Pretty

Sticky hot night in Oakland

It’s sticky hot in Oakland tonight but I’m remembering colder weather. A thick fog rolling in over the hills and wet, grey air calling us out onto the deck just before dusk. We’re enveloped in it. A cloud cover all our own. Relieved to be hidden from the nagging neighbors and their constant annoyance at our late night drinks with friends and loud laughter.

My hands reach around her as soon as we’re on the deck. I find her buttons and pull, one by one, slipping them out of their tight little button holes, finding her belly under the stiff cotton of her shirt. Not satisfied, not stopping, my fingers slide into her jeans and one hand moves between her shoulder blades. I bend her towards the deck railing. “Grab it,” I say and her arms steady herself against the wet wood.

I shove my hand between her legs, leaving her soft panties between my fingers and her pussy. I feel the stiff pricking of her short, trimmed pubic hair through the satin.

Holding her like this, seeing her bent over in front of me, my pants get tight. I shove myself up against her ass. I grab at her tits through her bra, pulling and twisting the fabric out of my way. I grab her with rough hands. Squeeze her between my fingers. I rub my hand against her panties until her pussy and my fingers are wet.

“Breathe,” I say out loud. This is for me. For me to remember to breathe and not suck it all in and hold tight and pass out. I have to be reminded to let go or I stay tight. Sucked in. Stiff. Red faced. I’m a balloon about to pop. I have to remember to vibrate and bend just enough to relax into this.

“Let me fuck you,” I say into the back of her neck. My hands undo her jeans and roll them down her thighs. I feel how strong she is and the contrast of thick muscle against her soft skin. I rub the backs of her thighs and slap her ass as I move my hands up and down, up and down. Slap. “Let me fuck you,” I say without needing to. She always lets me fuck her. She tells me all the time. She says, “Do whatever you want.” She taunts me with it when I’m lazy, “You know you can fuck me whenever you want, right?,” she says, “How does that feel?”

“Let me fuck you,” I say a third time and slap her ass hard. “Do it already,” she cries. My fingers are inside her before she shuts up. “Fuck you,” I say, “You act like you don’t care.” I wrap one arm around her to hold on while I slam my fingers inside her as hard as I can and I keep right on talking. “You act like a whore, never caring what I do to you. Like you can take it or leave it. Like you can get it anywhere, anytime you want.” I stop for a moment. Her breathing is hard and I can feel her legs shake, maybe from the cold, maybe the rush of a quick, angry fuck.

I twist and feel myself inside her. Let it build. Build to a strong, hard fuck. “It’s true. You can, baby. You can get it anytime you want. You can get it from anyone. You can throw your legs open and let them fuck you. Drunk. Stumbling to the bedroom. Stumbling to get on top of you. Fumbling with their almost hard dicks in their hands. You can get them with that flash of your ass or your tits. They can smell your pussy from across the bar, right? Did they see you bend over to pick up the dropped quarters before you put your money in the jukebox?”

I shove myself inside her hard. Harder than before but slower, with more intent and a steady rhythm. “You can get it, baby. Anytime. You can have that. But it’s not what you want.” Slower. “I know you, baby.” My thumb brushes against her clit.  “You like it pretty.” I press my lips against her back. “You like it pretty and you hate yourself for it.” I kiss her back. “You move your hips against me and I know how good you feel.” I hold her tight. My fingers inside her and my thumb rubbing her clit. We’re so wet between us. I can feel our sweat and the chill of the fog all around us. She pushes against my fingers. I hold her and let her ride against my hand.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper and her moan rises up from low in her belly. “Be quiet, baby,” I hush. She rides. We are twisted together. I hold on tight and whisper sweet things to her. “Come for me,” I sigh, “You’re my girl.”

She shudders so sweetly.

My girl.

