SMASH or PASS

The chant of ’Vesper’s ass’ had finally faded into a low, pleasant hum in my blood as I lay in the dark, the silk sheets cool against my skin. I’d made it. I’d been a perfect, invisible stud. The reward was a palpable, hungry anticipation.

The door to my bedroom opened without a knock. No creak. It just swung inward on well-oiled hinges.

She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the low light from the sconces in the hall.

My breath caught.

Vesper wasn’t wearing her usual severe trousers or elegant dress. She wore... underwear. Calling it that was a crime against language.

It was a single, intricate garment of some material so fine and sheer it was practically smoke. Black, laced with silver threads that caught the light. It clung to every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. The lines of the fabric traced the sharp cut of her hip bones, the swell of her breasts, the dark points of her nipples. And lower... the fabric was so thin over her mound that the shadow of her slit and the neat, dark triangle of her pubic hair were visible through the delicate weave.

She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her movements were slow, deliberate, a prowl. The sheer garment did nothing to hide the powerful, lean muscle of her thighs, the perfect shape of her ass I’d been fantasizing about all day.

My dick, which had no sense of occasion or timing, was instantly, painfully hard, tenting the sheets.

She crossed the room until she stood beside the bed, looking down at me. A slow, wicked smile played on her lips. She smelled of night-blooming flowers and clean, cold water.

"I heard," she whispered, her voice a low, husky purr in the dark, "that you behaved very well today."

She leaned down, one hand braced on the mattress beside my head, her face inches from mine. The scent of her intensified. Through the sheer fabric, I could see the faint pulse at the base of her throat. My eyes traced the line of her collarbone, down to the impossible swell of her breasts, the dark areolas visible beneath the silver-threaded web.

"Not a single misstep," she continued, her breath warm against my ear. "You didn’t even glance at the silver-haired bitch in the garden. My spies were very clear."

Her other hand came up, not to touch me, but to trail a single, sharp-nailed fingertip down the center of my chest, over the sheet, stopping just above my navel. The promise in that touch was electric.

"So," she breathed, her mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim light, "it’s time for your reward, stud." She straightened up, looking down at the obvious bulge in the sheets. Her smile widened. "Are you ready to worship what you’ve been so diligently earning?"

"YES! GOD’S YES!"

The words erupted from my throat, raw and desperate. All my practiced cool evaporated. I was just a bundle of need staring up at her sheer-clad divinity.

She laughed, the sound rich and dark with power. "Good."

She didn’t climb onto the bed. She positioned herself above me, one knee on either side of my head, and then slowly, torturously, lowered herself. Not to sit, but to hover. Her ass, that perfect, round prize, was a breath away from my face. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin through the thin sheet of the underwear. I could smell her... musky, clean, uniquely hers.

Her pussy, barely concealed by the sheer black fabric, was now directly in my line of sight, inches from my mouth. Through the wispy material, I could see the details. The swollen, glistening lips, slick with her arousal, the dark, inviting shadow of her entrance. The fabric was so thin it was almost irrelevant, just a tantalizing, frustrating veil over the feast.

She gave a slow, grinding rock of her hips. Not enough for contact. Just enough to make the sight swim, to let me see how wet she truly was... a dark, gleaming patch spreading against the sheer black.

"Is that what you wanted?" she purred, her voice dripping with a contradictory mix of haughty disdain and husky arousal. "Huh, you fucking pervert commoner? Is this the little reward your tiny, cock-focused brain craved all day? A sneak peek? A little preview of the meal you’ll never truly own?"

She shifted again, grinding down slightly, letting the heat of her mound warm the air just above my lips. The scent of her... sharp, sweet, tempting... was overwhelming. "You’re so desperate for it. Just a dumb, eager beast, panting after a piece of meat it can’t afford. A bitch in a jeweler’s window salivating over diamonds."

Her words were filthy, the insults of a trawler’s wench delivered with aristocratic precision. Each one was a slap, but each one made her pussy, hovering right there, grow wetter. I could see the sheen intensify, the fabric clinging tighter to her swollen flesh.

"Look at it," she commanded, her voice tightening. "Look at what belongs to Dorian. It’s never been touched. Not properly. But here I am, letting you get a whiff. Letting you see the glisten. Does it make your pathetic dick throb? Knowing you can smell it, but you can’t taste it? Not unless I decide?"

She was talking herself into a frenzy. A flush had risen on her chest, visible through the sheer top. Her breath was coming faster. The disdain in her voice was battling with the raw, needy ache her body was betraying. The more she insulted me, the more her wetness seeped through that flimsy fabric, a dark, damning stain that spoke louder than any cruel word.

Her verbal barrage continued, each filthy, disdainful word a brushstroke on the canvas of my own agonizing need.

"...just a lewd, panting animal with a single-minded fixation..." she hissed, grinding the air above my mouth. "...a walking erection I’m forced to employ..."

Then, the flood of words stopped. She took a sharp, shuddering breath.

