1. The Swallow Tattoo


    Date: 12/17/2014, Categories: Masturbation, Author: GoBigCatGo, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    Finally home. Her soldier, her warrior, blocks the light from the front door of the cottage. His silhouette is dark and hard. She can’t see his face, aching to know if he is safe, or scarred this time. He’s always physically fine, beautiful and strong, but scarred beyond all recognition underneath that skin. And his uniform, all thickened into his pores like a shell. This time is no exception. She steps up to him and looks for some kindness in his eyes, but sees only the glint and creases of a polite smile. More armour. They hug, his buttons and buckles digging into the softness under the light dress she wore to please him, rasping at her washed and perfumed skin. He smells of carbolic, metal and earth. A noise escapes him, scraping boulders, and he holds her like the edge of a precipice. The same embrace they share when he leaves. Ah... There he is, his ghost anyway, in the desperation of that grip. She takes his hand and pulls him in as he removes his hat, stooping to fit into the little building. So incongruous and out-of-scale. His fingers are stiff and cold against her warmth and she trembles in them, apprehension and need. What have they done, those hands? What have those eyes seen, to be so guarded? She puts the chilling thoughts out of her mind. She knows what to do, and there is not much time. They go upstairs where she has filled the bath. She reaches up to kiss his lips for the first time and twitches, uncertain, at their resilience and stiffness, but checks her ...
    disappointment and starts unbuckling. She discards the uniform, unable to hide her distaste as she throws it on a chair, revealing, in silence and by slow degrees, the man underneath. She tries to hide her shock and worry at his bruises, at half-healed scratches and wounds. She runs her hands over them, counting the new ones, blessing the old ones and he steps into the warm water. He sighs as he settles, far too big for the tub, his legs hooking out over the end. She can’t help but let her lust glimmer in a smile at his manhood, thawing out his eyes and making him move toward her for the first time. He takes her face in one rough hand, cupping it like an ember against the cold, and she buries her lips in its palm, holding back her tears. Save them for later, when you’re alone she tells herself. But a tell-tale stirring in the water banishes such maudlin thought and she turns to the here and now, she wants everything that slow arousal promises. She cups hot water over his chest, over his head, and elicits tectonic sighs, the actual sound of melting, as he wipes his face with both hands. She smiles at the tattoo on his wrist: a bird carrying a message with her name written on it, and pushes her face to his, into a gasp of pleasure. She kisses his lips until they yield into a smile, lets her eagerness show in her tongue then stands away from him. For the first time, confident enough to tease. She grabs her dress and pulls it off over her head in one fluid movement, marvelling at ...
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