Cues

(This post was born out of a conversation with a Tinder match where the only requirement was to use the words provided to spin a story. My five words? recliner; darkness; strangers; nails; biting.)

I must say, movie halls are so full of potential. The darkness lends itself to all manner of misdeeds, from the mild and mundane to the heart-stoppingly outrageous. Sitting there, in the midst of a sea of strangers all of whom are conveniently distracted by moving images on a screen, it's all too easy to create your own parallel storyline that's often a lot...juicier...than anything Hollywood could dish up. And the thrill of being so close to discovery - any moment, your neighbour could sit up in his recliner to sip at his overpriced soft drink and notice that you're using yours for more conventional (and delicious) purposes - just adds to the excitement. Hands move with just a touch more urgency, nails digging in harder; mouths and lips and teeth find their mark with alacrity, biting down more sharply just because it's so much hotter to feel a moan being stifled lest discovery be risked. And half the time, you don't really care - let them see, let them be shocked, let them radiate jealousy and disapproval, because it only adds to the thrill (and who knows, it may just spur them on to give in to their own desires).

The best thing about a movie hall, though, is the moment when the lights come back on, and you stare at each other with barely leashed hunger, your clothes in disarray, and share an unspoken promise to finish what was started.

Want, Circa 2014

When you have me at your disposal, I beg this one thing of you - don't touch my pussy. Ignore that part of me. Show not the least bit of interest in it.

Take the rest of my body and ravage it. Stand me in front of a mirror, your arm wrapped around my torso, holding me to yourself, my hair bunched in your fist as you tilt my neck back to take in a whiff of my perfume. Trace your possession of my body in minute detail, your hands and fingers claiming my eyes, my lips, my nose, my tongue as yours. Trace lines over my thighs, my hips, my stomach - but don't pay any attention to the valley 'twixt my legs. Bind my hands behind my back with your belt, making me shiver at the feel of leather on my skin. Only bother to run your fingers over my panties when you slide them off my ass to squeeze and fondle it.

Bend me over the couch with your hand at the small of my back, positioning me just so to receive the blows I deserve and crave - deliberate, unyielding smacks that turn my ass cheeks warm and red, my cries muffled by the gag you've casually shoved into my mouth. Don't stop until my upper thighs glow just as brightly, and all I can do is squeal unintelligible things as my legs tremble from the sensory overload.

Ignore my aching cunt because it's not time for it yet, but grab me by my restrained arms and pull me onto your lap, still just short of being able to grind against your erection. As you undo the belt, kiss me, consume me, own me; pull my hair, devour my breasts, whisper your intentions in my ear, and call me out on all my wicked behaviour - make me feel the burning river of shame and arousal trickle all the way down to add to that pool of damp heat.

Make me so wet, so desperate for you, that my sodden panties make a mess on your jeans. When you notice it, set about punishing me for being so needy, so lustful, by hauling me to the bed, tipping my head back over the edge, and giving me a throatful of cock to choke on. Tell me how wanton I look lying there with your hard shaft pumping balls-deep into my mouth. Tell me how you can hear my moans as I suck and slurp at you. Tell me how good it feels to feel my throat convulse around you. Watch me squirm, watch me try to touch myself, slap my hand away, and watch me buck against thin air, my whine making itself felt as a humming against your cock. And just when my throat is starting to feel raw, pull out and come on my breasts and my face, my gasps spurring you on.

Lie down beside me to catch your breath as I catch mine, one hand idly clutching my breast, absently pinching the nipple hard enough that my pleasure/pain receptors short-circuit. Even now, ignore my cunt and its stream of wetness, even as I futilely attempt to gain friction against the sheets, my hands, your body, anything. Hold me down as I struggle, denying me still. Describe how needy and desperate I look as I do this. Hear me moan in response, a continuous feedback loop to infinity. Make me beg for your fingers on my cunt before you even begin to consider it.