This is a guest post from the wonderful @19syllables…
Imagine biting into a pickled gherkin, crisp and fresh from the fridge, fished straight from the jar with your eager fingers, still dripping tangy droplets that you catch with your cupped hand as you raise it to your lips. Think about the moment just before you place it between your teeth, its sharpness rising into your senses, demanding attention like a warning, like a fanfare. Feel the tenderness of its skin give way, allowing its wet flesh to flow onto your tongue. It’s flooding your taste buds. It’s too much and too good all at once.
Could you feel that? Did the memory and knowledge of the flavour make you feel the ghost of its acidity in your mouth? It’s the same with prawn cocktail crisps or a whisky sour, or a semicircle bite out of the half-lemon at the bottom of my gin and tonic – the soft pink skin on the insides of my cheeks prickles and contracts and moistens at just the thought of the flavour. Thinking about that intensity makes my body prepare for the perceived onslaught on my senses. It readies itself.
It’s like this when I remember being between you both, I’m astride him, leaning forward, slowly riding his cock and enjoying the sensation of my nipples brushing against the hair on his chest. From behind me, you hold my hips to get the measure of my steady rhythm and tilt. Slowly, carefully, you ease your cock into my arse. I make a guttural sound, almost animal, quite unlike my usual pleasure noises.
He slows, he checks; “You ok?”
I am ok. I’m really very ok. But I’m having trouble speaking.
“Yeah… I’m… it’s intense, it’s so intense…”
I’m so full, I can feel you both, and you can feel each other through me. In this act, so often cast as demeaning to women I am central and powerful. I am the conduit of all our pleasures. The thought of both your cocks sliding side-by-side in me is intoxicating. He feels it too; I can see it in his eyes as they flick between looking at me and looking at you kissing my shoulder. I’m wide-eyed in awe at what we’re doing; so connected, so intimate. It’s beautiful.
It drifts back into memory often, uninvited but welcome. My body readies itself for the perceived onslaught to my senses as I think of it. Heart rate up I shift and squirm imperceptibly. My softest skin, pink and secret, prickles and contracts and moistens. I breathe a long slow breath out as I did in that moment as I remember it. Intense – too much and too good all at once.