Updated: Showcased on Sexoteric by the lovely and delightfully esoteric Stanley. Here at Smut Central, Stanley is our pin-up boy of the decade. We love you! (The royal we, natch.)
“Tickle your arse with a feather?” he said with an evil twinkle in his eye.
“I’m sorry, what??” she gasped incredulously.
“Typically nasty weather” — delivered in an even tone of voice, as if it were indeed a repetition and not an exchange of like-sounding words intended to shock and amuse.
She looked at him blankly, for a moment, and then laughed.
“I am entertained by stimulation of the mind,” she said. “Stimulate me.”
“Stimulate you orally?” He sounded hopeful.
“Stimulate me orally, but no touchy-touchy.”
“I have to make you come, just by stimulating your brain?”
“Well — I don’t know about making me actually come. Get me as close as you can.”
“Until you beg, and plead, and cannot bear it any long and just have to be fondled and stroked to immediate gushing orgasm?”
She met his gaze, and smiled. “How well you understand me.”
He smiled back at her, and considered the challenge.
“I bet I could make you come. By talking to your cunt. Even better — reading erotica to your cunt. What do you think?”
He leered, not unattractively, and she blushed, but continued undaunted.
“I write with my cunt, via my fingers, you know that, don’t you? In a way, she’s an extension of my brain. So maybe if you read to her, it will stimulate her.”
He paused and considered this.
“So what you’re actually saying is that while men are often accused of having their brains in their cocks, you actually have yours in your pussy?”
“Kinda. Like I said, an extension. An extra room if you like. An annexe, if you really want to stretch the analogy beyond all recognition.”
He paused again, and thought some more.
“And if I’m supposed to stimulate your brain, that means that I have free reign down there — touchy or no touchy.”
He pulled her so she was standing closer to him as he sat and thought, and almost absent-mindedly began to stroke the back of her thigh, as he continued.
“Put it this way. Any activity that goes one between my head and your pussy is bound to involve my tongue. Why not make it reading? Officially, anyway.”
She tried to keep her cool and failed dismally. He could feel her tremble, but pretended not to notice. Instead, he remained calm. Unruffled.
And more than a tad amused at her growing excitement.
He could smell her arousal. He imagined how her cunt was slickening in front of him, imprisoned behind beige satin and lace, but continued to appear in total control.
“You’ll have to concentrate hard. It will probably sound a bit muffled.”
She swallowed, and looked down into his eyes. “I could give a fuck about muffled. Tell me more. You’re making me wet.”
“I’m all too aware of that,” he murmured, and pulled her even closer, so that his face was up against her soft belly. He felt his head spin — her smell was absolutely intoxicating, and he wondered how long he could remain so controlled.
“How long will you be able to hold out on your feet, do you think? How long before your knees turn to butter and you collapse in a post-orgasmic crumple?”
She swallowed, and fought to retain her composure, unaware of how close he was to losing his. This was a challenge as much as anything else; a gauntlet tossed down oh-so-casually, but she’d be buggered if she picked it up.
On the other hand…
His mouth moved against her, and she felt the vibrations rattle through her.
“I want to see how long you can remain standing.”
She swallowed again, clenched her fists, steadied herself, and nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.
The stroking of her thigh continued, and she gradually became aware of a cool breeze as well as the mesmerizing brushstrokes of his fingers. Her skirt was bunched up around her hips, but she didn’t care.
She had to concentrate on remaining upright.
She felt his thumb hook into the elastic edge of her panties, and slide them down her legs. Should she feel exposed, or on display? Or a happy combination of both? Who cares? she thought.
She shifted her weight to allow his closer access, and he slapped her ass, playfully.
“You’re supposed to be standing still,” he whispered into her stomach, “But since that was such a helpful fidget, I’ll forgive you that one time.”
He bent his head so that his mouth was parting her labia, and she could feel his breath on her clit.
“Is it really this simple?” he asked, rhetorically. “I just make my mouth into a small circle around your utterly delicious clit and start talking at it?”
She moaned her assent. This was better than she’d hoped, and she wanted to savour every moment.
She was slicker than he’d imagined. Wonderful.
“Now then,” he continued. “I have no printed smut to read to you, but I wonder if you’ll find my rendition of the daily carbon market assessments as sexy as I do, when I read them with your clit subject to the mercy of my tongue.”
He moved away from her fractionally, and reached down into his bag for his iPhone. He paused a further moment while he surfed and then he returned to his former position.
“The UN system is the second-biggest greenhouse gas trading program, after Europe’s.”
She groaned, and clutched at his hair. The B of biggest, the various S’s — the effect was far greater than she’d anticipated. Who knew that greenhouse gases and carbon emissions could feel so fucking amazing?
“Steady, babe” he muttered, still stroking her thigh as his mouth danced over and on her.
He continued. “EU factories and power plants –”
He stopped. She’d buckled. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t more than a minute into this and she’d had a knee-trembler.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“Yes,” she gasped, breathlessly. “It’s the p-p-plosive sound…. it goes straight through my cunt like a really good vibrator.”
“Fabulous. How about this? Carbon emmmmmmMMMMMMmmmmmmmmissions…”
He put the iPhone down, and slid both hands between her thighs, opening her as much as he could. His thumbs slid straight inside her — goddamn, she was so wet. He spoke, enunciating and over-exaggerating his plosives with as much energy as he could muster.
“Peter Piper picked a peck of pretty pickled peppers.”
She moaned again. Louder.
“A pretty peck of pickled peppers, Peter Piper picked.”
This time, she howled. Her knees were bent and he noticed that her fists were clenched so tight that her fingers looked almost bruised.
OK, I’ve teased you enough, baby.”
She shivered, and pushed her cunt at his tongue. She was only partly conscious of where she was and what she was doing, although she could see herself in her mind’s eye — standing half-dressed and dishevelled, supported by his hands and a pair of increasingly shaky knees, riding a wave closer to orgasm with each puff of breath into her pussy.
All she knew was that she didn’t want it to end. His hands moved again, this time to hold her by the hips and ass. She settled into the comfort of that peculiar embrace, sensing what was about to happen.
“I’ve got you, and i want to feel you come.” Powerful, authoritative, and said with her clit between his teeth.
She’d known she wouldn’t be able to hold out long, but this was surely a record. And he was tempting her beyond all hope of redemption.
“Come for me, baby. Come in my mouth, on my face, surrender yourself. You know you want to…come…. god yes… come, baby…. yes! That’s it! Gush. Come on me, all over me, let me taste you, god yes… holy fuck…!”
As his tongue whispered these enticements, it simultaneously felt the fruit of its labours as she came and came in waves of shuddering soaking sweetness. He held her firmly in place, as he felt her subside, never wanting to let her go.
Such intensity wasn’t new to him as a concept, but this was an experience he’d never forget.
After an eternity of silent subsiding, he released her cunt, and spoke again.
“I knew you wouldn’t hold out long.”
She grinned and gestured feebly at him.
“Who the fuck said I wanted to?”