Read Online The Story of X: An Erotic Tale by A. J. Molloy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A. J. Molloy
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All my life, all my sensible,
dutiful, studious Good Daughter life, I’ve asked men to wear something—the few men I have slept with. But this time I do not care, this time I
actively want to be careless . I am on the pill, that will do, now hurry up.
“Just fuck me.”
Again he swoops down on me. Like a predator. Like something not quite human, yet beautifully human.
He is hotly kissing my neck and breathing in my scent.
“I want you naked .”
I stare at him. He is surging with an anger I don’t quite understand.
“I want to see all of you—”
For a second he fumbles with the buttons on the back of my dress; I lift myself up
on an elbow, so as to help him, but he just laughs—or maybe he snarls—and he rips
the dress away, simply rips it off my half-naked body—and flings the shredded garment
across the room. I protest in vain in the dark, looking up into his eyes: “But my
dress—”
“I will buy you another!” he growls. “I will buy you a hundred fucking dresses.”
And then he reaches around and unclasps my bra, and he throws that aside, too; and
now he looks down at my pale breasts with a tender hunger, and then he kisses them,
coldly, yet warmly, the left breast and the right breast, in turn. Carefully and expertly,
his fingers toy with my nipples; he bites them playfully, nibbling at one, then the
other, and they are hard, and getting harder under his touch.
The desire for him to touch me and take me, down there, is becoming irresistible. A space is opening, a wetness, a desperate expectation;
my hips move toward his and he knows what I want. His mouth sows kisses down my pale
stomach, kissing me to my navel; he is like a dark withdrawing tide, receding down
my body, sucking on the sands.
Now I can feel him pulling down my panties along my thighs; my bare foot tingles with
the touch of the cotton and then it is gone and his sweet, sweet mouth is on my sex,
my desire, my cunt, my vulva.
My wetness is mixed with his wet lips, his hands are on my bare hips, and he is kissing
and nibbling, his tongue darts, and then, yes . He expertly finds my clitoris with his hard-soft tongue, and he licks me sweet and
quick, like a flickering flame, a gentle feathering. And my heartbeat pounds, my entire
body tingles, the delicious prickling of this pleasure makes me shiver from head to
toe, as he licks and gently bites my clit. And then everything dazzles like a flash
of rose lightning, and the words come spilling forth. “Oh God, Marc, oh God.”
“Carissima.”
He lifts his handsome face.
“Marc, please don’t stop. ”
Who is saying this? Is it me? Someone else? It is me, oh it is me. Once again he tongues
at my clitoris, greedy and fierce, and yet tender. And then he turns and licks the
soft, trembling skin of my inner thigh, nuzzling at my thigh as I moan just a little,
turning left and right in the dark, breathing my excitement. Helpless, shivering,
and adored.
Because he is licking me there again. Right between my thighs, where my pleasure meets
his desire. I murmur his name into the darkness as I stream my fingers through his
soft and curling hair, his dark, sweet, tousled hair; then I greedily press his face
closer to my sex, to my climax, my nearing climax—am I actually going to climax?
OhGodyes, OhGodfucking yes . Now it happens : as he licks and blows and nuzzles on my pulsing clitoris, I finally yield, I tumble,
I fall. Blissfully, I trip into the place where I cannot return.
The trembling has become shaking has become hapless juddering, a kind of spasm, delicious
and remorseless, and I have to put my knuckles in my mouth to stop screaming with
glee—as the explosion of deep and raw and unstoppable pleasure bursts upon me, like
scarlet fireworks inside me, deep between my thighs, yet rushing upward.
OhmyGod, oh my almighty God, oh sweet, sweet, sweet, Jesus God. Still the ripples
of silver cascade up and down, along
dutiful, studious Good Daughter life, I’ve asked men to wear something—the few men I have slept with. But this time I do not care, this time I
actively want to be careless . I am on the pill, that will do, now hurry up.
“Just fuck me.”
Again he swoops down on me. Like a predator. Like something not quite human, yet beautifully human.
He is hotly kissing my neck and breathing in my scent.
“I want you naked .”
I stare at him. He is surging with an anger I don’t quite understand.
“I want to see all of you—”
For a second he fumbles with the buttons on the back of my dress; I lift myself up
on an elbow, so as to help him, but he just laughs—or maybe he snarls—and he rips
the dress away, simply rips it off my half-naked body—and flings the shredded garment
across the room. I protest in vain in the dark, looking up into his eyes: “But my
dress—”
“I will buy you another!” he growls. “I will buy you a hundred fucking dresses.”
And then he reaches around and unclasps my bra, and he throws that aside, too; and
now he looks down at my pale breasts with a tender hunger, and then he kisses them,
coldly, yet warmly, the left breast and the right breast, in turn. Carefully and expertly,
his fingers toy with my nipples; he bites them playfully, nibbling at one, then the
other, and they are hard, and getting harder under his touch.
The desire for him to touch me and take me, down there, is becoming irresistible. A space is opening, a wetness, a desperate expectation;
my hips move toward his and he knows what I want. His mouth sows kisses down my pale
stomach, kissing me to my navel; he is like a dark withdrawing tide, receding down
my body, sucking on the sands.
Now I can feel him pulling down my panties along my thighs; my bare foot tingles with
the touch of the cotton and then it is gone and his sweet, sweet mouth is on my sex,
my desire, my cunt, my vulva.
My wetness is mixed with his wet lips, his hands are on my bare hips, and he is kissing
and nibbling, his tongue darts, and then, yes . He expertly finds my clitoris with his hard-soft tongue, and he licks me sweet and
quick, like a flickering flame, a gentle feathering. And my heartbeat pounds, my entire
body tingles, the delicious prickling of this pleasure makes me shiver from head to
toe, as he licks and gently bites my clit. And then everything dazzles like a flash
of rose lightning, and the words come spilling forth. “Oh God, Marc, oh God.”
“Carissima.”
He lifts his handsome face.
“Marc, please don’t stop. ”
Who is saying this? Is it me? Someone else? It is me, oh it is me. Once again he tongues
at my clitoris, greedy and fierce, and yet tender. And then he turns and licks the
soft, trembling skin of my inner thigh, nuzzling at my thigh as I moan just a little,
turning left and right in the dark, breathing my excitement. Helpless, shivering,
and adored.
Because he is licking me there again. Right between my thighs, where my pleasure meets
his desire. I murmur his name into the darkness as I stream my fingers through his
soft and curling hair, his dark, sweet, tousled hair; then I greedily press his face
closer to my sex, to my climax, my nearing climax—am I actually going to climax?
OhGodyes, OhGodfucking yes . Now it happens : as he licks and blows and nuzzles on my pulsing clitoris, I finally yield, I tumble,
I fall. Blissfully, I trip into the place where I cannot return.
The trembling has become shaking has become hapless juddering, a kind of spasm, delicious
and remorseless, and I have to put my knuckles in my mouth to stop screaming with
glee—as the explosion of deep and raw and unstoppable pleasure bursts upon me, like
scarlet fireworks inside me, deep between my thighs, yet rushing upward.
OhmyGod, oh my almighty God, oh sweet, sweet, sweet, Jesus God. Still the ripples
of silver cascade up and down, along
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