Read Online Claim Me (Your Pet For The Night) by Audrey Grace - Free Book Online
Authors: Audrey Grace
Tags: bdsm erotica
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Claim Me (Your Pet For The Night)
A s the fading light of day streamed through the half-open curtains, casting long and angular shadows across the room, Jolene lay in the middle of the bed, feeling as if she was being swallowed by the soft and sumptuous mattress. The bed she lay on was a grand four-poster relic from times passed, standing proudly in the center of the room, its purpose meant more for accumulating social currency, rather than the comfort of sleep, among other things.
The room seemed both to sparkle and dance around Jolene. The aged hardwood furniture, tastefully placed around the room, without even a hint of mismatch or clash, seemed to shine in their polish, and devour the light all at once. The oak floors mimicked the furniture, both reflecting and devouring the sun’s twilight rays, as if to punctuate the contradiction between physics and perception.
Jolene exhaled softly, and shifted one of her arms so that it rested above her head. Her body was carefully positioned amidst the soft, silk pillows. Like the bed in the center of the room, she was in the center of the bed, on display, glorious. The dark floors and furniture in the room, the bed and its posters, all served to highlight her, as if she was the main attraction at an exhibition. She smiled and let her eyes close softly, reveling in the comfort she now felt.
Jolene was naked. Her milky-white skin seemed to glow in the dimming light of day. Her hair, straight as a ray of light, was dark and black, and cascaded over the pillows, spread out around her head as if it was an immaculate crown or headpiece. Her breasts were firm and high, peaking in large yet delicate pink nipples that throbbed faintly in their stiffness. She had been teasing her nipples occasionally, sporadically. It was as if she had wanted them attentive, but not agonized; taut, but not tortured. It was as if there was a threshold that she would not pass. When she approached it, she sent her finger elsewhere, exploring her body, caressing her skin, shutting her eyes tightly so she could focus all of her attention on her touch, on the contact made between her fingertips and wherever they landed. Sometimes, but very rarely, she let her fingers off their leash, giving in to her own physical yearning. She let them stray between her thighs, noting the supple smoothness of her own skin, fluttering over the fibers of light, wispy hair that, like an arrowhead, converged on her womanhood. She would even allow a finger to dip in between her dripping lips, gasping at her own touch, smiling as sensation thrilled through her. But it would always only be for a moment, a quick foray south. She never lingered and the pleasure she felt was always fleeting.
For the better part of the afternoon she had been exploring her body, sending light touches along her skin, stimulating her nerves to a starving frenzy. She knew that her man, her lover would not arrive until after the sun had completed its descent, until after an cool, deep blue darkness suffused the sky. For the better part of the afternoon, she had been on the brink of climax, teasing herself with gentle, expert caresses that edged her as close to orgasm as possible, without actually reaching that peak, without actually cresting. She longed to crest, longed to climax, but to do so alone would feel empty. She wanted, needed to wait for her lover, the man who would bring her to bear with passionate grace and love.
Still, she teased herself, flirted with the idea of bringing herself to white-hot orgasm. All it would take was a few soft touches, a specific pattern, a rhythm… no! She must not. Though it would leave her shuddering and shivering with delight, it would still pale in comparison to experiencing her lover, his large, powerful hands, his skin stretched tightly around his taut body, his gentle firmness, insistence, persistence…
She moaned softly, thinking of the times that he had touched her, brought her rapidly to climax, or teased
A s the fading light of day streamed through the half-open curtains, casting long and angular shadows across the room, Jolene lay in the middle of the bed, feeling as if she was being swallowed by the soft and sumptuous mattress. The bed she lay on was a grand four-poster relic from times passed, standing proudly in the center of the room, its purpose meant more for accumulating social currency, rather than the comfort of sleep, among other things.
The room seemed both to sparkle and dance around Jolene. The aged hardwood furniture, tastefully placed around the room, without even a hint of mismatch or clash, seemed to shine in their polish, and devour the light all at once. The oak floors mimicked the furniture, both reflecting and devouring the sun’s twilight rays, as if to punctuate the contradiction between physics and perception.
Jolene exhaled softly, and shifted one of her arms so that it rested above her head. Her body was carefully positioned amidst the soft, silk pillows. Like the bed in the center of the room, she was in the center of the bed, on display, glorious. The dark floors and furniture in the room, the bed and its posters, all served to highlight her, as if she was the main attraction at an exhibition. She smiled and let her eyes close softly, reveling in the comfort she now felt.
Jolene was naked. Her milky-white skin seemed to glow in the dimming light of day. Her hair, straight as a ray of light, was dark and black, and cascaded over the pillows, spread out around her head as if it was an immaculate crown or headpiece. Her breasts were firm and high, peaking in large yet delicate pink nipples that throbbed faintly in their stiffness. She had been teasing her nipples occasionally, sporadically. It was as if she had wanted them attentive, but not agonized; taut, but not tortured. It was as if there was a threshold that she would not pass. When she approached it, she sent her finger elsewhere, exploring her body, caressing her skin, shutting her eyes tightly so she could focus all of her attention on her touch, on the contact made between her fingertips and wherever they landed. Sometimes, but very rarely, she let her fingers off their leash, giving in to her own physical yearning. She let them stray between her thighs, noting the supple smoothness of her own skin, fluttering over the fibers of light, wispy hair that, like an arrowhead, converged on her womanhood. She would even allow a finger to dip in between her dripping lips, gasping at her own touch, smiling as sensation thrilled through her. But it would always only be for a moment, a quick foray south. She never lingered and the pleasure she felt was always fleeting.
For the better part of the afternoon she had been exploring her body, sending light touches along her skin, stimulating her nerves to a starving frenzy. She knew that her man, her lover would not arrive until after the sun had completed its descent, until after an cool, deep blue darkness suffused the sky. For the better part of the afternoon, she had been on the brink of climax, teasing herself with gentle, expert caresses that edged her as close to orgasm as possible, without actually reaching that peak, without actually cresting. She longed to crest, longed to climax, but to do so alone would feel empty. She wanted, needed to wait for her lover, the man who would bring her to bear with passionate grace and love.
Still, she teased herself, flirted with the idea of bringing herself to white-hot orgasm. All it would take was a few soft touches, a specific pattern, a rhythm… no! She must not. Though it would leave her shuddering and shivering with delight, it would still pale in comparison to experiencing her lover, his large, powerful hands, his skin stretched tightly around his taut body, his gentle firmness, insistence, persistence…
She moaned softly, thinking of the times that he had touched her, brought her rapidly to climax, or teased
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