This is a work of fiction containing erotic and/or explicitly sexual
scenes. If you are under the age of 18 or it is illegal to read this type
of fiction where you live, then please do not do so. This work is
copyrighted. If you would like permission to repost it or archive it, you
must get the author's permission before doing so. I am a firm believer in
the Blow Job Principle, in that I welcome any and all comments. Email:
souvien22@yahoo.com
Special thanks go to a special friend of mine who wielded his special
talents and "tickled" the for me. He knows who he is.
***
Only A Whisper By Souvie
It's always the voice that does me in. I'm a sucker for a deep,
come-hither voice. The kind that worms its way into your consciousness and
then slowly spreads out like wildfire. For some women, it's bedroom eyes,
or a sexy smile, or the shape of the ass. For me, it's the voice.
I was walking to my car after late night classes. It was a fairly long
walk, and I usually passed the time with going over the next day's lessons
in my head.
I must have been walking for about three minutes when I heard his voice.
It was low and sonorous and was coming from right behind me. I heard a
girl's voice answer him, and I started to concentrate on their
conversation, hoping to hear him talk some more.
He answered whatever question she asked, and the conversation continued.
What it was about wasn't important to me. The sound of his voice and what
it was doing to me was all that mattered.
My world narrowed until it was just the rainswept sidewalk and the sound
of his voice. He would be tall. Tall and dark. And have a dimple in his
chin when he smiled. He would smile often, too, the light sparkling in his
eyes.
His total attention would be on me. Occasional touches on my arm would
let me know he was interested. Or maybe he'd brush back my hair from my
cheek, tuck it behind my ear.
He'd use that voice to hypnotize and mesmerize me until I would follow
him anywhere. He'd take me home, invite himself in for coffee. I could
deny him nothing. Not with that voice.
My jeans were damp now and not just from the earlier rain. I longed for
the relative privacy of my car, so I could give in to the impulse to fondle
myself, but I kept my pace even and steady. To reach my car was to give up
the caress of his voice, and that was something I was not ready to do.
Once inside my apartment, I'd go into the kitchen to make coffee. He'd
follow, filling my small kitchen with his larger-than-life presence. His
hand would cover mine, letting me know the coffee was only an excuse.
His hands would be firm but gentle as they undressed me. Right there in
the kitchen. He wouldn't want to wait, walk to the bedroom, and do it
sensibly. He'd lift me up onto the kitchen counter, his hips snuggled
between my thighs.
My breath was coming in short gasps now. Through the weak glow of the
streetlights, I could make out the corner where I'd have to turn. I
tightened my grip on my backpack and almost moaned aloud when he laughed at
something his companion said. His laugh was just as I'd imagined -- deep,
full of life, and heartfelt.
He'd nibble at my lips then trail down to my neck, whispering
nonsensical words. That voice. That voice that held the promise of
delights unimaginable.
He'd whisper in my ear as he slides into me. Nothing would exist but
the sound of his voice and the heavy weight of him sliding in and out.
Gone is the dingy kitchen with its green refrigerator and chipped formica.
Gone is the drip drip drip of the sink that I can never seem to get fixed.
My jeans were tight and confining now; whereas, earlier I'd complained
to my friend, Beth, that they were too loose. I could feel the tiny shocks
from the rough cotton of my rubbing against my sensitized crotch. I
squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them. Almost to the corner. Damn!
The room would be getting hotter. I would tilt my head back and close
my eyes to keep the sweat out. In and out, in and out. Slow and steady,
the crisp, curly hair on his thighs tickling mine. And the voice. He is a
talker. God how I love that!
It would be his voice that sends me over the edge more than any amount
of foreplay could ever do. I would bite my lip as I came, not wanting to
drown out his husky words and moans of excitement. He would moan loud
enough for the both of us as he comes right after me, his voice and semen
washing over and in me and coating me in a blanket of unadulterated
delectation.
I could see the turn up ahead. My fantasies about the sensuous voiced
man behind me had got me so turned on, I was on the verge of having an
orgasm before I even lay a hand on myself. I couldn't get to the car fast
enough, but my feet seemed to drag along.
He would lean his forehead against mine and run his hands up and down my
arms. Only then would I realize I have goosebumps. Not from the chill in
the room, but from the warmth of his voice.
I turned the corner, half hoping that they would turn also. I paused as
I heard their footsteps continue, past my corner. I was tempted to turn
around. For just a moment I was tempted to see if the image in my head
matched the reality. I took a deep breath and chided myself, continuing on
to the haven of my waiting car.
Behind me, the howling wind drowned out the last trace of his voice as
they continued on.
*** Copyright 2000 by Souvie
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