Delia O'Dell Profile

Chapter One

okay …  hmmm….  is it early or late …  I think night time.  You’ve been off doing some boy-man thing (golfing?  Field Hockey?  Softball?  Horse racing?) You get home and find I have left you a voice message to meet me at the bar of a very nice hotel, the kind of bar that has plush sofas cleverly arranged for privacy.  It doesn’t even matter which city we are in.  But it’s a city, with lights and cars and action happening, with people on the streets no matter how late it is so there’s a buzz in the air, and you know life is out there even if you’re inside and this somehow makes even solitude more exciting.  But solitude is another story for another night.  You smile when you hear my message.  In my fantasy, you have to press the play button on an answering machine to hear my voice tell you where to meet me.  I tell you you don’t have to hurry, I’m not in a rush.  So you take exactly as long a shower as you want, hot water, steamy air, anticipation building.  Although, as far as you know, we are just meeting for a drink. 

I’m staying at the hotel, maybe I am there for a conference, or maybe I flew in just so I could call you and tell you to meet me at a beautiful hotel. 

I figure I have a little time before you get here, so I take a shower too.  No – a bath.  I pin my hair up, it’s a very deep bath tub, a “soaking tub” – I add one of those fizzing bath bombs and it turns the water deep aqua and the room starts to smell like fresh rainfall and tropical flowers and something lemony. 

I love hotels.

I won’t tell you what I do in the bath, in the aqua water that smells like fresh rain. 

The point is that now I smell like fresh rain and lemons.

I imagine you’ll call up soon and tell me you are downstairs.  So I get dressed. 

Of course there are sexy under things.  Not even sure what you like…  I like black lace, classy though…maybe a little push up action …  panties just a wispy little afterthought.  Maybe one of those dresses that wraps around my body, silky feel to it …  just one tie around the waist keeps it in place. 

I wonder for an instant what you might be wearing and then I realize I don’t really care because you are beautiful and hard and soft and smell amazing.  And of course there will be black boxer briefs because you know I like them.  And probably a soft shirt, 2 buttons unbuttoned, maybe jeans.  Maybe not because it’s a nice hotel, but jeans would be fine, especially because of the way they look on you.

So now we are sitting on the cleverly arranged couches, very close together, drinking bourbon.  Our backs are to the room, our fronts are towards each other.  You lean in, your face is against my neck and your hand touches my waist and slides down to my hips, the silky fabric of my dress makes this easy and natural.  I make a soft sound from my throat where your lips are, I can’t help it.  Your other hand touches my collarbone and your lips move to my lips, your lips are so soft.  They are gentle, but they know what they want and they are in no rush.  Just the touch of your lips on mine makes my mouth soften and open for you, first just lips, both of us, then tongues – when your tongue is my mouth I can feel my whole body respond and the hand that has been on my hip moves to my belly, down for just a moment, then moves up (silky fabric of my dress helping it glide) to my breast…

You hear how my breath changes.  You feel the way my hand moves to your inner thigh and squeezes …  you slip your hand under the top of my dress and feel the lace of my bra, you cup my breast through the lace, then pull the lace away and find my breast, and my nipple is hard and your other arm pulls me closer to you and your lips meet mine harder, and your tongue is firm and my legs open a little and you move your hand from my breast to my thigh, and your lips from my mouth to my breast … my hand moves from your thigh to your cock, I can feel it harden through your jeans, we already have a rhythm …

Then we remember where we are, and we pull apart and it is funny and sweet (while still hot) and we see that our drinks are still almost full and we are grateful that the waiter has stayed away.  We both know that we will slowly finish our drinks, touch each other lightly through clothes, enjoy knowing that a whole world is behind us and outside the doors of the hotel…  and for now it is so good to be sitting in the bar of a beautiful hotel, so good to be dressed, so good to be touching, so good to already be hard and wet and know it is still all ahead of us. 

Chapter 2

If you were to guess that I hate strip clubs, you’d probably be right.  But you’d also be right if you guessed that I’d have no problem choreographing a private strip show for you alone.  But not on stage, and not with a pole (well, unless I learned how to work it) and not with drunk, leering men staring at untouchable flesh with that weird serial killer look in their eyes.  (I do think it would fun to dance in a cage in a club, just for fun you understand, but not naked, wearing something sexy.  Like a fancy birdcage, not a jail cell, suspended above the dance floor.  I have heard of such things.  If I asked the right people I could find what I’m looking for. But, that is a story for another night.)

