u/WistfulWandererr

The rain came down hard against the windows and every so often the sky cracked open with a low roll of thunder that seemed to settle in the walls. We were warm under the sheets, lit only by the faint glow from the hallway. She had fallen half-asleep against me, her back curved into my chest, one of my arms tucked under her pillow and the other resting across her waist.

She wore only a thin satin shift that had ridden up during the night. Nothing underneath. I could feel the soft heat of her skin wherever the fabric had shifted.

My body had already started reacting to hers. It always did when we lay like this, close and quiet. I kept my movements small. My hand drifted slowly over the curve of her hip, up the side of her ribs, then back down again. The satin was cool under my palm, skin warm. I pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder, then higher, to the side of her neck.

“Still awake?” I murmured.

She made a soft sound that might have been a yes. Her hand found mine and laced our fingers together for a moment before letting go.

I kept touching her. Light strokes along her stomach, the outside of her thigh, the place where the satin had bunched near her hip. Each time the thunder rolled she seemed to press back into me a little more. I kissed the soft skin just below her ear and felt her breathe out slowly.

Eventually my hand slipped lower. I rested it between her thighs first, just holding her, feeling the warmth of her through the thin barrier of fabric. When she didn’t stop me I eased it higher and let my fingers find bare skin. I moved slowly, learning her all over again the way I always seemed to need to.

“That’s nice,” she whispered, voice thick with sleep.

My fingers teased her, finding her slick with and needy. I rubbed gentle circles over her clit, keeping the pressure light. She shifted her hips in a small, restless way that made me, already hard, slide against the back of her thighs. I pressed closer, letting her feel me, and she answered by pushing back just enough.

We stayed like that for a long time. My fingers worked her in slow, steady circles while I kissed her neck and the edge of her jaw. Every so often I would stop and simply hold her, palm cupped over her, feeling the heat of her against my hand. She made quiet little sounds that stayed low in her throat, never quite becoming full moans.

When I finally guided myself between her thighs she was ready. I eased in slowly, one careful inch at a time, until I was fully inside her. She shuddered and turned her face into the pillow, a soft broken sound muffled by the fabric. I held still, buried deep, and stroked her hair away from her face.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “Just like this.”

I began to move. Slow rolls of my hips, never pulling out more than halfway before sliding back in. My hand stayed on her hip, steadying her, guiding the rhythm. Sometimes I would sink in as deep as I could go and simply stay there, kissing the side of her neck, murmuring nonsense against her skin. Sweet dreams. You’re so warm. Stay with me.

She reached down after a while and guided my hand back between her legs. I took over, rubbing her clit in time with the slow thrusts. Her breathing changed. The quiet sounds she made grew a little sharper. I kept everything unhurried, matching the heavy rain outside and the distant thunder.

When she came it was with a long, trembling sigh, her body tightening around me in soft waves. I followed soon after, like a roll of thunder, pressing deep and holding her tightly as I filled her. I stayed inside, still half-hard, arms wrapped around her, face buried in her hair.

The storm kept going. Neither of us moved to clean up or shift apart. I felt her breathing slow again, evening out against the pillow. My own eyes grew heavy. I kissed the back of her shoulder one last time and let myself drift, still joined with her under the warm sheets as the rain continued to fall.

She had chosen the outfit on purpose. The white top was tight, clinging to her full curves, the thin fabric leaving very little to the imagination, I could already see faint outlines when we left the car. The green skirt sat high on her hips and hugged her tightly, a long split running up one side that flashed the smooth, toned length of her thigh with every step.

Dinner was unhurried. We talked about nothing important, laughed at the absurdities of our friends' lives, drank two bottles of wine. Once, under the table, I pressed my knee against the bare skin revealed by the split in her skirt and left it there. She didn’t move away. I kept watching the way the white fabric shifted when she reached for her glass, the way her nipples began to tighten under my attention

By the time we walked out onto the boardwalk the air had cooled and the string lights were on. The ocean was a low, constant sound beyond the rail. She walked a little ahead of me at first, and I took the opportunity to take her in. She was incredible, this woman, her hips moving in a way that never failed to hypnotise me.

I rushed to catch up and we stopped at a low table overlooking the water and ordered drinks. She sat with her back slightly arched, elbows on the table. The tight white top pulled across her chest with the movement, and her nipples stood out clearly against the fabric in the cool evening breeze. My eyes dropped only briefly, and when they met hers again I didn’t bother hiding what I was thinking.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” I said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Showing off.”

She smiled and turned away, the wind catching and pulling loose some of her gorgeous hair which shone even in the moonlight.