I can do whatever I want to her. She let’s me fuck her.

elust #87

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Photo courtesy of Understanding Flutterby

Welcome to Elust 87

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #88 Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Secret Identities

Dividing lines…

Ember and Ash

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Bdsm: Our pleasures are our obligations

Southpaw

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Change your Cookbook: a monogamuggle’s guide to cookin’ with poly folk

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

When Love is not enough.
the fantasy and reality of my arrival

Blogging

Shine a Light

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

When You’re Bad
How Women Use Their Sexuality As A Weapon
Dear Fans: Quit Kinkbashing

Erotic Fiction

Big Daddy
(Re)Verse
The Front to Back Challenge
Pretty
GAME OF TWO HALVES – role shift
no. 106

Erotic Non-Fiction

He’s Cumming
Washing up
Chew Toy
So many friends with benefits

Poetry

One Stroke
-25.09.16_12:52-
Early Morning Haikus

 

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Fortune Teller

“It’s hot as fuck,” she whined. The windows were thrown open wide and the fans rattled on high but there was no relief. Hot air blew over the bed like an insult. The damn heat pissed us off. Ice melted in the glass before I could walk from the kitchen to the bedroom with a cold glass of water. Everything felt wrong, but I’d missed her too much all week to hold back.

I’d been alone the night before and fell asleep before she made it home around 2am. She was up and gone again at dawn. I’d wanted to fuck her as soon as she got home this afternoon but the heat was too much. Too sticky.

We read in bed together, not talking, trying to enjoy the calm. One or the other would get up for more water. I couldn’t relax next to her. She was stripped down to her bra and panties, lying there on her belly. Every page she turned distracted me. She kicked her feet up behind her and I’d stare at the backs of her thighs, her calves. Damn, this girl. She always turned me on. No matter what was going on, I wanted her.

I wanted to fuck. I was angry. I was hot and tired. She was oblivious and way too sexy.

I tried to be still. I tried to read but kept going back over the same sentence again and again. There were her feet, kicking. There was her belly as she rolled over and out of bed for another glass of water. “You’re mine,” I whispered as she crawled back into bed. “Always,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Her smart mouth. Her attitude. It was hard to tell when she was serious. She could be a brat and I fell for it every time. Hard.

“It’s too hot to fuck,” I said. She didn’t bother with a reply, just turned another page and sighed. This is what gets me. I cannot stand being ignored. I can’t stand the desire rising up in me with nowhere to go. She loves this. She watches it build. Some nights she can’t wait for my anger and prompts me. “Use me, baby,” she’ll say, “do anything you want.” Tonight I bit.

“You’re mine,” I said and crawled over her. I felt the sweat on my thighs as I straddled her ass. I grabbed her hair in one fist and jammed my other hand between my legs. “You know what I like,” she said. Her mouth stayed open. I watched her lower lip quiver. I shoved her head harder against the mattress. “Fuck you,” I managed, intending a stream of insults to follow, but I was going to come too fast. She knew it and laughed. “Fuck you,” I said and curled over her like a fortune telling fish.

She laughed louder now. Laughed harder as I smashed against her. Laughed at my struggle to shove her further beneath me while I jerked off. Passion is passion. Anger, love, jealousy. Everything was mixed together in this moment, but it was jealousy I felt most. The jealousy rushing through me wasn’t angry. I wasn’t nursing a wound or some slight. It wasn’t the thought that she wanted someone else. I felt jealous of her easy way. The book she held. Her ability to turn away from me and think of something else for even a moment. I was consumed. I wanted her always. Now. In this heat. Always.

I heard myself scream before I felt the pleasure of it. Coming. Coming on top of her. Holding her down. Wrapped around her. Her lazy laugh floating in the room. “Oh baby,” she sighed. It took me losing all control for her to give me that glimpse of herself, her sweetness, her relief in seeing me exposed.

I fell asleep after that and slept for hours, a deep sleep I hadn’t felt all through the long, hot summer. “You’re mine,” I said when I opened my eyes. The room was pitch black. I felt for her next to me. “Mine,” I said and grabbed her. She rolled over and pet my face. “I’m all yours,” she said, “Tell me what you want.”