Tonight:  we are in the elevator now.  It’s a fantasy so we don’t have to know how we got from the soft couches in the bar lounge to the elevator.  But let’s assume we have finished our drinks, left a big tip, moved on from the bar.  We are standing side by side, innocently facing front like people do in elevators, as it glides upwards.  The only parts of us that are touching are our arms; we’re standing just close enough to feel body heat.  I am sure that even if we weren’t actually touching we’d feel heat.   

Then we are in my room.  What’s your favorite number?  Because that’s the room number.  When I turn on the light it’s low and warm.  The whole room is warm, the air, the colors, the music.  (Yes, there is music, like in a movie.  You don’t really listen to it, but you know it’s there, and it is somehow perfect for whatever happens.)  The room still smells like fresh rain and lemons from my bath.  A little bit like tropical flowers, too.  Look at that – there’s a bottle of champagne in one of those tall ice buckets.  Two flutes.  (Technically, it is a bottle of domestic sparkling wine, but quite a nice bottle.)  You open it.  You know how to twist the bottle and not the cork.  I learned that once.  I must remember to ask you how you knew about that.  When the cork comes out it makes a loud noise and the wine bubbles over your hand.  We both smile, no reason really.  You sit on the bed to pour. 

It’s a king bed, with soft coverings and pillows.  Very, very soft, many, many pillows. 

You hand me a glass of champagne, you take the other.  A toast is unnecessary because the whole dance of it all is a toast.  You are sitting, I am standing, but we are close together of course.  You put down your glass, put your hands on my waist, and with a small movement draw down on the one tie that holds my dress together.  The dress falls open, when I inhale deeply my breasts move, half out of the bra already, nipples still covered – but it is lace.  It is meant to be see-through, designed to arouse.  I just stand there, sipping, while you touch my body, the sides of my waist, the back of my ribs, the curve of my stomach.  Your eyes follow your hands.  You trace around the wisp of black lace panties.  I close my eyes.  You bring your lips to my belly, you use your nose to explore the soft expanse from low ribs, to navel, to the very edge of lace that covers me.  You are inhaling softly, you smell fresh rain and lemons and tropical flowers, but the closer to the wisp of lace, the more it is just me that you breathe in.  You push my legs apart as I am standing.  You are still dressed, but you know you could fuck me right then if you wanted and it would be crude and exciting.  But you know that would make it all happen too fast and it doesn’t need to.  Not tonight.  I do like that about you.  You know when to be soft and when to be rough, when to allow and when to demand.  I put down my champagne and you let me playfully push you back on the bed, let me pretend I could actually muscle you onto your back, let me pretend I don’t know you could pick me up like a tiny hedgehog at any time.  It’s funny-sexy and you let me enjoy it. 

We are feeling the bourbon, and tickled by the champagne, but not drunk.  This is important.

I straddle your thighs, unbutton your shirt, unbutton your jeans, unzip your zipper.  I rub my palms together until they are very hot and then place them on your chest, one hot palm over each nipple.  Even though it is curious that men even have nipples, what with evolution and all.

There’s another time jump.  “Time to demand,” you must be thinking.  You grab my small arms that are (pretending) to pin you back against the bed and move them to my sides.  You put your hand at the back of my neck, pull me close to you, kiss me hard with an open mouth and firm tongue and bite my lips without hurting them and you flip me over like I weigh nothing.  Once I am on my back you grind against me wearing just those boxer briefs, you are still kissing me hard, your tongue firm and demanding and very, very clever… your hand is still holding the back of my neck.  I can only breathe if I inhale through you.  I love how hard you are.

You straddle me, take my both my wrists in one hand and look at me as I lie there.  We lock eyes.  We are in the same moment, not floating off into thoughts that are not here and now.  You slowly draw my arms over my head, slide your hands to my forearms, and pin my arms to the bed.  I trust you.  I close my eyes.  For a moment you release my arms, lift your hips, I know you are sliding your briefs down, freeing your cock, getting rid of anything that doesn’t feel real.  For that moment when I don’t feel you on me it feels like something is missing.  Then you are back, the heat of your thighs as you straddle me, the lightest touch of your cock on black lace, the heat of your hands as you slide them back up my arms, with one hand you hold both of forearms over my head.  Your other hand moves to my breast, you touch me so lightly at first I shiver as your finger tips touch the softness above the lace of my bra, I open my eyes because it is so gentle, even though my arms are pinned above my head, even though you are straddling me and I couldn’t get away if I tried, it is so gentle… you know I trust this, and then you squeeze my breast hard, your hand moves to my back and unhooks the black lace – (one hand!  so talented!) - it pops open (was working harder than it wanted to I guess) and you roughly push the lace aside and find my nipples, one at a time because your other hand is still holding my arms above my head.  With one knee you roughly push my legs open.  It doesn’t matter that my panties are still on, they’re so insignificant.  My pussy is right there, soft and open … you know that there is a small bottle of the lube I like (no taste, no smell, just glide…) on the bed table… a little bit on your fingers, a little bit on my pussy lips, on my clit (gentle, so sensitive), a little on your cock ... I watch your hand as you grasp your cock and move the lube up the shaft and over the head … up and down until we lock eyes again.  I don’t know what you are going to do next. 

