1. Other Colors -- Ch.16


    Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    I promise. And besides… I really don’t think you’ll have a lot to worry about,” I simpered, and slid my fingers beneath his lapels, “Vous êtes à Montréal, Monsieur. Non Moscou.” He smirked wryly, and lifted me toward him onto my toes. We kissed once. It was warm, and tender, and sort of teasing and sweet. We kissed again. The heat stayed. And everything else went up in flames. Our lips sparred with one another, and I struggled as his grip on me constricted. I didn’t struggle against him, really. I struggled toward him, into him. No matter how we moved, no matter how I writhed, I couldn’t get myself close enough. I wanted a surfeit of him; something for all five of my senses. I wanted the warmth of his skin, and the indescribable scent of him. The taste… It vexed me, and it always would. He was like ocean water, and I, some castaway dying of thirst. It would never matter how much I drank. Each little swallow would just dry me out, and leave me craving him all the more. I’m not exaggerating when I say that had his kiss kept going, it could have killed me. It was it a kind of violence he enacted, and it escalated with every heave, and each caress. But I was a willing martyr. I let his hold on me tighten, right up until the moment he tore me away. He snarled, his teeth grazing the edge of my ear. “Take off your dress, Penny.” My eyes were shut. I was panting a little. It seemed whenever our lips met, I had a dangerous habit of forgetting how to breathe. He…isn’t serious? I ...
    started to open my eyes. “No,” he lifted my chin, and ran his thumbs lightly over each of my eyelids, “you’ll keep them closed,” he growled. “And you’ll take this off,” he clutched a fistful of my dress at the neckline, “or I will tear you out of it, Penny. Est-ce que je me suis bien fait comprendre?” Tout à fait … I didn’t dare speak. My only answer to him was a timid obedience; and while I certainly didn’t hurry, I didn’t exactly hesitate either. He stood so close to me. I could feel the heat of him, radiating over me, as I groped blindly at the buckle of my little horse-bit belt. It fell with a dull, metallic ‘clack’ to the floor. “Good girl…” I shuddered. His voice was rough as a death rattle. With my eyes still shut, I felt out the buttons that lined my dress, and slipped each of them open, one-by-one. He started to harden against my thigh. It startled me a little, but all that it took was a couple of tugs, and the dress dropped in soft heap around my ankles. I drew a sharp breath through my teeth as he ran the back of his hand down my throat, and over the pale, goose- pimpled skin of my chest. “Bozhe moi. So fragile...” his voice quavered darkly as he traced the margins of my breastbone. “You know it frightens me sometimes,” he seethed, “how easy it would be to break you.” Moi aussi, Monsieur... I trembled as his fingertips followed the delicate curve of my collarbones, and swept up over my shoulders. They moved slowly; intertwining at the nape of my neck, then down. My skin ...
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