are focused on this kiss. And we break apart, with an almost audible pop, and hold each other's gaze, and I know your hand on my knee might sense a tightening in my trousers, for I can feel a hardening there, as my body outruns my thoughts, and my thoughts outrun politeness, and you lean in again and all thoughts collapse, and I lean in a fiercely and my hand on your waist lifts your shirt, and my hand strokes your bare skin, and somewhere in my thoughts an image unbidden arrive of your knees against my chair, so close, and the line and curve of your legs, and how sweet it would be, how lustfully delightful, to run my hand along your legs, and watch the fire in your eyes take on a more brilliant blaze. We rise, with few words, the kisses agreement enough, and sweaty hand holding sweaty hand, move through the crowd and out, onto the streets of the city, and it is so much cooler thankfully here, but we have brought the heat from within from our drinks, and form those kisses, and we pause in a doorway, and kiss once more, ignoring those other revelers strolling by, and their looks, and the occasional comment, and we kiss, and we kiss, and the heat melds our lips, and hips against each other press, and my hand to small of your back eases your against me firmer, closer, and I feel your breasts full and arousing me from all kinds of slumber, and you must feel my arousal obvious, and our hands wander and roam across each other's bodies, lifting clothing here to slip beneath, or my own hand cupping your breast through shirt and bra, and thumbing the nipple which lies beneath, and as I do so you shiver, and draw yourself closer, impossibly so, for I thought we were already so entwined. We break apart, and literally we are gasping having forgotten how to breath, and also seems our brains had us running a<b> marathon </font></b>in that kiss, for entire body is vibrating and alive, and we turn a corner to a quieter spot, and an old park bench, onto which we sit, and stop, you upon my lap, and your shirt buttons come undone and I press your breast with my tongue, wetting bra, and pressing through, and you say yes, and wriggle and move and reach and my trousers are undone, my zip down, and I glance briefly up, and think we are alone, and none are going past or looking in, and we are in the dark, and they would be in light, and the feeling of your hand is too much, and I ignore any thoughts of deeper insight, and my own hand slips along your knee, across your lower thigh to upper, gathering the hot soft pliable malleable reactive skin, and against your panties my hand, my fingers, stroke, and you lean forward and stifle a moan by sucking on my ear. then seems you wriggle once more and your underwear have slipped down and my fingers are lightly caressing the moist hot entrance to your sensual core,and your bra is tugged aside and my lips close over the bare exposed full breast, and hot taut nipple, and to keep them warm, I draw the whole into my mouth, between my lips, and my tongue draws lashing lines of lust, and I feel you buck, as my fingers beneath swirl and thumb across your clitoris strokes. And you are wet, wet, wet, wet, under my touch and so hot and humid and moist, and your hips are beginning to rock, and strangely I hear the creak of the old park bench on which we sit, and I move my own hips beneath your to move at same pace, as I have my fingers rub and stroke and play, and I almost jump for so hard and ready have I become and your finger are now a palm, rubbing stroking up and down, and fortunately for me, the park bench against my back is uncomfortable, and a large bolt stabs me in the back, and holds me there a moment longer from erupting myself, as I suck hard on your breast, and clitoris strokes vibrates, and my reaching fingers deep in your delicious lovely wetness my fingertips skate and swirl across those sensitive walls and floor, and you buck just once savagely, and then a dozen or so smaller jumping uncontrolled unrhythmic pulses of your hips, and almost bite my ear off as you orgasm delightfully, insightfully, and you are so deliciously sweaty, and tart, and rich in taste, under my mouth, and I could suck and lick and nibble and stroke and savor your skin all day and night. You break for a moment, stare at me with a wanton lust I would fear if you were looking so and it was to murder, and you move, and holding me, and my hardness easily slides into your moist hot wetness. and you pause a moment and stare wordlessly at me, a challenge. And I begin to lift my hips, and the bolt on back of bench forgotten, the ache of this position, the weight of you upon me, all forgotten as I drive myself, thrust deep into you, and your arms are to my shoulders gripping tight, as you undulate your own body to my rocking thrusting beats, trying and succeeding to match rhythm, and I am almost painfully erect and full, as if to burst, and your thighs clamp around me, and I begin to surge and move faster, and you call yes, and you cry yes, and I say through clenched teeth yes, as it every fiber of my being of my body of my muscle of my thoughts directed to achieving this single goal of being deep in you and .....perfection would be we orgasm together, but I arrive before you, only a moment or so, and then your arrive pounding rhythm and muscles twitch deep inside and our orgasms collide, and feels every drop of me is called for, and I am pumping erratically, completely, mindless senselessly caught in ecstasy of moment, and eyes are closed, and you are rocking as fast, and your teeth close through my shirt onto my shoulder as you stifle a yell or shout or moan...... afterward we sit on the bench, I growing soft within you, and when we kiss, seems my body would begin to grow harder afresh, and we hold each other tight, for the cool air touches those places where our skins are bare, and I love the look of your sweaty tousled hair, and the red marks your fingers grasping left upon me, and I kiss your breast, that fine nipple, tenderly.....and the night still lies before us, and there are better places where we could lie against each other, and disrobe, and explore, and trace, and track, every inch of each of us.....and thoughts have again got head, but the kiss you now give me, says you are thinking the same, and so we stand on slightly shaky feet and having learned about each other what we have learnt, leave this lane and park bench seat. Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction |
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good story love the word description
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