I rested my hand on the back of her chair, then let it drop to the bare skin of her thigh where the split in the green skirt had fallen open. My thumb moved in a slow arc. I felt her shift under the touch.

We stayed longer than we needed to, at that table looking out over the water, another bottle gone. She kept finding reasons to lean closer, to let the split in her skirt open higher, our laughter becoming soft, intimate. Every small contact stoked the fire we had started building the moment we left the house. By the time we stood I could see the restlessness in the way she moved, the way her eyes lingered on mine, dragging me into their dark depths.

We walked past the last of the lights and down the wooden steps onto the sand. The beach was mostly empty. The water was dark and restless. She kicked her heels off and I did the same. For a while we just walked, shoulders brushing, a few steps into water. Then she turned, walking backward for a few steps so she could look at me, her hand trailing to my chest. I reached for her.

The first splash was hers, catching me completely off guard. She ran into the shallow water laughing, I followed, the cold sting of the water held at bay by the warmth from the wine and lust coursing through me. She turned and pushed another handful of water at my chest. I caught her wrist, pulled her in, and kissed her, she bit my lip and I growled into her. When we broke apart she was breathing faster. The white top clung to her now, almost transparent where the water had reached, her hard nipples clear beneath the wet fabric.

“You’re soaked,” I murmured.

“So are you.”

My hands slid down her back, over the wet top, and settled on her hips. I pulled her against me and her gasp told me she felt what I wanted. The playful edge was thinning. She rose onto her toes and kissed me again, slower this time, letting me feel the need underneath it, savouring each other.

I moved us higher up the sand, away from the waterline, until the lights of the boardwalk were only a distant glow. I laid her down carefully. The sand was cool and she gave a slight shudder. She reached for me immediately, pulling me over her, already trying to push the green skirt higher on her thighs.

There was nothing measured about it after that.

She was too far gone for teasing. When I pushed into her she made a broken sound against my neck and wrapped her legs around me, heels digging into the backs of my thighs. I fucked her in deep, steady strokes that turned sharper when she started moving with me, meeting every thrust. Her hands fisted in my shirt. Sand stuck to her damp skin. I could hear the ocean and her breathing and the low sounds she made every time I filled her.

“Please—” she managed, though I'm not sure even she knew what she was asking for.

I gave it to her anyway. All of me. Everything. Completely.

She came first, sudden and hard, thighs shaking, face turned into my shoulder to muffle the sound. I followed soon after, driving into her through it, holding her tightly while I finished. For a long moment afterward neither of us moved. Just, being. The night air cooled the sweat on our skin. Somewhere far away a group of people laughed on the boardwalk.

Eventually I eased out of her and helped her sit up. The white top was a lost cause, wrinkled and damp and translucent. The green skirt was pushed high on her hips and full of sand. She didn’t care. She leaned against me while her breathing slowed, my arm solid around her shoulders, the ocean still moving in the dark.

She sat across from him in the quiet library and loosened her gown, certain she could break his focus. She frowned at the soft violet light that bloomed across the open pages in his lap. By the time the first unexpected touch reached her, it was already too late to do anything but sit still and endure it.

-----

I had been alone in the library for nearly an hour, the heavy tome open in front of me, when she found me. She did not announce herself. She simply chose the chair directly across the long oak table, settled in with a soft rustle of fabric, and began arranging her own books with deliberate care. Only when she was certain I was watching did she reach up and loosen the ties at the front of her dark gown, letting the neckline slip lower until the deep curve of her cleavage was impossible to ignore. She leaned forward over her open ledger, the soft weight of her breasts pressing together, and glanced up at me through her lashes with a small, knowing smile. Every small movement after that was intentional: the way she tucked a strand of hair behind one pointed ear, the slow crossing of her legs beneath the table, the way she let her quill rest against her lower lip as if deep in thought.

She was teasing me. Testing how long I could keep my focus.

I rested the heavy tome on my lap beneath the table’s edge and whispered the final word of the working. A soft violet light bloomed across the open pages. She noticed the brief flash and frowned slightly, still leaning forward, still offering me that generous view of her chest as if nothing had changed.

I made a small show of it. I picked up my quill, twirled it once between my fingers in plain sight, then lowered the feathered end toward the glowing pages as though I meant only to write. The soft tip passed through the portal and brushed along the outer lips of her bare cunt.

She jolted. Just a small, sharp movement of her hips against the chair, eyes widening for half a second before she forced her expression smooth again. The feather had been the lightest possible touch, yet the unexpected contact against her smooth, exposed folds was enough to make her breath catch. I watched the surprise flicker across her face, then the realisation, and I kept the feather where it was, letting the downy tip rest against her for a moment longer before I began to move it.

