Candles

Posted in: BDSM | True Stories

Jasper: Her room smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. I was lying on my back, nude, on her floor, watching her, nearly gazing. She was naked too, her perfect dancer’s body looked so smooth under the red lights. I smiled as she danced around, she looked so happy. Content. She spun, her long black hair looking so rich, so gorgeous, fell with her as she collapsed on me. She giggled. Her eyes glinted with candle light. So happy. She kissed me. I sighed. Content. She kissed me again, and tugged my ear with her mouth, her tongue pressing warm fluid against my lobe sending a shiver, pleasure down my neck. I sighed again. She pulled her mouth from my neck, and put her face in front of mine. She was so beautiful, my god I am so lucky to have this. Her smile was replaced with a more serious look. She bit her lip, and looked into my eyes.

I entered her again. Slowly. So soft and wet. Nothing could have felt better. Making love to her. Slowly on her floor. Her favorite music playing.

But slow love-making sometimes slips into fucking.
Grinding. Controlled, steady grinding. Like she was devouring me. Her fingernails leaving shallow marks in my flesh, her light bites as sweet as her softest kisses.

Have you ever felt drunk, swooned? Is that what “drunk with passion” means? Because it’s as I looked up at her, drinking her in, enjoying the red light, the music, her shifting hips moving with rhythm and purpose, her smooth, perfect breasts pushing forward as she slid on me, that I felt drunk.

Then she reached for the candle. I knew immediately that she might be afraid to use it on me, but that she would. My cock got harder inside her. Something about her apprehension, her fear. It was mixing with her desire. She wanted to pleasure me. And when the first splashes scorched me, I was sobered, like all my muddled senses were called to attention, and made aware of every sensation, every place where our skin touched, or rubbed, pressure, moisture, all the heat.

I thought she was going to cum when she started pouring hot streams of red wax onto my chest. My chest was dotted with red splashes, already hard wax, remnants of the slow beginning. But, it seemed like the harder she rode me, the more wax she let drain onto my skin. I would arch my back, and drop back down, sighing. Bliss. The hot wax flicked heat against my skin like the tip of her tongue. The heat would strike hot and fast at the contact point on my chest, my nipples, my stomach, but then the heat would spread, and deepen, and all run towards the churning feeling of my approaching climax.

Her intuitions were amazing, or maybe the slight pain just made me hyper-sensitive to all the pleasure, but I almost admired her ability to aim for just the right places, the places most hungriest for the wax. I almost wished she poured some of the heat onto my cock.

I don’t know what hurt more, the orgasm, or the wax? I came hard. The pressure had been building for so long until it burst with heat as I kept fucking her, driving my cock upward into her soft depth.

Nothing is sexier than her cumming.

When she came, she collapsed on me, her chest pushing against mine, her skin so soft and warm, almost toasty. She placed her hands on my face, her forehead to mine. Our breathing was in time, and heavy.

My ears revealed in her sweet breathe and the words she had just whispered, “I love when we come together”
I squeezed her ass, my fingers raking her flesh. I wanted to crush her in an embrace, smash my lips into hers and fuse them together, bring her chest into mine. Melt into each other.

Mina was so fucking sexy. So fucking sexy. She is so fucking sweet, and lovely. But she also has this sexiness about her, this ferocity, an ability to let go, get swept up. She can be so soft, and sweet, or she can light me on fire.
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No Responses to “Candles”

  1. nonanonymous

    Some amazing writing.

    Great use of language – loved the ‘drunk’ relation.

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