Tiptoeing the Line of Consent

“No,” I insisted. “Absolutely and unequivocally. No.”

I studied his face. It looked like he was prepared to accept what I was saying, but somewhere in his eyes I saw what I’d been hoping for. Something I barely wanted to admit, but nonetheless what I wanted most of all: he understood that behind my protestations was a plea to be convinced.

He opened his mouth and I studied his tongue. It was pink and firm and marked with tastebuds. The sheen of saliva on the muscle was both inviting and repelling; I loved how it felt inside me. I enjoyed the sensations it produced. But it left things behind. When he pulled away, I would feel the air on the wetness it deposited. It was cold. Discomforting.

I met his mouth with mine and let his tongue slip between my lips. It brushed against my own and I tasted his saliva. His mouth was still salty and slightly bitter from our earlier acts together. Not altogether unpleasant, but still noteworthy. I assumed mine tasted similar.

As his tongue probed, I felt it rising again. “No,” I murmured around his tongue. Despite my protestation, I gripped him and pulled him tighter against me. I knew he felt my arousal pressed against his belly. Regardless, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of consent until I was ready – I didn’t care if he was ready to burst.

I pulled back and watched it twitch. I saw the subcutaneous veins throb and pulsate.

“Please,” he mouthed. “Please let it inside.”

I studied him with practiced dispassion – a look he’d recently claimed to despise. “It makes me feel like you’re going to pin me through and add me to your butterfly collection,” he’d say. If only he knew how badly I wanted to be the one who was pinned through.

I grazed my fingernails over him, producing a gasp of ecstasy and anticipation. I wanted him to think it was the time. He turned me around and I craned my neck as he kissed my mouth from behind. I felt it pulsing against his belly and my lower back.

“Please,” he muttered, as he ravaged my mouth with his tongue.

“Convince me,” I breathed.

His hands traveled over my body, touching and exploring, grasping and releasing. Hazy waves of undulating pleasure coursed through me, first starting at the locations of his manipulations, then spreading until my entire body hummed with electric excitement.

The pressure of it against my lower back was intoxicating, and I found myself gyrating against him.

“Please,” he whimpered, and I felt and smelled the hot tears leaking from his eyes as we kissed.

“I,” I whispered, drawing out every single word, “want…..it…….inside……me.”

That was all it took.

I felt a rush of pressure as the throbbing sensation pushed up his belly, through his chest, into his neck, and finally his mouth. There was a slight tickle against my teeth and gums, then it poured itself down my throat.

I went limp as it filled me. Foot after foot of his gift disappeared inside, still hot from his body. I felt its anterior chitinous plates scraping my tonsils and esophagus as it burrowed down. My throat distended, followed by my chest, and, as it got deeper, so did my belly.

His lips were locked to mine as I felt it maneuvering through my intestines until it slowed, then stopped. I felt a thick, ropey vein throbbing against the corner of my mouth. I opened my eyes. He was staring at me. He smiled around its bulk.

With our bodies together, finally, we shared the intimate moment I’d denied him for weeks. It spasmed and thrashed inside me, and blood would drip. Sometimes from my mouth, other times from my rectum. None of it mattered. The moment of closeness we shared transcended the concerns I might have had before I was a part of a greater whole.

His tongue lapped at my lower lip. It didn’t have much room to travel, as it was being flattened by the gift we shared, but I managed to meet it with my own. His cold saliva around my mouth didn’t bother me for once.

Despite being overcome with pleasure, I felt pangs of guilt. To have denied him this closeness had been cruel. To have denied us this pleasure had been even crueler. But now I know. And next time, there won’t be any waiting. My answer will always be “yes.”

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1 thought on “Tiptoeing the Line of Consent”

  1. I’m actually really surprised at how tastefully and erotically this is written. A lot of your stories have this really sensual tinge to them and it’s interesting to see you get to explore that so poetically – but of course you’ve gotta do your thing at the end am i right. I’m picturing like some kind of millipede or something. Takes a couple reads to really get the full picture.

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