This Boy

We had just started dating and he was a frustrated musician stuck waiting tables at a chain restaurant and buzzing through meaningless undergraduate courses. I was working at a diner and existing on caffeine and alcohol, hanging out in divey clubs that would serve me underage. We would meet at a comfortably filthy jazz bar after our shifts, still in our uniforms, and chain smoke and drink cheap drinks until we were bleary-eyed and forgetful and then stumble to our cars and drive home too fast on wet streets. My uniform was a short black nylon dress with a white collar and cuffs, pantyhose, Mary Janes.  It smelled like French fries and my soft, too-sweet perfume. He always wore a crisp, white collared shirt and black slacks, black Doc Martens. He smelled warm and like aftershave. It’s easy to forget how young we were then, isn’t it?  He always walked me to my car, though, no matter how far away I had parked, which, back then, to me, was love- or at least serious like.

It could have been the second time or the fiftieth time we left the bar when we stood in the empty street laughing too long, both of us buzzed and happy, when he pushed me up against the door of my car and all of a sudden everything was so serious and he was looking at me there in the dark. It was cold and I felt the condensation from the metal door seeping through my thin dress but I didn’t care. I felt his big hands pushing back on my hips and there was the shuffling sound of the gravel on the road that shifted under his boots. I snaked my right arm around his neck and my left arm around his waist and pulled him against me and oh good goddamn did he kiss me then. Hungry, aching, sudden oscillations- too raw and powerful to be described by a word as meek and monosyllabic as “kiss.”

 My tits were pressed up so hard against his chest they felt like they would pop and he stepped back just far enough to un-do the top button on my dress. I unbuttoned the second one. I felt him slip his hand in the gaping fabric and he squeezed my right breast hard. I was breathing so fast I thought I would hyperventilate or he would notice how much control I had lost. But I was the one who unclasped the front closure on my bra as I heard someone walking by on the street behind us.

I felt his cock surging against my leg and I wanted to beg him to fuck me right there. The overwhelming desire for him to push me down in the street on my hands and knees, rip my pantyhose, shove his cock in me, and fuck me, pulling my hair and inching me along the gravel with his thrusts till my palms and knees bled and I came screaming like an alley cat in the watery streetlight.

But even though I could see it, how could I have asked him for it when I couldn’t formulate a word, a sentence? He moved his hand up my leg, under my skirt, and started rubbing my vulva through the thin nylon crotch of my hose. I wasn’t wearing any panties, and I was sure he could feel how wet I was on his fingers. I reached up under my skirt and pulled the waistband of the hose down around my thighs, desperate to feel his hands on my cunt with nothing in between, almost panicked with the urge to be penetrated- no, more than that- stretched out entirely-by his fingers. He didn’t disappoint. He shoved his first two fingers all the way into me as soon as the fabric came away from my pussy, and ground his palm into my clit. My sharp intake of breath. I pictured him gently turning me around and bending me forward, over the hood of my car. I could almost feel the cold metal on my exposed tits. I would spread my legs and he would grab my ass, fill me up with his cock, and pump me hard while I fingered my clit.

But as much as I tried to somehow send him this image, I never said a word. I unzipped his fly and reached into his pants, leaving them buttoned at the top in my sad attempt at public decency. I felt him shift and I felt his body tense slightly as I cupped his balls. I moved my fingers slowly to the base of his cock and wrapped my fist around his shaft. I squeezed it softly, rhythmically, as I started to stroke him. His kisses got sloppier, more distracted. He started to finger me faster, pushing up hard on my g-spot with every undulation. He put in a third finger, and my head involuntarily lolled backward, away from him, and I moaned. He had to fuck me. That was all there was. His fingers felt amazing, but they weren’t enough. He could have gone in wrist-deep and it wouldn’t have been enough. I needed his cock.

