Night Games

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18+

The bedroom was almost completely dark when I eased the door open.

A thin ribbon of light from somewhere outside slipped through the curtains and lay across the floorboards, just enough to give the room shape without really illuminating it. The rest was shadows: the dresser, the chair in the corner, the uneven rise of the covers over her body.

I stood there for a moment and listened.

Her breathing was slow and quiet.

I could just make out the shape of her lying slightly on her side, one knee bent beneath the sheet, her hair spread across the pillow. The nightdress she wore was thin, loose and simple, the sort of thing that looked almost innocent until I moved closer and realised how far it had ridden up her thighs.

There was nothing underneath it.

That stopped me.

For a few seconds I simply looked.

The hem had gathered around the tops of her thighs, leaving her bare from there down, and the way she was lying gave me the briefest glimpse between her legs.

Smooth.

Shaved.

Completely exposed.

"FUCK! What am I doing?" I thought and then swallowed.

There was something intensely intimate about seeing her like that in the quiet of her bedroom. Her skin looked warm against the pale sheet. One foot protruded from beneath the covers. Her toes moved slightly, then became still again.

I sat carefully on the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped.

She stirred and then relaxed again.

I placed my hand partway up her exposed thigh.

The skin beneath my palm was warm, almost surprisingly so. I could feel the faintest tension in the muscle of her thigh, as though some part of her was waiting to discover what I would do next.

I didn't move upward immediately.

Instead, I stroked slowly down toward her knee.

Then back again.

My fingertips skimmed along the soft inner surface of her thigh, barely applying any pressure, letting the touch itself become something she had to notice.

Her breathing changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

I traced the same path again.

A little higher this time.

Then down.

Then back up.

The closer my hand moved toward her, the more conscious I became of everything else: the quiet of the room, the softness of her nighty beneath my fingers, the warmth trapped beneath the covers, the faint scent of her skin.

I touched the crease where thigh met body.

Paused.

Then let one fingertip drift farther.

The first contact was feather-light.

Her leg twitched.

I waited.

Her thighs relaxed apart.

I touched her again.

This time I let the pad of my finger linger, slowly tracing the smooth outer folds of her pussy. She was warm there too, but still only faintly damp, and I found myself fascinated by the gradual change beneath my hand.

One slow stroke.

Then another.

Never rushing.

Never pressing harder simply because I could.

I wanted to feel her becoming aroused rather than arrive after it had already happened.

My fingertip travelled upward.

Her breathing caught.

I stopped.

A few seconds passed.

Then her hips shifted almost imperceptibly toward my hand.

I smiled to myself in the darkness.

I repeated the movement.

Another small change in her breathing.

Another tiny movement of her body.

I began circling gently, barely touching at first, feeling rather than forcing the rhythm. Every time she reacted, I stayed there. Every time she became still again, I slowed.

Gradually, warmth became wetness.

My finger slid more easily between her folds.

The difference was unmistakable.

I traced her slowly from bottom to top, collecting that wetness along my fingertip, then spreading it back over her with the next pass.

She shifted again.

One knee opened farther.

The sheet slid another few inches down her leg.

I used two fingers now, still gentle, letting them glide along either side of her clit without touching it directly. I teased around it instead, circling, brushing close, then moving away.

Her breathing became deeper.

I could hear the air leaving her nose in slightly uneven little streams.

I continued.

Slowly.

Patiently.

The wetness beneath my fingers increased until every movement produced the faintest slick sound in the otherwise silent room.

That sound went straight through me.

I lifted my hand.

Even in the darkness, I could see the shine along my fingertips.

I brought them to my mouth.

The first taste was subtle.

Warm.

Heavenly, forbidden, naughty, wrong in so many ways, but fuck, it felt right, almost perfect.

Then something faintly sweet underneath it.

Her unmistakable taste.

I sucked one fingertip slowly into my mouth, then the other, tasting her properly.

