this short erotic piece is inspired by a conversation I had this morning, which provided the opening paragraph.
the story is fiction, but inspired by a real person I’ve never met.
I may finish this later, if I feel adequately inspired.
“I want to put my fingers inside you, palm up, fingers curled and pressing. Heel of my hand grinding your clit. I want to feel you clench. “
She gasped into the phone.
“I need you ready when I get there. I’m not going to go slowly. I’m not taking my time.”
I shifted gears, speeding into a curve. I could hear her breathing through the earpiece.
“How long?” She asked.
I decided to leave her wondering.
“Start touching yourself now,” I said. “But do not – and I want this absolutely clear – do not come. That belongs to me.”
I could hear fabric rustle.
“Ok,” she whispered. Then louder, “fuck, I’m so wet.”
“Stay that way. I’ll see you when I see you. Leave the door unlocked.”
I hung up, turned up the music, downshifted to pass another car.
Sometimes meeting someone for this first time is slow, carful, get to know you. But when it’s someone you’ve made come with words, multiple times, that seems silly.
Even foreplay seemed silly tonight. Tonight, hot, windy, humid, seemed like a night to tear away pretense of politeness. Tonight was for savage, brutal contact. Foreplay, gentleness, that could wait til later, after we were covered with each others sweat and sex.
I wanted her to taste herself all over me.
A gust of wind tore through the palm trees when I pulled the rental car into the driveway, first fat, heavy raindrops striking the windshield as I killed the engine.
I sat a moment, listening, watching the rain sweep in, then opened the door.
The wind gusted as I opened the front door, rain now coming in sheets. I wondered if she’d hear me, hear the door.
I walked in, oriented myself. Kitchen, hallway. I moved down the hall.
I could hear her moan softly, then I said her name as I stepped through the door.
Startled, she gasped.
She was coming off the bed as I stepped in, her lush figure draped in a short, silky robe, untied.
Then she was pressed into me, her breasts pressed into my chest. We kissed, and she began to unbutton my shirt.
I slipped my hand between her thighs. She was slick, dripping.
“Did you hold off?” I asked.
Her teeth dug into my shoulder as my shirt fell to the ground. “I couldn’t stop,” she whispered
I grasped her chin, turned her face up, looked into her eyes.
“You’ll need to pay for that disobedience,” I said. She nodded up at me. “Now undo my boots.”
She dropped to her knees and undid the laces. I lifted her, kicked off my boots then I pulled her to me, and did as I’d described; my middle and ring finger slipped inside her, hooking up, pressing into her pubic bone.
I pulled her to me, one arm gripping her waist. My palm ground into her clit.
She tried to undo my jeans. “Not yet,” I said.
She was so wet i could barely maintain my grip. Her arms were around me. She began to whimper, then bit into my shoulder again. Her body began to shake.
Then she began to come, a long, building, guttural cry escaping her throat, at first muffled by my shoulder, then she threw back her head and it became a scream.
Her knees buckled, but my arm held her tight to me as she shook, coming a second time. I felt her clench around my fingers, squeezing; fluid gushed from her.
“Oh fuck,” she gasped, then again.
“Now,” I whispered into the top of her head, “we’ll discuss that punishment.”
I walked her backwards, to the bed and sat her down.
I pulled my belt out of of my belt loops, and showed it to her. Black, thick, wide, worn.
“Get on your belly,” I said.