april
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,197
- Points
- 48
Merrit kisses the top of your head, slow and lingering, as he pulls the blankets over you both. You're flushed, soaked, shivering from hours of gentle torment; he hadn't permitted you sweet release and the memories of frustration tremble in your chest. Your body, still taut with need, every nerve alive.
He nestled in behind you, chest flush against your back, arm curling around your waist.
"That's enough now love," he murmurs in your ear like warm honey. "Its time for sleep."
You whimper quietly, pressing your thighs together, your breath catching from the unbearable pressure still pulsating inside you. You're dripping, aching, desperate, but he just holds you sweetly, as if you just hadn't spent the entire evening being tickled, teased, brought to the edge again and again without relief.
"You were perfect for me tonight," he whispers. "Such a good girl. You make the most beautiful sounds when you laugh...and when you beg."
You expect more. Another whisper. A command. A kiss.
But instead...
He goes quiet.
You can hear his breathing change, slow, deep.
You're left wide eyed in the dark, wiggling ever so slightly in his arms, caught between the delicious heat of his body and the agony of your need.
But then.
His hand moves.
Just the subtlest shift. It slides downwards under the blanket, trailing down your stomach, down between your thighs, until his fingers rest exactly where you need them the most. Not stroking. Just...there. The heat of his palm is cradling your soaked, aching center.
A soft moan escapes your lips. You press into his hand, but he doesnt respond. He remains perfectly still, breath slow and steady, face buried in your hair.
"M-Merit..." you whisper, voice trembling.
He doesn't answer. All you hear is his steady, rhythmic breahing, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back.
You try and stay still.
But the pressure inside is too much.
A soft frustrated sound slips from your throat, so needy, so helpless. Tears prick at your eyes as you shift your hips ever so slightly, hoping for friction, for mercy.
Nothing.
Just his hand. Still. Heavy. Warm.
You're whimpering now; soft wet little sobs, not from pain or fear, but from desperation. You grind into his hand, just a little.
Merrit stirs sleepily and presses a kiss to your shoulder without lifting his head.
He murmurs half asleep, "Sweet dreams, Petal."
The room is silent but for the soft flicker of the candlelight and the slow rise and fall of Merrits breath behind you. His chest is so warm against your back. His arm still draped around your waist, and that wicked, unmoving hand still cupped the heat between your thighs like it belonged there.
And he hasn't moved since.
Or so you think.
Because just as your breath begins to even out, just as your mind starts to drift towards sleep despite the aching need within you...his fingers twitch.
Just once.
A subtle flex. Like a muscle spasm in sleep. Your entire body jolts, a shocked gasp catches in your throat as your hips twitch against him. The flicker of sensation was nothing, but everything. Like a flame licking against soaked parchment.
Then...nothing again.
Still.
Quiet.
His breathing never changes.
Then, another twitch.
Just the pads of his fingers shifting barely. A soft stroke across your swollen flesh that sends a shiver all the way to your toes. You squirm involuntary, choking back a moan.
"Merrit..." you whisper, pitiful and broken.
He doesn't respond. His breath stays deep, unbroken. Hes asleep. Of course he would be when you needed him the most.
Except.
Another twitch.
And this time it lingers just a second longer. Enough to make your legs squeeze together, your toes curl. Enough to force a soft cry from your lips. You clench your jaw, fists curled into the sheets.
"Merrit, please..."
Still doesnt move.
Still he breathes like he's drifting through dreams.
But it happens again and again. Every few minutes, just as your body starts to settle, his fingers move once more.
His lips brush the back of your neck, just from breathing.
You cant take it anymore.
Carefully, body trembling, you shift in his arms and face him.
He doesnt stir.
But as you settle into the new position, your bare chest brushing against his, your breath mingling with his...he moves.
Just slightly.
His leg shifts, and his thigh slips between yours, perfectly nestled against the ache you've been denied all night.
Your lips part. Your body pulses with need.
You freeze.
Hes still. Completely still.
Its all too much for your frayed mind to handle. You swallow hard and begin to move. Slowly, cautiously. Barely there.
You drag yourself along his thigh in the tiniest, softest motions. The friction is delicious. Agonizing. Your slick heat coats his skin, and every tiny movement sends sparks licking up your spine.
But its not enough.
Its never enough.