"Here you go..."

Her hands, trembling slightly, went to the sides of the sheer, silken garment. In one fluid, decisive motion, she hooked her thumbs into the delicate waistband and slid it down her legs, kicking it off to the side.

Suddenly, there was no veil.

It was all there, inches from my face, in stark, 4K, dripping detail.

Her pussy. Bald, slick, swollen. The lips were full, a darker pink than the surrounding skin, glistening with her thick, transparent arousal. It looked desperate. The tight, clenching entrance peeked from between them. And above it, that perfect, rounded, pale ass I’d been dreaming of, the two cheeks like ripe moons, the tight, pink pucker nestled in their shadow.

I had a second... just one... to sear the image into my brain.

Then she descended.

Heaven.

Not pleasant. Not gentle. A suffocating heaven. Her full weight settled onto my face, her hips grinding down.

It was soft, the give of her flesh against my nose and mouth. Warm, a living, intimate heat that stole my breath. And wet. Soaking, honey-slick wetness that smeared across my lips, my chin.

The taste hit me a second later. Not just sweet... Complex. Musky, salty, electric. It was the taste of a woman’s pure, undiluted arousal, and it was ambrosia.

A raw, guttural moan tore from my throat, muffled by her cunt. My hands shot up, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring her there. Then my tongue came out, hungry and seeking.

I found her slit and licked. A long, firm stroke from bottom to top, gathering her essence. The texture was velvet over steel.

She jerked above me. A sharp, punched-out "Nnngh!" escaped her. "Finally... you fuck... yes!"

The practiced haughtiness shattered, replaced by a breathless, lust-drenched curse. My tongue delved deeper, probing, lapping at her entrance, tasting her deeper, more intimate flavor.

"Yesss! Lick it, you... you stud! My pussy... AH!... like a dog!" She was moaning, her body rocking against my face, riding my tongue.

I moved from her pussy, trailing my wet tongue upwards, circling her tight, puckered asshole. The taste here was different... cleaner, saltier, the forbidden taboo of it making her shudder violently.

"Oh fuck! There!" she screamed, her hands gripping my hair, pulling. "Eat my ass too, you filthy commoner! Mark it! It’s the only hole you’ll ever get! So fucking own it!"

I obeyed. I buried my face between her cheeks, feasting on both her holes, licking, sucking, probing with my tongue tip. The sounds she made were a continuous symphony of shocked, overwhelmed pleasure and raw, ugly curses. "Nnngh! Yes! Deeper! God, your whorish tongue... you eat ass like a pro, you fucking gutter-born slut!"

She was grinding on my face, lost in it, her earlier disdain completely consumed by the desperate need for more stimulation. I ate her like a starving man at his last meal, memorizing every fold, every flavor, while she praised and insulted me in the same heaving, moaning breath.

Her assault was a symphony on two fronts. The suffocating, wet heaven of her pussy and ass smothering my face was pure, overwhelming sensation. The rhythm of her grinding hips, the taste of her, the muffled sound of her gasps and curses through her own thighs... it was sensory overload.

Then, the demon added a third movement.

I felt her hands shift from gripping my hair. One stayed tangled in my locks, holding my head prisoner against her slick heat. The other slithered down between our bodies, her nails scraping a line down my chest and stomach.

She found the straining, neglected tent in the sheets. Her fingers, cool and clever, wormed their way beneath the fabric, wrapping around my aching dick. Her touch was cruel in its deliberateness. A slow, dry fist, moving up and down my shaft with a torturous, teasing pace.

"Nnngh?!" I jolted beneath her, my moan muffled by her flesh.

She felt it and laughed, the sound breathless and wicked above me. The rhythmic movement of her hand never faltered. Stroke. Squeeze. Stroke.

"Look at you," she gasped, her own voice tight with the pleasure my tongue was giving her. "Like a spigot about to burst. Pathetic." She twisted her hand on the upstroke, making me buck. "This is all I need to do to turn you into a twitching animal, isn’t it? This... simple, stupid friction? While my cunt is busy ruining your face?"

She drove her ass down harder on my mouth, forcing my tongue deeper into her asshole, then arched to rub her dripping pussy against my nose. All while her hand on my dick tightened, her pace a maddening, inconsistent tease... sometimes fast, sometimes stopping altogether just to squeeze the head.

I was being un-made. Torn apart between the exquisite violation of my face and the desperate, denied need of my cock. My licking and sucking grew frantic, sloppy. I needed her to come, to break, to give me release from one of these tortures.

"Fuck... your tongue..." she was moaning, her composure gone, replaced by a panting, mewling thing. "Getting close... gonna come on your slutty face... you filthy, good-for-nothing... NNNNGGH!"

Her hand on my cock started moving in time with the clenching of her thighs around my head, both speeding up as her own climax approached. The universe narrowed to the wet heat, the lewd sounds, and the impossible, dual-edged torment of absolute pleasure being used as a punishment.