She possessed a heightened skill of sexual empathy. Through the words in a story, she stepped into a character’s skin and experienced the desire, anxiety, and longing. Her powerful response culminated in frenzied explosions, orgasm after orgasm. In the end, she always whimpered, and when she whimpered, my turn had arrived. I may not have her skill to join all the characters, but my talent was connecting with her in the creative afterglow.
Thank God I came home to retrieve my portfolio or I would have missed this event. From the look of things, Sonya had been wonderfully naughty. On top of the bed, her discarded red and white polka-dot skirt was strewn over opened books. Her lace blouse, still on her body and thrown open, suggested her frantic nature. Leaning toward me, her breasts swelled and her bra barely contained them.
After I had counted the fifteen books around her, I imagined how she created today’s experience. Had she orchestrated the order of the stories, building her to the crescendo she wanted? Was she reading from one book to the next as if she was a prostitute moving from one person to another? Had I walked in on her first orgasm or her seventh? Dare I imagine who was on the bed, each one from a book laying there? Which one got her the hottest? She enjoyed making a show, sometimes she let me know ahead of time, but sometimes it was spontaneous, like today. When she worked this, I never interfered with her sexual creative writing process. Sometimes she talked to me about the books, the stories, the insights, the yearnings, but only afterward. Process intrigued her and we both appreciated she had a unique one. We celebrated it in the afterglow.
A light gasp, the barest of a sound, slipped from her mouth and pulled me from the pictures in my head. I approached the edge of the bed. Her head rolled off a book and she studied me. Desire burned in her eyes.
“Colin, you came.”
“No, but you did. Are you scene hopping?” I caressed her arm, moisture tingled on my fingertips.
“For a while, yes. Then I had an idea, it consumed me. I got lost. You were there. I called to you. We connected.” I stared into her flushed face. Hazy eyes stared back at me. She was in transition between a fiction world and the real world. It was time to connect her to ours.
“What can I do?”
“Take the reins, Colin, ride me home.”
A plea? My heart stopped. She invited me into her private creative space. Like one of her characters, she wanted to experience me within her process.
“I’ll keep the wand going; ground me back here.” She raked her fingers through my hair. “Please. I need you. Bring me home.”
I strode around the bed and threw the books off. I brushed away the essence of the people, events, and stories, removing them from her sexual sphere to prompt her to our space. I picked up her skirt and lightly dragged it up her body, then over her face. Her chest rose as she inhaled her flowery scent. My fingers traced her breasts at the edge of the bra. My breath hitched as goosebumps danced across her skin. She was so responsive with one hand on the vibrator, the other in her folds. Her legs thrashed on the sheets. She hovered in arousal. I stroked each leg and both of her arms, reminding her skin, it was me.
“What’s your plan, Colin?”
“Keep pleasuring yourself. I will take the reins. You will respond to me.”
My mind reeled. This was her creative arena, not mine. I repeated to myself, over and over, “Take the reins.” The idea came to me like a burst of sunlight through the clouds. Take her reins. She still wore her panties. I moved back to her left side on the bed.
“Sonya, you must do exactly what I tell you.”
“Yes, yes. The last orgasm’s yours.”
I had incentive. The afterglow was all about us. She needed a real life sensation to get her out of the fictional realm. I slid my hand over her left hipbone enjoying her soft, silky skin. I hooked my fingers into both her panties leg holes, bunching them in my hand and gripped them like the reins on a horse. I yanked back hard into her vulva. Her back arched off the bed and the whir of the wand strained.
I lived for the way she moaned my name. I dropped my mouth by her ear.
“Sonya, listen to my words. This orgasm is mine. You are having it for me, no one else. Do you understand?” I clamped down on the panty rein and pulled left. The lace gave way and dropped into the crack of her butt. Perfect leverage. I held her most responsive areas in my reins. Pressure near her clit and her ass drove her crazy.
“Pinch your nipples.” Her breathing hitched as her breast popped out of the bra cup and she latched on to one nipple. I found a rhythmic motion with the panties that matched her efforts on her nipple. Her skin began to flush and the top of her ears tipped crimson.
My nose nuzzled her ear and my breath eased out. “Sonya.” I stroked her hair knowing I was in her head and commanded her sex parts. “Where are you?”
“I want you home, now.”
She turned her face to my voice, licked her lips and parted them. My lips crashed into hers and I sought out her tongue. If the panties helped me to pull her back, I would suck her to me, the rest of the way home. Locked together, our motions rocked the bed. I drew in her want and need through my mouth. Everything became one, the vibrator, the reins, her nipples, and our tongues. When her orgasm hit her, she bit me. The metallic taste, mixed with her sweetness, created the hardest erection I had ever experienced.
When our bodies stilled, she gazed into my eyes. Blue irises shone. Sonya was home. She kissed my lips softly.
“You got me off and brought me home. Thanks for another new scene.”
I smiled. “Let the afterglow begin.”
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