Annabelle Blishwick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forkedroad) wrote2017-02-10 05:08 pm
forkedroad) wrote2017-02-10 05:08 pm
(no subject)
As Annabelle walks on the hard wood floor, it's wet. Wet with black, cold ink, lapping around her feet—despite its darkness, it only leaves a faint gray trace of water on her feet as she slowly steps forward. Her skirt drifts side to side as she walks, gently, just at her ankles, and she's careful not to make a sound.
The room is cold, such that it stings her skin, burning the edges of her ears and knuckles bright pink. The hardwood floor, as far as she can manage to see, which isn't very far, is all there is of any discernible structure. But even the panels of the floor are eaten up by black, and she can't feel any impression of the walls around her.
She can see a bed, though—and someone in it. There's been so many times she's been the last one to bed, even if it wasn't exactly regular enough to be the known norm and routine, and she's seen the Tanner brothers comfortably tossed about the bed, sometimes entangled. But this time, there's only one of them. She can see the outline of him in the moonlight, though there are no windows. He's in his bed clothes, and is asleep.
As she gets closer to the bed, her skin breaks out in goosebumps, her pupils dilating as her focus is drawn in unwittingly by him. The closer she gets, the warmer the air becomes, pulling her nearer as a source of comfort. She kneels against the bed, right at the end of it. Lauren is curled on his side, a little, and seems roused by the shifting of the weight on the bed. He shifts, slightly, noticing Annabelle coming in at the foot of the bed, rather than the side of it, pushing himself up a little bit, his hair a sleepy mess. He looks tired, but not confused.
She comes forward across him, and Lauren anxiously wets the crease of his lips with his tongue as he watches her, anticipating. Her hand slides up the side of his thigh, and he shifts so that his back is against the bed. She can see his cock shift in his sleeping pants, and she continues moving up. Her hand brushes his crotch, and his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering from the passing contact. She doesn't give him any more than that, and she moves further up. Lauren takes hungry handfuls of her skirt at its sides, his body tense once he feels her skirt brush his collarbones.
Annabelle watches him, and she feels as if she's burning. He licks his lips, not even looking at her, one of his hands coming forward to eagerly push her skirt up. It's a lot of fabric, so she assists him, lifting it. His palm smooths over her belly, then around to hold the small swell of her ass, guiding her down. She relaxes, following his gesture, and she feels his breath against her bare skin and shudders.
There's the familiar, velvety texture of his lips, horizontal against the vertical split of her cunt. It's a full, plush and affectionate kiss, bumping the soft nib of her clitoris, and her eyes roll closed as she takes a deep breath, body stiffening. She feels his tongue part her, and softly bat her clitoris side to side. She sucks in her lower lip, holding it with her teeth, eyes closed as she knits her eyebrows. Her head hangs, and she smooths her fingers through his hair. She takes a commanding handful of his hair, giving an immediate, but gentle yank, and it earns her a pleasurable moan against her sex. She breathes out heavily as Lauren both depletes and encourages her lubrication with hungry, instinctive ease, finding his tongue the most clever when its between her legs this way.
He sucks on her clit and labia, and she can feel his hands come around the backs of her thighs near her ass, pulling her closer. Her mouth hangs open in a quiet gasp, the contact becoming fuller as he deepens every lewd ministration on her cunt. She clutches his head, feeling sweat beginning to break out on her fevered flesh. It's overwhelming, and warm, each wave mounting more and more intensely. More than usual, she thinks. He licks her from the bottom of her open, eager split to the base of her clit in broad, slow, and confident strokes. She shudders, rolling on him slowly and carefully, and feels another groan from him.
His focus lingers on her clit, predominantly, though he occasionally redistributes the waking of her nerves with playful licks to her outter lips and the wettest part of her. It's not long before the articulations and distinct movements of his work on her becomes indiscernible to her. The ink is lapping around the bed, much higher than it was before, staining the sheets. Her body does a series of small jolts, which involuntarily arranges her head tilted far back, some of her curly dark hair stuck around her sweated brow, eyebrows slanted backwards with desperation as she cries out loudly. He doesn't relent, and she grips his hair urgently as she cums in his mouth. She cries his name, then does it again, and—
Her eyes open with a gasp, and it's over. She's staring at the ceiling, the room alight with the morning sun. Her breathing is quick, and her skin and hair are both damp. She sits up, and sees Susan and Lauren. Susan is asleep with the back of his hand on Lauren's face, and Lauren is sleeping on his side, drooling a little on his pillow as his face is smooshed by his younger brother. Annabelle looks at him with wide eyes, a little jarred by the very different images painted between fantasy and reality.
She winces, and rubs the sleep out of her eyes with slow rubs of her knuckles against them. She pauses, holding her hands there, and bites her lip. Her clit and cunt both ache, especially on the inside. But she isn't like Lauren—she can't just go take care of it with great ease and convenience. She sighs irritably, dropping her hands, and glares at Lauren before she hops off the bed.
She goes to draw herself a cold bath. When it's finally full enough, she wakes both of the brothers with a start when she hollers in agony from plunging herself in it. When she eventually emerges, sopping wet in her towel, looking like a put out, drowned cat, she storms to her side of the bed to get some of her after bath care and explains nothing.
The room is cold, such that it stings her skin, burning the edges of her ears and knuckles bright pink. The hardwood floor, as far as she can manage to see, which isn't very far, is all there is of any discernible structure. But even the panels of the floor are eaten up by black, and she can't feel any impression of the walls around her.