I slid it out of his pants and pulled him closer, guided his cock underneath the front of my skirt. He kissed the side of my neck and I realized how heavy his breathing was, too. He pulled his fingers out of me slowly, one at a time. I pushed the very tip of the head against the crest of my clit- just a centimeter of him touching a centimeter of me- and the aching became so intense I wasn’t sure I could contain it. I rubbed him up against me. My pussy felt like it was blossoming open, impossibly wet and impossibly sensitive. I released my grip on him for a second and touched myself, then grabbed him again, stroking his cock with my wet fingers. I leaned back against the car, shoving my hips forward as much as I could, and guided just an inch of him inside of me. I felt tight around him and I wanted to take it all right there, but the way we were standing and the increased traffic from the closing bar prevented it.

I felt something inside him shift, a determination. He pulled out of me, zipped up, and started to button my dress. He could tell I was lost- everything had been happening in some kind of suspended time, and now things were happening so fast. He smiled. He squeezed my ass. “Goodnight,” he said, with a wink, “See ya after work tomorrow.” He gave me a swift peck on the lips and walked off down the street toward his car.

No Reply

There were years and years between everything- between the beginning and the middle and now. Years and years of thinking that I was just some little girl who never entered your radar, I was too loud and you were so couth. I laughed too much. But then, after years and years, do you remember? I came to your house, to your party, and I brought some forgettable guy fawning at my elbow, and everyone was drunk and then- do you remember this? You sat next to me and said, “I don’t know what it is, it’s not your perfume or your shampoo, you just have this smell I can’t describe that drives me crazy.”

 I blushed, laughed too fast. You touched my knee. The forgettable guy pretended not to notice. You looked at me, you had this look you gave me then. And then when no one was paying attention you went into your room and you waited for me to follow you and I knew it was finally going to happen, god, all these years I had wanted you so badly- replayed fantasies and eyes shut tight in bed. You’ll never know how many times you made me cum before you ever touched me. I thought I was going to disappear.

Do you remember what it was like that moment when I came in? When I closed the door to the noise and the people behind me and it was just you and me and this unbearableness? Who stepped toward who? Oh, god. But then one of us did, anyway, and there were no words and just us and that first kiss was all those years and at first you were so soft with me but you could feel under my skin how much I wanted you to swallow me whole. I was so desperate for you, and oh my god, that kiss- do you remember? But you didn’t grope me, you didn’t grab my tits or my ass. Your hands were strong and heavy on my shoulders and your mouth tasted familiar even then. I wanted you to gather me up and lay me down and spread me open there. And then. But you are nothing if not patient.

 And we moved, do you remember? We moved to sit on your bed, neither of us noticing anything but the other, and you reached over and grabbed my hand and you kissed me again, harder, more insistently. And I pressed back.

 And then, just then, your bed, covered in coats, moved- and we realized we were not alone, and there he was, our friend, sitting up, having slept it off and asking us what was going on? And there were knocks on the door and people asking for you, and the Forgettable Guy started wondering where I was, and I exchanged a few urgent glances with you and then I left.

 I thought maybe you were just drunk, that this was all some mistake, some delusion. And then, remember? You called me. That next day, with the weirdness and urgency of the night before gone, could you tell how nervous I was?  You asked me to come over again that night.

“Wear something that shows off your neck” said my gay best friend, “you have a great neck.”

            And then I was there, wearing something that showed off my neck, and it was you and I, same as we had always been except now there was no one else around and how do we do this? It wasn’t awkward, though. It was never awkward with you. I sat on your couch and you leaned over and kissed me and all the urgency of the night before came rushing back but now there was the knowledge and pressure and nervousness that nothing else was going to stop this from happening now. This time your hands were all over me, twisting my nipples between your fingers, cupping my ass through my jeans. I felt my hips start to make involuntary undulations. You kissed me all down my neck and collar bone and breathed hot and then cool on my skin. “Take me to bed,” I whispered, through my throat, and flicked my tongue behind your earlobe. Do you remember?

