When I asked her what she liked for aftercare, she said “Cuddles, skin to skin contact, just resting against each other with a blanket.” This all sounded so nice to me. I usually don’t need much aftercare, a hug and a kiss and a good meal help get me back to reality, but I wanted to make sure that she was getting what she needed.
So, after he’d marked her with the dragon tail and the paddle, her body dancing with every flick of his hand, after he’d fucked me as I lay on top of her, my face buried in her chest, biting and licking her flesh as he thrust into me, we lay there together for an hour, skin to skin. I snuggled my face into her soft breasts, inhaling the subtle scent of cocoa butter lotion and sex. We talked and giggled, changing position so that her head was on my shoulder and my hand was in her hair.
Sir brought us candy and we crunched side by side, the sound echoing from the inside of my skull to hers and back. He stroked our bodies with his large hands, from my ankle, slowly up my thigh and over my rump, eliciting a wave of goosebumps across my skin. His hand jumped the small gap between us and traveled down her thigh, and I could feel her shiver beneath his touch.
Our fingers entwined, hers felt so small and delicate in mine, different from the large, thick working man’s hands that I’m used to holding. I kissed her knuckle, wanting to bring her finger in my mouth to suck, my tongue swirling around the tiny tip. I wanted to let go of her hand and find the soft skin of her thighs, to pinch and scratch my way up until they were buried in the wet folds of her cunt, but playtime was over.
We lay side by side, thigh to thigh, cheek to cheek. Our breathing slowed and synched. Skin to skin, we eased back from the highs of sex, leaving behind the heady taste of cunt, the smell of cock, the lick of pain, the pleasure of soft kisses. Our minds slipped away from need and desire and fell towards reality, the ticking of the clock could be heard again. Its rhythmic click began the countdown of the days, the hours, the minutes until we would Once more sink back into that space where time doesn’t exist, where we are nothing but skin and nerve and muscle, pleasure and pain.
That’s what it’s all about, what we crave, what makes us the type of animals to seek pleasure from sex. The nerves lie under the skin, just waiting to be rubbed and caressed, pinched and pulled until they light up. Wet skin envelops hard skin, rough skin slides against soft supple skin, the friction builds, slowly sometimes, quickly other times, until we are left panting and gasping after the nerves have electrified and pulsed, our muscles convulse and quiver and fluids seep and gush. Our bodies were made for this, to be played like an instrument. Our skin is the piano key, tink, tink, tink, touch it just there, rub it like that. Our nerves are the strings, when plucked in just the right way, we sing.