Page 49 of Goode Vibrations

He laughed, pulling away from my tit just long enough to let the sound grumble out, and then he was at me again, plying my peaked nipple with his lips and tongue and teeth; switched to the other one, and now I ached deep inside. A thrum of need pulsed low, and there was stimulation to my clit to push me over the edge. His mouth on one nipple and his fingers at the other with equal stimulatory skill, I felt myself rising, rising. Back and forth, from one breast to the other, sucking and flicking, biting and licking, tweaking and twisting, he slowly and unhurriedly brought me closer and closer to climax from nipple play alone.

I’d always had sensitive breasts, and after the piercings they were even more so, and I’d long wondered if I could come from nipple stimulation alone but had never been able to get myself there, and neither had anyone else.

Errol did.

I scoured his back with one hand and knotted my fingers in his hair with the other, hips thrusting against his thigh and hip as he moved from breast to breast, hands never idle, his rhythm one of insatiable need. And I was aching, pulsating with heat, and the more he slathered his tongue over my nipples and flicked the bar with his tongue and twisted it with his fingers, the more the rollicking pushing thunderingneedinside me built and built to a crashing crescendo, and he did not hurry, even when the thrusting of my hips and the quavering plea in my whispered chant of his name begged for more, for him, he didn’t alter or falter.

I was taut with need, an orgasm that wouldn’t break coruscating and burgeoning inside me. Thighs splayed wide around his hips, his waist. Hands on him, everywhere.

Digging into the waistband to clutch at his firm ass, rounding his hard shoulders, his angular waist, the furrows of his abs. Seekinghim.

He didn’t hurry.

Licked.

Tongue flicked and circled left nipple. Right. Lingered on the right side for a while, and then his fingers replaced his tongue, which moved left.

“Errol…please,” I whispered.

I needed to come.

I was building to a painful pressure, and this nipple play alone wouldn’t get me there, wouldn’t take me past the climax into screaming orgasm.

And then, as he suckled my entire nipple, piercing and all, into his mouth and flicked and twisted the piercing with his tongue and his fingers pinched my nipple around the metal bar,

I came.

I came so hard it fuckinghurt.

I coiled into myself, clit throbbing in desperation for stimulation, slit clenching on nothing, breasts full and nipples hard, he was there. Above me. Surrounding me.

I clawed at him, hands raking his sides. Elastic caught in my finger and he moved, wiggled, and I was still coming and I felt hard warm skin under my hand. Need guided me, my hands blindly seeking as I came and came, wave after wave of bliss crashing hard and fast, a new kind of pleasure heretofore unknown—tighter, hotter, higher, an orgasm from nipple stimulation alone was clearly its own unique beast and it showed me its teeth as it ravaged me for what felt like long minutes.

When I returned to my senses, I was slicked with sweat and Errol was kneeling between my knees, naked. Hard abs narrowed down to his cock, which was standing erect and begging for me, pink and thick and veiny, the bulbous head shiny, straining. Balls heavy, taut against him. Belly pulled in, eyes wild. Muscles hard with restraint.

He had the condom box in his hands, fumbling with it. I yanked it out of his grasp, stuck the corner in my teeth and tore at it like a lion ripping flesh from fresh prey. Black foil packets within—these were upscale condoms, I noticed. I yanked the string free of the box, ripped one packet away, tossed the box and the rest of the string aside. Somewhere, I didn’t care where it went. With my teeth again, I made quick work of opening the condom.

I gripped the enormous shaft of his cock and rolled the condom onto him—this I did slowly, caressing him with the act.

It was an oddly still, quiet, slow moment. His pulse was pounding in his throat—I could see it beating and wanted to kiss that spot on his neck. My own was hammering like a war drum. Sweat cooling on my skin, nipples aching, slit begging to be plundered, filled, used.

And yet, despite our wild need, we both held utterly still, eyes locked as I slowly, slowly rolled the condom down his cock, one little brush of my fist at a time, each stroke starting at the top. When the ring of latex was fully seated at his base, I cupped his balls in both hands, caressed them, squeezed, kneaded. He let me, eyes on me.

And then he pulled from my hold, pulled away. Knelt over me, on all fours above me. Dipped, and his mouth brushed mine, lips gently nuzzling mine. A touch, only. His tongue licked over my upper lip, my lower. I moved to kiss him back, but he pulled away. Lifted upright, slowly.

I reached for him, but he imprisoned my hand. The other. Pressed them up over my head. A momentary vignette, then. Me, stretched out, nipples peaked and need piqued, aching, breasts sagging to either side and upward, on my back, hands over my head; him, up on his knees over me, cock straining and sheathed in white latex, the tip extending, waiting to be filled with his cum, balls heavy and thighs bunched and muscles heavy and hard, eyes bright and Aegean blue and roving my flesh and my curves.

His hands pinioned my wrists.

Gripped.

A slow smile curved his lips.

“May have taken longer than two blinks,” he murmured. “But I said I’d have you facedown on the bed with my cock buried inside you.”

“But, I’m not—” I began.

The third word had barely left my lips when he roughly flipped me, kept my hands pinned up beyond my head. Hands gripped my hips and yanked my ass backward, toward him, lifting. Ass down, face up. I groaned as his palms caressed my spread ass cheeks, and then he plied them apart, and I felt his tongue slip against my clit, licking downward, tickling and wet and unexpected and gentle, his lips then, more of a kiss than anything.