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Author’s note: This isn’t so much a story about sex, rather it is a story which uses sex to explore the characters. It’s explicit but I am not a writer who is just interested in my reader getting off, I hope you feel it a bit deeper than that …
My thanks to those who’ve read through the drafts and shared their thoughts. And to VMKane who continues to encourage and inspire me.
The sky is indelibly inked in my mind, a surreal blue. Not a cloud to be seen, just vast emptiness. As I drive, the fierce midday sun penetrates everything. It still feels intimidating; I’m from a green and luscious country and not used to all this dry, dusty space.
It’s iconic; I can almost see the ghosts of those forced along this route all those decades ago bound for California, carrying their own unique story of hope, loss and sorrow.
Faith is tripping in the passenger seat, unable to describe what’s going on, not because she can’t but because I don’t understand. She’s younger than me. To the casual observer she almost looks innocent, a blonde with a beautiful face. She’s an escort or was until she met me and has a love hate relationship with men as a result. Imagine bright, bold colours and red lips; trashy. There’s sadness behind her eyes.
I’ve always found it difficult to be in the company of someone who is hallucinating. She isn’t the most stable of personalities, meaning I get to deal with the fallout and there will be fallout.
Her little grey top is worn for effect, no bra underneath, nipples pushing against the fabric. I’m taken in by her. I wonder if I’m any different to all those men who paid to fuck her. Maybe I feed myself the same lies.
“What you thinking about, peach pie?”
Her southern accent is foreign to my ears and yet at the same time so very familiar. American culture as much a part of my upbringing as it was hers.
“You. You’re high and now it’s my problem to deal with.”
“Ain’t anyone’s problem, I can look after myself.”
“Sure you can, Faith.”
“Have you ever really thought about time?”
“It’s something I can’t control, I know that much. Plus you take up a lot of it.”
She reaches over to my right hand resting on the gear stick, weaving her fingers between mine. Her palm is clammy.
“Not sure that’s a great idea.”
We’ve been here before, many times.
“Stop over-analysing. You make my stomach do funny things when I touch you.”
The urge to kiss her is always there, waxing and waning with her emotional neediness.
We’re driving through one of the smaller towns which still exist along this road. I pull over into the lot of a general store which has a few bikers out front. It’s bright. The sun is always bright here, becomes part of everything. The store has a huge sign announcing souvenirs; wooden cladding giving it that old world, Wild West feel.
“Wait here, I’m going to get supplies. Don’t move.”
I’m not entirely sure I trust that she will be in the car when I get back. I lock the doors just in case, not that she notices.
I’m hit by a blast of cold air as I enter the store. It’s so thick, almost as if I am wading through it. I head straight for the wall of drinks, most of the colours bright and garish. I choose a few bottles with the least offensive contents and fight the sudden urge to laugh at the sheer unpredictability of life.
Arriving back at my place, the heat is as oppressive as ever. It’s secluded out here and not too far from a little town that attracts outdoorsy people. The only downside is it’s a good four-hour drive from Vegas.
After some careful manoeuvring, I manage to guide Faith into my bed. Tell her I’ll be here if she needs anything. I grab a beer and sit on the porch, wondering how I got myself in this position. Knowing how Corky felt.
I don’t pay her, never have, never will. I pay for dinner and I pay for drinks, but I don’t pay for sex. I want someone to fuck me because they choose to, not because they have to. She tells me sometimes what it’s like, to walk through the hotel lobby with a stranger, not knowing how it’s going to turn out. She thrives on the adrenalin, not to mention the money.
I hear her moving around inside, I’ve been out here longer than I’d realised, the sun that bit closer to the horizon. I’m met by her sitting on the sofa smoking.
“You weren’t in bed very long. Let’s have a toke. I don’t have to drive you anywhere else, do I?”
She glares at me, not liking my insinuation. As I take a seat next to her and inhale, I watch the smoke whisping from the joint, catching the light, its aroma mixing with the coffee percolating in the kitchen.
“What’s it like?”
“It’s hard to explain, I know you don’t always agree with that stuff but you really should try it. It’s like time didn’t exist in the same way. My filters were removed and I could see things differently, my perception was altered.”
She moves without warning, climbing onto me, straddling my lap. I put Şerifali Escort the joint in the ashtray, glancing to the window, checking no one is walking by.
“What are you doing?”
My hands move to her hips, feels good having her on me like that. She smells amazing, perfume and her own individual scent. She’s looking down at me with beautiful eyes, black liner on her upper lids. There’s still an edge to her.
