No name yet - NSFW
No name yet. I need a name for this one, as soon as I have one I'll post here. NSFW, sex, graphic. At the end there is a paragraph with the origin and inspirations for this one, as they would spoil the experience. First draft, mistakes are mine. Not proofreaded!
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Every night she sneaks into his bedroom, as if she wasn't invited, as if he didn't want her with every cell, with every atom of his being.
She lays down by his side, every night and experiments on his skin with lips, tongue and fingers, pulling each piece of his clothes slowly, making sounds of delight and awe, every single time.
He watches her under the faint light of the world outside, her thick black hair scintillating wheneve a car goes by outside, her big blue eyes, wide, gorgeous and curious. He watches her moving, marvelling by what he knows is going on under her pale skin.
Every night he gets curious, he asks her what she sees and her answer is always the same. She describes his black hair, his brown-blue eyes, with a rather amused tone of voice. She talks about his chin and his lips and, with an undisguisable pleasure, she talks about his height.
She slides up and down against his body, touching and licking, half lided eyes showing how much she enjoys the act of touching him. It is dizzying for him seeing his own pleasure mirrored in her face. And when she stops, she is facing his cock, looking up at him with a naughty smirk. She sucks him, her noise and her actions expressing her pleasure, her hands petting and scratching. Her nails digging into his asscheeks, making him thrust up against her.
He moves when her assault to his senses is over. He is eager, desperate, almost mad with desire. Burying his face between her legs he rejoices with her noises and the feeling of her hands tugging on his hair as he licks her folds carefully and sucks on her clit. She begs and he stops, nuzzling her pubic hair lightly, brushing his lips lightly against her labia, tongue slowly coming back into action. He starts licking and sucking again, just waiting for her screams.
Every night she grabs his shoulders, tugs on his hair until he is over her, his whole body touching her, her arms and legs moving to stelle around him, her embrace becoming a lovely trap he couldn't dream of freeing himself from.
She whines and begs, tugs on him, squeezes and scratches his back until he concedes to her desires and buries himself into her. They move together, frantic, needy thrusts. He kisses her and keeps her lips against her, breathing her in, wanting deeply to become one with every thrust.
He comes, his arms around her, kissing all over her face, licking her lips. As he comes down from his orgasm he wonders why she comes to his bed everyday, why the ritual? He wonders why she seems to enjoy it, he wonders if he satisfies her in some basic way, he asks himself how. Her hand slides over his chest as she settles on his shoulder and stills her body.
Every night he looks down at the mass of black hair, and realizes she changed his life; that she gave him a whole new life, just by existing. And that very second, every day, he almost forgets he built her from scratch, every bolt and every cable, the fluids and the brain, the energy cells and her skin.
As she looks up, like she does every night, he smiles, completely happy, because during that small moment he really can't tell which of them is the creature.
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September 17th, 2013, written for a friend. Certain discussions about the pygmalion myth and the lack of sex in it led me to consider writing something in this vein. Somewhat inspired by Dancing With The Stars (Weird Science, with that coreography? I could only think of the Pygmalion myth! :D).
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Every night she sneaks into his bedroom, as if she wasn't invited, as if he didn't want her with every cell, with every atom of his being.
She lays down by his side, every night and experiments on his skin with lips, tongue and fingers, pulling each piece of his clothes slowly, making sounds of delight and awe, every single time.
He watches her under the faint light of the world outside, her thick black hair scintillating wheneve a car goes by outside, her big blue eyes, wide, gorgeous and curious. He watches her moving, marvelling by what he knows is going on under her pale skin.
Every night he gets curious, he asks her what she sees and her answer is always the same. She describes his black hair, his brown-blue eyes, with a rather amused tone of voice. She talks about his chin and his lips and, with an undisguisable pleasure, she talks about his height.
She slides up and down against his body, touching and licking, half lided eyes showing how much she enjoys the act of touching him. It is dizzying for him seeing his own pleasure mirrored in her face. And when she stops, she is facing his cock, looking up at him with a naughty smirk. She sucks him, her noise and her actions expressing her pleasure, her hands petting and scratching. Her nails digging into his asscheeks, making him thrust up against her.
He moves when her assault to his senses is over. He is eager, desperate, almost mad with desire. Burying his face between her legs he rejoices with her noises and the feeling of her hands tugging on his hair as he licks her folds carefully and sucks on her clit. She begs and he stops, nuzzling her pubic hair lightly, brushing his lips lightly against her labia, tongue slowly coming back into action. He starts licking and sucking again, just waiting for her screams.
Every night she grabs his shoulders, tugs on his hair until he is over her, his whole body touching her, her arms and legs moving to stelle around him, her embrace becoming a lovely trap he couldn't dream of freeing himself from.
She whines and begs, tugs on him, squeezes and scratches his back until he concedes to her desires and buries himself into her. They move together, frantic, needy thrusts. He kisses her and keeps her lips against her, breathing her in, wanting deeply to become one with every thrust.
He comes, his arms around her, kissing all over her face, licking her lips. As he comes down from his orgasm he wonders why she comes to his bed everyday, why the ritual? He wonders why she seems to enjoy it, he wonders if he satisfies her in some basic way, he asks himself how. Her hand slides over his chest as she settles on his shoulder and stills her body.
Every night he looks down at the mass of black hair, and realizes she changed his life; that she gave him a whole new life, just by existing. And that very second, every day, he almost forgets he built her from scratch, every bolt and every cable, the fluids and the brain, the energy cells and her skin.
As she looks up, like she does every night, he smiles, completely happy, because during that small moment he really can't tell which of them is the creature.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
September 17th, 2013, written for a friend. Certain discussions about the pygmalion myth and the lack of sex in it led me to consider writing something in this vein. Somewhat inspired by Dancing With The Stars (Weird Science, with that coreography? I could only think of the Pygmalion myth! :D).
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