[FM] We fuck in vivid hypercolour

The sunset burns peach through the horizon smog. It gives way to oceanic blue, then black with the love spot of Venus.

We run. Lean, hot bodies. He pushes me against the wall when we are home. Spare change and keys make gamelan as the fall from the side table. His hand moves to my mound as his tongue enters my mouth. I shudder, shrink, smile, feel small beside him. I part my legs. He rubs me through a layer of Lycra and a layer of black cotton. I keep one hand on his chest, like I am keeping away, like I want him to be gentle. Yeah right.

My free hand goes to his shorts. He is hard. He is thick. I can’t get over it. Three years and still every time I touch him I gasp like I’ve been told bad news. He is bad news. He is good news. My eyes flash catlike in the weight of the purple dusk. It’s like the bottom of the sea it’s so humid. He is the anglerfish and I always go straight for the lure.* I take his shaft, stroke it. He puts his hand in my panties. His fingers sink into my bush, spread my lips. Ok. Volume volume turn up the volume.

I get some skin too, cup his balls, rub him up and down. *Fuck* he has a finger in me and I am blushing at how wet I am. He takes my hand off him. Laces fingers with me for a splitsec then takes my wrist. I snuff out of my nose like a cornered bitch. It’s a game we play. And hey, games are fun. My pants and my underwear are round my knees.

His cock rubs across me, the thick head against my pinkness. I can smell our sex already. His lips are on my neck, my hard nipples that fight against the black sports bra. I moan, yeah I moan. He gives me the tip and I twist and try and get more of him in me but like this face to face it ain’t working. Options. I start to think options. He makes the call for both of us.

I get flipped round, hands on the wall, assume the fucking position. He strokes my pussy a couple of times because he is a gentleman, then he puts it in me.

*Ohmyfuckinggod*

Try a big cock. If you haven’t had one, try one. Never compromise, never be satisfied with less. I am spread open, stretched, filled, owned, and that is before he takes my hips and starts to fuck. This is no Sunday drive. This is no moonlit row on the lake. This is no wooing. This is an urgent prayer to the dying of the light. We cause sparks. His hand is round on my clit as he moves. All I want is this. This glow between my thighs, this golden bright that spreads through my trunk.

*Come inside me,* I whisper, as if he was going to do anything else. He slows down, the bastard.

*What do you want?* I can feel his smirk. He shafts me slowly. My words are cut with passion throatsounds.

*Come in my…unh…come in my pussy…*

He picks up again. I feel him harden, thicken. I make little cries. He breathes heavy. He grabs my tit, pulls back the bra. Then he holds himself hilt-deep and comes. He pulses; he is warm inside me. I push my ass back to make him groan. Gawd it feels as naughty this time as it did the first time. I look at him over my shoulder wide eyed in that ‘you just filled me with your spunk’ kind of look.

He pulls out. I turn. We kiss.

*Beer,* I say. *balcony. Sunset.* He nods. I glance at the clock. Ten minutes. Then I am going to fuck him. Properly.

——–

*Purists will point out that only the female angler fish has a lure, but the metaphor would not have worked that way round. Sometimes poetry has to win over biology.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/6ja5te/fm_we_fuck_in_vivid_hypercolour

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