“If I tell you, it’ll make you blush. Although I do know how much you enjoy it when I make you uncomfortable.”
“You like to do it often enough.”
Her words have a direct link to my libido. I am blushing, flushed by my sexual arousal that she so easily stokes. I can feel her slowly grinding against me. It’s making my stomach churn.
“Do you think about it?”
“Think about what?”
“Don’t be coy, Olivia.”
“Sometimes. But that’s no surprise to you.”
She puts both hands on the back of the sofa and leans down to kiss me. I allow her tongue permission to enter, my breath catching in my throat. It’s delicious; I can’t stop my hips pushing up to meet hers. The skin on her waist feels soft, warm, my fingertips tracing her flanks.
“Am I making you wet, Liv?”
She grips my wrists and places my hands on her chest. I can feel her nipples straining against the fabric and pressing into my palms. She lets out a moan as I squeeze and twist them between my thumb and forefinger. She looks so innocent, I feel like I want to take advantage and look after her all at the same time.
I slide my hands under her top and slowly pull it up and off, exposing her breasts to the cool air, a silver piercing dissecting her right nipple. Her areola are light pink, nipples perfectly in proportion. I lean in and take one into my mouth, suck it aggressively, grazing it with my teeth, playing with the bar. That same moan again, an air of desperation to it, her hands gripping my hair, pulling me against her.
“Fuck, feels amazing. Harder.”
Biting her nipple now, I know it must hurt but she responds by grinding into me harder. Our breathing is becoming laboured, desperate.
“On the floor, now. Lie on your stomach.”
Giving me a quizzical look, she climbs off my lap and obeys. Her shorts are tight, on purpose of course. I stand and walk around her, watching her watch what I’m doing, wondering what’s next. Her skin is pale, unusually so for someone who spends a lot of time in the sun.
“Pull your shorts down.”
We play this game, seeing how far we can push each other.
“Because I told you to.”
She grips the waistband of her shorts and teasingly pulls them down, exposing her backside to me. She has to lift her hips slightly to do so. If I had a Polaroid camera I would take advantage of this moment, want to show the picture to everyone.
“Spread your arse.”
“You heard me.”
“And if I say no?”
“You won’t get what you want.”
“And what do I want?”
I can tell she isn’t sure. I catch only a glimpse of her vulnerability before she swallows it down. She has shown her body to countless people, always on her terms.
She hesitantly exposes herself, turning her face away from me. I want to drag this feeling out for her, understand that she can’t do it without me giving her the permission. It’s not what she’s doing; it’s why she’s doing it.
I move behind her, opening her legs wider with my foot, kneeling down between them.
“Wait … You’re not?”
Don’t give her time to react, lean down and lick her. I feel her body noticeably shake, my tongue tracing her skin lightly. She tastes as fresh as she smells. As I probe gently, she opens up.
I sit up and put two fingers in my mouth, coating them in saliva, gentle pressure, one finger at first and then two. It’s tight, warm and inviting. Slow and deep, giving her very little to work on.
“You really are a dirty girl. How shameful it is to let me violate you like this.”
“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Sorry for disappointing you.”
“Do you let other people finger your arse, Faith?”
“No? It’s just me that knows your dirty little kinks then.”
I lean forward and kiss the top of her back, down her spine, noticing the fine hairs standing on end as I raise goosebumps, her musculature defined and athletic, arms crossed underneath her, forehead resting on her forearms.
She’s so very wet. I add another finger. With my other hand I move her hair to the side of her neck and kiss her cheek. She’s flushed, a slight hint of moisture on her skin. I bite her ear, pulling it gently between my teeth. I feel her reacting around my fingers, clenching tighter.
“I’m going to go get something. Stay.”
I pull my fingers slowly out of her, mindful of how the emptiness will feel. I walk quickly to the bedroom. She knows what I’m getting, last time she used it on me. We never Şerifali Escort Bayan talked about it afterwards.
Stripping off my clothes, I attach the strap-on. It’s black; I could never wear one that was flesh coloured and realistic. It’s tactile, invites me to wrap my fingers around it, caress it. I pick up the bottle of lube and squeeze the cold liquid along the shaft, making it slick and shiny. I am drawing confidence from it, my posture changing.
As I walk back to her, my cock juts out in front of me, focusing her attention. I hold myself above her, resting on my knees.
“You like me being in control?”
Small, quiet voice. I believe her and I don’t because both realities are true.
“No? Is your body lying to me?”
