Armitage

Armitage. That was my word for the day. Armitage. What did it mean? I honestly didn’t know. I looked it up. It is a village in Staffordshire, England. This makes no sense. All I know is it popped randomly into my mind and now will not go away. So I did a web search on the word. There is an actor, there is a golfer, and there is a website containing the name which is about cyber attack management. Go figure. I had no idea.

What possible use did this word have for me today? Yes. I asked myself this question before contemplating the fact that Armitage in Staffordshire, England has only two churches, the largest being St. John the Baptist’s.

I shouldn’t go there. I really shouldn’t. I’m not catholic but then I could be wrong in assuming it is catholic, could be baptist as the name implies. Either way, I grew up in christian churches, the first was close to a mennonite, the next was baptist, next was non-denominational until I decided to abandon them all together and just travel my own spiritual path.

I won’t go down that path today. For I don’t think Armitage was meant for me to go there. After all I’m here to examine my more baser desires. My fantasies. My desires. My darker nature. Which churches tend to want us to deny exists or suppress to the point of madness, instead of understanding life is about balance. Spirituality is about balance. While I live a good clean honest life, my fantasies tend towards the more darker, more obscure. The darker and more obscure seems to enhance my arousal. So why not consider, how arousing it would be to bring a godly man to his knees in worshipful devotion to what lies darkly hidden within me?

Armitage be damned. In my more darker fantasies I would stroll down its innocent corridors and pathways, in a gossamer white dress, feeling the sun on my bare arms. Walking tall, blonde hair flowing, brushing against my shoulders in the light breeze. Flat sandals upon bare feet. My intent to just walk into the church, feel its ancient mysteries, and let its cool interior whisk away the heat from my sun warmed skin.

A man of the cloth would ask if I needed anything and I would ask him about the town, about the history of the church. He would speak with me as the cool interior of the church chilled my skin made my nipples pucker and the material of my dress hug around their shape. I might shift and fiddle with the lace material edging the deep vee shaped neckline formed from the wrap of my dress for it would be one which wrapped around my body being held together by a single tie on the outside and a snap on the opposite inside. Beneath it I wore nothing but a light sheen of moisture from my walk through the village to the church.

As we talk about the church and the village, my fingers stray lower as if subconsciously enjoying the texture of the lace along the edge. He sat on my left, turned towards me while I sat at an angle which allows him a glimpse whenever I lift the material feeling it leave my cooling skin fanning it slightly to help dry the moisture.

Each time becoming more daring as I let my eyes scan around the church asking about different items which seemed to have historical implications as if I were unaware of my actions which were gradually revealing more and more of the curve and swell of what lay naked beneath.

On occasion I would let my fingertip travel across the curve and swell, as we discussed all manner of things. As my eyes scanned the interior of the church, they would light upon him and always his eyes were following the movement of my hand, the flutter of the material, and once only slightly he shifted in his seat and my eyes caught a glimpse of his pants hugging tightly a bulge which if not completely formed was already showing signs of considerable size.

If you have never experienced a mental grin of appreciation, then you have no idea how my mind could feel such pleasure at this situation. I am profoundly mental. It doesn’t mean I do not luxuriate in the sense of touch, only that I can become extremely aroused from thought alone, or in a situation where there is no touching, even words as those which we were speaking had absolutely no sexual content, there was an undercurrent of sensuality and sexual tension which brought double meaning to such words as ‘hard’, ‘pillar’, ‘massive’, ‘controlling’, ‘thrust’, ‘quaking’, ‘moist’, ‘damp’ and so many others which were used to describe any number of the various topics we were discussing.

My fingers continued to explore the texture of my skin and the lace, finding pleasure in the slight fanning of the material causing a current of air to kiss my skin. And yes, reveal even more. I could see anticipation in his eyes as they never left the movement. I was glad we were alone for I wanted to give to him what he desired in that very moment.

So I took further liberties, lifting the material higher, further from my skin. When I knew the edge of my nipple would be revealed upon my next movement, I saw him wet his lips and lean slightly forward, so I gave him a brief glimpse. Between my bare thighs I felt a growing wetness. I couldn’t deny him another glimpse, this time watching him closely as I revealed the whole curve and peaked tip to his ardent gaze.