            Oh, I was never so slick before. So fluid.  And you looked at me and you didn’t laugh and I didn’t laugh and you took my hand and lifted me off the couch so I stood in front of you and you kissed me and pushed my hips backward and into your bedroom. You guided me to the bed until the backs of my knees touched the mattress and you ran your hands underneath my shirt, the dry rushing sound of your skin on mine.

I felt you reaching around my back and unhooking my bra, and then you were palming my breasts and rubbing my nipples with your thumbs, still kissing me. Your tongue was moving faster in my mouth and I finally reached down and unbuttoned your pants and moved my hands over the zipper. Oh, god, you were huge. And hard. When I opened your zipper your cock sprung into my hand- heavy and warm and alive. Did I hear you moan as I took it and squeezed it in my palm? As I snaked my other hand into your boxers and stroked your balls? You pulled off my shirt and I shimmied out of my bra. I held my tits up and together and slid myself slowly down your body until I knelt on the floor looking up at you, my back pressed up against the bed, my hands pulling your pants down to your knees.  

Oh, cock! Oh, your cock! It was smooth and clean and perfect. Hard as glass, hard as steel, harder than I thought flesh could be.  Nine inches, at least, and too thick for one hand to circle. I wanted you all over me, in my mouth, in my ass, in my pussy, in my hand, between my tits. I felt like needed your cock pounding me everywhere all at once, as hard and as deep as possible. But before I could begin, before I could feel that rosy head rubbing the back of my throat, even before lips touched tip, you lifted me up. Remember?

You pulled up my elbows and pushed me onto the bed, onto pillows and sheets and no coats this time. My tits rocked back and you tore at my jeans with the deftness of a surgeon and before I knew what had happened my panties and jeans were on the floor and there I was with you above me.  You held my right shoulder down and you slid your other hand down my side, across my belly, and finally, oh, god, oh god, finally, over the crest of my labia and onto my clit. Do you remember how wet I was? How my clit was buzzing with electricity when you touched it? How my back arched and my knees shook as you touched me? I had both hands around your cock and I was slipping them one at a time over each other and sliding them down the shaft and over the head, like climbing a rope.  Your pants were still around your ankles when you leaned in and first touched my wet, tight little hole with that massive cock. First it was just the tip, your fingers still stroking my clit, my hands running over your shoulders. Just the tip, just the tip. I needed all of it, oh god, oh god. And then the first few inches. You stretched me so far open I thought I would bleed, I wanted to bleed. I needed all of it, though, did you think I couldn’t take it? I needed to take it. I forced my hips up beneath you, trying to suck in even one more precious inch of it. But you are nothing if not patient. Agonizingly patient. You pushed it into me slowly, in one long and fluid movement as you looked down at me. It was the first time someone had ever bottomed out inside me, your glans crashing into my cervix while your pelvis ground into my clit. “Oh, god, Daddy…” I breathed.

 You were slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before you pushed back in. I put my hands on your ass and pulled you into me. How was I supposed to tell you I wanted you to never pull out? I wanted you to break through my cervix and fuck every inch of the inside of me until your cock came out my throat. Did you know? From agonizingly slow to frenzied in a half second. You were so strong. And was I screaming? Everything was melted together, you and me and outside and inside- all I knew was fast and hard and thinking you were about to push me through the bed to the floor and I would fall and I didn’t care as long as you stayed on top of me fucking me. 

With you I felt so desperate, clawing at you to cling to you and panicky that I was right at the edge of this thing an inch beneath the visible.  Did you hear the sharp intake of breath at the beginning? I breathed, and then I came so hard it would leave me shivering and unsettled for days afterward.  You squeezed my breast, your face was next to mine, and it was like the wind was knocked out of me as I lay beneath you paralyzed and waiting to feel the hot, sweet jet of your cum inside me, knowing that I’ll have it dripping down my thigh later when I have left. But right now, it’s that moment between moments, and I just want to leave it here, where this me in this story is in bed with you, in the throes of the unspeakable, for years and years and years.

