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Tell Me A Story, Desdmona
illustration by garv

Release Me

By Desdmona

This story contains sexually explicit scenes.

The room was silent except for the rare infringement of outside noise: a car cruising, a dog barking or a voice raised in laughter. I sifted through my music and chose a favorite instrumental. It’s haunting quality and mellow crescendos mirrored my mood.

I climbed to the center of my bed and snuggled in. While lying there thoughts of you crept into my mind. We had just talked a few hours ago. It seemed like an eternity. I felt alone in our worlds apart. Me here. You there. Our only connection through writing and want. I wrapped my arms around myself imagining them as your arms. A cheap imitation of the real thing. I whispered your name. Again and again. Believing you might hear me. My desires, my passion ignited with my memories of you. I needed your touch.

My heart ached to be near you. For just one breath of time to be yours unconditionally, for you to be mine. And to have time alone to explore one another until we were satiated.

“Come to me,” I implored. And in that magic breeze rushing over me, you were there. Your breath close to my face. Your whispers of love in my ear. Your hands sliding down my arms. The sensations of reality mixed with the hunger of fantasy, and my eyes closed. You came to me in the form of my own hands. And you guided them.

Hands reached to my face, tracing along my eyes, across my cheeks, over my lips, then further to my neck, over my beating heart and finally to each breast. My nipples tenderly ached as fingers grazed over them, teasing each to a hardened pearl. An outstretched palm squeezed and released. Then thumb and forefinger slightly pinched. Electricity shot through me, spiraling down to the center of my being.

Masterful fingers inched past each orb to the sensitive skin hidden beneath. They caressed. They rubbed. All the while nudging the tightened nubs, teasing and coaxing. They continued their search, down across the soft flesh of belly and circled the naval, dipping and swirling. Ever moving until breeching the boundaries of untamed curls. Probing hands reached to thighs and gently spread them open, then slid back to the triangle that lay exposed.

Voracious fingers delved into the recesses of my womanhood, finding a fire that was fueled by moisture. They dipped deep inside the haven, surrounded by satin flesh, and then pulled out. Once and then twice. They were wet and greedy and searched for the nucleus of all desire. It was swollen and ready. They massaged until thought was lost and hungry moans echoed in the room.

I arched to those fingers, craving more, and still more. Tease me, Ravage me, I begged and they delivered, slipping and sliding through crevice and fold. Oh, wicked hands. They stroked. They devoured.

“Release me. Please, release me.” And the hands knew. They moved faster and faster. Clenching. Squeezing. Massaging. Caressing. Fucking. Loving. Wave upon wave rippled through me as every part of me was touched. And with absolution came tears.

Trembling, I opened my eyes to find only my hands.

But in that brief moment, that breath of time, I knew it was you.

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