Eros 6
She was humming as she changed the sheets from the smooth percale she liked to the fuzzy flannel he preferred. She imagined what she would do to him tonight, and her humming grew quieter until finally it ceased.
First she would undress him, slowly, slowly, kissing him softly as each bit of flesh became visible. “To keep it from getting cold,” she would say teasingly. They’d done this before — he would say, “No fear of that!” and they would laugh together as she began to stroke his skin with her warm hands.
Then she would push him slowly back until he fell onto the bed and she would take his penis into her hand. By now he would be fully erect, and it would jump as she touched it. They would laugh again at this familiar occurrence.
Next she would begin to lick him with little, teasing cat-laps at his skin, all over him, from his collarbones to his toes, but avoiding his crotch. She would roll him over and lap at his back, covering every inch of his skin, and then she would suck at his toes…
The phone rang, shattering the intimate silence. She picked it up. “Hello? Oh, hi! I was just thinking about you! When are you getting here? Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Yes. Bye, then.” He wasn’t coming after all. Again. She was momentarily disappointed, but then she began to get angry.
“Who needs you anyway?” she demanded of the walls in a quiet but intense voice. “Damn you!” She was already wet and wanting from her imaginings.
She went downstairs to put away the wine she had gotten out for him. She seldom drank wine herself; she disliked the taste. She paused, looking at the bottle. It was almost empty. “Am I sex-starved, or what?” she asked herself, as she noted the phallic shape of the bottle’s neck. She picked up the bottle and one of her two crystal wineglasses and took them up to her bedroom and set them on the nightstand.
She sat on the edge of the bed and poured a little wine into her glass, admiring the way the clear liquid turned gold in the lamplight. First she sipped at it; then deciding that tonight she liked the flavor, she took a heartier swallow and finished it. She judged the amount of wine remaining in the bottle — a little over a glassful. She poured half a glass, then decided against pouring in the remainder.
She slipped off her loose silk nightshirt, the only garment she was wearing, and shivered a little as cooler air brushed her skin. She took a swig from the bottle, and then deliberately dribbled a few drops across her breasts. Her nipples began to pucker from the chill of the liquid. Leaning over, she licked the droplets off herself. Her nipples grew harder.
Liking the sensation, she did it again. A little more wine came out of the bottle this time, and it trickled down her front. The white wine blended into the pale gold and peach tones of her skin. She set the bottle down again, and spread the wine across her abdomen with her fingertips. Again she licked the wine off her nipples, and then off her fingers, sucking them a bit. It felt good, and she sucked some more. Then she leaned over and sucked her nipples; first one, and then the other, raising the breasts with her hands and pointing the nipples up so she could reach them. They tasted of the wine and of something else; she wasn’t sure what.
She reached for the wine and dribbled it over her breasts again, enough this time to trickle all the way down to where the hair grew. It tickled a little as it seeped around the hairs. The wine was almost gone now. She capped the bottle. She smoothed the wine across her abdomen again, and trailed her fingers down into the dark hair between her legs.
She noted how pale her skin was where it hadn’t been exposed to sunlight in such a long time — she hadn’t sunbathed in years. Her fingers teased at the hairs, feeling a little like the wine trickling there had, but different. Her skin was growing warmer, and her breath quicker.
She found the slit with her fingers, brushing up and down it to open it without pulling the hair. She teased for a moment at the edge of her vagina, then moved upward to where her clitoris was standing up wanting attention.
She wet her fingers in her wineglass, then went back to her clitoris. She circled around it, not touching, several times before finally drawing one finger across it. Then she slipped two fingers down to her vagina again and dipped into it. She was still wet from before, and she was getting wetter. She drew some of the moisture up to just below her clitoris, stroking up and back, up and back, never quite touching, but teasing, teasing.
She wet her fingers in the wine again, and drew them up the inside of her thighs to where they joined her body. She stroked there gently for several minutes, getting more sensation with each stroke until she could hardly bear it. Then she slipped her fingers into her vagina. It was hot, and so wet and ready and wanting! She smoothed the walls with her fingers, only wanting more, and then she reached for the wine bottle again.
She set it against her crotch and slid it across the hair. By now she was so ready that the hair was no barrier to those lips; they had opened enough that the bottle was soon sliding across bare wet flesh. She shivered a little; the bottle was cold, but it did nothing to cool the fire now raging in her blood. She raised her hands to her breasts again and rubbed over the still-hard nipples, leaving the wine bottle pressing into her crotch.
Then she rose up onto her knees and, carefully positioning the bottle, slid down onto it as she squeezed her breasts with her hands. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, how good it felt to have something inside her! She raised her body up and slid down the bottle’s neck again and again, faster and faster. Her hands moved faster and faster across her breasts, rubbing and rubbing the nipples, harder and harder until the pleasure was almost a pain. Her breath came faster and faster in gasps that tore at her throat, until finally with a moan that seemed to last forever, she came in a wave of wet heat that warmed the still cold bottle.
She collapsed onto her side then, and slowly her raspy breathing slowed. She pulled the wine bottle out of herself then, and unscrewed the cap. She put it to her dry lips and swigged at the wine that was left, tasting her own juices as well as wine.
She smiled, licking her lips. “Who needs you anyway?” she said again.
–the end–
anonymous author