I let the material drop, and saw the disappointment in his eyes, so I decided to stop all the pretense. I lifted the material and as I did so, I let my fingertip slide across my skin, then slowly circle my areola, once, then twice, then a third time before bringing it all the way to the tip. His eyes followed my finger as if they were connected, and indeed they were. His eyes widened in realization upon the third tracing of the edge of my areola and then lighted upon the tip of my nipple. I held it there for the same length of time it had taken me to trace the path there.

His eyes flicked upwards to mine, widened even further when he saw me looking right at him. All conversation had stopped. I watched as his eyes flicked back as if afraid he would miss a single second and I gave him more of what he desired by tracing the exact same path only in reverse.

Disappointment cluttered his face when the material dropped back in place to hide my erect nipple. I couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pants was more pronounced. Even so his eyes never left my hand as it traveled downward. Disappointment was edged deep in his face and I couldn’t wait to see it disappear and what would be exchanged in its place when he realized what my next actions might mean.

I took my time. I have a natural instinct for teasing. For prolonging the moment for just the right amount of anticipation to take a man to the edge of madness in his desire. I let my fingers travel down the edge past the vee shape of my neckline, slowly, ever so slowly further down past my diaphragm and across my lower rib cage to the tie which resided just above my left hip bone.

He watched as my fingers fiddled with the tie, first the bow portion as if I had trouble deciphering between the bow and the trailing ends. I sorted them like a magician sorting through his different props deciding on which one would be the best for his next act. When my fingers finally took hold of one of the trailing ends, disappointment suddenly morphed into astonishment. He gave a sudden shift, which I interpreted as excitement of the possibility of what such a move might mean. I smiled. I knew what he wanted and I wanted to give it to him.

I prolonged the moment, by slowly extending the end of the tie until there was a slight tension placed upon it and I could feel if I pulled even a microsecond more, the bow would begin to unravel.

I wanted to laugh for the overwhelming feeling of extreme pleasure which swamped me needed a release but I held back when I saw him lick his lips again. I wanted those lips on my nipple. I wanted him sucking at my breast. I wanted to feel the pull of my nipple into his mouth and the flick of his tongue exciting my nipple to become even more erect. He teased me with each appearance of his tongue as he moistened his lips. I craved to give him more and in that craving, I knew I would.

I tugged. I tugged slowly. I watched him as he watched one of the loops of the bow slowly diminish in size until it became so small in the next moment the bow would no longer exist. I hesitated. His eyes flickered up to me. He saw me watching him. Saw the smile on my face. He gave a slow soft smile back just before his eyes returned. The moment I knew they rested again upon the bow, I tugged one more time.

The look on his face was all I needed. I throbbed between my thighs. His eyes became heated. They burned. They smoldered. They patiently waited as my fingers grasped the material, pulling it back. I continued, slowly, letting each fraction of an inch reveal itself.

I knew the risk we both took. We sat within the open sanctuary of the church. At present it was empty. Anyone could walk in. I continued anyway. I pulled the material back, slowly revealing more and more until my full breast was exposed to his gaze and I could feel the tug upon the snap which kept the other side in its place. I didn’t stop there. I pulled. The echo of the light snap which sounds upon its release sizzled through the church.

This time however, it wasn’t me who reached. It was him. He reached over and pulled the other side back just as slowly as I had done, opening my dress to reveal my naked flesh beneath. I was indeed naked. Not a stitch of clothing and not a single hair hiding any portion of my body.

I felt my skin which had cooled from the interior of the church start to burn at the touch of his gaze. My body was now revealed in its entirety. His fingers slid from the material to the skin of my upper thigh. Fingertips skimmed across just as deliberately as my fingers had across my breast until they met the inside of my thigh. Their direction changed and moved upward closer and closer to my heated moist center. Then didn’t hesitate in the slightest as they dipped inwards tasting my heat and moisture upon their tips.

I moaned and arched my breast towards him. He took my cue. Lips grasped and tugged and sucked then I gasped as his tongue flicked across my peaked nipple just as his finger flicked cross my swollen clit.

Neither one of us heard the opening creak of the door.

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About Kate Spyder

I'm a creative individual finding her way in her writing. I enjoy expressing my deep thoughts through poetry and stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.
This entry was posted in Erotic Fiction, Erotica and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Armitage

  1. Selina says:

    Why you naughty naughty girl! Now I have to go and find someone to torment and torture myself (Giggle)

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