Robin Michelle Writes











{1 June 2011}   Squeak!

Here’s my offering for Ruby’s #WankWednesday prompt of #squeak. Head over to her blog, The Erotic Notebook, to read more contributions.

********

*squeak*

*squeak*

*squeak squeak*

*squeak*

*squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak

squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak

squeak squeak*

“Stop!”

“What? *gasp* Now? *pant*”

“Yes, now. Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what? You’re moans of pleasure as I pound into you and nibble on your neck? Yeah, I heard those.”

*squeak squeak”

“I said stop – don’t move. I know I heard something squeak.”

“It’s just this old bed, babe. Once we’re done here, I’ll see about tightening up the joints *lick*”

“Would you please take me seriously. I know I heard something – not the bed – squeak. Right… by… my… ear.”

“Baby, hold still, don’t move, don’t turn your head, don’t….”

“AAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! Oh my god oh my god it’s a mouse, on the bed! Off off off!! Get off of me! Let me up! Oh my god oh my god oh my god yuck yuck yuck!”

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“Oh for the love of… put the pillow down. On the bed you dolt, not in front of your penis — unless your cock is made of cheese, I’m sure it’s not interested in it at all. Help me catch it. Damn, it’s fast. Ack. Crap. It’s heading your way, catch it catch it before… it… jumps… off… the… bed. Great. Now we’ll never find it. “

“Where’d it go? I can’t stay in here if there’s a mouse in here. What if it climbs back into the bed while we’re sleeping and and nibbles on — on — things. You have to find it, catch it!”

“Oh good grief. Get some crackers and a box or glass — I’ll lure it out, catch it and toss it outside.”

Half an hour later with the slam of a door.

“There, it’s gone. I’m going to bed.”

*squeak squeak*

“Seriously?”

“Babe, you’re my*nibble nibble* hero *lick lick*”

*giggle”

*squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak

squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak*



{4 May 2011}   Skating Around the Issue

Here’s my offering for Ruby’s #WankWednesday prompt of #skate. Head over to her blog, The Erotic Notebook, to read more.

******

We’d been skating around the issue for weeks, maybe months, but most definitely in the weeks since we’d sold the house. It was more in what we didn’t directly say, than in anything spelled out. Would we have one last fuck? One last time to seal the ending of our marriage and life together.

In no way would you describe our divorce as amicable, certainly not at the beginning. I’d truly surprised him when I filed and gave him the papers. Our marriage had not been the best, we’d both had our issues with each other, the things we wanted in our lives didn’t always mesh. But we held it together, at least until the kids were grown. As husband and wife we really didn’t belong together, however we made pretty good friends. And the sex, the fucking was almost always good (we never ‘made love’, it was always sex or fucking). So based on the friendliness and good fucking, he thought we’d go on together. I knew better. Needed better.

I filed; we fought; we cried; kids cried; he moved out; we started separating belongings, fighting even more over who got what. Things calmed and we worked together to prepare the house for selling. It was more than either of us wanted or needed, with only one child still at home. He found a place nearby, I made the decision to move to the coast, making a new start for myself away from our shared history.

And here I was, our divorce final and the house sold. I had suggested we meet one last time at the house for one final walk through, to make sure we really truly had gotten every last thing out. My expectations were that we’d do more than just walk around in the house — I suspected his expectations were similar. I’d brought a blanket and put several condoms in my purse; we’d been separated for over a year and was under no illusions that he’d been celibate.

Arriving before him, I wandered from room to room, remembering. Regretting that I’d never convinced him to be more adventurous — we’d never fucked anywhere but in our room and bathroom. I thought of how fun it would have been if he’d bent me over the living room couch, or the ottoman in the family room. Or laid me out on the dining room or kitchen tables. Countertops. Washer and dryer. Stairs and the landing. So many missed opportunities — because of him and his surprising prudishness.

I sat on the stairs facing the front door and waited for  him. My thoughts drifted, my imagination fired…

