Hands On

By on September 22, 2015.

The room is so hot, a humid sticky heat that makes me sweat. It clings to my skin and I can feel little rivulets of it running down my side. I am wearing something, it is white, sheer, it’s not mine. I have never seen it before but it feels right, comfortable, it covers up just enough of me. The room hums with the gentle chatter of people, no one I know, just people. They are all wearing black. No one seems to notice me, not a single person pays me even a glance and yet I know I stand out. I can feel it

There are no windows

I search the room for him, I know he is here because I can hear him but the more I look at the people the more they vanish into the shadows. It is the like the dark recesses of the room are consuming them. I step forward, following his voice into the darkness. He whispers into my ear

“Just let it happen”

I spin round to see him. Nothing. Then his voice again, in the other ear

“Stop fighting it”

A hand runs up my back and round my neck. His hand, I know it. I relax into him.

Closing my eyes the darkness shifts and ripples as the people move around me, circling me, appraising me, discussing me. Words surround me, filling me; wet, slut, legs, spread, tight, hold, fuck, bitch, open, wider….

I ache. My clit feels swollen, moisture clings to my cunt, my nipples throb. I need to be touched.

Hands reach out, I hold my breath as they come for me, so many greedy, rough, unforgiving hands. All. Over. Me. Hands……

The room is dark, the light from the clock on the bedside table tells me it is 3.41am. I am drench in sweat, the duvet sticks to my skin, my legs are spread wide, I lift the covers letting cool air waft over me. I can smell myself

“Were you dreaming slut?”

Hearing his voice makes me jump

“Yes, how did you know?”

“You were making noises” He replies as he shift closer to me

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you”

“It’s OK, tell me what you were dreaming about”

“Ummm, it was a dream, confusing, weird”

“Tell me” he says again in a tone that I know means, now.

” The Hands” I reply

“Ahhh the hands” and even though it is too dark to see I know he is smiling as his hand trails down across my stomach and into the hot sticky wetness between my thighs.

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About: 

Molly Moore - Author, Blogger, Photographer, Speaker
Find me in my corner of the internet at Molly's Daily Kiss
and on Twitter @mollysdailykiss

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