This story recounts an experience in 2018 with my ex, M.
I pick you up from work. It’s dark. You’re waiting outside the luxury hotel where you’ve just wrapped up your late shift. I lean across to open the car door and you slide in next to me. Long, straight black hair frames your young Chinese features and even though every line of your face is etched in my memory, I’m taken aback by how beautiful you are.
I nuzzle in and kiss your neck, whisper to you to take off your panties. It’s a game we play, you in the passenger seat naked beneath the thin veil of your skirt, me touching you as we drive along the darkened streets of the city. What you don’t know is that tonight the rules of the game have changed.
I explain I need to make a stop to pick up something for the exhibition I’m designing that opens in a few days; there’s a particular stainless steel fixing I need for the construction. Our route takes us through one of Sydney’s inner city industrial suburbs and the diversion will only take a few minutes. You nod and stare aimlessly out the window, a blur of city lights silhouetting the profile of your face.
We drive down a narrow lane, slowing to pull up to a wide metal gate. Summer is approaching and the night outside is warm and still. At the entrance, awaiting our arrival, is Steve. We’ve never met in person—he replied to an ad I posted online—but we’ve talked through the details of tonight over several weeks. He opens the gate and waves us through. It’s as he described, a large industrial yard foregrounds the warehouse that houses his construction business. I drive through. The yard is littered with material offcuts: steel trusses, rusted mesh, plywood, shipping palettes, but its centre is a wide open space and it’s here that I park. Steve follows along behind and as planned approaches us from your side of the car. I press a button; your window winds down.
‘Hey mate.’ Steve leans in to greet us, his arm resting on the sill of your door. He looks like his pictures: a conventionally handsome face, somewhat weathered in the way so many Australian men’s are, sits upon broad shoulders.
‘Hey.’ I reply. I nod toward you: ‘Steve this is M, M this is Steve.’
You smile, slightly quizzical, clocking the oddness that its your window he’s leaning through. I catch and hold your eye before slowly and deliberately saying ‘M, I have a strong feeling that Steve would enjoy taking a look at your pussy’.
An odd expression darts across your face, surprise, anger, embarrassment and desire mixing into something I can’t quite fathom: a merging of resistance and surrender? As is your habit when embarrassed you clamp your eyes shut and turn your head sideways against the seat’s headrest as if averting your gaze.
‘Would you like that Steve? Would you like to see M’s pussy?’
‘Yeah mate, actually I would.’ he drawls.
You’re motionless, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. I feel the tension in your body as I reach down and slowly lift your skirt to reveal your pink hairless youth. Time freezes.
The slight sound of the breeze, cicadas, the distant traffic.
‘It’s pretty nice don’t you think?’ I ask
‘Oh yeah, beautiful’ he agrees.
I lean in to your ear and whisper ‘I think we should give Steve a better look, don’t you?’ Your breathing quickens but still you say nothing. I reach down and cradle your knee in my hand and gently lift it, placing your foot on the car’s centre console, spreading you wide open to his gaze. I see the muscles in Steve arm shift, the rhythmic pulsing of blood in his veins. He leans in closer, and I wonder if you can feel the movement of the air as it enters and exits his lungs.
‘Would you like to touch M’s leg?’ I ask. Barely perceptively he nods, reaching down to gently brush above your knee with the back of his hand. ‘And the inside of her thigh?’ I ask again. The rough skin of his fingers moves higher and you gasp, your head still turned, eyes still firmly shut.
‘What do you think?’ I ask
‘Oh yeah, she’s so soft.’ he replies. Pulled back the way it is, your skirt does nothing to hide you from his slow scrutiny.
‘I bet you would enjoy touching her there.’
‘Fuck mate, yeah I would.’
I lean in close and whisper ‘Shall we let Steve touch you there, touch your soft pink pussy?’ You say nothing but I see a shiver of desire run through you.
‘Why don’t you see if it’s wet? ’ I say.
‘I think she would like that.’ and I watch your lips subtly separate, your mouth opening as you feel his fingers begin to stroke that softest, most innocent part of you. I look at Steve, his strong hands insistently exploring.
‘Is it wet?’
‘Oh yeah, very’ he replies, and as he runs his fingers around your skin you can no longer resist, your raised knee drops fully to the side, opening you further, your hips push slowly back against the intrusion of his fingers. And now they are inside you, slowly sliding in and out, now faster and more urgent. A wave of spasms pass through your body as you come and hot liquid shoots across Steve’s hand, splashing the footwell of the car. I adore this about you, how like an overexcited puppy scrambling to greet its master you lose control of your bladder in these moments of intensity.
Together Steve and I take off your skirt, unbutton and remove your blouse, the monochrome moonlight caressing your erect nipples. You’re naked, fully exposed before us. Steve’s hand returns to its task, more aggressively now, its fast, rhythmic slap-slap-slap overlaying the guttural moans that emanate from deep inside you. You come again.
‘Slap it.’ I say to Steve, and now I’m holding your knee, keeping you spread open while his flattened fingers rain down upon your softness, each wet thwack punctuated by your sharp intake of breath. With an almost frantic impulse, you come again. I look at Steve’s torso half through the window, an expression of calm gratitude upon his face: ’Shall we move this on?’ I ask. He nods and we both smile knowingly.
——
Will post following parts shortly or read more on insta @mister.x.Sydney
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rx1cw6/the_warehouse_part_1_mf_ds