boneless

You’re sitting across his lap in just your cotton panties, legs straddling the soft hairiness of his thighs, bent forward close enough that your tits are brushing his chest. His face is tipped up a little and he’s kissing you, soft and unhurried, like he’s nowhere else to be for a decade or so, languid-slow, like he’s forgotten the shape of your mouth and is learning it over again.

‘Oh,’ you say, and press closer against him, take his cock in your hand, but he puts one of his own over yours and gently pulls your fingers away, one by aching one, brings your hand to his chest and tucks it up over his heart.

‘Slow,’ he says, ‘slow as you can, my girl. You feel my heartbeat?’

Of course you do, thunking strong and regular under his ribs. He runs one hand up your left side, slow and dragging over your skin, and presses his palm flat over your breast, nipple caught at the root of his two fingers. Your heart’s beating against his palm and you’re so bone-deep aware of it, the pulse of your blood under his hand and the beat of his under yours, looped in synchronous rhythm a little outside of time.

It’s been like this for almost an hour, both of you on the plateau, breath dragging unsteady, skin flushed with arousal, trying to keep your bodies loose and unclenched. You keep wanting to close your eyes, tighten your muscles, clutch at the pleasure pulsing hot and unfocused at the base of your spine, but he’s played this game longer than you have, played it for years. His dick’s hard and thick between you, pressed up against your belly where you’re leaning into him, smearing across the shaking muscles of your tummy, but his breath is still mostly even and his eyes are mostly clear, watching you. Once in awhile he catches his lower lip for a bloodless few seconds between his teeth. Three times now you’ve started to escalate, tighten, tip your hips into him (Christ your panties aren’t even off), and every time he says “open your eyes honey” and ‘unwind for me baby, not yet, stay here with me,’ and he puts his hands on the small of your back and pets the round of your hip, gentling, grounding, and your cunt is one long fluttering ache  and you think, you think that if you start coming you might just never stop, you might just shake and shudder and scream on his lap forever with one of his hands pressing you down gentle-close over his cock.

You must’ve made a noise, cause he shifts the hand on your breast just enough to brush your nipple, make you open your eyes again.

‘Stay soft, baby,’ he says, almost against your mouth, and hitches you closer over his thighs. ‘Slow and easy, pretty girl, look at, look at my face,’ and he’s dragging your panties to the side and hooking his dick with his thumb, pulling you onto him, and you’re boneless and your face is wet and oh but your hand’s pressed over his heart, thunk thunk thunk –

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boneless

river

He meets her down by the river, after work, after sunset, on the steps that run like the wide slope of  a theatre shell down to the water’s edge. It’s cold enough, now, with the dusk and the wind off the water, that most passersby have been driven indoors, into the bars and the trains and the coffeeshops, and there’s only a couple of other people visible, smoking at the other end of the steps. When he sits down beside her she glances across at him, a look like hot quicksilver, and she gets up, unzips her coat so it falls open, enough she can straddle his lap, and she’s warm, warm breath and mouth and the heat of her thighs on him through her tights.

‘You’re like a little furnace,’ he says, and it sounds like romance and want, the way he says it, and she kisses him like she’s been waiting to do it for weeks, because she has. She puts her hands up around his face, lets her thumb drag over one earlobe, kisses him slow and soft and wet, and his pulse quickens a little.

‘Want me to warm up your hands?’ she says, and takes them, pulls them in against her chest and then down, between her thighs, slides up a little closer to him so her coat swings up around his ribs, encloses them. He’s laughing a little, happy, drunk on the moment, and he slips his hands up over her tights and – oh – where the tights end in a bit of lace and then there’s just her skin, slick and warm, warm, and – fuck – her pussy, bare to the air, bare against his jeans, and he can’t, he wants, he says ‘oh‘ and he hardly knows he’s doing it but he presses two fingers up into the swollen wetness of her cunt and she makes a noise just against his face, barely, tries to bite it off, and she pushes down on him, pushes so hard he can feel her right down over his third knuckles, and his dick throbs with a blood-rush that he feels right through him, in his spine and tendons and the prickling flush of his skin and the way he forgets to exhale for a minute, breathes in – in – in.

‘Hi,’ she says, against his tongue, and they stay like that for a minute, their faces together, her cunt clenching around his fingers, and then they stand up and take each other’s hungry hands and walk back into the city, away from the river.

river

ships passing

She finds him in the kitchen, not on purpose, he’s just there when she comes down the hall at 3.14 am for a drink of water. The last of the party’s stragglers are still out in the back, smoking, maybe, laughter muted through the walls. She stands in the kitchen doorway and the furnace kicks in and it’s snowing outside, slow flakes drifting past the kitchen window. He’s standing in front of the sink, hands on the edge of the counter, leaning into his arms a little, looking out at the front yard and the snow. His hair is mussed, bedhead-fuzzy, and he’s only wearing his briefs.