Your thighs tremble as you try and maintain control. You cant help the soft, broken whimpers slipping from your lips as you grind against him in a pace so slow, its almost torture.
You're afraid of waking him.
You're desperate to wake him.
But he's doesnt move. Doesn't open his eyes. Just keeps breathing, long and slow, his face serene, his body perfectly positioned to ruin you.
Your hand curles against his chest. You burry your face in the crook of his neck to stifle a cry.
You move against him again.
Just a little more.
Just a little more pressure.
Just a little faster.
Still its not enough.
Your body is burning.
You're shaking now; completely unraveled, undone, soaked with longing, so close to breaking, it feels like your heart might give out from the strain. Each pass against his thigh brings the most unbearably slow friction, just enough to keep you spirling, never enough to push you over the edge.
The noises you've made finally cause him to stir. He shifts beside you, still half curled around your trembling form. Then slowly, sleepily, he rolls onto his back. Arms wrapping tighter, breathh strong and steady, he rolls you gently with him, until your tiny body is splayed against his chest.
You're now on him.
Pressed down to every inch of his sculpted form.
Your bare thighs straddle his waist, breasts flush against his chest, and right between your legs, you feel it.
His bulge.
Thick. Hot. Perfectly positioned.
You lay perfectly still, heart pounding, eyes wide in the dark, every nerve aflame.
Again he doesnt stir. Doesn't speak.
But his body betrays him.
He moves slightly beneath you, his hips tilting, flexing upwards in slow, sinuous movements like a man lost in a dream.
And you feel everything.
The friction is devastating.
Worse than before.
Because now there's nothing but a thin barrier between your soaked, aching core, and the firm, pulsing shape of his desire.
The pressure is relentless, his body undulating beneath you with slow, instinctive rhythm of sleep-lust.
You try not to move.
You fail.
Your hips twitch. Rock.
Once.
Twice.
You bite your lip to keep from cring out.
Then god's help you, he let's out a soft, low groan. Hes lost in a sexually charged dream.
And then?
He does it again.
A slow roll of his hips, grinding his clothed hard-on right where you need it, and its like being tortured alive by a dream you're not allowed to finish.
He moans again, this time lower, darker, hips twitching restlessly beneath you like he's chasing something in his dream, and you're the dream.
Your forehead drops to his neck. You whimper. Barely breathing, unraveled.
And still he doesnt stop.
And still he doesn't wake.
But it gets worse.
Because now...
His arm is draped lazily across the matress elbow bent down, and his fingertips; pale, elegant, utterly still, rest beside your bare foot.
Right at your arch.
And the moment he rocks up into you again, the tiniest motion carries you forward, just enough for the barest brush of his fingers to trail beneath your toes.
You flinch.
Your whole body jolts, a choked giggle escaping your throat.
He undulates again.
And again.
His fingers never move. Not on their own. They're just there, like some cruel trap, waiting for each twitch of his dream-soaked hips to slide your tender sole across them.
Another involuntary grind from him, and your foot rubs right across those ever still fingertips.
A ticklish wave races up your leg and into your core, making your hips grind down against his harder.
Its a cycle.
The slow grind. The drag of his fingers.
The giggle. The ache.
Its maddening.
You're sitting up atop him slightly now, eyes scrunched shut in concentration, completely lost to the torture.
But Merrits eyes, his eyes are now open.
He thought he could keep them closed and play the part of the sleeping beast, torturing you all night, with every roll of his hips, every calculated twitch of his fingers, the strategic press of his thigh.
But now?
Now he's in hell.
You're grinding so softly against him, trying to be quiet, trying not to wake him, as if your desperation isn't setting him on fire. You're wet, hot against his cock, trembling, whimpering, and every time your foot brushes his fingertips, you gasp and giggle. It shreds his self control.
He can feel it all.
He's losing it.
Merrit watches you intently, every line on your face, every expression that switches between pleasure and frustration, he's committing it to memory. Another soft giggle erupts from your soft, parted lips. His jaw clenches. His throat works around another groan. His thighs tremble from restraint, his cock hard and heavy beneath you is throbbing. Desperate. Nearly painful.
You shift again, dragging your heat right across him, and a sharp, raw breath hisses between his teeth.
He cant do this.
Every second that passes, watching you unravel, he's unraveling too. Every soft sound from you is a hook in his gut. Every stifled whimper is a Crack in his facade.
He wants to grab you.
