Interstices. Lacunae. And trajectories.
These are what are hot for me.
For the same reason getting is more fun than having, for the same reason a striptease is hotter than an all-nude revue, for the same reason black and white is more erotic than color – because sexual arousal depends on mystery – what’s beneath those panties? what’s under that skirt? what’s behind that finger? And on the resolution of uncertainty – will she do as I ask?
Sex outside of these concepts can be hot, for sure. But I don’t particularly enjoy writing about it.
I’ve written about the lead-up. The story picks up in our room, a large suite with a balcony and a sitting area, in addition to a king-size bed.
Rose and I kiss, briefly. She tastes, deliciously, of cigarettes. I throw her back on the bed. Do I fuck her face first? Lick her clit? I don’t remember. But I did tear her dress off. Unintentionally, but it seems I did some actual tearing.
I tell her what she is to me – a collection of holes for my use. A slut. A cum bucket. I tell her she exists to please me. I slap her face. Hard. (I had sought, and obtained, permission prior to this evening.) I slap her ass. Hard. I slap her cunt. Hard.
I wrap the belt around her neck. This time, my belt wasn’t really designed for this purpose: it has a little extra strap, which makes it particularly treacherous for this particular use. The spike is constantly in danger of piercing Rose’s pale neck skin. I kinda like this extra danger.
I lick Rose’s clit. I have her rub her pussy while I watch. I wand her. I have her wand herself.
I lead Rose onto the balcony. There is middle eastern music playing across the street as she kneels on the towel I lay down for her. (She’s a cum slut, but knees on concrete hurt, and the truth is, I don’t really want to hurt her. Plus, I want her on my cock as long as possible, and that’s where I want her attention – on my cock, on the sensations in her mouth, her head. Not her knees.)
I lead her to the bed, and have her hold her ankles out wide while I plunge my cock into her cunt. While I press the wand, vibrating fast, against her clit.
I bend her over the radiator, fucking her from behind, pulling her onto my cock by her hair, pressing into her hard.
I have her ride me on the bed, and again, press the wand into her, against me. I lick her clit. Endlessly. She sucks my cock, I fuck her face, endlessly. My phone starts beeping with incoming texts. Penelope is drawing near. I correspond with Penelope by text while Rose and I are at it.
Over the next half hour, Penelope gets something of a blow by blow. “My cock is in Rose’s mouth,” I type. “Rose just came,” all of five minutes later.
“How?” asks Penelope.
“With a magic wand, that time. Now, she’s sucking my cock on the balcony. Previously, fucking, with my tongue, with her hands, with the wand.”
The orgasms – her orgasms – had come in rapid succession, delivered every way I know how. By my tongue. By my finger. By the wand, administered by me. By the wand, administered by her. By my cock. My cock with the wand. My cock with my fingers. By her hand.
We lost count. She grew sore. We both were flush.
Penelope is downstairs. “Let’s get dressed for her,” I say.
“It’s a good thing I brought that other dress,” Rose says.
“Yes,” I agree.
“Do you want me to put my panties back on?” Rose asks.
“No,” I say. I want her cunt easily accessible to me at all times.
We position ourselves, Rose on the chair, I, on the couch. I look at her pretty face. I direct her to make her pretty pussy more visible to me. And we wait.