She’s wearing a pair of ugly old panties that say ‘hot bananas!!’ on them and a tank top that got shuffled to pajama duty when she spilled wine on it last summer. She stands in the doorway and looks at him, tall and almost naked and broader than he’s been since she’s known him, and her toes curl against the cold linoleum.

She must have made a noise, because he turns his head and sees her.

‘Hey,’ he says, and does that thing where he almost smiles, a twitch at one corner of his mouth.

‘I’m just,’ she says, walking across the floor, glad of the darkness, ‘water, I’m just, I’m. Thirsty.’

He moves away from the sink a little, just a little, still close enough that her shoulder brushes against his arm. She picks up a glass and doesn’t move and her eyes track over the rim of the sink, up his forearm, his waistband, the heavy jerk of his dick under his briefs. There’s a line of dark fuzz just at the top of his thighs. Unshaven, then, and for no explicable reason her nipples harden. She puts the mug down, feels a little like she’s floating.

‘Hey,’ he says, and she looks up and then, so quick she hardly knows it, his mouth is on her and her ass is up on the counter and her legs are wrapped around his waist. It’s like, she’s had, it’s like a dream, she’s had this dream before, but this time his fingers in her panties are solid and warm and his breath is a little sleep-funky and he’s real, real scruff against her lips and his cock pressed up hard between them. She lets a hand drag down his chest and feels the tip of him, wet and slippery, leaking over the elastic of his shorts.

‘Quick,’ she says, before it’s over, before the smokers stumble in, before some ghost of the past, her past, his, comes between them, ’yes,’ and his tongue does something wet and vital in her mouth.

He lifts her, hesitates, moves towards the table, and she takes one second, two, to look at his face, the thirsty curves of the way his mouth hangs a little open, the judder on the underside of his jaw when he takes a breath, the way one eye crinkles a little, almost a wink. She twists in his arms, gets the ball of one foot on the chair and a knee on the table, grips its edge with both hands. He’s as hungry as she is, is palming his cock up between her thighs almost before her knees are planted. She feels his knuckles twisting, two fingers inside her, three, maybe, and then the full-length shudder of his body against the backs of her thighs. Then he’s pushing inside her and she makes a noise, guttural-sharp, and his hand clamps over her mouth, hard.

‘No,’ he says, soft, and keeps his hand there as he grinds a little into her, settles himself, and pulls out agonisingly slow. His other hand finds her waist, strokes down over one hip. He puts one foot up onto the seat of the chair and starts to fuck into her – easy, rocking thrusts that leave her trembling, trying to get her breath. She puts her head down and his hand pulls against her lips and he slips two fingers inside her mouth, lets them flutter against her tongue. She can taste herself on his fingertips.

‘Touch yourself,’ he says, still soft, more pleading than command, and she takes a deep shuddery breath and puts a hand between her legs, lets two fingers play in little circles around her clit. His breath is getting threadier, harsher, and his thrusts a little uneven. He leans down over her back and lets his mouth graze warm over her spine, and that does it – she spasms around him, knees shaking, moaning against his palm, and he makes a noise she thinks about for a long time after and stutters against her, seizes, locks his knees as he comes inside her.

She cleans up with a paper towel and then sits for a minute on his lap, his arms wrapped around her and his head bowed into the back of her neck. Outside it’s stopped snowing. She has a drink of water, still trembling, and then there’s the stirring of someone at the other end of the house. A door creaks. One long look between them and then she’s back down the hall, in her room, paper towel still balled in one fist.

She stands there in the dark for a long, long time.

 

ships passing

lurch

7.02. The screen of your phone lights up and it’s a text from him. Same safeword, yeah? Your heart stutters into a quicker pulse and you pick up the phone, wiping dishwater off on your skirt. Yep.

Hands back in the dishwater, cheeks flushing hot, pretending to scrub at a pot while you wait. The door from outside opens, closes, and then his stride on the stairs, long and loping. You don’t look round when he comes into the kitchen, crosses the room without breaking stride and grabs you, turns you round, presses you hard back over the sink with a hand on your neck, close up under your jaw, and the other clamped tight between your legs. Two of his fingers slip under the seam of your panties and dig up inside you, painfully hard. Possessive.

‘Hey!’ you say, struggling a little against him, hands pressed flat and straining against his chest. He makes a little huff of pleasure.