Flip you. Pin you. Devour you.
He wants to feel your mouth say his name, and your body break on him, and your moans shatter around him like a hymn.
But if he caves now...
He might not stop.
And right now, in this moment, he's shaking. Aching. His mind is chaos, caught between the thrill of driving you mad and the torment of having to wait.
He breaks before you do.
And his voice, low, hoarse, broken, escapes him before he can stop it.
"Petal..." he groans through clenched teeth. "You're...going to drive me insane..."
You're eyes snap open to meet his. You see that they are filled with unchecked, tormented desire.
Without warning, he raises you slightly off his lap and pulls down his night pants. His errection is free and he's inside you now, buried to the hilt.
You gasp, clutching at him as he thrusts, those blue black eyes filled with such feral veracity, that it sends electric shivers straight to your clit.
"You thought I was the one torturing you, didn't you?" He growls, voice guteral as he slowly guides your hips up and down his swollen shaft. "Darling...you've been writhing on my cock for twenty minutes."
He sits up, drawing you in on him even deeper, harder.
"You were gonna just...fuck yourself on my thigh, tease my hand with your sweet little foot and not think it would drive me insane? Let me feel every twitch, every wet grind, and not think to ask me...no, beg me to touch you?"
He groans against your mouth as the the mounting pleasure began to rise within his body.
"You're dripping wet on me darling." He was panting, pressing himself into you eagerly.
"All this from torturing yourself on my body while I pretended to sleep."
He bites your neck, your shoulder, and growls from the pressure.
"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?"
His hips rock into yours. Hard. Animalistic. Every thrust is full body. A sound breaks from him, raw, helpless, agonized. His body shudders against you like its too much, like he might lose his mind from just being inside you.
"You dont get to tease me like that and think there won't be any consequences after we're finished here, love. Now...cum for me."
His command instantly triggers your orgasm. It crashes, wave after delicious wave. Your moans mix into one, breathless, a euphoric spiral. He shudders inside you, throbbing, filling you, his wet lips trembling against your skin as he breaks right along side you.
And when everything finally stills, when the trembling slows, he cradles you against his chest, lovingly stroking your hair.
"Its bedtime, Petal," he kisses you tenderly atop your head. "But when the light first breaks, I'm afraid you cannot escape the consequences...not this time."
And she knew that meant hours and hours of tickle torture.
He nestled in behind you, chest flush against your back, arm curling around your waist.
"That's enough now love," he murmurs in your ear like warm honey. "Its time for sleep."
You whimper quietly, pressing your thighs together, your breath catching from the unbearable pressure still pulsating inside you. You're dripping, aching, desperate, but he just holds you sweetly, as if you just hadn't spent the entire evening being tickled, teased, brought to the edge again and again without relief.
"You were perfect for me tonight," he whispers. "Such a good girl. You make the most beautiful sounds when you laugh...and when you beg."
You expect more. Another whisper. A command. A kiss.
But instead...
He goes quiet.
You can hear his breathing change, slow, deep.
You're left wide eyed in the dark, wiggling ever so slightly in his arms, caught between the delicious heat of his body and the agony of your need.
But then.
His hand moves.
Just the subtlest shift. It slides downwards under the blanket, trailing down your stomach, down between your thighs, until his fingers rest exactly where you need them the most. Not stroking. Just...there. The heat of his palm is cradling your soaked, aching center.
A soft moan escapes your lips. You press into his hand, but he doesnt respond. He remains perfectly still, breath slow and steady, face buried in your hair.
"M-Merit..." you whisper, voice trembling.
He doesn't answer. All you hear is his steady, rhythmic breahing, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back.
You try and stay still.
But the pressure inside is too much.
A soft frustrated sound slips from your throat, so needy, so helpless. Tears prick at your eyes as you shift your hips ever so slightly, hoping for friction, for mercy.
Nothing.
Just his hand. Still. Heavy. Warm.
You're whimpering now; soft wet little sobs, not from pain or fear, but from desperation. You grind into his hand, just a little.
Merrit stirs sleepily and presses a kiss to your shoulder without lifting his head.
He murmurs half asleep, "Sweet dreams, Petal."
The room is silent but for the soft flicker of the candlelight and the slow rise and fall of Merrits breath behind you. His chest is so warm against your back. His arm still draped around your waist, and that wicked, unmoving hand still cupped the heat between your thighs like it belonged there.
