Excerpt: Taking The Toll by Kiki DeLovely

 

My eyes flutter open immediately. No time for this gently waking up business— conscious thought pouring like honey into my leftover dreams, slowly mixing together until cognizance fully takes hold and I contemplate getting up. No, there’ll be none of that. Today’s Sunday 10:37 a.m. Good. I have just enough time to get this started.

We may have been out late last night but now is no time to worry whether she’ll be sleepy, cranky, too tired… No matter what, I will make this happen. Usually I insist on being dropped off on Saturday nights or at least fucking at her house and then going home to mine. Sleepovers can happen on Friday, Thursday; shit, even Monday, for all I care. Sunday mornings are mine— ever since I was a little girl. But we had reached that point—the three-­‐month mark—and she requested a Saturday night stay.

Normally this would be met with an immediate and firm, “No,” but this one might be a keeper, so I figured I’d have to let her in eventually. And there’s something about her that has quickly gained my trust. Something about the way she holds me—my hand on the street, my body in bed—it’s charming and chivalrous. Something about the way she makes her way through the world, whether alone or with me by her side: exuding inward confidence, outward audacity. It’s all so comfortable and natural with her, even encouraging. She enjoys existing in a duality— challenging masculinity while continually tugging on the boundaries of the box labeled female— and I enjoy eroticizing everything that makes her genderqueer. I like this thing we have. I like her. And I want to see where we could be going, so I grant her this one wish, warning, “You know I’m a morning person…”

Slightly distracted by her raised eyebrow, I continue, “I don’t like to sleep my Sunday away…”

I’m even more distracted by how she’s checking off each of my points in the air. “None of this lazy Sunday morning, brunch at two, got it?” Her dark eyes shine. One last check mark. “Got it.” We’ll see.

She said she got it. So now I roll over, look into her sleeping face, her expression fetching and proud, her brow furrowing even in sleep, and consider my possibilities. She has this edge about her—not completely hard yet deeply masculine. This is the edge where my lust resides. She is not exactly my opposite but rather my complement: thuddy biker boots to my strappy Fluevog heels, bien morena to my slightly lighter hue, the curve of her biceps to that of my hips. Her masculinity takes my high femme to greater heights. Our complementary natures play into each other, coloring outside of the lines. We look real good together. More importantly, we feel exquisite.

I start to go in for a kiss but just before disturbing her sleeping lips, I decide on a different tactic and roll over once again. I slowly back up, deliberately pressing my ass up against her boxers; gently at first, then with just enough pressure so that she’ll start to get the idea. She grumbles a slight groan.

10:41. Shit, I’ve got to work faster. I take hold of her free hand, interlace my fingers with hers and draw her fingertips across my skin skirting the edge of my panties, gliding up my chest, grabbing one breast firmly, dragging her palm across my erect nipple and finally bringing her fingers up to my mouth. It’s just two fingertips; at first my tongue teases them—I can tell she’s definitely awake now but not quite yet there—then I lick down the crack between the two, tracing back up and sliding both into my mouth. I suck and work my tongue, all the while still pressing back into her, as she’s now beginning to press into me, moaning as though it were her cock instead of her fingers that I’ve wrapped my tongue around.

10:45. I’m a little later than I’d like to be…but this’ll work. I run her moistened fingers back down along my chest. Teasing time is over. I slip the thin strap of lace on my panties to the side and guide her fingers into my already wet cunt. As I inhale audibly, she positions herself to take control, her teeth digging into my shoulder and then growls, “Fuck, baby, what’s got you going this morning? Still reeling from last night?”

Perhaps, but that’s not what’s made me quite so wet this morning in particular, though I don’t dare tell her that. Instead of playing along with her game, I make it clear that I’m in no mood to talk, arch my hips and slam myself down on her fingers. She’s quickly forgotten she ever asked me a question in the first place, scooting down to get better leverage, fucking me harder, deeper.

10:55. Perfect.

She knows exactly how to work my pussy—how to get me going like no other and get me off such that my mind stops its obsessive running and I practically forget my name. I’m getting incredibly close now—the timing has seemed to work out to my advantage…until I hear her say, “Baby, I need to fuck you with my cock….”

10:58. Fuck. “N-­‐n-­‐n-­‐n-­‐n-­‐no…keep going… Please don’t stop please…” She looks down at me with that half-­‐cocked grin. “Darlin’, you know how I love it when you beg, but Papi knows best and, trust me, I definitely need to fuck you with my cock. My hard-­‐ on is raging.” She’s already flipped her legs over the side of the bed and is rummaging deep into the pant legs of her jeans to find last night’s discarded strap-­‐ on.

10:59. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I flicker my eyes closed and take a deep breath just as she steals a glance back at me—did she see my eyes start to roll back? It doesn’t matter now because the bells begin to toll and I try desperately to regain my composure.
Ding-­‐dong. I bite my lip. Ding-­‐dong. Squeeze my thighs together. Ding-­‐dong. Suck in more air. Ding-­‐dong. Bite down harder. Ding-­‐dong. My hips involuntarily raise…just…barely… But it’s too late—a slight whimper escapes my lips. Ding-­‐dong. I’m greeted by her eyes penetrating me. Ding-­‐dong. Shit, she’s been watching the entire time. Ding-­‐dong.

She cocks her head, taking in the sound in the distance; it’s finally striking her what’s going on. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

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