The little death (La petite Mort) (18+)

A  gasp escaped her lips when he gently bit into her caramel slender neck. Eyes still closed her heart fluttered as he murmured in her ear.


A voice of spun gold said her name in a tone she found almost irresistible. Electricity shot down her spine, the buds on her breast hardening against the thin silk blouse she wore. Bimpe’s arms flowed meeting at the base of his neck. Lips covering her lobe, he bit, gently nibbling. Nails dug into the base of his neck as she struggled to be silent.


Pain then pleasure coursed through her as her bum reverberated from the smack, his fingers leaving their mark against her supple skin. Bimpe’s lips parted unable to hold in the moan. He did not let her, his lips taking hers, stealing her breath, her sound. Hungrily he kissed her, invading the slight curve of her mouth with his tongue. Bimpe felt herself melting into his hunger, losing herself. Her breath gone she pushed back. Hands placed firmly against his chest she shoved. Knotted muscle met her soft fingers as she marveled at the sculpted figure she pressed against. Shocked at being pushed he let up, giving Bimpe the second she needed. Breaking from the kiss she took a much needed breath while taking a step back. The second was all she got.

With ease he picked up her curvy frame. Bimpe felt her feet leave the floor, her head resting on his shoulder. Hands held on to his biceps, relishing the bulge as they flexed bearing her weight easily. Her fingers traced the veins running along his arm, losing herself to their pulsating rhythm as blood flowed. Bimpe’s back hit the wall, she groaned, pain coming to her in waves. She reached up to slap him. He caught her hand, imprisoning them above her head. Feet still dangling she wrapped her legs around his waist drawing him closer. His bulge grazed against her lightly muscled thigh. Heat flowed.

‘The little death.’

Bimpe breathed out the words as she pulled him closer. Hands still imprisoned, she took his lips in her teeth and bit, blood trickling into her mouth.

He gasped, releasing her hands. Bimpe began to rain punches unto his chest. Like feathers they hit him, fanning the roaring flame in his eyes. With one hand he gripped Bimpe’s waist, the other ripping her legs from his. A few steps had him in front of the mahogany office table. He dropped her unceremoniously. Bimpe’s bum hit the table with a soft thud. Turning he walked to the sofa facing the table and sat down.


One word, his second in a span of time that felt like hours but was merely minutes. Bimpe understood, her carnal mind translating with ease. She stood, slowly, purposefully drawing each moment to its utmost as she uncurled her lithe body. With her toe she pushed a letter opener with a 3 inch blade to the side. The table easily dwarfed her. Designed with one goal in mind, to make others feel little. She quickly began to disrobe.


She froze unable to resist the voice, filled with an aura of command, a near animalistic drive . Doubt a foreign concept to the man who owned it. Bimpe obeyed, heat building up in her stoked from the need which came off him. It lingered almost palpable in the air. Carefully she ran her fingers down her side, enjoying the curve of her hips as she found the zipper to her skirt in the dimly lit room. Down the zipper went till the skirt rested precariously on her ample bottom. She swayed, hips gyrating to a song only she heard. She did not look at him but she could feel his presence, his eyes consumed by her every move, fanning the flames further.

He sat there, on the couch, silently watching her. Enraptured by her performance. Bimpe bent, picking up the letter opener, she tore through the thin silk of her blouse with ease, exposing her twin peaks to the cool air, the buds still taut, erect. Taking each nipple between thumb and forefinger she pulled, twisting ever so gently. Pleasure filled her, eyes involuntarily closing, silent music coming to end. Bimpe’s skirt fell without a sound exposing a small thatch of runway strip pointing to her pleasure chambers. She sat down at the edge of the desk, her legs crossed, chin on her chest. Finally, Bimpe looked up and met the hunger in his eyes with equal ferocity. Hands reaching as far back as she could, she braced herself, chin rising to the heavens, back arching, legs slowly opening revealing the forbidden fruit he sought.

‘The little death will be mine’

She murmured to herself .

