Thursday, 1 September 2011

'Shape Of Desire'

by Sandrine Lopez




Do wishes, dreams, fantasies, have edges? A shape you can define... ?

Mine is slender. just enough curve to keep guys interested. Not that there's any lack. But I'm loyalty, faithfulness, defined. I love my boyfriend John. It's nearly our first anniversary together.

Then why am I so... bored?

He's not far off tall, handsome, dark. But somehow, somewhen, we got in a rut. The physical side of things, so wonderful at first...

"John, it's a bit late? I've got shitloads of stuff to do tomorrow... "

His hand creeps up my thigh. I want him too, but there have few nights recently where we haven't. Trying to be responsible here...

"Stop it!" I slap his hand away, playfully, as forcefully as my dwindling resistance allows. He doesn't believe me. To be honest, neither do I.

"You know you want to... " He nibbles my ear, pokes his tongue in...

Giggling like a little girl, I playfight him off. He can't keep his hands off me. Not long after, I can't help myself either.

"Tit for tat!" I yelp, dragging his shirt off as he fairly rips my blouse open. "Hey, play nice, I need that later."

He laughs at the word 'tit'... typical! His bare arms show nice tats too... I run my tongue up one, tasting his arty scars. His searches out my exposed nipple, suckles it, then more of me, into submission.

We're a writhing, barely dressed, chuckling twist of entwined limbs, joined bodies. The fun of mock wrestling melts into the joy of shared, heightened pleasures.

We giggle after too, like naughty kids...

Memories, the feel of him still on me. In me...

When did that stop, John? Where did the fun go? We're more schedule than spontaneity now.

Yes, busy work lives... tick. Don't live together yet, own homes to run... check. It's still good but fucking him, and him fucking right back, should be mind blowing. Knocking socks off. Tickles all over. Forgeting who I am! Like it used to.

Where was I? Oh yes... shapes of desire.

I guess our relationship has gone square now. We're two lines, opposite sides, of a box, separated by routine and habit. It happens...

Our anniversary is next weekend. I plan cards, gifts, surprises, as any girlfriend should. And, down the pub after work, chat with mates about them.

"You think John'll like this?" I go through my checklist, after the latest spending spree. A quiet murmur of 'uh huhs' and 'yups'.

They're not even looking.

I follow their stares. As one eight-eyed creature, a quartet of female lust has homed in on the very cute bit of guy ass, tight slacks draped to perfection, hanging from the bar. Very nice, but...

Back to reality. One more round, then home to party plan.

I'm surprised no-one fights me to get the drinks. As luck has it I find a space next to Mr Cute Ass. Intuition tells me four pairs of laser sharp sight are burning holes in his bum.

"Hiiiiiii!" A smooth voice, deep with intent. Sing-song tones. Embrace, snog, and 'sleep with me', rolled into one short word. I sense, rather than hear, the collective gasp behind me. Part of me I thought dormant stirs.

I rattle off my order, about to pay when a dark, chocolate-coloured hand waves a twenty.

"My pleasure, for you girls." I've resisted so far but now have to look him in the eyes, sultry brown, molten cocoa, a gaze that penetrates like...

Pins and needles...

"Thank you." I blush. He tsks and shakes his head. Takes my chin in a strong, gentle palm and kisses me fully. My pursed lips suddenly unlocked by the key of his tongue.

"No, thank you." My body takes moments to catch up with my whirling mind. His taste in my mouth lingering. When my eyes open - shit... when did I close them? - he's gone.

"Your change, miss?" The barman drops coins in my hand, along with a slip of paper. One lapse of consciousness later, I'm sitting at the table again, surrounding by open mouths and wide eyes.

"You absolutely lucky slut!" Laughter all round.

Swig my drink down in one. "Sorry girls, love and leave... "

Standing, I drop the coins in my purse and uncrumple the receipt, only it's not. A name and a number. It can only be Mr Chocolate. I should throw it but instead...

Good evening, this is your wake up call.

*

I am getting to that shape... believe me.

Without even knowing, John and I have dwindled to two points.

A third point makes a triangle.

His name is Clem.

Amidst preparations, my thoughts drift to Mr Made-Of-Chocolate Clem. Chocolate is my weakness. Now the god of Chocolate tempts me even further. Not talking calories or pounds added to my weight but whole fucking kilos. Of him. On me. Fucking.

