The Morning

Mornings: Not my favourite part of the day, I can tell you.

But on this regular, bright one, she woke me up gently… A lingering kiss… Tentative nuzzles on my neck. And then smoothing her hands way down my legs still tangled with hers.

‘Who goes to work at 8 in the morning?’ – The little voice in my head yelled. And as I reached out to my phone, I realized it wasn’t wakey-time yet and the alarm was a good half hour away from playing.

“Why are we being naughty?” I asked with a sleepy smile.

“It’s the satin shirt you are wearing. Can’t get over it,” she said with a grin, which said more than her words did.

“Should I pull it out? Given you like it so much?” I asked sassily, willing anything to distract us from the impending alarm.

“No. I’d rather have you in it,” she smiled as she headed to the bathroom for her shower!

The last few days had been rough. Between her long hours at work, and my impatience at the list of do’s and don’ts that she seemed to have, we were having a war of wills. The days were long and even sharing a bed didn’t make for easy conversation or even a combustible resolution. There were days, I wished we shared more interests beyond our love for food and travel. At least, we would find something to break this cloud of silence, which seemed to have descended over us.

‘Ah, another rebuff. We can’t even talk, makeout without our egos coming in the way,’ I muttered to myself and headed into the kitchen, to try and make boiled eggs without overcooking them yet again. ‘Being a wife – was something, I am definitely not cut out to be,’ I thought and wistfully tried to recall just why I was cooking breakfast! Darn, this domesticity.

Her cold, wet hands startled me. She held my waist and turned me around. Surprisingly, so did the strength of her clasp.

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t an instruction, I could ignore as she led me back into the bedroom. Leading me past pictures of her exes, friends and family, she stopped me in front of the mirror, just where I could see me and her.

She held my hands captive. The kisses came hard and fast. Starting from my mouth. Criss-crossing my neck. Nipping my ear. Lingering knowingly on my shoulders. While her mouth made way past the exposed skin peeking out from my strappy nightshirt, I meowed in pleasure!

The grip was still tight, almost vice-like. And no amount of moving even in pleasure was loosening it. It amazed me how thrilling being pinned against a wall, with a shackle holding you felt. ‘God, no wonder the world loves handcuffs,’ I thought!

Tongue dueled tongue… The silence broken occasionally with some deep breathing and sighs at both ends. My eyes were closed in pleasure as her mouth worked my neck and shoulder veins into instant fever. My knees felt weak and I now knew why the wall was just so perfect… I yearned to play with her, to kiss her soft skin, allow my dry mouth to feel her soft lips again.

I opened my eyes to see myself in the mirror. An image of a woman being made love to with some serious intensity. Saw passion we created being mirrored in my eyes. And then the contrast of a plum satin night-shirt against a white cotton tee showed our differences in another light…. My skin was tinged with goose bumps. And just watching her mouth cherish my skin made me warm between my legs…

The straps of the night shirt fell away exposing my breasts to her. Almost like my body clearly had a mind of its own. She licked. She laved. She bit marking my skin her own with red love bites. And she let her mouth suck at my nipple waiting for its turn. All this while still confining my hands with hers on the sides of my head! I was a prisoner – a willing one, at that.

She looked at my flushed cheeks, met the glazed look in my eyes and the mussed hair.

And smiled! Just like a victorious princess would. And then quickly moved both my arms above my head – holding my hands with just one hand, willing me still into submission.

Her free hand moved to my right knee, creating circles with her warm, soft palm. Reaching my under thighs and finally in between my legs… She touched, caressed and brought me to a be-fitting orgasm, holding my bucking knees… and my hands still in her hand.

And then whispered with her raspy voice in my ear, “Good Morning Baby!”

About the author

Tappy Tippy

Late Bloomer, Coffee Drinker, French-Frier. Romance in her head. Erotica in her bones!