‘Do you want it?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet, a whimper. Was it an act she put on for him for him? Encouragement? Temptation? She’d acted enough in the past, been things she wondered people wanted her to be. But here, no. She was in the immediate now of arousal. No past no future no anything aside from this. Her response was beyond analysis. She knew he was thick, knew he was big; she’d seen enough pictures and she blushed and got more wet.
His fingers again and then something else. The smooth head of his cock, pressing against her. She bucked her hips, helping him. He stroked it over her wetness. She heard him spit in his hand, felt the agonising second while he was away and then it was there, spreading her, entering her, making her feel so small and used and gorgeous and wanted and complete and mysterious and lost and found. His hand was moving forward, lifting off her top, flicking off her bra, cupping her breast and squeezing it. She gasped, she moaned. He was big and hot and god it was good.
His hand found her throat and squeezed as he gave her more. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and face, felt the fizz of light headedness as he took her deeply. He released and leaned for a kiss, their tongues touching as he held her breast again. She liked that he liked her breasts. His fingers squeezed her nipple.
‘Your pussy feels so fucking good…’ he began to move, to thrust. She rose to tiptoes, leaning over the bed, so he could give it to her deeper. He got the message and slid a pillow under her hips and reached back to her throat again. ‘I’ve wanted to use you ever since I saw your pictures. You looked so fucking delicious.’ He held his cock deep in her and released his grip. She gasped. ‘That’s it take it deep, good girl you can do it…’ he thrusted again, moving faster, his hands all over her, on her shoulder, her tricep, her waist, her ass, her breast, her jaw, her ear, mapping her form, travelling between all the points that made her glow and tingle and melt under his touch.
‘I want you to cum in me…’ her voice was clearer, louder. ‘I want it, fuck.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I know.’ It was OK to laugh. She didn’t feel nervous or anxious about that. Whatever they had – this thing, this casual fuck energy, just worked. She knew it wasn’t for ever but fuck it worked. He pulled back and turned her over onto her back, put her hips on the edge of the bed, held them, spread her legs and put his cock back inside her. Their bodies were bathed in the light from the side and the faint neon from the street. She raised herself to watch him fuck here. His shirt and t-shirt were off, his boxers pulled down under his cock. It looked obscene, gorgeous: his tall body, his chest hair, his clean shaven cock sliding in and out of her. It was thick, fuck he was thick. He sped up.
She felt the orgasm start somewhere far away, like distant thunder over a plain. She didn’t usually come this way but him, this place, this moment. His body gleamed. His hands went to her breasts, her throat again.
‘Are you going to cum for me? I want us to come together.’ He moved faster. She cried out, her breath came faster, harder, broken and ragged.
‘Oh god, oh fuck…’ he kept up the pace. It was coming closer. She felt the heat in her chest and the tension in her belly and thighs. He offered slow, long, deep, regular strokes. She accepted each one. She could see him breathing hard too. He squeezed her throat and she felt herself tumbling, rolling into the orgasm.
The undertow was violent, unexpected. and she lost herself, falling back, shaking, the tinnitus of pleasure obliterating sight and sound. There was her and the light of infinity and there was him and his thick cock making her feel so used and so beautiful and needed and complete. All there was was then and there and all there was was her begging incoherently for his cum as he moaned, loudly and deeply and held her breast and hip and his cock began to throb and she felt the heat inside of her well and well and fill her as he held her tightly on the edge of the bed.
Seconds passed. Aeons passed. He fell down beside her and she held his cheek and they kissed and he took her panties off and his shorts and they were naked on the cool covers. He cupped her breast, not in a sexual way but because it felt good and because for that night she had said he could. They were each other’s. He took her hand and put it on his cock, still wet from her and she stroked him and felt him half hard against her wrist. There were hours before bed time.
‘We have other stories to write,’ he said in a distant, dreamy way as he spread her legs and touched her wetness.