Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary of Sensuality

As soon as my head hits the pillow my mind begins to race. It shouldn’t. I should be instead emptying my thoughts, going to that blank space where sleep is to be found. Not cluttering up my inner space with these ideas of mischief.

Because it’s always mischief that fills my head when he’s next to me. Both of us naked. Keeping close for warmth. I always come and huddle myself to him, facing him. One arm on his hip, the other tucked away in the space between our chests. My leg entwining with his own. Finding toes and tickling. He has devilishly ticklish feet. I do take advantage.

Once the warmth is gained, my head re-emerges from being hidden under duvet. I twist and shift and turn. We spoon now. I tuck myself in once again, wriggling up against his body. Two puzzle pieces found. Clicked into place.

Here the real mischief starts. I’m a wiggler and I know it. I start playfully, pretending the movement is part of keeping warm. It’s not. My hips move and my legs slide along his. Feet roaming up his calves and thighs. I slow my movements. Becoming purposeful, with a clear direction. The hips snake, and my buttocks are pressed up against him, his cock nestling inbetween my cheeks. Now I feel him move. Involuntarily – that movement, that familiar stirring from his groin.

Twitching. I feel his cock becoming firmer between my flesh. I may even let out a small laugh. I’m winning, you see.

His hands realise there’s a woman lying next to him wanting him to touch her. If he doesn’t respond I reach behind me and take a hand, place it on my breast. The other hand, he creeps under my frame and holds me to him, or is suddenly in my hair. Clutching.

I am aware of him discovering my body once more. It may be familiar, but each time he touches me, it’s as if he is with me that first time we were both naked together. He touches with his whole hand, unlike I who touch with my fingertips. His touch is hungry, gathering me together. Firm strokes over the side of my back along my hips and down my thighs. Up again on the inside this time, inbetween the warmer skin of my thighs, the softer skin. More sensitive.

And he brings his nails along with him. He’s wised up to the fact that I love the scratches. I long for the hair pulling and I crave his spankings. So he begins. Lightly. I need it harder. Long drapings of his nails up and down my back, swooping over my skin. Slowly, then the sudden rushes down. One single nail, then all five at once. My breath catches. I gasp. I moan. I smile. Telling him I can take harder scratches – god knows I can claw him something awful, he should meet my level. Take that as his gauge of how much I can take.

He rolls me on top. He can reach my arse all the better. He grabs hold of me. Pinning me to him. The scratches continue. Hair falling over him now, I am kissing over his neck, jawline, shoulder – nipping at his ear and adding my own painful clawed clutches at his skin when he hits the spot just right. I pause, look at him, toss my hair out from my eyes, heavy-lidded eyes. Heavy with passion, lust, desire and most of all love for this man who will do this for me and gets such a kick out of it too. He likes to watch my reactions. The voyeur. I see him staring at me intently. It catches me off-guard and I feel at once ashamed of wanting this so much and pride in the fact that he will give this to me. It’s strange and somewhat unexplainable.

He brings me up, we sit upright now. My legs either side of him, loosely cross-legged on the bed. He pulls the duvet around me, knowing the cold will spoil the moment. We smile at this together. We don’t need the words.

All this time he has yet to touch that place that is yearning, burning for him. My whole body is hot, the proximity of our bodies enhancing the temperature between us. I feel a prickle of heat flash over my back and around my head. Now his hand drifts lower and with purpose, clear intentions, slides in between my lips, slick. His other hand is wrapped around me. He holds me to him. He knows I will thrash. He knows I will try to lie down in the throes. He wants me vertical. He wants me to struggle against him. Flash that look at him of panic mixed with white hot desire for him never to stop. Now he is the one winning.

I glance behind me and see our reflection in the mirror. I catch his eyes staring at me in the glass. Always watching.

When he slips inside it is not frenetic or rushed. This time we move slowly. I feel every movement his cock makes, he feels each twitch and convulsion of my body, rippling through. We hold on to one another, lips meet skin. Tongues taste nipples. Teeth graze. Nails – yes, always the nails, they claw.

Just the thing to empty one’s mind of mischievous thought, n’est pas?