So wet,” he says, “yeah, you want it, don’t you,” and pulls you down to the floor, rolls over you, pins you with an arm across your chest and a thigh pressed between your legs. You thrash, arms flailing, try to get a leg up between you, but he grabs your knee and forces it to the side, flat to the floor. He holds it there with one of his shins while he scrabbles at his belt and pulls out his cock, long and almost fully hard, stroking it twice loosely in his fist. He kneels over you, one of your knees still under his shin, and presses your other leg open with one hand. The other hand is back on your neck, tight, thumb stroking soft over your windpipe.

You’re moaning but no sounds are making it past his fingers, and he’s pressing hard enough on your neck that you can’t move your head, can’t move anything at all. You can feel your face going red, eyes popping a little, can feel the black at the back of your eyeballs as he pushes roughly inside you, cock pressing close and heavy in your cunt. No lead up, no feeling-out strokes, just quick jackhammer fucking, his ass flexing as he pounds into you, legs sprawled behind him half-bent against the floor. It’s so fast and hard you hardly feel the individual strokes, just the relentless weight and friction of him, his hand sliding up from your throat to cover your mouth and half of your face, his body holding yours pinned helpless to the ground. The lurch of your body under the impact of his hips and the feel of him heavy and slick inside you collapses all your senses into a sort of choking shudder against his fingers.

“You like just taking it?’ he says, after a minute, voice low. “Like getting a cock forced inside you, slut? Like me pushing it in and keeping it there, gonna fuck you no matter what you do, keep you full of me till I feel like being done. You like taking it deep and hard, don’t you, not up to you, take it baby girl take it.’

When you come it surprises you, not just the suddenness but how strong it is – knock-your-head-against-the-floor strong, shaking aftershocks for minutes after. He slows inside you, lets go of your knees, resettles himself between your legs and then rolls over, taking you with him so you’re lying atop his body, his dick still pressing up hard and a little crooked inside you.

‘That was hot,’ he says, and kisses you on the nose. You sit up to straddle him, still unsteady, get your knees on the floor. He’s still got his clothes on and so do you, rumpled and breathing heavy. You take his tie and let it run out between your fingers.

‘Mm,’ you say, and start to move .

lurch

fire drill

‘Where are you?’ you say. It’s 9.15 am and you’re stuck outside in the office parking lot in the middle of a fire drill, shuffling your feet and watching the muster point wardens disinterestedly checking people off their lists.

‘Kitchen,’ he says, on the other end of the line – you called him just to say hi, and also to pass the time, and also you’re maybe in love with him. Just an unofficial little bit in love. You can hear the clatter of dishes in the background, the sloshing of liquid. ‘Coffee.’

There’s a little silence.

‘Whaddaya wearing?’ you say, singsong, almost a joke but not quite. He clears his throat, makes a kind of grunting chuckle.

‘Housecoat,’ he says, ‘and those, uh, those shorts you got me that time.’

That takes a minute to hit, but then

‘oh!’ you say, and stop. You’d tossed them in his basket for a laugh when he’d been through town a few months back and you’d done a 2 am Walmart run: a black micro-fibre thong dotted with grey stars. You take a second to picture it stretched up snug around his balls, tight over the line of his –

He’s talking.

‘…not so bad,’ you catch, ‘and as you know I’ve got one fine fuckin’ ass.’

‘Shit,’ you say, and your co-workers look at you, so it must have been pretty loud. ‘I never thought you’d actually – gosh – what are – I mean, you’re just hanging all thongalicious in the kitchen?’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘since you ask, I’m sittin’ on the edge of a table and I’m gonna jerk one off pretty quick here.’

‘Shit!’ you say, and take four steps away from the cluster of officemates, turn around. ‘Fuck, c’mon, you can’t do this to me – I’m stuck in a fire drill.’

‘Too bad you ain’t got my hose,’ he says, but before you can mock him there’s a groan over the line, so low and gut-real it makes you flush up your throat. ‘Oh honey wish you were here.’

You lick your lips.

‘What are you doing?’ you say, a little frantic, ‘they’re gonna call us in soon, quick quick.’ You can see the wardens starting to nod at each other across the parking lot. ‘What are you – are you – how hard are you? Are the shorts pulled right down?’

‘Yup.’ You can hear his breathing pick up a little and the thump of something – a chair leg? – in the background. ‘Got ‘em pulled right down under the balls, like you like ‘em.’ You flush bright red, put your hand up to your face. ‘And I’m – yeah, I’m hard as they come, honey – fuck.’

‘What?’ You’re walking back up to the building now. Everyone else is inside and the last of the monitors is standing at the door, obviously waiting for you. ‘Shit – I can’t really say any more, going back into the – I’ll listen though, keep, keep telling me.’