He stood. Walking towards her, he left a trail of clothes in his wake, his eyes not leaving her form as she sat on his table, a tigress staking claim. Her skin, supple, a caramel brown nearly pale in the dimly lit room. Breast firm, begging for his lips, his mouth. Fingers flexed, memory of the softness of her bum still lingering. Reaching her, only the sound of their heavy breathing could be heard.

Bimpe grabbed his throbbing shaft, it filled her hand

“I can’t take it all”

She whispered as she marveled at the size, fear beginning to creep in. Warm breath fell on her nipple bringing Bimpe out of her revelry. Teeth gently tugged at her left nipple, her back arched. He sucked, her back arched even further. Bimpe’s fingers ran through his hair, clutching, tugging, digging, as his tongue teased her tit. Their breathing quickened, his tongue darting. She spasmed. Hands leaving his hair she held his shaft in both hands, guiding it to her wet pussy, a groan escaping as it made contact with her clit.

Batting her hands away bimbe felt herself falling till her back hit the table sending shock through her frame. Effortlessly he hoisted her legs in the air pulling her to him. She slid till half her bum hung in space. Holding his cock in one hand, he entered her savagely. As wet as she was a sob escaped Bimpe’s lips as she felt him penetrate her pussy, her back lifting off the table as she struggled to get away from him. He held on to her pulling her deeper. A cry came from deep within her, cut of by his hand clamping over her mouth. With one hand he held her two legs up as he thrust into her. Pain flooded her mind but with it pleasure as her hips lifted. The air filled with the sound of his exertion skin meeting skin. Bimpe could feel his fingers digging into her flesh where he held her legs. He grunted as he felt her laps spasm, she was close. His hand left her mouth as he slowed his thrust. Roughly he dragged her from the table, her hands grasping for something as she slid to him. Slinging her on his shoulder he walked to the sofa he had just left, smacking her bum to a rhythm only he knew. Her thoughts resided on one thing, coming out in an inaudible murmur.

‘The little death is close.’

Sitting down, he pulled her on top of him. With her hands balled into fists, Bimpe looked deep into his eyes, searching for something beyond the fire which burned within the deep browns surrounded by white. She kissed him long and hard tasting blood from his cut lip. Finger to his chest she pushed him till he lay flat on the sofa. His dick shot straight up still hard, moist, a mast surrounded by short curly hair. Bimpe straddled him, hovering over his member. Slowly she lowered her pussy onto his shaft. Now she was in control.  They both gasped when he entered her, inch by inch till she could take no more. Fisted hands on his chest her hips moved as she fucked him. Bimpe’s hair fell to his chest, her ass slapping against his thighs each time she went deep. She rode him till the spasms started and she could feel her climax coming. Faster and faster, the ectasy coming to both in waves. His eyes closed as she took him, both his hands cupping her breast.

Bimpe could feel it coming, the little death, her elusive foe, her elusive friend. Without missing a beat her balled up right hand opened revealing a letter opener. Blade pointed down, her hand drove for his heart. His eyes shot open as he felt the blade pierce through. Over and over with ferocity she stabbed his heart as she rode him. Blood spurt, spraying her face, staining her hands. Spasms racked his body as he came. His load shot into her with his dying breath. Pleasure hit every fiber of her being, wave after wave of orgasms slamming into her. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, Bimpe reached the clouds, collapsing on his lifeless body.

Thanks For Reading

Commment if it’s worth continuing Bimpe’s adventure

2 thoughts on “The little death (La petite Mort) (18+)” by Jon Doe (@just2day)

  1. Nelson c.j (@Chetty)

    Texture. There’s a thing about the texture that makes it seem light. Maybe some encapsulation of events, and perhaps making the sex-ings more artistic, and read-while.

    Nonetheless , I’d like to read something BETTER.

    More space to your imaginary room.

    1. Jon Doe (@just2day)

      Stepping out of my comfort zone, I took a dip in the more titillating pools of story telling. A fledgling attempt, yes, but first times usually are be it story telling or sex. With a bit of a spell, hopefully experience will come

      Thanks for the critique and for commenting

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