A single taste, like a drug, expands to addiction. A name and number. Stare at it for whole lunch breaks alone, John-less nights. A need. A fix.

I wake in the John-less bed, the night before our anniversary eve, dark around me closing like a sheet manifestation of Clem, until it presses on my bare hot skin. Then realise my fingers are between my widened thighs, delving, slipping into heated wetness, digging further...

Another embodiment, wishful naked urges, of him.

Cold sweats. Hot flushes.

My lust is wide-eyed awake now. I need to nip its bud that evening after work. Call him to decline, politely.

Only it doesn't quite work out that way.

"Let's meet and talk about it." His deep, mesmerising voice suggests.

I can but obey.

*

When I get to the bar, the same we met in, Clem is chatting away with an all-too-familiar face.

John.

I feel like I've been set up. Entrapped. Then realise it's John's regular too - where we met. Habit made me careless. Coincidence brought them together. Biting my lip, I step forward and say, "Hi."

Both John and Clem turn, thinking I'm addressing them alone. In a single motion, they lean to kiss me...

I should be glad, somehow, but can only wince when they pause, glance at each other and...

Huh?

And...

You?

A moment everyone tries to avoid. Do I fancy Clem? If I'm honest...? Do I still want John? Think so. Rules tend to say, end one relationship before starting another. Get over it. Clear rebound territory. Unless you drop someone for another. Not the first time, I doubt the last. On the other hand, the first law of wing-walking says...

Decisively, John hugs me and kisses with passion. It's like home, welcoming and comfortable. Familiar. Yet that can breed contempt. Has it already?

Then, as if challenged, Clem sweeps me in his arms, plows a burning channel between my lips with his tongue again, one side to other, before letting go. The pins and needles return, vengefully, pricking where I'm most sensitive. Arousal redlines into breathlessness.

I've barely steadied when John takes me, a heart-stopping smooch you only dream about, his hands almost crushing my pelvis into his groin. The largest erection ever awaits, separated only by fabric, decency and time... mainstays of civilisation. My insides do a heated, soaked, backflip at its pressure.

It's probably the crudest of clich├ęs but Clem is now a wild tribesman, claiming his woman. With a low growl, his embrace is untamed, animal, predator on prey. His kiss is ownership, body and soul. What he lacks in size he makes up for in compact hardness, jungle diamond, cutting through my glass relationship. Forget him, his mouth explains wordlessly, I am all you will ever need...

Score at half-time... two-all. Just.

The barman slams his palm on the top. "Oi, you three... if you want to cause a scene, do it outside!"

We've acquired a small audience around the pub. I take John and Clem, one on each arm, and we exit hastily, stage left.

*

My nearby studio flat.

I can sense John wanting to protect me but Clem is laid back. As if he can taste victory in my attraction, a humid panting need, alone. Bring it on, his body language responds to my excitement and John's petulance equally. I angle myself between them.

"Look," I begin, "It's all a big misunderstanding... "

"He is your man, yes?" Clem has an uncanny grasp of the obvious. I nod, shamefaced. He roars with laughter. "He is handsome. I like him."

A pause while I pick my jaw up from the floor. Then John's which is beside it.

"I am new in town. Making friends. I like you both to be my friends, yes?"

As disarming apologies go, that's pretty unbeatable. All's well that's ends well, you're probably thinking. That's not really a triangle, is it?

It gets better. Or worse, depending on your point of view...

Clem embraces us both, group hug all round. He looks at John, kisses me again, deeply, passionately, with a laugh. We all laugh. Then he looks at me, kisses John with the same vigour, and roars with joy. John and I, sort of, don't...

"All friends!" Clem claims.

Excuse me while I check that dictionary definition again... ?

"You do not mind I chat your man up?"

Normally I'd be jealousy personified if another girl so much as glanced at John. Even though I think things have cooled, I understand how he feels. But another guy?

Am I smirking now at the thought Clem was actually hitting on John in the pub as well?

"So... " Searching for polite ways to ask, "...you're bi?"

Clem spreads his palms outwards, "Girls... guys... why discriminate? I love you all."

I am so glad that's sorted.

"But I am better lover. The best. Fact."

If ever a more daring gauntlet had been thrown down, I'd like to hear. I'll admit Clem has the edge. John plays safe - symphony compared to jazz. Once I learned John's tunes, able to sing duets with him, I always knew where the notes were going. Clem improvises, makes it up as he goes. It's all new. That's his appeal.