Just to underline my point, I run my index finger between her legs, front to back, enjoying the feeling that I have done this to her. The noise she makes betrays her.
“You make me do things, Olivia.”
“Make? You are doing it all by yourself, darlin. Uncomfortable admitting it, aren’t you?”
“Admitting that being vulnerable gets you off.”
I press the end of the prosthetic against her, against the place my tongue and fingers just were. Not entering, just threatening invasion.
“Do you belong to me?”
I grip her hips and lift her arse so she is at an angle. I know this position makes her feel dirty, more exposed. ‘Doggy style’ is such a derogative term, to be fucked like a submissive bitch.
It’s taking all my willpower not to enter her, to watch the black silicone disappear inside her.
“If you don’t ask I’ll do it anyway.”
“That’s what gets you off, isn’t it Liv? Taking, you like me saying no.”
True and not true.
“Just as much as you like saying no.”
Using my right hand, I guide it inside her. I read her body, listening to her. It takes time to accommodate me, I move in and out, knowing personally what she’s feeling. I allow my weight to rest on her, my mouth next to her ear as I move my hips, whispering.
“Kiss me when you’re close. Wanna feel your orgasm on my tongue.”
I’m sweaty, working hard to please her, satisfy her. I want to make her come, want to show her how much I respect her. I haven’t done it before, she’s always been the one giving, never taking, never allowing me. I reach underneath her with my right hand and circle her clit with my fingertips, never breaking my rhythm.
“Liv, I’m close.”
She twists her head and kisses my lips, opens her mouth to my tongue, both of us breathing deeply. I can feel it in her body, feel the tension. Hear her almost sobbing, tears forming in her eyes.
She pushes me away, unable to take any further stimulation, exhausted. I move back and sit against the sofa, reaching for the joint and lighting it. As I inhale, the flavour mixes with her taste. I’ve never gone down on her, she’s never let me. I look at her lying there, hair messy, strands sticking to her face.
It feels strange to still be wearing the strap-on. I unbuckle the straps, sliding it off my hips and discarding it on the table, smiling as I feel the awkwardness beginning. It’s all very different in the heat of the moment, post-orgasm is less straight forward.
She comes over and sits between my legs, her back against my chest, bringing her knees up. It’s nice, intimate and not expected. She normally closes off and pulls away. I listen to the silence and enjoy the moment, trying not to make it anything other than it is.
“I struggle … with this. I’m not sure what it’s meant to be.”
“Trusting people and letting them in.”
“Because it’s scary?”
“I know you think I’ve got my shit together, I haven’t. You are this amazingly sensitive soul who has been told and shown she’s got nothing to offer. It’s not true, don’t believe it.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into me, securing her. She’s emotional, I can hear it in her voice. I don’t want to be her saviour, I want to be her equal. Help her see herself through my eyes.
Her body relaxes into my arms and she sobs; heavy, body–jerking sobs. I just hold her, my silence telling her more than my words could. I want to cry but I don’t. It’s strange how we’ve gone from fucking, to this. In some ways this is the most honest we’ve ever been with each other.
“It’s OK, it’s not your fault, Faith.”
We stay like this for a long while. Her sobs turn into those silent hiccups that only come after an intense release of emotion.
“Want me to run a bath?”
I unwrap myself from her, both of us still naked, feeling the chill that comes almost instantly out here as soon as the sun moves below the horizon. I pull her up, leading her by the hand to the bathroom, shutting the toilet lid and Escort Şerifali sitting her down. As I turn the taps to full, water splutters and then rushes out aggressively. Water has this strange cleansing quality, a rebirthing, baptism of sorts, washing away our sins.
“Let’s get you warmed up.”
With the tub half full, I help her lower down into the steaming hot water. I watch her face, almost expressionless, eyes void of focus. As the water engulfs her breasts I turn off the taps, suddenly deafened by the silence. I long for the water to wash the sediments from my skin.
“I’ll go and make us a hot drink, sweetheart.”
I keep waking fitfully, I know she’s in the next room and all I want to do is go over there and be close to her. Wrap my body around hers from behind. She asked to sleep on her own in the spare bed, said she needed a bit of space to sort through her head. My sheets are rucked up, uncomfortable and crinkly beneath my skin and yet I can’t be bothered to sort it out, the discomfort strangely comforting.
I’m horny, torrid thoughts racing, mixed with the guilt and shame of thinking such things when she’s feeling so down. How can I think about sex, about fucking her, when she’s been so vulnerable with me? Images of her going down on me while she’s crying carry my hand inside my shorts. