Torture

Roberta Valente

Sunday morning, unmade bed, his scent. The perfume of roses drifted in through the half-open window, mingling with the intoxicating scent of sex... A distant gaze, lost thoughts. She saw him, almost touched him. She remembered every inch of his naked body, which she observed avidly while blindfolding him. She noticed the goosebumps, the trembling hands, the intense desire, the mad longing to be possessed. The memories froze in his moan when, boldly, he touched his moist lips to his hard nipples, moving down to his chest, pulling at the hairs with his teeth, until he heard his moans. He was eager, he wanted her, he was forbidden... He couldn't touch her, he couldn't enjoy her as he desired at that moment... His hot, wet tongue now descended, circling his navel, descending to his hip, almost encircling it... Erect, ardent, he wanted her lips, but: - not yet, she said – sliding her tongue... The softness ran down his groin, between his thighs, rising... She rolled him onto his back, bent his knee, caressing him, She began to play between his buttocks, uncomfortable, intoxicating, desirous... She felt the desperation, that was what she wanted, to dominate him... as she always dominated him She was succeeding, she was satisfied... Her mouth then found his hard, wet, vibrating member... Her tongue tracing its entire length, Going... Coming... Circling... Her hands caressed his restless phallus... Her mouth continued to dance, open, full of pleasure and satisfaction. Then... Moans, now louder, echoed through the room, exploding in absolute pleasure... She took her revenge, pressing her lips together, her movements quickening... Then the explosion... The heat flooding her mouth... The pleasurable moan, the goosebumps, there he was, surrendered to his fate in her arms...

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