Tipsy Playtime

Tipsy playtime

I love how you wait until I’m tipsy to walk your hand up my thigh. You pretend it’s innocent and playful, but I know you take delight in knowing how every slight touch Illicits a sharp inhale. I lean onto your arm ever so slightly, fighting the urge to cling onto you. I don’t want to seem too eager.

Soon I’m pressing my thighs together, each breath feeling hotter than the last. It’s so embarrassing how easily I got worked up. I turn my head to the side so you can’t see the pathetically needy faces I’m making.

You can’t help but love this side of me, a little wine and my stoic and strict nature melts away. there’s nothing for me to hide behind.

Amused, you ask me… ´what’s wrong baby, why are you so quiet?’ feigning concern. You’re enjoying the shift in power dynamics. I’m rarely this flustered.

I can’t think of a reply; as you inch closer to the heat between my thighs my breathing quickens. You’re such a tease.

Now you’re hauling me into your lap and pulling me flush to your chest and I know you feel how much of a sticky twitching mess I am.

And all I can think about is how good your breath feels against my ear. how fast you’re breathing. how every exhale is sending jolts down my spine. how hard and fidgety you’re getting.

Before I know it, you’re whispering in my ear. ´come on princess, what is it that has you sooo worked up?’

So I admit it, I admit that I need more of your touch, your fingers curling inside me, your hips bucking underneath me. And finally, I give you permission.

Permission to have your way with me.

just this once…right?