I peer into the nothingness in front of me. The woman to my left is tired, lipstick worn and face annoying as she speaks on the phone. Her voice is too loud for the still and dark ambiance. I look forward, take a sip, and look forward again.
A sharp sting when you enter the room. Your body radiating heat and vibrations that penetrate my guts. I don’t look over, instead I wait (wait wait wait wait) on that stool quiet, not moving. You’re behind me. Too close. You lift your hand to my head. Touch the nape of my neck and move to the crest of my chin and cheek as I turn to face you. You tower over me, shoulders broad, arms solid. I can smell you.
“Hey Kitten.”
I find your ribs with my hand and apply pressure. Bodies pushing against each other, eyes locked.
“Hey.”
I tell the bartender to charge the room and stand up and walk toward the elevator. You follow. The feeling between us is dense and heavy. We wait next to each other at the elevator door, hands brushing against each other. Fingertips talking. I can sense your body. Feel the heat. It’s disorienting. No words. We walk into the lift and stand against the back wall. My boot rests behind me as I kick out my hips and press my shoulders hard against the mirror behind us. A family piles in. Parents and a couple of kids. Your body bumps against mine. I think about you facing me, feeling your body hard and weighted. The last time we were in a hotel room I begged you to be rough: itching to be taught a lesson in pain, uncertainty, and emotional neglect. Room 138. You held me for a while after. It was an exercise in kindness and power.
We were kids.
I’m older now and have experienced others hands and heat. Pain and suffering, pleasure, kindness and loving arms. Dedicated to non-possessive understandings of what feels good and bad and good again. You’re older too.
The doors open and we push past the kids. You lead, turn, place your hands on my hips and press. We stumble backward. No kissing, only touching and pressure. My hands are paralyzed and resting motionless by my sides. I can remember this, you, your hands, face, legs. How it feels to be in your arms, wild and unnerving. We rely on our bodies to communicate. I slip from under you and walk ahead. Holding your hand in mine. We are gentle with each other, a prelude to what’s coming. You lay your fingers on your neck to check your heart. Always an endearing habit. I move your hand and feel. Forgetting to count or check the clock. The beat is familiar, irregular, but yours. Your heart. Your body. Your hands and fingers and jaw, lips… they part and close again. We are standing for a moment, searching for something in each other. Your eyes scan mine as you move closer. Slowly. Intentionally. Looking at me with that look. The one that weakens my knees and kills me a little every time.
It begins, the rush, the hurt, the fun. Darkness takes over as we melt into the night. Floating over the white crisp sheets we fall and fall and fall and move and breathe. The room is cold and open. We see each other in the dimness of the light. Our bodies’ shadows and highlights revealed as we turn and tumble. My hair is gripped tight as you maneuver my body on all fours and pull. You’re behind me one hand controlling and the other feeling me from my shoulders to the small of my back and up again. An open palm pressed fully onto my skin. I feel you lean onto me smashing my body into the softness that lay below. Our bodies writhing, pushing and pulling pressing upward and down again. I’m defenseless.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/5eo81d/sleazy_prose_bsdm