The Quiet Ones
Have you ever had the feeling of being overlooked? Summed up quickly by an outsider who assumes they can can fit you into a box? We are trained from a young age to perceive what we see as absolute truth. So let’s test this. What do you think of when you encounter a woman of few words? One who is shy, reserved?
Probably nothing. Do you walk right past? Glance over her with blind eyes as you search for the peacocks in the room? Some say you have to watch out for the quiet ones.
Well then, let’s watch.
Polite women are timid, boring, vanilla. You scan the room looking for radiance to draw you in, deeper. The most ostentatious must be the most exciting. Maybe you fantasize of clothes being ripped off, loud screams and guttural moans. Pleasure that borders on pain, a promise of something exquisite, unique. And maybe you’ll be disappointed.
When you are quiet, they assume you are dull. When you’re polite, it’s viewed as purity, yet that purity is inexplicably tinged with the reverie of corruption. You want to dominate, shock, destroy. But that’s only because you cannot see beneath this veil. She’s so kind, so sweet, such a virgin. She’s…
Oh no, honey. You don’t know what I can do, what I can give. What I can take.
While these eyes may look big and innocent, if you could look through them, you would see. You would feel it.
The quiet ones aren’t so quiet in the dark.
My body arouses within me a feverish need. I am fully aware of the pleasure I can create in myself and others. And I know precisely the ways I will feel when that seduction is released tonight. I can feel it so strongly that I’ve had to stop myself today from sliding my hands from my breasts, down my stomach, to the smooth wetness beneath my skirt. I’ve been anticipating, squeezing my knees together, back and forth, waiting. My heart beats a bit faster as I watch the hours pass. Tonight, we’re having a party.
The stage has been set, but our roles have yet to be discovered, but discover we will. Each and every one of us must let go of ourselves as we unleash something primitive within.
The guests arrive in small batches, a bit shy at first, but no one unwilling. Wine is poured and passed, never without fingers tracing one another, hinting at the the intimacy to come.
There are hugs, back caresses, the kissing of cheeks, and looks exchanged that say, I see you.
There is laughter, conversation, music and muted light. At this particular point in the evening it could be brushed off as just another party. But don’t forget, we are here to watch.
Sinking deeper into the evening, an anticipated surrender brings an inaudible sigh. We’ve been waiting for this.
A tray is brought out—one for you, one for you. Swallow and be released.
How it all starts is impossible to place in such a visceral state. The gradual removal of ties and sweaters, unbuttoning of blouses and tangling of limbs is so successive, as an orchestra gaining crescendo, expected but no less enticing.
It matters not who is with whom, we are here together for the same purpose. We are one, we are both selfish and giving, and we will give all that we have, all of us.
My focus on our conversation has blurred as we sink closer together. How long has my hand been on her hip? I squeeze now with awakened awareness of her soft flesh over light cotton. My fingers slide beneath the fabric as I pull her closer by the small of her back. The music moves with us.
Her lips are dancing with mine, soft on soft, I bite down gently, she leans in for more. Our tongues drink from each other the wine of the evening, the spirits of the night. My cheek brushes against hers as my mouth reaches to her neck and shoulder. The aroma of her honey perfume faintly reaches me beneath a scent that is hers alone. I have her, and she has me.
There is no need to see the happenings around us, we are consumed in its presence and our hunger for more. It has begun.
My face travels to the nook below her earlobe, kissing gently before grabbing the lobe between my teeth with a gentle tug. Her soft, dark hair tickles my eyelids as she moves. The two of us are not alone for long.
A pressure on my lower back awakens another part of me. Two hands glide over me from behind as I push deeper into both her and him. He runs his hand up my back, removes my blouse, and I feel his hands on my breasts. He squeezes my nipples gently before sliding his hands down my sides to push down my skirt, leaving me nude, but far from vulnerable.
I kiss her still, pulling the straps of her dress off her shoulders, kissing and nibbling each inch of her that I touch. As I slide an eager palm down her rib cage, pressing and feeling all of her, the ache between my legs travels all the way to my stomach. The curves of her body make me aware of my own, and what this figure behind me is feeling. A near unbearable tension and pleasure takes over, I hear myself moan, or is it her? It doesn’t matter now, I can’t stop.
Squeezing her inner thigh, two fingers trace the outline between her legs, I want her to want it. I’ll go no further until she forces me.
From behind me, I can feel his hardness trace up the back of my thigh, he pauses, pushes forward and I feel his breath below my left earlobe.
“Yes?” He whispers.
I break away from her mouth for an instant, chills running down my body.
He enters me just as her hand reaches to mine and guides my fingers inside. I feel her wetness and am aware of my own as he pushes deeper inside of me, so deep that I gasp and arch backwards. I want it all.
Taking one of her breasts into my mouth, her hips move back and forth. I feel his hands tighten their grip, fingers imprinting from behind. He’s pulling and pushing me, while my tongue traces one of her nipples. I pull it into my mouth.
We are moving as one, the three of us. Whose hands belong to whom is impossible to know, all I can think about is how hard I’m about to come and how much I want to feel it when she does, when he does. How much I want to taste them, consume them, and give them a taste of me.
Her hands reach up my breasts, then one rises around my neck and grips a handful of hair. She’s pulling me down. My lips brush her ribs, her stomach, all the way down. Gently, my mouth traces her inner thigh, working my way back up to taste her. My mouth finds the spot she wants, my fingers still work in and out of her, she’s so close, I’m so close.
I pause to look up around the room, taking it all in with my eyes and body. There is pleasure in every corner, from those who participate, and those who just like to watch.
She doesn’t let me stop for long, pulling me back.
I’m going to come, don’t stop. She pleads and the desperation in her voice makes me pause again, looking up at her, her head thrown back, hips still moving though I’ve stopped.
Please, she says and the sadist in me makes her ask one more time before I return. It’s mere seconds before her body tenses and shakes, before she soaks me and I taste her even more. I put my tongue inside of her as she climaxes, her knees squeeze around me before she falls back, her fingers still tangled in my hair.
I turn to face the man behind me, seeing him for the first time. I place a hand on his smooth, hard chest and push him towards the floor with an aggression rarely shown outside of these nights. On the ground, I lean forward, grab a handful of his thick dark hair and pull his mouth to me. I lower myself onto him, taking control, riding him with a desperate need.
The tension builds until finally I can see only black, hear only my own screams, feel and think of nothing but this very moment, as waves rip through my body. I am at once in and out of control completely, until the feeling slows, leaving me with the warmth only this ecstacy can evoke.
Leaning forward slowly, my hips still rolling gently, I look into his half-closed eyes, and bite his shoulder, hard. I hear him moan and before he can come, I slide my body down the front of his, and take him into my mouth. My tongue rolls down him to the base, I feel him in the back of my throat, then his head with my tongue again. I will taste him as well.
His body stiffens, I apply more pressure and my mouth is filled with him as he sits nearly upright and moans as he watches, as he fills my mouth with his cum.
He lies back on the floor, one arm thrown over his face, a glimpse of a smile through his quickened breathing. I lean my back against the couch where she is, and rest my head against her thighs. Her hands play with my hair, his trace circles on my calves. I look back into her face, she smiles, I smile back.
And at the end, as we sigh with exhaustion and pleasure, there is a moment of quiet between the three of us, something beyond the need for words. I might be one of the quiet ones, but we mustn’t be underestimated. Some of us save our words, our actions, for the moments that really count. And after all, we can give so much more than noise.