For a moment I forgot everything except that.

The scent of her had already been pulling at me, but tasting her made it more intimate somehow. It wasn't perfume or soap or anything she had deliberately put on. It was simply her body responding to my touch.

I lowered my hand again.

She was wetter almost immediately.

This time, when I touched her, my fingers slid through her with virtually no resistance.

Her hips shifted.

Not much.

Just enough that I could feel she was following me.

I eased one finger inside her.

Slowly.

Her body tightened around it.

I stopped there for several seconds, feeling the warmth close around me.

Then I withdrew almost completely.

Pressed back in.

Her breath caught.

I repeated it.

Nothing hurried.

Nothing hard.

Just the gentle slide of my finger into her wet pussy and the soft tightening of her body around me every time I returned.

After a while, I added a second finger.

She made the smallest sound.

Almost a sigh.

I paused again.

Her hips moved toward my hand.

That was enough.

I curled my fingers slightly and began stroking inside her while my thumb brushed lightly over her clit.

Her thighs opened farther.

The combination changed her breathing immediately.

I could feel the muscles in her stomach tightening beneath the nightdress. One hand moved beneath the pillow. The other curled loosely into the sheet.

I found a rhythm and stayed with it.

Slow strokes inside.

A gentle circle outside.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The more I touched her, the more responsive she became. Her pussy was slick now, wet enough that my fingers moved freely, and when I withdrew them for a moment the scent on my hand was stronger.

I tasted her again.

This time I didn't stop with my fingers.

I shifted lower on the bed.

The mattress moved beneath my weight.

Her leg twitched.

I bent and kissed the inside of her knee.

Then higher.

Another kiss.

The skin there was incredibly soft.

I let my lips linger.

Then I moved another inch upward and kissed her again.

Her thigh tightened beneath my mouth.

I smiled against her skin.

Another kiss.

Higher.

I could smell her clearly now.

Not overpowering.

Just intimate.

Warm skin, the faint clean trace of whatever she'd washed with earlier, and beneath it the unmistakable scent of her aroused pussy.

I breathed it in.

Fuck! She smelled divine.

Then kissed her again.

My cheek brushed the inside of her thigh as I moved closer.

Her pussy was inches from my mouth.

Wet.

Open.

Waiting.

I let my tongue touch her once.

Just once.

A slow stroke upward through her folds.

Her hips lifted from the mattress.

Barely.

But unmistakably.

I waited a few seconds before doing it again.

The second time I moved even slower, letting my tongue gather her wetness before reaching her clit.

She tasted stronger directly from her body.

Sweeter.

Saltier.

More intimate than anything left on my fingers.

I wanted more.

I flattened my tongue and licked her again.

Her legs opened.

I settled between them.

The nightdress had ridden almost to her waist now, and I could feel the warmth of her thighs against either side of my face. I slid my hands beneath them and held her gently, thumbs resting on her skin while my mouth returned to her pussy.

I didn't attack her clit.

I explored.

Slow strokes through her wet folds.

Small kisses.

The tip of my tongue tracing the shape of her before moving away.

Every time I came close to her clit, her hips reacted.

So I teased her.

I licked upward.

Stopped just short.

Moved back down.

Her hips followed.

Again.

I kissed her softly.

Then let my tongue slide along her.

The next time I reached her clit, I gave it the lightest flick.

Her thighs tightened.

I did it again.

A little slower.

Then I closed my lips around it for only a second before releasing her.

A tiny sound escaped her.

I froze.

The room became completely silent again.

Then her hips rose toward my mouth.

That movement made something inside me give way.

I stopped being quite so cautious.

I sucked her clit gently between my lips.

Her entire body reacted.

Not violently.

Not theatrically.

Just an unmistakable tightening that ran through her thighs and stomach at once.

I released her.

Licked.

Sucked again.

Her juices coated my tongue now.

I could taste her every time I swallowed.