Revolution

You take my hand and lead me toward the bed. I feel shy, silly, in this dress-up mouth, these fishnets, this costume. The skirt is so short and the neckline is so low, I feel like I look like I’m just legs and tits, and the overwhelming knowledge of why we are here and what we are about to do seems too blatant. I worry you’ll laugh. But you are nothing if not kind. I see you smile in the dark.

My knees hit the bed and you’re running your hands through my hair, your hands under my neckline, down my body, under my skirt. It seems to be going by so fast. I want to tell you to slow down or speed up, I don’t know what I want. All I can think about right now is your hands- they feel strong and cleanly calloused against me. I love your fingers, your palms, your broad knuckles, swirling their way over my breasts, squeezing my nipples and filling themselves up with my soft flesh. My tits fit almost perfectly into your hands, and as you cup them, I feel the tips of your fingers against my chest wall, my pale skin squeezing through the gaps between your knuckles.

I throw my head back and you start kissing my neck, running your mouth down my throat, and I feel your hands move up my skirt again, pushing up from my thighs and running over my ass. You move me. Manipulate my body until I am on all fours and you are off to the side of me. I need you to be in control now. I need you to take me and tell me what I need. You always know.

I can feel you rubbing my ass, but I can’t see your face as you slip your fingers down and slide them over my panties, grazing my clit. You take your hand away and I push my chest out, roll my head back, wait for you. You make contact. You’re talking low and dirty in that voice of yours that I can’t get enough of. This is the voice that only I hear. You call me a slut. You make contact. I’ve offered to let you spank me with something else- a wooden spoon, a hairbrush, a whip, but you want to use your hand. Something about the skin on skin. You make contact. I’m moaning now, and my body is shaking while you rub my swollen vulva. I can feel the pleasant sting of your hands on my body still. You make contact.

Again and again, I feel like I’m on the brink of cumming from this alone- this anticipation, this inability to see or think of anything else. I unlock my elbows and fold my arms, lay my head down in the nest I’ve made. You make contact. I’m so wet now that I’m actually worried the next time you spank me I’ll splash. You grasp my hair, pull my head back and kiss me. Your tongue blooms in my mouth and I can’t imagine that it’s just a tongue any more. Some kind of crazy, frantic movement and I kiss you back, longer and deeper than I think we’ve ever kissed before and I feel like we’re both stuck and lost in this moment with your mouth on mine and your hands still in my hair. Is this passion? Is this okay? Am I supposed to be responding to you, friend, in this way that is so indicative that we are lovers? We catch ourselves, we extricate ourselves, you push me down and I tug your pants off.

Your cock is huge and hard and perfectly straight, with its taught, creamy skin and glistening head. I take you into my mouth and curve my tongue to cradle it. I take you all the way in and you groan above me, your hands rubbing my thighs that I can’t seem to keep together. I suck the head and taste a few drops of precum, viscous and salty. You’re using your voice again. “Open your mouth.” I release you, look up, smile, open my mouth. You look down into my eyes and I can see that the shift has already happened. You’ve moved now, completely, from gentle friend to dominant lover. I’m your object to be used and used up, and I love it.

You lean down and spit directly into my mouth and slap me across the face. “You like that?” I don’t respond, I take your cock into the back of my throat and moan, shaking my head slowly from side to side. I lick back up the shaft until I’m just sucking the head, and I wrap my hand around you as I look back up to your face. “Do it again.” Your lips tighten and twist into a mean smile, and this time you slap me hard across the cheek before you bend over to let slow streams of saliva drip onto my tongue. This is aberrant and disgusting and I love every horrible second of it.

I start to rub your balls while I work up and down on your cock, moving fast as you thrust into my mouth. I want you to lay me down and fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked in my whole life. I want you to fuck me harder than anyone in the history of the world has ever been fucked, and ever will be fucked again. I want to feel your tip slamming into my cervix, your pubic bone smashing into my clit, your hands holding my shoulders down to the bed while you tear me open.

