I sink the head into my mouth, ever so slowly; the whole head, closing my lips around it, tight. I withdraw and tease him with my tongue. Then take him into me again, a little deeper this time, advancing along the shaft. Then withdraw. Teasing.
And I tell him what he wants to hear.
I tell him, ‘Your hard cock feels so good in my tight little mouth. It tastes so good. It feels so fucking good, doesn’t it?’
And I don’t wait for an answer.
I push his cock up flat against his belly and hold it in place as I lick from the bottom of his balls, all around the sack, flicking his balls with my tongue, sucking one and then the other, then lapping along the shaft, like a brush stroking a canvas, until I get to the tip. And I lick it, and spit on it and pump it with my hand, looking him right in the eye. I can see that he’s overwhelmed and I know that he’s at my mercy.
I open my mouth, wide, so I can take him all the way, drawing in enough air to fill my lungs, as if I’m about to dive underwater, drawing his length into me slowly, curling my tongue around to cradle the head, stroking the underside of his cock as it slips inside. As I do, I can feel myself getting wet.
I hold him there until I feel him quiver, and then withdraw. He’s still connected to me by a thick pearly string of sputum that hangs between us and coats the tip of his cock like a snow-capped mountain. I look at the spit that joins us and imagine my pussy opening like a flower and the sticky white juices adhering to the lips.
I come up gasping for air and pump my hand hard and fast along his shaft, sheathing it with a film of spit while I catch my breath, and I prepare to go under again.
I bob forward in rapid little movements, open my throat and spear myself on his cock, feeling his engorged fleshy head press against the back of my throat, his cock filling my mouth. I imagine it deep inside my hot wet pussy and I can feel that my panties are soaked all the way through.
I feel his hands slip through my hair and I wait for him to clasp the back of my skull, holding it steady as he thrusts – one short, sharp, final thrust – deeper into me. This is what I want to happen. This is what I imagine ahead of time.
I’ll hear him groan as he unloads into the back of my throat. And he’ll be at a loss for words.
Except, ‘fuck’.
And, ‘yeah’.
I’ll take hit after hit after hit, hot and thick and sugar-sweet, sliding down my throat. And his come, it won’t stop. I’ll feel like I’m going to drown.
This is how I have it all planned out in my head. But that’s not what happens.
He slips his hands through my hair but he doesn’t push into me. He pushes me off him. It’s as if I’ve been woken abruptly. Jerked out of a dream.
I look up at him and say, ‘what’s wrong?’
I’m confused and hurt. I don’t try to hide it. He can hear it in my voice.
‘What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?’ he says.
Throwing it back in my face like that just makes it worse.
‘What’s gotten into you, Catherine?’
He only calls me Catherine when he’s really pissed.
Nothing’s gotten into me. Nothing that all. That’s the problem. Can’t he see how horny I am?
He’s made me feel stupid and cheap.
‘I’m working,’ he pleads. ‘I don’t have time for this now. Maybe later.’
And when he says that I know there won’t be a later. I know he’ll work late and keep me waiting.
And that’s exactly what happens. I’m in bed, ready and waiting and willing. And I can hear him outside but he doesn’t come in. And I’m left with only my hand for company, my fantasies for comfort, and all these strange images from the movie swirling around in my head.
I am tied to a tree that’s sheathed in ivy. My arms are bent back around the trunk and held in place by a thick coarse rope that’s crisscrossed over my body and binds me tight.
I’m in the middle of a wood but my head is filled with the sound of the ocean. It’s broad daylight. My body is bathed in the warmth of the sun. I hear only the sound of the crickets that sing in the night.
There is blood at my temple. But no wound. It has streamed down my cheek like a drip of paint, oily and thick. Like a tear that shows the color of pain.
And I don’t feel afraid because my lover is with me, standing in front of me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and I feel comforted. He caresses my body with his eyes and I feel desired. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound, but I am bathed in the warmth of his love. He kisses me tenderly, with lips so soft. He glances up at the blood, traces a finger through my pain and kisses me again. And his kisses are sweet, but that’s all.