#SSceneC2015 : Kelly Jamieson @Kellyjamieson vs Vanessa North @vanessanwrites

Posted August 18, 2015 by Nix in Sex Scene 2015 / 0 Comments

cooltext129748819578231Kelly Jamieson – Limited Time Offer 

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All she wore was a nearly invisible pair of beige thong panties and gold shoes. And that fucking sexy black tie around her wrists.

She sat on the edge of the bed.

Levi grabbed the bottle of champagne and carried it and the two glasses to the table beside the bed, along with the thoughtfully provided towel.

“How can I drink champagne with my hands tied behind my back?”

He smiled. “You’re not going to drink it. Not yet, anyway. Lie down.” He pulled the dripping bottle out and opened it with a soft pop of the cork, then carefully filled one flute.

She toed off her shoes and complied. He sat beside her on the bed and sipped the bubbly wine, watching her, taking in the excitement flaring in her eyes. Then he tipped the glass and poured champagne onto her chest, just a small trickle that ran down between her breasts to her stomach.

She gasped. “That’s cold!”

“Mmm. And your body is hot. This exquisite body deserves champagne.” He leaned down and gave her a long slow lick from her belly up over the groove of her abdomen to her breasts. He poured more right on her tits, some of it spilling down her sides to the bed. Again, he licked it off her, circling a tightly puckered nipple, the champagne fizzing on his tongue.

Her body quivered and a soft moan escaped her lips. “Your tongue is hot.”

“Want to lick you everywhere,” he murmured. He sucked her nipple, then moved to the other one. More champagne. More licking. He traced the contours of her breasts with his tongue, lapped wine from the small hollow at her throat where her pulse fluttered crazily.

“You’re getting the bed all wet.”

“Who cares? Roll over.”

She bent one leg and planted a foot into the mattress. “I can’t.”

He smiled. “Here.” He set the wineglass down, reached for her and flipped her over.

“I love how you can do that,” she gasped, now face down on the puffy white duvet.

He held the glass above her back and poured a thin stream of champagne. It landed between her shoulder blades and ran down to the base of her spine.

“That bow tie might be toast,” he mused as the champagne wet it. “Oh well.” He commenced more licking and tasting of her delectable soft skin, including the curves of her ass and the backs of her thighs.

Sighs and moans filled the air. Sloane’s body twitched and trembled.

“I might be getting drunk,” he said long moments later. “Need you on your back again, gorgeous. I want to taste that sweet pussy. You and champagne. There’s an intoxicating combination.”

He helped her return to her back, made sure her hands were okay beneath her, then poured champagne all over her panties, soaking them.

“Oh my God,” she cried.

“Yeah.” The wet fabric outlined pouty lips. He kissed her there on that triangle of wet silk, then pulled the panties lower with his teeth. She lifted her hips to help him, and when he got them down to her knees he lost patience and used his hand to tug them all the way off. “Spread your legs, beautiful girl,” he murmured. “So I can sip champagne from you here.”

She obeyed so sweetly and he drizzled wine onto her pussy. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Still cold?”


“Let’s see.” He lapped at her. Her flesh was so hot it was a wonder the wine didn’t sizzle when it landed there. He stroked her with his tongue and she gave a throaty purr.

He lifted one foot to his shoulder as he took his time tasting her, drizzling champagne and making her shiver. “You’re making me drunk.” He licked her again. “Champagne and your sweet pussy.” He rubbed his tongue over her clit and her hips lifted to his mouth. “There you go. Come for me, pretty girl.” He sucked her clit and felt her body convulse, her soft cries the sweetest music. “Yeah. Just like that. Beautiful.”

cooltext129750505189949 Rough Road- Vanessa North

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When we get into the cab, he pulls me practically into his lap. The welts on my ass burn in protest at being dragged across the seat, but I don’t care. Sometimes the souvenirs are even better than the beating itself. Squirming to chase that sensation a little more, I lean into him and kiss him, slow and deep, wrapping my arms around his neck and rubbing us together, chest to chest.

“God, I love this,” he whispers against my lips. “I could kiss you all night.”

Oh yeah, I could definitely be on board with that plan. I scoot even closer, throwing one leg across his lap so I can grind my hardening cock into his thigh. His hands sneak up under my shirt without any apparent destination, simply petting me, letting me feel the cool blast of air conditioning in contrast to the warmth of his palms.

I feel like a horny teenager, rutting in the backseat of the car, one hand on his chest, the other clutching the sizeable bulge in his pants. He slides a hand down the back of mine and squeezes, sending little starbursts of pain through me and making me squirm.

I lose myself in his kiss, let myself fly on the sensations of pain and arousal twining together. The gentleness of his hands on my ass sets a slow rhythm between us, as inevitable as waves lapping on the shore. By the time the cab pulls up in front of my house and I shove a handful of bills at the driver, I’m so turned on I can barely breathe—from kissing! We stumble from the cab to the house, still groping each other, and somehow I manage to get us inside without dropping my keys.

Wish shoves me up against the front door, wrapping his arms around my waist. I love that he’s the same height as me, that we can stare right into each other’s eyes while he tells me, “I want you, Eddie S-Class. You make me crazy with it. Can’t wait to get you naked, see every bit of your sexy skin. Want to leave marks on you you’ll feel for days. Want to make you cry. Want to make you come so hard you never forget me.”

I don’t tell him he’s already unforgettable. That ego of his doesn’t need any more stroking. I pull my clothes off and I’m reaching for his. He stops me, pushing my hand away.

“Shoes first,” he whispers.

Oh, hell.

I’m not a submissive. I don’t get turned on by following orders, and I sure-as-the-orgasm-he-promised-me don’t have a kink for being on my knees. But I want him naked, and the shoes do have to come off. I glare at him, and he stares back—how the fuck is he so calm?

“So take them off,” I growl.

“It doesn’t make you weak, taking care of another person.”

“I know that.”

“So why won’t you take off my shoes?”

“Why do you want me on my knees?” I counter. “I thought you weren’t into that Dom shit.”

“Why is your dick so fucking hard?” He slides his fingers down my shaft, cups my balls, and flicks behind them, hitting the ring back there with perfect accuracy.

I drop to my knees.

My face flushes with anger and resentment as I slip his feet from his shoes and roll his socks off. I thrust them aside and start to stand, but his hand, rough on my shoulder, holds me down. I scowl at his bare feet, seething with a frustration I can’t put into words. What gives this man the right to make me speechless?

He lets go of my shoulder, snatches my hair, and jerks my head up without warning.

“Fuck!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He throws me back against the door, his hand still in my hair the only thing keeping me from bouncing right off the hard wood surface. Ah, fuck yeah.

We struggle for a moment, pushing, wrestling, grappling for advantage. A thrill shoots through me like electricity as I get a good grip on him. I haul him around by his clothes, shove him backward, and slam him against the entryway wall with a loud thunk.

He tosses his head back and laughs, then lunges for me again. This time, he gets a hand around my wrist and twists my arm behind me. I swing with my other arm, which he plucks from the air like he’s catching a ball, and I’m well and truly caught.

Arousal makes my limbs heavy, a rich warmth spreading through me. My heart races with the rush of the tussle, and I squirm against him one last time, grateful to feel his hard cock through his pants. The best part of wrestling with a lover is the point of acquiescence, that moment of being overpowered and knowing I’m going to get fucked.


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