You push me back until I’m lying down, tearing out the crotch of my fishnets, pushing aside the fabric of my panties until your fingers start to contact my bare skin. You start to rub my clit softly, with an excess of gentleness that I’m not sure I can handle. It feels like my vagina is entirely full of fluid and I’ve got to be totally still not to let it spill out.

“Fuck me.” I whisper, “Oh, God. Please, please fuck me.” Your cock fills me up completely as you slowly press it through the canal of my pussy. I gasp, softly. You pull it almost all the way out and I want to scream, but before I can, you’re pushing it inside of me again, in that maddeningly slow rhythm. I feel your hands move up to my throat, your thumbs pushing down on the sides of my neck. My breathing is fast and shallow and I’m staring at you as I start to hear the room edging in on me. The silence becomes so loud I can’t hear either of us any more. I feel my arm lolling off the edge of the bed and I realize I’m completely incapable of motion right now. You are completely in control of my body. Yellow and green lightning bolts start to stream through my vision and they make noise like lightning would, I think. Electric. Then nothing. Not even the awareness of nothing.

My legs, over your shoulders now, come into focus, and I can see the grids of flesh pushing through the fishnets. I realize where I am and that you’re fucking me and I open my eyes and think that this is the best way to wake up, ever. You thrust harder and harder, your cock inside me swelling and rolling and bottoming out and I’m cumming so hard I can’t tell where you and I begin and end, and the muscle contractions become so intense I think I might pass out again. I feel like my soul is being birthed, my body forcing it out of me in this uncontrollable orgasm, tinged with death and resultant in this new and shining thing.

Every Little Thing

You lay me down, your eyes are calm and gentle and you've moved the bedspread to the floor. The sheets are pulled up underneath the pillows and there's nowhere for me to hide my body, my shame. I am marked, colonized, peculiar. I am Other with a capital "O." My body bears the signs of use: stretch marks, a c-section scar, hips too wide, cigarette burns, areolas too large, bruises left by another lover. I don't want to show you. I don't want you to know that I'm used up, I blossomed too early and died and all I have left for you here now, at 25, alone with you on these sheets, is my lack. I am a body marred and mangled and hateful of itself. Can you accept me? Will you admit that you were wrong, that all of me is not beautiful, that so much of me is inadequate and unsuccessful in its representation of woman?

You have been waiting for me, naked, and I look at your body and can see the power it represents. Your broad shoulders, the wide base of your knuckles, your strong legs. I wonder what you will think when you see me- when you understand my inability to maintain power over something so personal and important as my own body. You smile at me and kiss me for a long time, your palms on my cheekbones, your fingers brushing my ears and tangling themselves in my hair.

I feel one of your hands slide down my neck, linger over my breast and start to pull up my t-shirt. You stop kissing me as you move my shirt over my head and rub your hands down my back to unhook my bra. I sit up slightly to help you reach the clasp and you're kissing me again. All I'm wearing now are my panties, and I instinctually press my legs together and cross my arms to hide. You are insistent. You pull my arms above my head and hold my wrists in one hand while you kiss me and make me forget this exposure for a second. Your other hand gravitates down to my panties, tugging them off more gently than you've ever treated me.
I am splayed out in front of you now, and I realize that I am letting you create me. As your fingers move over my body, you are tracing my existence, my corporeality. Your hands start to define me, where my flesh begins and ends, with the smooth rushing sound of my skin against yours. Will there be bloody swaths where your hands have been? Do you mark me, too? Will you take something else from me I can never replace, never forget, leave just a sign inscribed on my body forever?

