Author: MidnightsPaddedCell

Rooftops (m/f)

The best sex happens at the top of a tall building. Not a high floor, the literal rooftop. The kind of places Spider-Man might hang out and eat a hotdog. And it must be at night. Always. The lights of a city spread out below you, dark sky roiling with pre-storm clouds as you fuck your lover with the kind of savage abadon only possible in such a rarified setting.

We first met on the top of just such a building. Some featureless glass and steel prism in the Financial District known only by its street address. She said she had just come up to smoke. I said I was from building maintenance, checking refrigeration condensers. We both knew we were lying, but maintained our (admittedly weak) deceptions until she disappeared silently into the night.

When we met again a week or so later, this time atop a midtown luxury high rise, there was no deception. We recognized ourselves in each other immediately; kindred spirits, shared wants and needs. There were no words, only silent understanding of mutual lust. It was revelatory. From that night on, I knew I never wanted to fuck anywhere except a skyscraper roof. Read more »

Marked (m/f)

It always begins the same.

I’m sitting on the couch, or at the computer, my focus entirely elsewhere. Maybe we’re in bed, awoken late on a rainy Sunday morning. Maybe I’m standing naked in front of the open fridge, gulping down orange juice straight from the bottle, desperately rehydrating after fucking her for the third time that night.

Regardless of how it begins, it always begins the same.

She approaches, her posture supplicant and imploring, cupping the treasure in her hands. Taking it from her, I pause to appreciate the size and weight of the thing. Thick, curved stainless steel ending in a wide bulb, counterbalanced by a heavy ring. Perforce of training, her mouth is already open, waiting to be filled with the plug. She sucks greedily at the toy as I bend her over, knowing her spit is the only lubrication allowed. I undress her then, if necessary. My command comes sharp, direct and undeniable.

“Position Three.” Read more »

Act I [solo F, magical realism/mild fantasy]

It begins in total darkness. Hushed murmurs and clinking of glassware in the cavernous space ahead and behind. Lights come up, deep blue, only enough to define the space of the stage. An elongated oval, exits at the narrow ends, terraced seating facing both long sides, rising strata of watchers, faceless in the dark. The music begins with a heartbeat rhythm, then syncopates into a complex braid of layered drums and cymbals, thump and crash of primal resonance, human desire translated into sound.

She stands centerstage in a pool of bright yellow-white, barefoot, hair down, wearing a tanktop and short shorts in friendly pastels. The floor beneath her transforms into black and white tile, glimpsed impression of translucent bathroom fixtures surround her, towel rack, sink, shower curtain, toilet. A smattering of applause. She smiles an easy, practiced smile.

“This has always been my safe space, a place to retreat from the pressures and worries of life. Here, I see visions of myself that cannot exist anywhere else and indulge them. Here, I am at my most private. Here, I am totally exposed.” Read more »

Ahead of Schedule [M/F]

For once, I’m ahead of schedule. The kids are off to school, lunches packed the night before. The dog has been fed and is being mercifully, blessedly quiet for once. The garage door repair guy is coming this afternoon, but he already has the code to get where he needs to be. The List is empty and it’s not even 9 am, a full hour before I need to be at work. My congratulatory Starbucks confection tastes all the sweeter.

My husband worked late last night, I don’t expect him to be awake before I have to leave. His rumbling snores and mumbled half-awake phrases as I bustled around our bedroom this morning were their usual comfort and amusement.

He’s out until at least noon. Or so I thought. The sound of the shower turning on is a genuine surprise as I finish my drink, heading back to our bedroom to get ready for work. 

“What are you doing up?” I call through the half-open bathroom door. No response. “I hope we weren’t being too loud.” Read more »

A Dream Worth Having (m/f)

A dusting of snow blows across the concrete of the airport arrivals terminal, a dervish of crystalline white spiraling up into towering form, then collapsing into component motes. I pace back and forth between my pile of luggage and the taxi stand, realizing how nervous I am. Hardly an absurd thing to be feeling, given the circumstances, but definitely out of character. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other in person. Years since I’ve run my fingers down the gentle curve of her neck. Years since I’ve felt her lips against mine. I shiver despite my heavy new winter coat. Nerves.

When things ended the first time, I figured that was it. I had a choice to make, and I chose. With a single agonizing decision, I parted our lives. Even knowing what I do now, I still believe I did the right thing. But that’s not to say it’s been easy or there haven’t been regrets. Hardly. I longed for her, in ways I had previously thought to be the realm of trite fiction and breakup songs. Still, as it can almost always be counted on to do, life went on. She lived hers and I lived mine. I tried to force myself to forget, to focus on what was in front of me. It didn’t work. Read more »

Doll Night [M/f]

You have to make time for these things as you get older, as relationships mature to the point where spontaneity can no longer be relied upon. Dinner and a show. A new Vietnamese place and then an old Irish punk bar, juxtaposing the bright, fresh flavors of southeast Asia and the raw, furious power of North Sea hooliganism. What’s not to love? She’ll want to dance after her first drink. I’ll want to watch.

Many drinks later, she’s sliding into the backseat of the car next to me. The story of our evening is retold by the mingled aromas of anise and jalapeno, English beer and Irish whiskey, lingering perfume and pheremonal sweat. My hand slides up her jean-clad thigh, cupping inward towards the warmth between her legs. I kiss her, gently.

“Ready to go home?”

She nods at me, smiling, knowing what awaits.

—

We end up getting a little handsy in the car. What can I say, whiskey makes me slutty. My hand is down the front of her unbuttoned jeans, encouraging the growing wetness there, when a thought occurs.

“Hey, man. You wanna see my wife’s tits?” Read more »

Walking Home [M/F] [NonCon]

It had been raining all day. The pavement was still wet, traffic lights reflecting in watery primary colors. The night sky was clouded, a uniform dark gray above the polluting orange glow of the city. It was just starting to get cold.

She zipped up her jacket, silently congratulating herself for leaving the bar alone. She wasn’t trying to meet anybody. Not really. It was just another weeknight out. Someplace to be after work that wasn’t home. Familiar voices and old arguments and cheap, shitty beer. 

She first noticed him when he walked in, hours earlier. He was tall, wearing a long coat, collar turned up against what was then a steady rainfall. A hand running through wet, dirty blonde hair. A nod to Carol behind the bar. A lingering glance in her direction as he strode towards the back of the narrow room. The faintest whiff of some expensive cologne, burnt citrus and something woodsy. Her heartbeat quickened.

“Who’s that?” she whispered, as he settled himself at the far end of the bar. 

“Dunno his name. Comes in every once in a while. Keeps to himself,” replied Carol before sauntering towards the newcomer for a drink order. Read more »