Stafford (North)

As she laid upon the hotel bed, her legs spread and knees pointing to the cracked ceiling, her mind wandered. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying her lover gently make love to her with his mouth, she was, it was just that she had one of those minds that, well, wandered.

The hotel they had chosen was neither here nor there. Literally. It was slap bang in the middle of where they both lived, separately. It’s only distinguishing feature being that it was on the same site as 2012’s award winning service station, Stafford North.

She knew someone in Stafford. Was it Lynda? Lucy? No. Lydia? Lyndsey?

His hands began to stroke at her thighs as he continued to lick and kiss between her legs.

Her right leg twitched at the sensation. A smile eked its way onto the corner of his lips. ‘Oh yes,’ he thought, ‘you know you like that.’

She twitched her right leg at the sensation. It tickled. She hated tickling. Wrinkles appeared at the side of her eyes as she recoiled from his touch a second time. Lauren? Lisa? Lucinda? Fuck. Who was it that lived in Stafford? Leona?

His tongue was lapping at her lips with a great passion now. He’d slid his arms under her legs and was pulling her up slightly to meet his mouth. More forceful. With real purpose. He leaned back for a second.

She watched as his head rose up. Her eyes transfixed on his. His eyes fixated on her open legs. She smiled, knowingly. She knew he loved to watch her, loved admiring her.

He moved forward again, the brief respite purely to unlock his jaw and regain feeling in his tongue. Pushing forwards, he unfurled his tongue and began, once again, to lap at her exquisite juices. As it slipped and slid across her wet skin, his tongue travelled lower than normal.

She froze.

Did his tongue just go there? She’d never really thought about that before, but now she was and she wasn’t sure if she wanted that or not? Probably not. But maybe?

His tongue flicked upwards. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed what happened. Perhaps she liked it? He wasn’t sure. She probably didn’t, but then it wasn’t something he’d thought of doing. It certainly wasn’t planned. He wasn’t really comfortable thinking about that anyway. He tried hard to remember what it was that connected the two. That bit of skin between her butt and her…

Why had he stopped? She turned her head to the window as the smell of diesel swept through the gap in the curtains on the breeze. Maybe if she moaned a bit? Kick start it a little? She wasn’t keen on that sort of thing. ‘I’d never fake it.’ she remembered telling her friend, once. ‘I mean, what’s the point?’

She let out a soft moan.

He heard her moans. Of course he’d heard her moans. He knew he was good.  Perineum! he thought. That’s what it’s called. His tongue flicked triumphantly, from side to side, against her clit, before pushing flat and hard as it slid down into her opening. He began to spell out the word with his tongue.

P…

E…

R…

Her eyes rolled back into her head as she let herself be carried away by this new found glory. Her brain, struggling to let go and whispering, ‘I told you so.’ as the waves of pleasure pulled her down to the edge of the bed.

I…

N…

E…

His tongue continued to create shapes against her soft, pink, skin. Inside and out.

She grabbed at the rough, starchy sheets. Her head lifting from the bed.

U…

M.

He finished with a flourish. The last flick of the ‘M’ creating swirls and circles the way a caligrapher would begin a new chapter.

“SHARON!” she screamed. Her voice ripping through the halls of the travel tavern, with gusto.

Her head fell back to the bed. His head lifted from between her thighs. A look of bemusement on his face, as he wiped his beard on the back of his hand.

“It was, Sharon,” she said, breathlessly, “Sharon from Stafford.”

Writer's note: This is my first try at Wicked Wednesday. I thought I'd try something a little different. I hope it made you smile. If it did, then maybe I'll write some more.

Twitter: @Beardeddeviant