Your fingers stir me. Move quick down my stomach and over my labia, teasing out my clitoris and making my knees tremble and move apart. I feel sticky, like my vagina is trickling a stream of honey or blood or something primordial and close to the origin. I arch my back and feel fecund. As you kiss my breasts, shaping my nipples in your mouth, I wish I was lactating. I want fluids to surge through my whole body, to seep out of every part of me, semen and milk and blood and dirt and vaginal discharge- everything that creates. My skin feels stretched to the breaking to hold all of this in. You are here to create. To help me create. I want to scream that you are making me, forming me, and I don't want you to anymore. I want to do it myself. Let me take my own hands, let me push them down and over my body, let me make it and mold it and leave it just the way it is, full of scars and brands and logos that I won't erase now, if given the chance, because they are my battle wounds, the impressions of the shackles that remind me the restraints are gone. I want to tell you this, right now, right here, that I don't need you to penetrate me because I don't lack anymore, I am whole and there's no room inside of me for anyone else- just me. But I don't speak. I am overwhelmed. And I am glad.

Your cock presses hard on the hood of my clit, and I realize that I had been wrong. I don't need a cock anymore. No. That part is true enough. But for the first time in my life, I desire it. You spread me open slowly, through layers of flesh, and I notice my pelvic floor muscles have tightened. I am physically changing, I have made myself whole and now you have to find a way to be a part of me, rather than me being empty and needing a part of you. I want you to find your way in. This is an expression now, a supreme and sacred profanity, not just a motion like a handshake or a hug. Not just a physical reality, not just a pleasant time between friends, not a way for me to feel accepted- it's become something beyond those things and beyond you and I, and I realize, for all of my life, I've been doing it wrong.

For You, Blue

I’m smoking a cigarette to force distance. He knows this and I catch him smiling at me behind his eyes. I want him closer but I want this to be organic. I want to shy away from the inevitability of what we are about to do. We talk. He’s okay with this silly denial of mine, he lets me play my games and I catch glimpses of him looking at me, amused. Curious.

I fold my legs up on the couch and press my feet behind his back as we talk. He’s making me laugh and I realize that I’m really enjoying this moment, when everything is quiet but us. He stands, and I think he’s only going to gesture but he moves towards me and bends down to kiss me. What do I do with this sudden eclipse of a kiss that comes so quick and unexpected? He pulls away and looks at my face, smiling. I can’t help it. I bite my lip, but I still can’t hide that I’m smiling, too. I look down at his hand brushing my forearm.

He grabs my hair and pulls my head back slowly and I have to grin. He’s stopped smiling now and he’s looking into my eyes and I feel like I’m going to fly apart- like a baby that isn’t wrapped tightly enough in a blanket. My muscles and joints feel impossibly fluid- unleashed from the pull of gravity, and I’m entirely transparent to him in this moment. Here, on this couch in this house, with this kiss and this man and this hand in my hair, I have become an entirety of parts without a whole.

He brings my face up to his and kisses me again, this time bringing me up from the sofa to stand in front of him in this body with no center. The rubber bands that hold my knees together dissolve. He lets me pull away from his face as I collapse to the floor, kneeling in front of him. When I look up, he’s smiling again. I don’t think he understands how necessary this is for me.
I’m very aware of my nipples and clitoris as I unzip his pants and slide them down over his hips. His cock jumps out from his boxer shorts and I realize that no matter how many times I see it, I will always be surprised by how big it is. I put my hand at the base and lick slowly, wetting down his pubic hair. I pull away and move his boxers down into the pile of jeans around his ankles. I roll my tongue in large figure-eights around his balls, rub it in the crease between his thigh and crotch, lap up the smell of his skin and soap.

