A smut story from ICC
As we sat in the hot tub he slid his hand up my thigh, and I bit my lip, wanting so badly to jump him... but there were others present. I had to wait. Didn't want to wait. Wanted to feel his bare chest against mine, feel the shape of his pressing me down, taste his lips, his cock, his body disolving beneath me... patience.We'd met just a few days before, bonding over the loan of a sippy cup. For those who have never been to big conventions, most hotels don't allow you to wander the halls with open containers- so the tradition of sippy cups has popped up- cute little plastic sip cups full of alchoholic goodness meant to be devoured from room party to room party. Parker lent me his jack-o-lantern sippy cup so I could make it down to Choclate Covered Cowboys' 30th Bday celebration. We'd met in the Super Friends Party... damn good party.Parker found out I was into feet as he saw me at Satyr's feet that night, massaging him, getting rid of his stress. Ha, Satyr, yet another event where we didn't get a date in. Lear and I had talked about him, talked about us, spent an hour pour our hearts out about gender, sexuality, indentity and being screwed by corporate america... how I adore that woman.Starhawk and I had been dancing all weekend... and I was on edge. A never-ending dance, grace, tease, fluid movement. Rapture in her grace and solitude, a smile from Samael... huge gargoyle wings on my nude form and a flight longing longing.When we ran into each other agin for the thousenth time at Dead Dog, I asked him if he wanted to join me in the hot tub. I had to. He had that look, that smile, that sense about him that made my body clench up and long to let go. let go. I let go.It was the second shower I'd taken with someone that weekend... but this one ended differently. This ne ended with my hips in the air and my chest pushed down against the counter top, his hands probing me before hauling me back to the bed, before tracing his fingers across my flesh, before letting me kiss my way down his body and have him vanish into my mouth. Flip, turn, dance, cocks and cunts and lips trailing down to tongues plungin in and my body arching up beneath him as my own eager fingers found their way home and I felt his chest hair brush against my bare body as I became... peaceful, for the first time all weekend.A dance in three parts. Our second vignette after talk and sharing of stories arched into his form above mine and him buried inside me, perfection. He couldn't back down, woundn't back down, as his fingers curled up inside of me and his tongue worked away as I came like a fountain. He couldn't back down, wouldn't back down, as we soaked the sheets where we would sleep togther, soaked the sheets and I didn't want to cry. No shame, just beuty, just truth, just him and I and then... then the feet.Our third vignette begins with my toes in his mouth. His toes in my mouth. When two foot fetishists find one another, the dance turns into a form of erotic oblivion, where the world is gone and all that is left is haywire messages from the synapses- toes to arches to open gasping mouths to sighs and squeals of delight, deep moans and a hope that the world will stop in a moment of perfection. It never does, the dance spins to a close, we go and find Furry and kiss him goodnight. We find friends and kiss them goodnight. We laugh at the world and the antics of virgins who burn bridges and kiss them all goodnight and pass out in one anothers arms.Sometimes a sippy cup is all you need from the world- and other times, you want to drink it all in.Parker is driving up to orlando tonight... we'll see where the next dance takes us, see how we three dance.