And he hasn't moved since.
Or so you think.
Because just as your breath begins to even out, just as your mind starts to drift towards sleep despite the aching need within you...his fingers twitch.
Just once.
A subtle flex. Like a muscle spasm in sleep. Your entire body jolts, a shocked gasp catches in your throat as your hips twitch against him. The flicker of sensation was nothing, but everything. Like a flame licking against soaked parchment.
Then...nothing again.
Still.
Quiet.
His breathing never changes.
Then, another twitch.
Just the pads of his fingers shifting barely. A soft stroke across your swollen flesh that sends a shiver all the way to your toes. You squirm involuntary, choking back a moan.
"Merrit..." you whisper, pitiful and broken.
He doesn't respond. His breath stays deep, unbroken. Hes asleep. Of course he would be when you needed him the most.
Except.
Another twitch.
And this time it lingers just a second longer. Enough to make your legs squeeze together, your toes curl. Enough to force a soft cry from your lips. You clench your jaw, fists curled into the sheets.
"Merrit, please..."
Still doesnt move.
Still he breathes like he's drifting through dreams.
But it happens again and again. Every few minutes, just as your body starts to settle, his fingers move once more.
His lips brush the back of your neck, just from breathing.
You cant take it anymore.
Carefully, body trembling, you shift in his arms and face him.
He doesnt stir.
But as you settle into the new position, your bare chest brushing against his, your breath mingling with his...he moves.
Just slightly.
His leg shifts, and his thigh slips between yours, perfectly nestled against the ache you've been denied all night.
Your lips part. Your body pulses with need.
You freeze.
Hes still. Completely still.
Its all too much for your frayed mind to handle. You swallow hard and begin to move. Slowly, cautiously. Barely there.
You drag yourself along his thigh in the tiniest, softest motions. The friction is delicious. Agonizing. Your slick heat coats his skin, and every tiny movement sends sparks licking up your spine.
But its not enough.
Its never enough.
Your thighs tremble as you try and maintain control. You cant help the soft, broken whimpers slipping from your lips as you grind against him in a pace so slow, its almost torture.
You're afraid of waking him.
You're desperate to wake him.
But he's doesnt move. Doesn't open his eyes. Just keeps breathing, long and slow, his face serene, his body perfectly positioned to ruin you.
Your hand curles against his chest. You burry your face in the crook of his neck to stifle a cry.
You move against him again.
Just a little more.
Just a little more pressure.
Just a little faster.
Still its not enough.
Your body is burning.
You're shaking now; completely unraveled, undone, soaked with longing, so close to breaking, it feels like your heart might give out from the strain. Each pass against his thigh brings the most unbearably slow friction, just enough to keep you spirling, never enough to push you over the edge.
The noises you've made finally cause him to stir. He shifts beside you, still half curled around your trembling form. Then slowly, sleepily, he rolls onto his back. Arms wrapping tighter, breathh strong and steady, he rolls you gently with him, until your tiny body is splayed against his chest.
You're now on him.
Pressed down to every inch of his sculpted form.
Your bare thighs straddle his waist, breasts flush against his chest, and right between your legs, you feel it.
His bulge.
Thick. Hot. Perfectly positioned.
You lay perfectly still, heart pounding, eyes wide in the dark, every nerve aflame.
Again he doesnt stir. Doesn't speak.
But his body betrays him.
He moves slightly beneath you, his hips tilting, flexing upwards in slow, sinuous movements like a man lost in a dream.
And you feel everything.
The friction is devastating.
Worse than before.
Because now there's nothing but a thin barrier between your soaked, aching core, and the firm, pulsing shape of his desire.
The pressure is relentless, his body undulating beneath you with slow, instinctive rhythm of sleep-lust.
You try not to move.
You fail.
Your hips twitch. Rock.
Once.
Twice.
You bite your lip to keep from cring out.
Then god's help you, he let's out a soft, low groan. Hes lost in a sexually charged dream.
And then?
He does it again.
A slow roll of his hips, grinding his clothed hard-on right where you need it, and its like being tortured alive by a dream you're not allowed to finish.
He moans again, this time lower, darker, hips twitching restlessly beneath you like he's chasing something in his dream, and you're the dream.
Your forehead drops to his neck. You whimper. Barely breathing, unraveled.
And still he doesnt stop.
And still he doesn't wake.