I move slowly and he runs his hands over the back of my head. I lick around the base in broad swaths and look up at him, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. I move up further and flick my tongue over his frenulum and then rub his chubby, rosy head over my lips like I’m putting on makeup. I notice that our breathing is paced exactly the same right now.
When he looks down and I look up, he brushes the hair out of my face and looks serene. We both inhale deeply and he pushes my head toward him while he thrusts his pelvis forward. I close my eyes as his cock pushes far back into my throat, my tongue swishing side to side, and I reach up to cup his balls. He’s thrusting harder now, faster, and I love the way his glans feels as it pops back and forth through the angle of my throat. I’m so aroused I’m moaning and my panties feel soaked through, but he stands over me and doesn’t make a sound.
I pull back, rolling my tongue in quick circles around his head and then suck hard while I run my hand up and down the length of his shaft. He pushes my shoulders back, my face away from him now, and I can’t think about anything else but how badly I want him back in my mouth until he shoots rivers down my throat.

I look at him questioningly, I can almost see my body there on the floor, my makeup smeared and my hair all fucked-up, my face covered with saliva and pre-cum and arousal. He pushes me back until I’m lying on the floor and makes me wait while he undresses me. He kisses my breasts and runs his hands around them as he moves them together and straddles me. His cock is still wet with my spit as he glides it into my cleavage and starts to thrust. He holds my tits up and together while he fucks them, and I can feel his hands pushing down on them as if he’s afraid he’ll shake them off. This feels so right, like he always knows the perfect thing to do at the perfect time. I love the way this looks from my angle- his penis bobbing in and out of my breasts, burying himself in them and coming out again.
I desperately need to be fucked now, and I focus on his hands- outside of my control and holding me together. I worry if he lets go I will fall apart- an image of a broken mirror, the shards reflecting pieces of a girl- an eye, a wrist, a glimpse of labia, scattered around the floor.
I feel him draw his hips back as he lets go of my chest and puts his hands on either side of my shoulders. He uses his knee to force my legs apart and he holds himself above me, his cock so close to my cunt I can sense exactly where it is, like someone staring at you in your sleep. I am entirely still.

Though the room is silent except for my quick breaths and his slow, measured ones, it feels like the entire world is happening right here in this room at this singular, pre-coital instant. This primal moment he and I are constructing isn’t just representative, it’s creating and destroying and it is literal. The beginning and the end of everything there is.
He moves his hands so that they’re positioned on my neck- fingers reaching back into my hair and his thumbs stroking my trachea gently. I try to collect myself. I try to breathe slowly, try to match his easy respiration.

He penetrates me as he pushes down on my neck. The even pressure of his cock pushing through me exactly matches the steady force of his hands on my throat and I gasp. It feels like he’s pressing my body together from one end as he tries to split it apart from the other. The balance is perfect.

He slides all the way inside me and then thrusts again, sending shockwaves running through me as he hits my cervix over and over. My eyes are open wide and we haven’t broken eye-contact. He’s focused.

I hate that I love this so much- this feeling that comes from this moment between moments, this violent beauty consuming me and making me whole. I can’t tell if I’m coming or not as the edges of my vision start to darken and he eases the pressure on my neck. I don’t want him to do anything to get away from this blurred line we’ve created between sex and death because this is the only time when I am completely unafraid- when he has made me feral.
I pull my legs up over his shoulders and he holds them to one side as he moves in and out of me, penetrating me completely again and again until I think I can’t take any more. I want his body all over me, pushing me into the floor as hard as he can, but he is still calm and quiet as I suffer beneath him, torturing me with the things he knows I want.
He pulls out completely and makes me sit up, my back to the wall. He shoves his cock into my mouth again and I taste the sticky sweetness of my vaginal fluid. As he starts to thrust more violently, my head bangs against the wall with his weight and I start to rub my clitoris with one hand while I put the other one on his ass and force him deeper into my throat. My whole vagina is throbbing and I have an overwhelming awareness of its emptiness as I press my fingers inside it and stroke my clitoris with my thumb.

I’m going to cum I’m going to cum I’m going to cum I’m going to cum…
As if on cue, I feel my muscles contracting faster and faster, and he thrusts so hard I can feel him shake my whole body and my head snaps back. I feel his semen start to run down my throat as I realize I’m entirely lost in the void of this orgasm- both of us together to the exclusion of everything else.