"I think... " I begin, surprising myself, "I'd like proof of that."

Clem folds his arms, nods knowingly at John. "The lady has tasted, and finds you wanting."

Thanks Clem... wouldn't have put it quite so indelicately. But yeah, with you in spirit...

To my further surprise, John picks up that gauntlet - sorry for mixing metaphors but things are now pretty stirred anyway - and runs with it.

"Perhaps," he tells me, "Clem is right. You're not as good a kisser as he is."

Now I'm jealous.

Triangles were never this complicated in simple geometry...

*

My bed, more specifically my naked body, has become a game board. Black versus white, like chess, dark against light, as far as my guys are concerned. Competitive sex, winner takes...

Hey, did anyone actually decide what the prize was?

Clem and John, bare as myself, one either side, pick up from where they were in the pub. My lips bounce between theirs, mulling on their respective snogs. Clem still the innovator, explorer of every part of my mouth, kissing so hard he almost grinds our teeth together, setting me in exhilarated edge. John there to caress and comfort with his tongue.

Their bodies advance over mine, a creeping barrage of skin, hot flesh pressed, sometimes slipping over, or sticking to, the damp perspiration slowly covering us all. I can hear their hearts in stereo, and when they synchronise, it makes my own pound faster, match the rhythm.

My head cradled in John's arm, and with his free hand, habitual stroking I know so well. Clem breaks formation, kneels up to use both hands on me, in tandem with his mouth, fingers and tongue in deft manoeuvres down from my neck, gently attacking a breast, claiming the nipple on it, finding ribs under skin, falling into my belly button. Then the last push towards my exposed muff, and beyond...

Dark plays to win.

John flips over, his lips and tongue at my toes, quivering over them, alternating suckles and licks, then working upwards. It's an old trick but massaging my legs relaxes me blissfully. Thumbing my calves, a hand strongly pummling each thigh, he gains territory like a pro.

Light... my fire.

To John, I am home ground, experience the advantage. Clem strikes me as always on guard, learning with every step. Each taste of me remains fresh to him. I gain from his child-like elation, permeating with new discovery.

The two players raise the stakes of the game. Touch and tease burns into naked arousal, appetites to be satisfied. I've been hot since John's first kiss, horny after Clem's, now my blood boils as both seek to better the other. I might be the trophy but it's win-win for me either way...

For the first time, their hands meet over my mons, pausing in a finger face-off. Clem slips down, easing my parted thighs wider with a slight flick. John cups my whole pussy in his palm, blocking him as one tip swirls deeper into my softly soaked slit. Suddenly the oppressive proximity, the subtle drowning in two men, means nothing compared to that first tender penetration. The one spot round John's finger is all I am, and it finds voice in a single shuddering gasp. Need in hands searching, finding steadiness by gripping a rigid erection near each hip.

I can sense Clem batting John's hand aside, then... intimate sensitivity counts two, three, all four of his fingers, powerful and long, slicing, rippling inside. John's single finger was bliss, Clem is pleasure almost to pain, as I'm stretched, opened. Just as I think, body and mind on fire, that awe - delight and fear - can go no further, John is there too.

Somehow he worms index finger and thumb alongside, tight against each other, then parts them delicately inside me. Widens them, widens me until I can take no more. He gently grips Clem's fingers and eases them back out, massages his palm slowly over my whole aching cunt, soothing me towards a resolution for round one. The release makes me spasm involuntarily under his welcome caress. As I climax loudly, both John and Clem find a side of my open crying mouth and kiss it.

"So I was better, yes?" Clem sounds less certain now.

The room, their two faces so close to mine, stops spinning through the afterimage fireworks of orgasm. Pale sun of John, dark eclipse of Clem...

"Together... " I gasp, "You were both incredible... together." Not exactly a lie but would familiarity with Clem diminish sex the same way as had with John? Maybe competitiveness makes both keener, stops either from becoming complacent.

I want to know more... want both inside me. Does Clem fuck with the same creativity, that noble savagery, as his kisses? And can John learn from it like he just did?

Can John even bear the thought of Clem fucking me? Not just discretely in an illicit affair, but right here, right now, right in fucking front of him?

As if reading my innermost forbidden thoughts... okay, perhaps the expression on my face as I contemplated that, gave the game away... Clem rolls onto me. Slips right into me, without so much as a by your leave.

"Fuck!" I gasp.

That wasn't a request, Clem.