I drew the feather in slow, deliberate strokes along the outer lips, tracing the soft seam from front to back. A second pass parted her just enough for the tip to glide along the slick inner edges. She inhaled carefully through her nose. I circled the swollen pearl of her clit without quite touching it, then dragged the feather lower again, teasing until a thin sheen of wetness began to gather and the soft folds grew fuller under the attention. The flush on her chest rose higher. A fine sheen of sweat appeared at her collarbone.

Footsteps approached. I calmly turned a page, folding the portal out of sight beneath the next sheet of parchment just as a senior archivist walked past our table. The man nodded absently. I waited until his steps faded, then opened the tome again. The violet light returned.

This time I set the quill aside. I brought my fingertips to her instead, first stroking the slick outer lips with slow, deliberate pressure, then parting them gently so I could find her clit. I circled it with the pad of one finger, light at first, then firmer, watching the way her thighs tensed and the flush deepened across her chest. I kept the motion steady and unhurried, teasing her higher without ever giving her enough to tip over, feeling the wetness increase until my fingertips glided easily over her.

I kept her like that for a long time, never giving her more than the softest contact, watching the subtle tremor that eventually started in her thighs and the way her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. Only when a colleague stopped at her shoulder and leaned in to murmur something about the evening’s lecture schedule did I decide she had earned a little punishment for that earlier lean.

While the woman spoke softly beside her, I pressed one finger lower and slid it between her folds and into her in a single, unhurried push. Her breath caught. She answered the colleague in a steady voice, but I felt the sharp, involuntary clench around my finger. A tiny sound tried to escape her; she turned it into a quiet cough and covered her mouth. I stayed still inside her, only curling slightly, letting her feel the intrusion while she continued the quiet conversation. A second finger joined the first. Her nails dug hard into the leather binding of the book she was meant to be reading, the tips pressing white against the dark material. She nodded at something the other woman said, her knuckles pale, a fine tremor running through her arm.

When the colleague finally moved on, she leaned heavily against the table, drawing slow, concentrated breaths through her nose as she fought to stay quiet. I withdrew my fingers slowly, coated and glistening.

She looked up at me then. Behind my shoulder a pair of scholars walked past. This time I did not turn the page. The portal remained open, the soft violet light visible if anyone had glanced down. Her eyes widened in sudden shock, outrage and panic flickering across her face, but the pair continued without so much as a pause. I let a small grin settle on my mouth as I watched the flush climb fully into her cheeks. A few strands of dark hair had slipped free from behind her ears and fallen forward against her face.

I shifted the tome beneath my robes, freed myself, and guided the head of my cock to the glowing circle. The first slow, deep thrust sank me into her completely. She came at once. A sharp, broken sound tried to rise in her throat; she bit down hard on the end of her quill to kill it, eyes rolling back as her body seized. Her free hand jerked and knocked the inkwell sideways, dark ink spilling across the edge of the page she had been pretending to read. Her cunt locked around me in tight, rhythmic pulses as a sudden rush of wetness flooded over my cock and spilled through the portal, soaking the base of me and the edges of the page. I held myself buried to the hilt, barely moving, forcing my expression to remain neutral while her body clenched and released in helpless waves. The wet sounds were soft but unmistakable beneath the table. Sweat shone at her temples now. She kept the quill clenched between her teeth until the strongest of the contractions finally eased.

Only then did I begin to move again, slow and measured. After a moment she answered me. Her hips started a gentle, careful rocking against the chair, fucking herself back onto me in small, controlled motions that kept everything hidden beneath the table. At the same time she brought both arms inward, pressing them against the sides of her chest so that the heavy curves of her breasts pushed together and up, the deep neckline of her dress straining even further. The generous view she offered me was deliberate, a quiet, defiant return of the teasing even as she worked herself on my cock with quiet, deliberate need.

I eventually pulled back, withdrawing from her heat. Before I could close the portal she reached down between her own thighs, found the head of my cock still pressed against the glowing circle, and guided it back through. She closed her smooth thighs tightly around the length of me, trapping me there. Then she began to move again—slow, deliberate rolls of her hips and a careful flexing of her thighs that stroked me from base to tip. The soft, warm pressure of her bare skin was relentless. I stayed still and let her work, watching the focused set of her mouth as she pleasured me with nothing but the press of her legs. When I came it was with a low, controlled breath, spilling across the smooth skin of her inner thighs in thick pulses until I had made a thorough mess of her.

She held me there a moment longer, thighs still closed around me, before she finally released me and straightened in her chair. Dark hair framed her flushed face. Her eyes, when they met mine, were dark and shining, equal parts warning and want.

A manual for either the occupant or a partner I guess?