Free Control by Charlotte Stein Page B

weren’t feverishly tonguing my slit through clinging material, at the same time. But as it happens he’s doing both, and so it seems that I’m getting close to coming without anything like serious contact on my clit.
    I think of Greg, saying oh, do I have to? I think of Kevin, getting bored after five minutes. I think of Andy’s cock in my mouth.
    And I judder, from head to toe.
    I don’t think I can stand him inching my knickers down. Of course I knew he was going to do it, but it still makes me delirious when the thin straps dig and roll against my tensing flesh. Cool and blissful air hits the furnace between my legs – God, I wish he’d go on peeling these off me for ever.
    But all too soon they’re at my knees, and dear Lord he’s lifting my leg – just a little, just enough so that he can complete the operation. Knickers all the way off. Bare arse and pussy exposed. I bet it looks like sticky honey, in this low light. I bet I look as lewd as fuck.
    Though of course he doesn’t say so. He doesn’t say anything at all. Instead his breathing gets higher and tighter, and he sighs like the dying wind just before touching me right. There .
    Nothing more. More’s enough.
    I immediately push back against his delicately probing fingers, but only because I can’t help myself. It’s my intention to be patient – I want this pleasure to go on coiling itself for ever in the pit of my belly, but I’m desperate. I’m so wet that the barest touch slicks and slides his fingers the entire length of my slit, whether he wanted to go there or not.
    It makes me sure that the first time he sinks something into me is not because he intended to. He just presses and fondles and runs unsteady fingers over and around each fold until suddenly he’s inside me, and I’m spread right open for him.
    He moans, then – a real moan, tremulous and deep. I think he goes to say actual words, too – maybe about how hot I am, how slick – but like me he’s probably too engrossed in the slippery sounds I’m making. That click when he pushes a second finger into my greedy hole, then separates them. Tests me out, until whatever he’s feeling makes him shudder far more than it should.
    It’s only when he starts fucking into me, though, that I know for certain he’s masturbating while doing so. He’s now groaning, quietly, almost constantly, and there’s another rhythm to his movements alongside this jerky fingering.
    I think it’s all just having a cascade sort of effect. He pumps his fingers into me faster, twisting and searching in my slick heat, and then just as he finds what I think he’s actively looking for – that little bump inside me, that small collection of nerves – his mouth presses messily to my sex once more, over and around the slow steady push of his hand.
    The first flicker of his tongue against my pussy is electric and impossible. I doubt it’s actually happened – he feels too greedy, too open-mouthed, suddenly feverish and hungry for my slippery cunt. And that’s definitely my G-spot he’s found. I don’t know how, but he’s curling his fingers and rubbing and all I can think is science experiment science experiment hey Professor, Gabriel found her G-spot first! Look, she’s going to come!
    It makes me long to see him. I think I know why he didn’t want me to face him – so bad, such a dirty boy! – but I need to. I need to see and know and I need a lot of other things, too, until he slithers his tongue over every inch of me, before coming to rest right on my clit.
    Then I don’t need anything at all. I find my voice at that point, all right. I shout. I boil with obscenities. Yes, lick my clit , I tell him. Lick it, you dirty little slut. Fuck my cunt .
    Words come out of me that I’m sure would make him melt through the floor, if we were fully clothed and face to face. And all the while I rock against his teasing mouth and tear at the sheets and pant as though I’m possessed, each kiss of my clit