The Eating

 

So I stood and watched H cook. (If you’re wondering what I’m on about you might want to read part 1 The Meeting) sipping on water, appreciating their body (They’d removed their t-shirt ‘cos they were hot. And rawwwrr they’re so fucking hot) and chatting gently. Kinda aware that my dress was still unzipped, my underwear discarded but not actually doing anything to change that situation.

Enjoying the languid contentment of an achy body caused by sexy, animalistic, hot play.

When told I could, I picked my bowl of soup and carried it to the table where we sat and ate. I made many yummy noises. I have always appreciated being cooked for, I appreciate it all the more now I am a coeliac and it takes extra care and attention to feed me and not make me ill.

“I’m a bit of a messy eater.” I said. I really am and I wanted to apologise up front, as I was wading into a delicious noodle soup.

“So that’s why you never rezipped your dress then.” They replied with a playful smile.

“Yeah, precisely.” I blushed. They made me blush so easily, can always make me blush so easily. They press my buttons and I love it.

Conversation over lunch was easy, it always is. I never feel I need to fill gaps either. I am happy in silence with H and we converse with looks very often. I could stare into their eyes for hours and hours and never be bored. They have the most beautifully expressive blue eyes I could happily lose myself in.

We were sat at right angles to each other and as conversation continued, our legs got closer together, I couldn’t stop noticing it. That we were so close but not close enough. I don’t know why I didn’t reach out. Was it nerves, maybe, they had initiated everything, maybe it was submission, wanting to wait for them to reach out to me, to take that control, maybe I really am a masochist and I just wanted to feel the lust of anticipation running through me. I don’t know, but I could feel a hunger in the pit of my stomach, a need for their fingers on me.

But H did reach out, not long after I first noticed how close we had gotten. They placed their hand on my thigh and I smiled with the contact, even more so as they squeezed and I saw the motion even before they took it as they pounced, so gracefully pushing out of their seat to lean over me, to kiss me with such intensity it took my breath away.

They pulled on my hair, dragging my head back so I could look up into their face. I was no longer nervous to touch them. As they kissed me I reached around them. To stroke their back and pull them closer to me.

They growled. It is the most primal and animalistic sound I have ever heard and it paralyzes me with fear and turns me on all at once. It is more than one sound. It starts as almost a purr, grows louder and deeper, reverberates in their chest and through the air into a definite feline growl that turns into a more sibilant hiss towards the end. I react so primally to that. I want to offer myself to them, want to make them happy, want to give myself over to them in sacrifice.

And they took me. The dug their teeth into my neck, keeping hold of my hair, they sunk down onto their knees, taking the bites down to my breasts. I rocked forward and back with the pain, closing in and wrapping my hands around their shoulders or running my fingers into their long, mane-like hair or I pulled back and waved my hands or made them into fists.  I dug my nails into their back, bit down on their shoulder. Nothing too hard but just a visceral response to the pain they gave me.

You’d think, that with them knelt before me, I’d feel more in control. I didn’t. I knew they were still the one in charge. But as they kneaded my breasts, bit them and my soft stomach I did feel empowered to play with their hair, to roam my hands over their broad shoulders and onto their chest.

As they leaned back, probably to stretch, I ran my nails down their chest in a V shape, from shoulder to between their nipples. They arched back, mewling with happiness. I repeated the action a few times, grazing over their nipples, leaving red lines in a V shape and thoroughly enjoying their reaction.

That was worship, it wasn’t an act of control or power. I wanted to give back something in return for what they’d given me. They let me scritch them for a while, eyes closed, mouth pulled into an easy smile but then something switched and they moved, to sit on the floor, legs beneath the chair and in moments they had their teeth buried in my thigh. I was consumed with intense, ecstatic pain. With a little moving I gave them access to my cunt. Their fingers inside me made me gasp as the roughly pumped inside as they continued to bite my thigh.

They moved to eat me out. I hooked my legs around their shoulders and I ran my fingers into their hair and held them to me. I bucked up towards their face and I let the pleasure roll through me in waves.

I surrendered myself to H, let them take all they wanted. Pain and pleasure intertwined as they bit my stomach and fingered my cunt. I have an uncomfortable relationship with my tummy but I didn’t think about it negatively once whilst I was with them. They showered it with kisses, bites and caresses, how could I feel badly about something they so clearly adored? H made it so easy to let loose. To not worry about how I looked or what I did, they let my inner animal free through the gift of cleansing pain and intense, liberating pleasure.

And within all this, I would look into their eyes and see my lust reflected there. I’d see their smile, so full of joy and sometimes sadistic intent and I knew that they we letting go too.

We were unleashing our beasts. Theirs a prowling feline, all elegance, power and brute strength. Mine the surrendering prey, giving themselves freely, completely, wantonly.

We went so perfectly well together. Two sides of the same coin. Predator, prey. Sadist, masochist, Dominant, submissive.

Freed to be our animalistic selves, together.

 

 

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