‘OK,’ he says, and you’d swear you can hear the thwick thwick of his fist jerking quick over his dick. ‘That’s hot, baby, you on the line but you can’t touch yourself or even make a noise – uggghh, getting close – christ – bet you’re getting wet cause you want it, don’t you, you want this dick so good and hard between your legs, baby, fuck, fuuuuck, just say yeah, say it, say it, Christ I’m gonna-’

Yeah,’ you say, halfway up the stairs, perfectly still and gripping the rail with one hand like it’s salvation, and you hear him grunt twice close together, long and torn up from the bottom of his chest, and you’re gripping your phone so hard it’s leaving dents in the pads between your knuckles.

He laughs, warm like melted honey, and it goes right through you.

‘Ok there?’ he says, and you take a light shuddery breath, make your feet start up the stairs again. You’re astonished they’re working.

‘I’ll call you later,’ you say, like a threat, ‘once I’m home,’ and he says

‘You’d better.’

fire drill

ride

‘Yeah,’ he says, low, rough, edge of a groan underneath it, ‘yeah, just like that, baby, fuck yourself on my dick.’

She’s riding him, thighs clamped tight around his hips, knees digging into his ribs and hands planted flat on his chest. All of her focus and most of her muscles are working, straining with the thrust of her hips and the roll of her ass to take him deeper, bear down on him harder, let the dragging heat of him turn all to fire inside her. She stopped talking awhile ago – trembling, lust-blind, the world narrowed down to the hunger between her legs and the hard curve of his cock. His hands are around her hips and he’s moving with her, following her momentum.

‘You feel so good,’ he says, not patter but like he really means it, like after a couple decades of fucking it can still take him sometimes by surprise. ‘Come on, yeah, just like that, fuck, fuck, so deep.’ He drops an arm to the bed and gets himself up on one elbow, watches her face, puts a hand soft over her belly. She’s almost sobbing now, making little frustrated sounds of want, her thighs burning with effort. He lets his hand drop to her hip, thumb caressing her skin, breathing heavy.

‘I want,’ she says, ‘I want,’ and she leans back and settles her hands back beside his thighs, arches back so she’s pumping her hips from her haunches, head tipped back. He strokes the pad of one thumb down over her clit and she shudders, shivers. Then he braces his forearms against the bed and thrusts his hips up once, holds them there, just enough that the root of his cock presses a little harder against her. She cries out and jerks against him, uneven, frantic with want.

‘Yeah,’ he says, warm and husky and sure, like the feel of his lips when they’d first kissed her, ‘yeah, baby, you like that? gonna come all over my cock all soft and tight? yeah, c’mon baby, make those pretty noises, show me, show me how bad you want it.’

She lets out a long, broken moan, but he’s already got himself up on one elbow and grabbed her ass with one hand, is fucking up into her fast and hard, hardhotwet, and she puts her hands around the backs of his knees and sets her teeth and screams.

ride

KOTW: crawling

‘Hey,’ he says, from the hotel bed, and the way he says it makes me look up from where I’m crouched on the floor, suitcase open, rooting around inside for deodorant. I sit back on my heels, let the suitcase fall closed. He’s on his back, legs tangled in the sheets, one arm behind his head. The way he’s looking at me, soft and dark and full of intention, makes the colour come up in my cheeks – I can feel it, hot and bright under my skin, flushing up my throat, over my chest where I’m still damp from the shower, smell of hotel body wash hanging vaguely floral in the air.

‘C’mere,’ he says, so soft it’s more of a breath, and on some half-thought-out instinct I don’t stand up, instead I lean forward onto my hands and knees and crawl slow towards the bed, back arched a little, eyes not leaving his face. I bite my lip, and he says, low, ‘oh, that’s how it is, is it?’ and sits up a bit on one arm. I keep my eyes on his, teasing a barely-there smile, letting my knees and palms drag slow and tactile-hungry across the rug, and a warm knot coils low in my belly, makes me slick and pulsing between my legs.

He starts to sit up but I just shake my head, no, and the rise and fall of his chest starts to quicken, grow rougher. He’s still looking at me, eye contact unbroken, when I get to the bed and crawl up over its foot, knock his thighs gently apart with my forearms and sink my mouth down around his cock and oh it’s good, half-hard already and quickening further in my mouth, bumping soft against my soft palate. I make a noise, involuntary satisfaction, as his hips rise a little against my mouth and the world collapses soft down into – this, the weight of his cock in my mouth and the jerky tightening of his belly under my palms.

KOTW: crawling