But it gets worse.
Because now...
His arm is draped lazily across the matress elbow bent down, and his fingertips; pale, elegant, utterly still, rest beside your bare foot.
Right at your arch.
And the moment he rocks up into you again, the tiniest motion carries you forward, just enough for the barest brush of his fingers to trail beneath your toes.
You flinch.
Your whole body jolts, a choked giggle escaping your throat.
He undulates again.
And again.
His fingers never move. Not on their own. They're just there, like some cruel trap, waiting for each twitch of his dream-soaked hips to slide your tender sole across them.
Another involuntary grind from him, and your foot rubs right across those ever still fingertips.
A ticklish wave races up your leg and into your core, making your hips grind down against his harder.
Its a cycle.
The slow grind. The drag of his fingers.
The giggle. The ache.
Its maddening.
You're sitting up atop him slightly now, eyes scrunched shut in concentration, completely lost to the torture.
But Merrits eyes, his eyes are now open.
He thought he could keep them closed and play the part of the sleeping beast, torturing you all night, with every roll of his hips, every calculated twitch of his fingers, the strategic press of his thigh.
But now?
Now he's in hell.
You're grinding so softly against him, trying to be quiet, trying not to wake him, as if your desperation isn't setting him on fire. You're wet, hot against his cock, trembling, whimpering, and every time your foot brushes his fingertips, you gasp and giggle. It shreds his self control.
He can feel it all.
He's losing it.
Merrit watches you intently, every line on your face, every expression that switches between pleasure and frustration, he's committing it to memory. Another soft giggle erupts from your soft, parted lips. His jaw clenches. His throat works around another groan. His thighs tremble from restraint, his cock hard and heavy beneath you is throbbing. Desperate. Nearly painful.
You shift again, dragging your heat right across him, and a sharp, raw breath hisses between his teeth.
He cant do this.
Every second that passes, watching you unravel, he's unraveling too. Every soft sound from you is a hook in his gut. Every stifled whimper is a Crack in his facade.
He wants to grab you.
Flip you. Pin you. Devour you.
He wants to feel your mouth say his name, and your body break on him, and your moans shatter around him like a hymn.
But if he caves now...
He might not stop.
And right now, in this moment, he's shaking. Aching. His mind is chaos, caught between the thrill of driving you mad and the torment of having to wait.
He breaks before you do.
And his voice, low, hoarse, broken, escapes him before he can stop it.
"Petal..." he groans through clenched teeth. "You're...going to drive me insane..."
You're eyes snap open to meet his. You see that they are filled with unchecked, tormented desire.
Without warning, he raises you slightly off his lap and pulls down his night pants. His errection is free and he's inside you now, buried to the hilt.
You gasp, clutching at him as he thrusts, those blue black eyes filled with such feral veracity, that it sends electric shivers straight to your clit.
"You thought I was the one torturing you, didn't you?" He growls, voice guteral as he slowly guides your hips up and down his swollen shaft. "Darling...you've been writhing on my cock for twenty minutes."
He sits up, drawing you in on him even deeper, harder.
"You were gonna just...fuck yourself on my thigh, tease my hand with your sweet little foot and not think it would drive me insane? Let me feel every twitch, every wet grind, and not think to ask me...no, beg me to touch you?"
He groans against your mouth as the the mounting pleasure began to rise within his body.
"You're dripping wet on me darling." He was panting, pressing himself into you eagerly.
"All this from torturing yourself on my body while I pretended to sleep."
He bites your neck, your shoulder, and growls from the pressure.
"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?"
His hips rock into yours. Hard. Animalistic. Every thrust is full body. A sound breaks from him, raw, helpless, agonized. His body shudders against you like its too much, like he might lose his mind from just being inside you.
"You dont get to tease me like that and think there won't be any consequences after we're finished here, love. Now...cum for me."
His command instantly triggers your orgasm. It crashes, wave after delicious wave. Your moans mix into one, breathless, a euphoric spiral. He shudders inside you, throbbing, filling you, his wet lips trembling against your skin as he breaks right along side you.
And when everything finally stills, when the trembling slows, he cradles you against his chest, lovingly stroking your hair.
"Its bedtime, Petal," he kisses you tenderly atop your head. "But when the light first breaks, I'm afraid you cannot escape the consequences...not this time."
And she knew that meant hours and hours of tickle torture.