The sweetness of her pussy seemed stronger the more aroused she became, mixed with the warm salt of her skin.

I wanted to stay there.

I wanted to learn exactly what made her hips move and what made her breathing break.

So I did.

When I found something that produced a reaction, I repeated it.

A slow lick.

A soft suction.

The smallest flick of my tongue.

Pause.

Then again.

One of her legs shifted over my shoulder.

The other opened farther.

Her fingers tightened in the sheet.

I could hear her breathing now.

Slow inhalation.

Uneven exhalation.

Then another.

She was trying to stay quiet.

That made the tiny noises she couldn't suppress even more erotic.

A breath that caught.

A soft whimper.

The faintest little sound in her throat when I sucked her clit again.

I slipped two fingers back inside her.

Her pussy welcomed them easily now.

She was incredibly wet.

I curled them gently while my mouth remained on her clit.

Her hips lifted sharply.

I stayed there.

Exactly there.

The rhythm became simple.

My fingers stroked inside her.

My tongue circled.

Then my lips closed around her clit again.

Her thighs tightened against my head.

I could feel her getting closer.

Her breathing wasn't remotely even anymore.

Every exhale carried the beginning of a sound she was trying to swallow.

Her body was making little movements now, rocking into my mouth despite how restrained everything else remained.

I didn't speed up wildly.

I kept the rhythm she had already answered.

That seemed to affect her even more.

Her hand suddenly released the sheet and pressed flat against the mattress.

Her toes curled.

Her hips lifted.

I held her gently and kept licking.

Another whimper escaped.

A little louder this time.

Then her entire body tensed.

For one suspended second, she seemed to stop breathing entirely.

Her pussy clenched tightly around my fingers.

I sucked her clit.

She came.

Her thighs closed around me as the first wave went through her.

A tiny broken moan escaped into the pillow.

Her hips lifted once.

Dropped.

Then lifted again.

I kept my mouth against her, gentler now, letting my tongue move softly over her while her body pulsed around my fingers.

Another tremor ran through her.

Then another.

Each one weaker than the last.

Her thighs slowly loosened.

I withdrew my fingers carefully.

She was still wet enough that they shone even in the dim light.

I licked them clean.

Then I returned to her pussy once more, not to start again, but simply to taste her after she'd cum.

One slow lick.

She shivered.

I kissed her softly between the legs.

Then the inside of her thigh.

Another kiss a little lower.

Her breathing was gradually settling.

I pulled the nightdress back down over her hips.

Then I drew the sheet gently over her legs.

For a minute I simply sat beside her.

The room smelled different now.

Warmer.

Her scent lingered faintly on my face and fingers, and I could still taste her whenever I ran my tongue across my lips.

I stood.

Crossed quietly toward the door.

My hand had almost reached the knob when I noticed something pale hanging from it.

I stopped.

A pair of white cotton panties.

They had been looped over the round brass knob on the inside of her bedroom door.

I stared at them for several seconds.

Plain.

Soft.

The sort of underwear she might have worn all day without giving them another thought.

I reached out and touched the fabric.

Then I lifted them from the knob.

They were crumpled slightly from wear, and holding them in my hand somehow felt more intimate than I'd expected.

I raised them toward my face.

Paused.

Then breathed in.

Her scent was there.

Fainter than what I'd just tasted directly from her body, mixed with cotton and the accumulated warmth of a day spent against her skin, but unmistakably hers.

I closed my eyes.

Breathed it in once more.

For one dangerous moment I considered taking them.

Sliding them into my pocket.

Carrying them back to my room.

I stood there with them in my hand for several seconds, tempted far more than I wanted to admit.

Then I looked back toward the bed.

She hadn't moved.

I lowered the panties.

Carefully looped them over the round doorknob exactly where I'd found them.

Left them hanging there.

I opened the door quietly and slipped into the hallway.

The door closed behind me with the faintest click.

And I went back to bed with her taste still on my tongue.