I’m reading when you enter the room unannounced–about hard bodies and hared cocks and toe-curling orgasms. My legs are splayed beneath the sheets and the outline of my hand between them is plain to see. I can smell my own arousal and am distracted enough by the words on the page, or maybe the words in my head, that I don’t notice your arrival. You swoop in, ripping the book my my hands. At first, I’m angry, worried that I will lose my page but then l as realization sinks in, I look up to meet your eyes. I act more brazen than I really feel, caught in the act. I expect to see some sort of judgment in your eyes; instead, I see that familiar mischievous twinkle. I hope you can’t hear my sigh of relief.
“Devouring your smut again, I see.” You make a production of scanning the page with your eyes. I’m too busy wondering what you’ll do next to admire their depth or the way your glasses frame them perfectly. You continue talking, reading from the page in your most mocking tone,
“Daniels’ cock entering her pussy, slick with arousal. Jason’s cock… What kind of filth is this? You’re reading about group sex? You’d rather get off from these words than me?” you demand, almost managing to sound convincing. Almost.
I decide to play along. “Yes. Yes, I would. I can get off to any scenario imaginable thanks to my books.” I motion toward the short stack on the nightstand, freshly delivered by the UPS man., I wonder what he’d think if he knew what was in those boxes. “It’s never the same in the stories..” I trail off as you move closer.
“Is that so?” Book still in hand, you reach out and push me back against the bed. My t-shirt falls upward, revealing nakedness underneath, the swell of my stomach and breasts. You move to stand between my legs and your jeans seem an impossibly thick barrier between us. I want to be close to you, to feel if you’re hard. I hope you are.
You’re holding the book in my face as if to scold me for such a guilty pleasure. Without thinking, I reach out my tongue and flick it against the volume, careful not to cut myself on the paper. The atmosphere in the room changes immediately. You draw the binding down my chin, around my breast and belly button then back up around the other breast. My nipples have never felt this alive. You turn the book, grasping one cover and flipping through the pages so they brush against my ribs in rapid succession. It’s only a few seconds but it feels like forever as the air blows my hair back.
You pull your shirt off over your head and now I’m sure that I like where this is going. I wait for your pants to follow but they don’t. Instead, you roll up the book like it’s a newspaper and motion for me to assume the position–on all fours. I do, not entirely sure that a book should be treated in such a manner. The cover makes a “thwack” as it makes contact with my ass. It’s not the most effective impact object but I respect the novelty and naughtiness of the situation. A hard blow lands on the opposite cheek as though you noticed that I didn’t even flinch. They rain harder against my ass, soon leaving it hot and red.
The slick cover feels cold in contract as you change things up and glide it over my skin. I moan softly. The bed shifts and you’re learning over me. I feel your breath on my shoulders as you use a corner of the book to lightly tickle y back in the way that you know I like, eliciting a shiver. Suddenly, you’re pushing the book into my hand, telling me to find my place. I distractedly turn the pages, which now show unexpected wear, looking for where I left off when you grabbed the book.
You’re pulling off your pants and boxers as I search, a fast not lost on me. I give up trying to find my place as you take your stance behind me. Your cock slides inside me easily. In the stories you’d be “impossibly hard”and I “dripping with arousal.”
“Read.” You never command. I want to obey you more than anything. I feel frantic, for just a moment, remembering that I don’t know my place in the book. My mind struggles to find the words to say. I spread the book open beneath my fingers, my body obscuring the words from your view.
“He enters her from behind, his cock impossibly hard. It’s as though he and she are matching puzzle pieces, the way he fits so well. His thrusts seem to hit every spot, even the ones she never knew existed.” I got on, describing our movements, my thoughts. I wonder if you notice. It continues for only a moment before your hand snakes between my legs. My words turn into moans, primal and nonsensical, yet describing the scene somehow perfectly.
You surprise me with the volume of your moan, the intensity of your final thrust as you cum. I hadn’t expected that. You fall to your side, slipping out of me as you do. Your arms encircle my upper body to pull me back against you and I feel your familiar heat, over skin slick with sweat.
But you’re not finished. You reach for the book, pushing it between my thighs. I spread them slightly as you work on edge of the binding against my clit. It’s like a bolt of lightning has hit me and you’re soon moving the book in the hard and fast way that is sure to get me off. Soon enough, I eel my orgasm building. I open my mouth to moan but no sound escapes. The contractions of my pussy are stronger than I’ve ever felt and I squeeze my thighs together, hard, against the covers of the book. You pull it from between them and toss it to the side to replace it with your hand. My pussy pulses against your. Orgasm subsides.
“Good book?” you ask, face buried in my hair.
“Mmm,” I murmur in response.
The pages lie akimbo, like our limbs, looking exhausted as I feel–wet, in disarray and pages wide open for your to explore.