She can see a bed, though—and someone in it. There's been so many times she's been the last one to bed, even if it wasn't exactly regular enough to be the known norm and routine, and she's seen the Tanner brothers comfortably tossed about the bed, sometimes entangled. But this time, there's only one of them. She can see the outline of him in the moonlight, though there are no windows. He's in his bed clothes, and is asleep.
As she gets closer to the bed, her skin breaks out in goosebumps, her pupils dilating as her focus is drawn in unwittingly by him. The closer she gets, the warmer the air becomes, pulling her nearer as a source of comfort. She kneels against the bed, right at the end of it. Lauren is curled on his side, a little, and seems roused by the shifting of the weight on the bed. He shifts, slightly, noticing Annabelle coming in at the foot of the bed, rather than the side of it, pushing himself up a little bit, his hair a sleepy mess. He looks tired, but not confused.
She comes forward across him, and Lauren anxiously wets the crease of his lips with his tongue as he watches her, anticipating. Her hand slides up the side of his thigh, and he shifts so that his back is against the bed. She can see his cock shift in his sleeping pants, and she continues moving up. Her hand brushes his crotch, and his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering from the passing contact. She doesn't give him any more than that, and she moves further up. Lauren takes hungry handfuls of her skirt at its sides, his body tense once he feels her skirt brush his collarbones.
Annabelle watches him, and she feels as if she's burning. He licks his lips, not even looking at her, one of his hands coming forward to eagerly push her skirt up. It's a lot of fabric, so she assists him, lifting it. His palm smooths over her belly, then around to hold the small swell of her ass, guiding her down. She relaxes, following his gesture, and she feels his breath against her bare skin and shudders.
There's the familiar, velvety texture of his lips, horizontal against the vertical split of her cunt. It's a full, plush and affectionate kiss, bumping the soft nib of her clitoris, and her eyes roll closed as she takes a deep breath, body stiffening. She feels his tongue part her, and softly bat her clitoris side to side. She sucks in her lower lip, holding it with her teeth, eyes closed as she knits her eyebrows. Her head hangs, and she smooths her fingers through his hair. She takes a commanding handful of his hair, giving an immediate, but gentle yank, and it earns her a pleasurable moan against her sex. She breathes out heavily as Lauren both depletes and encourages her lubrication with hungry, instinctive ease, finding his tongue the most clever when its between her legs this way.
He sucks on her clit and labia, and she can feel his hands come around the backs of her thighs near her ass, pulling her closer. Her mouth hangs open in a quiet gasp, the contact becoming fuller as he deepens every lewd ministration on her cunt. She clutches his head, feeling sweat beginning to break out on her fevered flesh. It's overwhelming, and warm, each wave mounting more and more intensely. More than usual, she thinks. He licks her from the bottom of her open, eager split to the base of her clit in broad, slow, and confident strokes. She shudders, rolling on him slowly and carefully, and feels another groan from him.
His focus lingers on her clit, predominantly, though he occasionally redistributes the waking of her nerves with playful licks to her outter lips and the wettest part of her. It's not long before the articulations and distinct movements of his work on her becomes indiscernible to her. The ink is lapping around the bed, much higher than it was before, staining the sheets. Her body does a series of small jolts, which involuntarily arranges her head tilted far back, some of her curly dark hair stuck around her sweated brow, eyebrows slanted backwards with desperation as she cries out loudly. He doesn't relent, and she grips his hair urgently as she cums in his mouth. She cries his name, then does it again, and—
Her eyes open with a gasp, and it's over. She's staring at the ceiling, the room alight with the morning sun. Her breathing is quick, and her skin and hair are both damp. She sits up, and sees Susan and Lauren. Susan is asleep with the back of his hand on Lauren's face, and Lauren is sleeping on his side, drooling a little on his pillow as his face is smooshed by his younger brother. Annabelle looks at him with wide eyes, a little jarred by the very different images painted between fantasy and reality.
She winces, and rubs the sleep out of her eyes with slow rubs of her knuckles against them. She pauses, holding her hands there, and bites her lip. Her clit and cunt both ache, especially on the inside. But she isn't like Lauren—she can't just go take care of it with great ease and convenience. She sighs irritably, dropping her hands, and glares at Lauren before she hops off the bed.
She goes to draw herself a cold bath. When it's finally full enough, she wakes both of the brothers with a start when she hollers in agony from plunging herself in it. When she eventually emerges, sopping wet in her towel, looking like a put out, drowned cat, she storms to her side of the bed to get some of her after bath care and explains nothing.
no subject
The kiss itself makes her remember the dream she had a week or two ago, how velvety his mouth felt against her cunt. Remembering this causes her to lift her arm, tangling her fingers softly in his hair as she tilts her head, pressing her body against his, speaking a language she didn't even know she knew.
no subject
"Anna..."
no subject
Her gaze dips down, then back up, looking a mix of coy and hungry.
"Lauren," she answers plainly, and leans forward again, giving him another kiss, warm and full.
She can feel it—she's so wet now, she wants to die. This is just making it worse, but somehow, it's also satiating her instinctive needs despite that.
no subject
no subject
When Lauren opens up their kiss and deepens it, Annabelle gasps a little bit, a hand that's been resting on his collarbone tightening its grip on him—specifically, the collar of his shirt. It pulses all through her, and she presses against the back of his head, hand moving up from his neck to sift through his hair as she tilts her head. Feeling him press her closer makes her cunt ache. All she can think about is his cock.
It's very weird.
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no subject