Prompt 72 - Crawl - "Crawl" - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer - OC
Dec. 8th, 2007 11:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Crawl
Rating: PG for suggestive language
Pairing/Fandom: None
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: She will do anything to lose control, even crawl.
A/N: Real life is really cutting in to my writing time. I really hate that.
She performs her toilette with care, dripping the water down the sleek curve of her arm with the sponge and watching the oil as it beads on her skin. It fascinates her as she lifts her arm and the water and oils slide against one another, drifting past each other but never melding, never giving against the opposing pressures of drop against drop. They skid apart and separate like individuals in a crowd, careful not to touch as they pass.
She towels off and rubs the oils deeper into her skin, allowing her hands to drift over sensitive nerve endings and leaving them tingling in her fingers’ wake. He is coming tonight. He will soon be touching her, feeling the softness of her. Soon.
Her hair clings to the back of her neck in wet tendrils as she bends to gather the hose into a small ring, drawing it over her foot and fitting it to the curves of her legs. She does the same with the other before she draws on the garter belt, snapping the tops of the hose into the clamps before she fits it to her waist, drawing them tight against her skin. Her legs look long and sleek in the dark hose with the single seam; from the back, she is pleased the seams are straight and perfectly positioned as she looks over her shoulder. A thought flashes in her head that she looks like a starlet in a pin-up pose; she wonders if he would enjoy one of those ‘intimate portraits’ that she’s heard about.
Black satin cups her breasts lovingly in a dark caress of fabric, barely enough material to keep her breasts from popping out of the cups. She runs her hand down the front of her body and cups herself with her palms, wondering if it will delight him as much as it does her. She hopes so. It will be time soon and he will be here.
She pulls her hair up into a tight ponytail and wraps it around her fist. He’ll like that, she thinks. She gives it an experimental tug and her face splits in half with a grin when she feels the tug of follicles holding on, tension pulling her scalp taut with anticipation. Oh, he will like that.
A black silk caftan drifts over her head and down her body and she is ready.
A soft tone breaks the silence and she jerks, her mouth an o. It is time.
She hears the key as it rasps into the lock, the metallic click as the barrels line up and the snick when it releases. A flood of moisture fills her mouth as she sits on her knees across the room, waiting.
He looks at her when he opens the door, expressionless and blank. His hand reaches up and loosens his tie, flicks open the tight button at the throat before the jacket and briefcase get tossed across the room.
As he stands above her, she remembers how it all started. How it barely mattered anymore how it all started. She had found her place in the world and that was all that mattered to her anymore.
She loved the way he made her feel. Weak, powerless, out of control. It was the ultimate rush for her after the long days of being the one they came to for answers, the one responsible, the one that held the reins of the world in her hands.
She leans forward, feeling the pattern of the carpet against the palms of her hands, pressing into resilient flesh. As he watches, she moves across the floor, crawling. Her knees follow automatically, bringing her closer and closer to her goal.
She looks up and lets go.
Rating: PG for suggestive language
Pairing/Fandom: None
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: She will do anything to lose control, even crawl.
A/N: Real life is really cutting in to my writing time. I really hate that.
She performs her toilette with care, dripping the water down the sleek curve of her arm with the sponge and watching the oil as it beads on her skin. It fascinates her as she lifts her arm and the water and oils slide against one another, drifting past each other but never melding, never giving against the opposing pressures of drop against drop. They skid apart and separate like individuals in a crowd, careful not to touch as they pass.
She towels off and rubs the oils deeper into her skin, allowing her hands to drift over sensitive nerve endings and leaving them tingling in her fingers’ wake. He is coming tonight. He will soon be touching her, feeling the softness of her. Soon.
Her hair clings to the back of her neck in wet tendrils as she bends to gather the hose into a small ring, drawing it over her foot and fitting it to the curves of her legs. She does the same with the other before she draws on the garter belt, snapping the tops of the hose into the clamps before she fits it to her waist, drawing them tight against her skin. Her legs look long and sleek in the dark hose with the single seam; from the back, she is pleased the seams are straight and perfectly positioned as she looks over her shoulder. A thought flashes in her head that she looks like a starlet in a pin-up pose; she wonders if he would enjoy one of those ‘intimate portraits’ that she’s heard about.
Black satin cups her breasts lovingly in a dark caress of fabric, barely enough material to keep her breasts from popping out of the cups. She runs her hand down the front of her body and cups herself with her palms, wondering if it will delight him as much as it does her. She hopes so. It will be time soon and he will be here.
She pulls her hair up into a tight ponytail and wraps it around her fist. He’ll like that, she thinks. She gives it an experimental tug and her face splits in half with a grin when she feels the tug of follicles holding on, tension pulling her scalp taut with anticipation. Oh, he will like that.
A black silk caftan drifts over her head and down her body and she is ready.
A soft tone breaks the silence and she jerks, her mouth an o. It is time.
She hears the key as it rasps into the lock, the metallic click as the barrels line up and the snick when it releases. A flood of moisture fills her mouth as she sits on her knees across the room, waiting.
He looks at her when he opens the door, expressionless and blank. His hand reaches up and loosens his tie, flicks open the tight button at the throat before the jacket and briefcase get tossed across the room.
As he stands above her, she remembers how it all started. How it barely mattered anymore how it all started. She had found her place in the world and that was all that mattered to her anymore.
She loved the way he made her feel. Weak, powerless, out of control. It was the ultimate rush for her after the long days of being the one they came to for answers, the one responsible, the one that held the reins of the world in her hands.
She leans forward, feeling the pattern of the carpet against the palms of her hands, pressing into resilient flesh. As he watches, she moves across the floor, crawling. Her knees follow automatically, bringing her closer and closer to her goal.
She looks up and lets go.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-10 04:51 pm (UTC)Brava, babe. That's all I can say. Really. Did you post this on your LJ? Locked or no? I'd love to rec. it. (You may have to change your rating due to my comment though. *g*)
no subject
Date: 2007-12-11 10:23 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that you want to rec it! :D Feel free!
♥