But he does anyway. I should be resisting, complaining, for John's benefit if not mine, even if curious, craving, for this black bi boy. Surprisingly, John doesn't leap to my defence either. I feel him holding my hand, tightly, reassuringly, then...

As Clem has lowered his lips from mine, down my breast to my nipple again, John kisses me. A repeat of that lovely smooch in the pub.

Have they taken my saying, that together they were incredible, literally?

My soul, our year-long cosiness, goes out to John. He parts my lips as only he can know how. Embraces and cuddles my shoulders. He can still make my heart beat fast.

Down below, Clem's pubes are rougher than John's against my muff. Brillo pad rough, and he scrubs me in ways that would get any oven sparkling. Just don't put a bun in there...

Clem isn't as big as John but what he lacks size-wise he more than makes up for innovatively. Recall my own fingers pretending to be him. I was nowhere near in practice. He seems to rush round inside, child in a sweetshop, hurrying from side to side, up and down, to feel all of what's on offer. Finding points that give me pleasure, twitch and quiver, to those inner responses, he revisits them and makes them his.

Exuberantly, energetically, his.

John's lips wash my neck. "Fuck!" I pant, again. This time, it's pure longing. For either. Both.

John's tongue shags my mouth. His pushes match Clem's rhythm, whose cock is on overdrive now. My hips are arching round him for a multiple. His teeth nibble at my nip.

My arms reach up, one clawing at John's back, the other pulling Clem to me, compulsions for him to be closer than close. Grab his chocolate arse and make sure he's as deep as possible. Thighs wrapping, feet locking, up, over, round, behind.

Give me that sweet creamy chocolate goodness...

And he does. God with a cap 'G', does he!?

Fever breaks my senses. Bursts of glowy perspiration on my body, as one by one, each topples like dominos. Eyes blinded by colour, taste of John in my mouth dulling against the matchless flavour of Clem's cum twanging like taut elastic beneath my belly. All I can feel is skin pressed to mine... I no longer know who is which. The sweet but sharp scent of my guys' sweat dripping on me. And the rushing roar in my eyes, that drowns out our chorus of shouts and sighs, to become the song of angels, accompanied by bells ringing, very loudly.

Enough of the metaphors already, girl!

My twat is opening and closing round Clem so fast, it's almost like a small round of applause. Again, maestro!

Didn't I just say... ? Back to the moment... the sex...

I'm at death's door. I must be dying. Going to heaven. Surely.

Clem has just fucked me the great-grand-daddy of all fucks. If I thought sex had become tame with John, here it is again in all its glory. It's like having new batteries. Oooh... did I just think that out loud? Or being plugged into the mains. I feel my hair is standing on end, as goosebumps prickle all over.

Fuck...

This time, because I can't decide. It would be too crass to ask John and Clem to change places, have the other fuck me as I snog his competition. See who is really best.

Wouldn't it?

"A tie... " I finally get enough breath back to whisper. "You're both... fantastic."

Clem looks disappointed. So does John. To them, I'm copping out, skirting choosing an outright winner.

Gnawing my lip, a big glowy, orgasm-inspired lightbulb of an idea flickers, then shines bright above my very messed hair.

"Why don't... you two choose?" I decide. "After all John, you said Clem was a better snog. Perhaps you should check that for certain, then see if I'm as good under you?"

My eyes dart back and forth, looking for approval. Clem seems up for it, if his wet, dark cock hardening in my palm again is any indicator. I grip John's for a sign. He's not going limp, at least.

"Best of three?" I smirk, and slip deeper in the pillow, guiding my two players' lips together to kiss each other over me. There is no resistance.

"So when you two have finished," I sigh contentedly, aware of their musky perspiration continuing to drip on my face and breasts, scented with potential, "I'll be waiting down here... "

So that's our new triangle, our new-found shape of desire. A three-sided relationship, personified by my mons pubis... the lowest, darkest point is me and what I am. The other corners point to John and Clem. Our square may have lost a side... but it gained an edge.

Maybe it won't last beyond this night. Perhaps it will.

The clock chinks to midnight.

Oh... Happy anniversary, John darling.

I hope.


*end*


Victoria Blisse's Sunday Snog



3 comments:

  1. Oh my! Very hot had to read it in a rush! Thanks for posting this it was worth hassling you for!

    ReplyDelete
  2. This was an exceptional account, great perspective and you have an obvious passion for it.

    ReplyDelete