Chapter Three

I think this chapter-book thing that’s happening here might get predictable and ho-hum without some kind of plot.  I have to think about this. 

Chapter 4

What is it like to read this sexy stuff (at least I hope you find it sexy) and know that it is you I am thinking about as I write it? 

Chapter 5

Back in the hotel room, if you recall, you are on top of me, holding your cock with one hand and my arms over my head with the other.  I do not know where you have tossed my bra, but it seems you think the panties have to follow.  You tell me not to move my arms when you let go of them so you can use both hands to (roughly) draw the panties off my body, it’s possible they rip a little bit but that’s more than okay.  I keep my arms above my head and grab at the tightly tucked sheets to help me keep still.  I am thinking I wish you had worn a tie (2 ties) so I wouldn’t have to work so hard to keep still.  Though there are no bedposts. 

Wait – this is a fantasy!  Rewind – even though you were wearing jeans when you arrived at the hotel, you were also wearing a tie (loosely knotted) and … oh, okay, you had another one in your jacket pocket just in case, an emergency tie…  And in the hotel room, the bed has a beautiful wood frame, pure art with a curved yet geometric head board, and look at that – right in the middle a sculptural design in the wood that happens to provide a perfect place to tie a small woman’s hands over her head!  (Probably a medium woman also, and maybe even a large woman.  But definitely a small woman.)

So it turns out I don’t have to work hard at all to keep still.  I am glad you didn’t arrive at the hotel with four ties, though, because I want my legs to be free.

Chapter 6

I am wondering if funny erotica would still be sexy.

Chapter 7

You tie my hands, one at a time, above my head, a little more than shoulder width apart. We are both naked, both of your knees are between my legs, you use your knees to roughly spread my legs farther apart and tell me to keep them spread.  I do.  You look at me, from where you are kneeling between my legs, first my face, then my breasts, then my pussy.  You put your hands over my breasts, not gently, and around my ribcage, not gently, and move your hands over my navel and belly (gently).  You lean over my pussy, which is wet with desire and slippery with lube, and push the lips open with your tongue, alternately softly and roughly.  You know my clit is super-sensitive so even in your roughness it is about pleasure - you know how to circle around it and touch it so lightly … – you use your tongue and fingers, outside and inside, I like this rougher than you’d think.  You can taste me, I can smell me/us, you move up my body and hold your cock at my mouth and I lick the tip and you push yourself into my mouth and I take as much of you as I can, but not past the point of pleasure.  My hands are tied, yes, but willingly and you know my limits. 

This is not a play of dominance and subordination, but of surrender and trust.  I think (or is it that I hope) that neither of us take pleasure in the dominance of bondage, but rather in the sweet release of need to control, or fulfill expectation of response.  That is why restriction of movement so intrigues me, as a way to enter more deeply, not a way to be removed.  Does that make sense, I wonder?  Then all thought leaves my head as you move down my body, open me with your fingers and then I feel only you inside me, then pulling out, in and out --then fingers, firmly, roughly, fast, rhythmically thrusting one finger, then two into my pussy, maybe three?  not sure … your mouth is over my clit…  You are patient, and I imagine it takes stamina to keep your hand moving so fast, as long as I need it and want it, and patience to let me tell you how I like it …  I come hard, and you watch my face, then close your eyes to feel the way I move …  you touch yourself, and it is your turn to (roughly, if that is what you want) thrust yourself inside me, and move exactly the way you want to, and all you have to feel is your breath, your desire, the heat of your blood until your body explodes in light (or darkness, or surf, or some landscape I cannot begin to imagine let alone name). 

Then a moment that lasts who knows how long (an hour? a minute?  a second?) when it feels like we are alone on some planet that, like Pluto, might not even be a planet until we decide it is.