Sunday, 13 September 2015

Sunday Snog

Welcome to Sunday Snog, here's a smooch from newly married couple  Siyàra and Damon, the stars of my Bollywood novella, The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita.

“I mean Sir, yes, yes, Sir, please. That feels so good.”
“I’m not doing it for your pleasure, I am doing it because I want to. You are mine.”
I felt suitably scolded and slipped back into role. “Yes, Sir, I am yours, please, do to me whatever you want.”
He grinned, and his face softened. Next thing I knew, his entire mouth surrounded my nipple and he was feeding the flesh of my breast in deeper with his hand. I arched my back at the extreme pleasure, and my breath froze in my chest. He’d barely kissed my lips, and here he was suckling on my breast. It felt amazing, hot and wet, tight and sexy.
“Ah, your skin is like honey,” he whispered, pressing his weight over me.
I murmured encouragement and ran my hands through his silken hair. He switched breasts and the other was treated to the same, luscious caress.
Just as I thought I would climax from the stimulation of his tongue alone on my nipples, he kissed his way down my belly.
“Lose these,” he said, touching the elastic at the waist of my panties. “I want you as naked as the day you were born. You cannot hide any part of yourself from me, Siyàra.”
I was so beyond feeling embarrassed about being naked in front of a man that the notion was like some distant galaxy in the universe, the light so far away its distance was inconceivable. Panting, I wriggled from panties so carefully chosen for the day and kicked them aside, instantly forgotten.
Damon smiled and rubbed his chin, studying my dark, feminine hair as if considering the situation. “Now if I was a gambling man, which I’m not, I would bet that you knew exactly what the gift I sent last night was for.” He looked at me expectantly.
“Yes, Sir.” My legs were trembling. I was grateful I was lying down.
He trailed the back of his finger over my stomach, circled my navel then fluffed over my pubic hair. “I would also bet, judging by a few poorly concealed gasps and a blush to your cheeks, that you’ve been trying to hide the fact that deep inside your perfect little chut a storm has been raging all day long.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he quickly pressed his finger to my lips.
“No, don’t tell me, I want to find out for myself if I’ve been right.”
He shimmied down the bed, lay between my legs and shouldered apart my thighs. For a few tormented heartbeats he just stared at my pussy, at the damp, pink folds and the little white loop of string nestled against my flesh. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Yes, I was right. You have been a very good bride to accept this gift so graciously.”
“Yes, Sir,” I managed, tensing my splayed legs against his shoulders.
His thumbs traced the tops of my thighs before dipping into the folds of my sex. I didn’t know whether to push down for more or squirm away from the light torment. I ended up rocking my whole pelvis.
“Keep still.” He placed a hand over my mound, pressing down and somehow increasing the stimulation inside me all the more.
“Ah, ah,” I panted.
He continued to explore me with his fingers. “You are so wet. You enjoyed sucking my lavDa, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I wanted to give you pleasure.”
He gave a small huff. “That is your job in the bedroom.”
“Yes, Sir. Oh...”
He’d found my clit and teased it from its hood. Pulses of sensation were rippling to every corner of my being, and the balls, as he touched my clit, seemed bigger than ever. As if they were rolling inside me.
“You want me down here, don’t you?” His hot breath washed over my nub, which jutted forwards for his touch.
“Yes, very much, Sir, please.”
“Well, first we must make room for me, don’t you agree?”
I guessed it was a rhetorical question because at that moment the balls began to tug within me. He was pulling at the string and drawing them down my tormented channel.
I bucked upwards, searching for pressure on my sweetest spots inside and out. “Oh, please,” I said. “Please, now.”
“Not until I say.” His voice was sharp, as if he were running out of patience. “And it’s not time yet.”
With a soft popping sensation, the balls slipped from me. I groaned and twisted my head on the pillow. It was a relief they were out, but I missed them like I would miss a limb. Glancing down, I saw him lean forwards, extending his tongue the same way he had for honey and yogurt, the tip pointed and angled. In a sudden flurry of movement, he drew a circle around my clit.
“Oh, yes, yes.” I stretched my legs wider and fisted the sheets. This was beyond my wildest fantasies of what I thought tonight would include. He lowered his tongue to my slit, dipping into my hot, aroused pussy. The feeling was blissful, sinfully blissful, and I groaned as he supped at my juice, my arousal, then explored my labia with his tongue, licking, then nibbling with lips and teeth.
“Please, my...” I begged, wanting him to lick my clit again.
He ignored me and instead carried on devouring my sex, leaving no fold undiscovered with his nimble tongue. When he slid it along the smooth stretch of skin between my pussy and my anus, I thrashed my head and called out incoherently. The depravity, the ecstasy of him loving me there, left me devoid of words and thought.
He flicked his naughty tongue back to my clit, circling it then suckling. I jabbed my hands into his hair—I was getting ready to orgasm, on his mouth, his tongue. Another second and I would soar. “Oh, don’t stop.”
He stopped. He raised his head and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Do not give me instructions unless you want a spanking.” He loomed above me, hands on either side of my face and his hard cock nudging at my entrance.
I wanted to cry. All day long I’d been searching for release.
“Do you want a spanking, my bride?”

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