He came strolling up the walk, pausing for a moment when he saw me sitting there. Coming inside, he closed the door. We made small talk as we started in the basement, checking all the closets and cupboards, everywhere something might have been stashed. But we’d been thorough and found nothing. Pausing at the base of the stairs, things got awkward for a moment. We laughed. We went to hug good-bye and found ourselves frantic to get out of our clothes. We paused long enough for me to lay down the blanket and to toss a condom at him. He looked a little surprised at that, but put it on. We were rabid — clutching, grasping, groping, kissing, biting, licking. He twisted my nipples and bit my shoulders. I grasped his cock and squeezed and stroked. A hand moved behind me, squeezing my butt before spanking it. I gasped, and pulled harder on his cock in reaction. Keeping the one hand on my ass, he moved his other around to my mound, and slid it down between my thighs, pushing them farther apart.  A finger slid over my clit and into my cunt, spreading my wetness over my labia then up to coat my clit. He surprised me then by pushing me down on to the stairs and bending down between my knees. He rarely ever went down on me this way — he usually positioned himself so that I could pleasure him at the same time. But not this time. He quickly inserted two fingers, fucking me with them while applying tongue and teeth to my clit and lips. It didn’t take long for me to come hard, squirting all over his hand and down his arm. Withdrawing his fingers, he flipped me over, pushing fully into me with one hard thrust. My nipples brushed carpet as his hands gripped my hips tightly and he pounded me without pause. Very quickly I heard the change in him breathing that indicated he was about to come. It pushed me over the edge again, and I screamed my orgasm into the stairs as he came…

My phone rang, jolting me out of my reverie. It was him. He wasn’t going to make it. I picked up the blanket and my purse, and walked out the door without a single backwards glance.



{23 March 2011}   #WankWednesday ~~ #Spare

Written in response to Ruby Kiddell’s #WankWednesday challenge. Visit her blog, The Erotic Notebook, for more.

Spare

Right now, at this point in time, I have nothing left of me to spare to anyone else. For any reason. So when I say yes to fucking you, you need to understand that fucking is all it is.

It is not about romance, or love, or even friendship. I don’t want to know your name, what you do, or anything else about you. Your intelligence and education are important only as they apply to your ability to give me what I need. Only that you’ll fuck me until I’ve had enough. It is not about me wanting to please you, to be what you want, to make you come hard. It is purely for the physical release that I need.

The only reason I’ve said yes is because I need your body, your mouth, your hands, your cock to bring me the release I crave. No fantasy, no toy can satiate my lust as another body can.

I will use you, as long as I need to. I will tell you what I need you to do. How to start at my neck, licking and nibbling, and then work your way down, making sure to spend adequate time on my breasts, teasing my nipples to rock-hardness with both your mouth and your hands. If you’re doing it right, my heart rate will accelerate, my breathing will become audible and rapid, and I will feel each tug and twist and pinch of a nipple not only there but also as an increasing tingling in my clit. I will start to gasp and moan, softly at first, as my arousal heightens and my cunt swells and moistens.

Placing my hands on first your shoulders, and then your head, I’ll guide you down further, until your heated body rests between my legs. There should be no hesitation as you spread me open and lower your mouth to me. You’ll use your tongue to lick along my slit, from bottom to top and back again, pausing now and again to circle and press on my clit, to suckle my labia, to probe and fuck.

As my moaning increases and my body moves in reaction to your touch, you’ll slide one, then two fingers inside, curving them just right to find my swollen and sensitive g-spot, then stroking and pressing while your mouth and tongue continue to work my clit. I can feel the pressure building, my legs are shaking, my breathing ragged as each moment you bring me closer to the edge. Rational thought has fled, replaced by increasing tension and sensitivity until with one overwhelming burst of energy, I come, flooding you and the bed with my juices.

You barely give me time to catch my breath before you flip me over and pull me up to my knees. I hear the sound of the condom wrapper tearing and feel your body shifting on the bed as your roll it onto your cock. Without a word, you place your hands on my hips, gripping fiercely, fingers digging into my flesh. For a brief moment, I feel the head of you cock pressing against my slick swollen labia, then with one hard thrust  you are fully inside. I gasp as you stretch and fill me and push back against you, feeling your belly press against my ass. I try to rise to my hands, but you remove a hand from my hips and leaning forward,  you press it into my head, forcing me to stay down. Your roughness serves only to make me orgasm again, a scream bursting out.

But it’s not enough, yet, and you know it. So you keep thrusting, sometimes fast and hard, sometimes slower and easier, but never stopping your movement. And I come and come and come again, until my breath is raspy, my hair is matted with sweat, my skin flushed. Behind my closed eyes, I see flashes of light, starbursts with each deep thrust. My legs are shaking, barely able to support me. So you go back to gripping my hips, forcing me to stay up, forcing me to take each of your thrusts, until finally, finally, I hear your breathing change, I feel your cock become harder, hotter and larger, stretching my sore cunt just enough more so that as you shake and pound me with your orgasm, I also come one last long screaming time.

We both collapse, but not together. There is no cuddling. No snuggling. No basking in the afterglow. I don’t even turn to look at you. To do so would somehow make this more real, more meaningful than what it was — a fuck just for fucking’s sake. So, once my breathing slows, I rise, I dress, fix my hair and makeup, and leave, sparing no more time on you.



et cetera