Puppet Master

I’m a morning person…

No, really. But not how you may have read that. As far as bouncing out of bed, up n’ at em’, carpe diem, go Go GO? No. Its more like cracking out of bed, up n’ time for a nap, carpe caffeine, oh No NO!

What I meant is that its one of my favorite times to play with Leigh.

First, lets get the obvious out of the way. Yes, I pitch enough morning wood to reach a par 5 in one. I’m rested, relaxed. From a purely biological view my testosterone is peaking. Not as much as it used to, and not as much as certain aspects of my anatomy reacting to my prostate being in the vicelike deathgrip of my full bladder for the past fortnight, but I’m hoping to smoke what I got.

The main reason is that Leigh, in the light of morning, is a vision. A Goddess. The low, pale blue light of early day is her friend. Her alabaster skin just radiates. Many times I catch myself silently *gasping* at how her complexion looks and feels before the sun is much more than a speck on the day’s horizon.

I have to touch. Have to.

One of life’s great untold pleasures are how wonderful groggy fumblings and touches feel. Its as if you are more in tune with yourself. Maybe its that the slate is clean. You haven’t fucked up anything yet, nor has anyone fucked up any aspect of your day. Its a clean sheet, if you will, and the cool spot on those crisp 800 count linens is another reminder that the world isn’t such a bad place after all. Especially when you open your eyes and see what I get to see.

For some unknown reason Leigh is usually facing away from me when my eyes open first. No idea why. All I do know is that her skin is a siren’s song to my touch. Many mornings, especially if I know she has been working hard or was overly tired the night prior, I will let her sleep in and resist Temptation.

This was not one of those mornings. Her nape and shoulder were teasing me. If they had lil’ tongues they would have been silently going “Nyeh hyeh hyeh” at me.

I spooned myself next to her satin warmth, my extremely obvious erection poking her in the backside. With a slight hesitation I reached out and, with just my fingertips, grazed the top of her right shoulder. It was if they could have sank right into her. So fucking soft. Spreading my fingers out I gently and delicately started to explore this velvet landscape once again. Its a journey I’ve traveled thousands of times and yet each time I find something new to wonder at.

Tracing the curves of her collarbone stirred her from the land of Nod. A playful, relaxed sigh is all I needed to hear to allow the sojourn to continue. Down across the delicious dip below that collarbone, then over her upper chest, my touch like the hairs of a sable brush. My left arm, snaked under her pillow and lying aside her left arm, commences an attack on her other flank with likewise touches on the upturned underside of her upper wrist. Her soothing coos and sighs are music to my ears.

Allowing the motion to bend my fingers backward, I change direction with my right hand and drag the tops of my nails up the sweep of her neck, then her chin, detouring her lips for now as I stroke her cheek. She knows what is coming next and purrs loudly as my fingers find her scalp. She loves to be touched around her temples, her head, the ears. I took my time and played her like a cello,  her vocal chords the strings I tuned and plucked with gentle massage.

With my other hand now seeking out more of the underside of her forearm I return my initial focus to the matters at hand…literally.  Tracing back down her neck I stroked and petted and caressed every inch of the skin the satin spaghetti strap baby doll top availed to me. Over and over I touched. I played. I cajoled. Her breathing deepening, she sighed longer, squirmed slower and more deliberately. She slowly started to wake up, and I don’t mean from sleep.

This went on for minutes on end. I ran fingertips, fingernails, pads of my hands all over what was showing. And then nibbled…

It started slowly at first, with dry teeth on that shoulder so soft. Then a quick bite of her nape. And another. All the while painting her arms and shoulders with coat after coat of attention. And on one stroke allowing my fingers to catch the strap of the baby doll top and gently move it an inch lower.

Its funny. She has and will let me do unspeakable things to her, with her, in her, on her, yet I always get a little pre-teen jittery when I start to peel that strap away. No idea why. In a way I like that I’m a tiny bit nervous, but the moment is as fleeting as the effort it takes to move a 1/4″ wide piece of satin string less than an inch.

Now the game is on…

I left it alone, going back to her face, her hair, all the old familiar places from the past ten minutes, then worked my way back down to her shoulder and nudged that strap a little further down. This dance continued until the top of her magnificent, full breast started to appear. I mentioned how exciting this reveal is to me in Away Games Act II, but from the underside. Topside is just as nice. Invariably the Point Of No Return is reached where I will need her assistance to get the strap past her elbow and off, thereby exposing her breasts to the morning and to me.

The sun, not the only one a little higher now, is bathing her with blue love. Fuck! does she look incredible laying there with her top gathered around her midsection, her eyes closed, her lips pursed, all in this wondrous light.

The same dance that started all of this continued, but now on and around her breasts rising slowly with each breath. I didn’t linger or focus. I never do. But their wrinkled aerola and pointed nipples told me all I needed to know. Snaking my hand down her arm, I reached her hand and intertwined her fingers in mine, squeezing softly.

Its then that our ten fingers, under my guidance and tutelage, worked their way back up her body. I gave her a guided tour of the same places my hand had been. She squirmed a little when I dragged her fingertip across her sensitive lips. She made a crinkle face and we both smiled and laughed as I jokingly snuck her finger in her nose.

Its when we moved to her breast and begin to play that she really got silent. She was now my puppet.

We explored the soft flesh of the mound, traced paths around and over the aerola, and of course teased and touched the nipple. My fingers. Her fingers. Our fingers. All dancing together, her arm on a string for all that it mattered. Directing her thumb to one side of her hardened nipple I placed my pointer finger on the opposite side. Then, by squeezing my hand we pinched her nipple. Hard. Two sets of hands, only two fingers, only one of them hers. It was exquisite.

Her sighs grew into soft murmurs and moans, my breathing got shallower through each increasingly wet bite of her neck. Together we abused that poor, innocent nipple. Pulling on it, rolling it around, flicking it back and forth.

I leaned up to her ear as I removed my hand and whispered “You do it now. Play with your nipples so hard you make yourself wince and groan”. She hesitated for a second, and I thought my puppet’s broke. But then she started to play….and hard.

She was mimicking the same way I roughly play with her nipples. Apparently I’m a good teacher in that she was soon making wincing faces and  feeble little girl protests. Pulling on them roughly, rolling them hard, pinching them, even flogging it with a finger. Apparently I’m a good puppet master as well in that she was doing all of this to herself at my command.

My cock was thick with arousal at the sight and sounds, especially the sounds, of my naughty little puppet show. So when, after a series of especially painful twisted pulls, I saw her lips start to purse I knew….

I leaned in and asked “Oh, are you hungry yet?”…

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6 responses to “Puppet Master

  1. Pingback: That’s What They Said | PostGlow

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