Please

"Sit" he orders me.

'What am I, you're fucking dog?' I can't help thinking. But my glossed lips stay shut. Lips he hasn't even kissed. Lips that he camethisclose to when he greeted me, only to pull away after his warm breath hit them with his hello.

We are in his study. The walls are green and the light diffused so it seems den like. As if I stayed too long I'd never extricate myself. He takes the leather chair only after I sit in the wooden one 5 feet away.

Tonight he's not wearing a belt. I remember it pressing into my belly cold and thick,
how he pinned my arms when I fumbled with it. "Patience" he'd hissed in my ear.

So there is no metallic interlude before he starts on the buttons of his fly, one- two- three- he looks at me to see how much I want it. It must be enough as with a few more tugs his thick cock is out, nestled by the soft pillow of his balls. I bite the insides of my cheeks, wanting to kneel in front of him, to lick, nuzzle, kiss, worship him. As if he can read my mind he shakes his head, and starts to stroke.

A bit of pre-cum leaks from the tip, I lick my bottom lip knowing it would be salty as I licked that soft skin. Skin so soft there's nothing like it. No food, no fabric, no liquid or solid can match the luscious softness that is a man's cock.

"Please?"

"No"

He grips himself harder, his cock surging red. He grabs the lube he knows I like and
drizzles some on the treat that should be mine.

"God, didn't know you were such a showman."

"Being a brat won't get you anywhere."

He forgets about me for awhile, his head leaning back, eyes closed, hand jerking a steady rhythm. When I let out a whimper he opens his eyes but doesn't lose the beat.

"Okay" he breathes heavily. I stand,

"No"

"But,"

"Crawl"

I hit my knees with a speed I didn't think my dignity would allow. My eyes don't leave his cock as I crawl to it. My hands find his knees and his hand is in my hair. As I lean in he pulls me back by my curls. I look to him brow furrowed,

"What do you say?"

hey pretty

I slip into romance novels like motel rooms. I cheat on my intellect with these flashy tickets out of reality. I come once, twice, three times. Yet, its not enough. The clenching, tensing, gushing is nothing compared to the real thing. The feel of flesh on mine, flesh not skin. Flesh sounds more carnal, its more than a handshake or a hug. Flesh is you against me top to toe separated by only the slip of sweat. Me, spine curved atop my comforter, hand between legs, that is snacking when I need a meal.

My newly minted gym rat status has brought libido along with muscle. At this particular gym there is little eye candy beyond the TV screens, but there is one exception.

I rythmically pull at the machine, 1, 2, hearing him grunt as he counts his own. My eyes shut and I imagine myself on my knees in front of him, giving him whole new reasons to grunt. 5, his hands in my hair, 6 tasting the salty tip of him, 7 dragging my nails down those carved thighs. I snap open my eyes. I’ve got to stop this or I’ll be thrown out of here for pulling down his shorts and getting a taste. Another groan from him. Fuck he’s got to stop that or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.

pussy

You’ve come already. In this dark place we lie, you’ve got your pleasure now its time for mine.

I fumble through the dark for playthings, returning to the sheets prepared for self-centered fucking.

Your body spent wraps around mine, holding me tight in reality as my hands play an instrument that drives me to fantasy. Your lips suck at my neck, my ears, as the buzz starts between my legs. I don’t want you to watch me, I want your accompaniment, I want you to help orchestrate this orgasm.

Fingers dig into my soft skin, I feel you hard against my hip. You whisper into my ear. I want you to whisper what we could do, what we would do, what I fear doing. Maestro you oblige me so sweetly.

You huskily tell me how we’d walk, till we found the right stranger. How my knees would grind into the pavement as you told me to suck him. I imagine his look of surprise as with a smile I slide his zipper down. He wears black leather and denim, and he is too wary of his good fortune to question it. I unbuckle the silver buckle of his black belt, one two three four five buttons, light blue cotton boxers, pink soft hard flesh. I feel you behind me as his cock drags across my tongue.

My face hidden by my hair and his crotch, my mind distracted from the park by thrusting my mouth, licking his length, by the cunt that cries for your attention.

Yes, I’m wet, throbbing, each discomfort making it a bit more of a turn on. I like being your slut, the ownership, the degradation; I like sucking him off for you.

And we’re back on cotton sheets, my pussy clenching around this purple menace, my teeth gnashing, my back arching, as I let out the noise that only comes when I do.

You sigh into my ear, the sweat of lust cools my skin, and I sink into sleep.

(© Alice Ginsberg)