Page 41 of The Woman in 3B
“C-coloring?” I stammered again.
Her tongue sliding the length of my shaved slit had my head falling back onto the pillow and my eyes screwing shut.
“God, and perfect taste,” I heard her throaty praise.
My fingers clenched the top of the couch material as I surrendered myself to the sensations between my legs. Her appraising mewls continued from the lower half of the chaise. My thighs twitched and quivered, beyond my control, as each careful lick and nip sent electric shocks up my body.
Short, manicured nails dug into the tender flesh of my inner thighs. “Don’t cum too soon,” she warned me. “I’m enjoying myself.”
My head sank deeper into the couch cushions. “Easy for you to say,” I wheezed.
CHAPTER NINE
I woke up to a hand between my thighs. A thumb was softly manipulating my swollen clit, flipping it back and forth. Up and down. Side to side. My eyes were still closed, but I next felt fingers ghosting around my naked right nipple, coaxing it from sleep.
We’d fallen asleep on the chaise lounge in Anissa’s living room the night before. Neither of us had wanted to move after sex; her second floor bedroom had been too far away. We’d been too tired to get dressed again, too. The pajamas she’d picked out for me were scattered across the living room floor. Only a crocheted afghan covered our naked bodies.
Her hands continued to explore. She flicked my nipple with the tip of her finger. I felt the edge of her nail rake across the sensitive skin. Beneath the heavy afghan, she lightly scratched her fingernails across my abdomen. I kept my eyes closed, curious how far she’d go if she thought I was still sleeping.
I felt the slight pinch of my nipple between her thumb and a second finger. Her second hand traveled lower beneath the blanket; a single digit traveled the length of my slit. I exhaled in my pretend sleep, and subtly parted my thighs.
“Good morning,” Anissa whispered into my ear, just before she sank a single finger into my pussy.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, not really meaning it. “I couldn’t help myself. You looked so pretty and peaceful lying there.”
My fake sleep abandoned, I let my hips fall all the way open, and she slid a second finger into me. I could practically feel the contour of her double fingers—every joint, every knuckle.The sudden intrusion drew a hiss from my lips, but I didn’t make her stop.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I sighed.
Anissa corkscrewed her fingers into my pussy while she kissed my neck. Her kisses were delicate and light. Her lips were wet and her breath was warm on my skin. Her fingers twisted inside of me, a strange but pleasantly full feeling. She settled into a slow, yet steady rhythm, twisting her fingers in and out of my drenched sex. She ran the pad of her thumb against my swollen clit each time she bottomed out.
The sound of her heavy breathing in my ear turned me on nearly as much as the movement between my thighs. She groaned deliciously when I clenched my pussy muscles around her fingers. Her breath hitched in my ear when she heard and felt how wet she had made me. She had topped me, yet it was strangely empowering to hear how much she enjoyed fucking me.
The slow, torturous pace of her fingers eventually frustrated me. My hips arched off the couch to take control of her pace, but she pressed me back into the cushions. I unabashedly whimpered at her denial.She had only to pinch my clit between two fingers to make me see stars.
My head snapped up from the couch. “Shit,” I wheezed. “Just like that.”
The torturous pressure on my clit continued. Anissa curled her fingers inside of me while my fingers clawed at the leather upholstery. The pressure was almost unbearable; I thought I might explode.
“Are you gonna cum?” she asked me.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “I want to. So bad.”
She pinched my clit harder, and a strangled sound I didn’t recognize bubbled up my throat.
The twisting fingers inside me stilled so she could concentrate on my clit. She rolled the engorged and sensitive nub in small concentric circles. Her wet mouth clamped onto my earlobe. When she drew her hand up from between my thighs and slid slippery fingers—wet from my own juices—across my nipples, the torture was nearly complete.
“Rub your clit,” she rasped into my ear.
Another strangled noise bubbled past my lips.
The fingers lodged between my sticky thighs began to thrust again in earnest.
“Rub your clit, Alice,” she demanded again.
I tightly closed my eyes. I moved my right hand under the blanket that covered our bodies. I’d never masturbated in front of a partner before. I didn’t even have the benefit of nighttime darkness to cloak me—only a knitted blanket.
