Unaware

(NB dom/F sub; amnesia, time dilation)

“Sarah? Sarah!”

Sarah came back to herself with a start. “Oh, sorry, did I zone out? I’m just… what?”

CJ was sitting on the other end of the couch, gazing at her with their head tipped to one side. “CJ, you’re giving me a look. Why are you giving me a look?”

“Who, me?” asked CJ, all innocence. “I’m not giving you a look! We’re just having a normal conversation, right?”

“Right…” answered Sarah uncertainly. Usually when CJ asked a question like that, it was a pretty good clue that they were not, in fact, just having a normal conversation. (Her hands, lightly stroking her sides, moved further under her shirt to begin toying with her nipples. Sarah’s hips responded, stirring slightly.) “I uh, I think we’re having a normal conversation, but something about the way you say that makes me doubt that.”

CJ smiled that long, slow smile that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine. “Don’t worry about it,” they told her laughingly. “Now, you were telling me about your day?”

A Quiet Night In

I closed the apartment door behind Siobhan, the taste of her still lingering on my lips. I was a little disappointed that we hadn’t played, but she’d been having an off night, so we’d just cuddled and chatted and spent a lovely, quiet, warm evening together. She’d headed home instead of staying over for our usual all-night mind-and-body fuck-fest, and I certainly did not begrudge her that, because every now and then I’d done the same. Sometimes you just weren’t feeling it.

I made sure the door was locked, then flopped bonelessly on the couch. Why was I so damn tired? Maybe an early night would be good for me as well.

Even though we hadn’t fucked or gotten up to basically anything sexy, even just the lead-up to a night with Siobhan usually got me a kind of riled up. I liked it that way; it was fun when I was a little wet just from the anticipation. It gave me some hot narratives about how badly I wanted it, how much my body craved her voice and her touch, how my mind ran away from itself. I smiled at the thought and idly stuck a hand in my panties, looking for a little fantasy fuel.

I had expected myself to be a little wet, but what I found was… different.

I was more than “a little wet.” I was sodden. I was absolutely dripping. What…?

Oh.

Oh.

Sympathetic Resonance

Mara is so fucking close right now, straining at the edge of that orgasm, desperately rubbing herself harder and harder, aching for that release. And Jasmine…

Jasmine is so fucking close right now, too. As close as Mara. Precisely as close as Mara. Her hand on Mara’s is the only part of her she can move, and so she grips as tightly as she can, as she feels every one of Mara’s strokes, every scrap of Mara’s pleasure, magnified a hundredfold. Mara’s pleasure thunders through her body and she has no control, can only lie there and watch as the pleasure fills her.

Because no matter how hard Mara fucks herself, Mara can only brush up against that delicious edge, can never coax her body past that threshold. Jasmine, however, gets to feel the orgasm that Mara can’t have, gets to feel it slam through her body like a tsunami and leave her limp and breathless in its wake.

But Mara will keep trying. Desperately, hopelessly, she’ll keep fucking herself into oblivion chasing the release she craves. And so Jasmine has no other choice–she too will lay there, squeezing Mara’s hand impossibly tight, the only little bit of control she has left, and feel that reflected pleasure wrack her body, feel herself come again, and again, and again…

Let It Happen

She could feel the hands on her, all over her, stroking her in all of the most impossibly pleasurable ways. Her hips rocked, her whole body clenched, feeling those exquisite hands running down her hips, her thighs, her toes, ever so lightly over her clit...

The minute she looked down, though, she were gone. She could never catch a glimpse of the hands or who they were attached to, and whenever she tried, the sensation stopped as well, and left her body crying out for more. Sometimes she felt a whisper of expert touch somewhere else, and her body convulsed in response--it was accompanied by the barest flicker of movement at the corner of her eye, but when she whipped around to try and see it, it was always gone--and she always ached for more.

She soon realized that if she didn’t try to find the source of the touch, it continued for longer, and grew more and more pleasurable. Never quite enough to make her come, of course, but as she panted and squirmed under those unseen hands, that didn’t seem to matter as much any more. All that mattered was the touch, the sensation. The throbbing in her pussy persuaded her that it was better not to try and see; why look, why try to understand, when she could close her eyes and lie back and feel so much pleasure? And so, she surrendered herself to the hands, and they eagerly went to work.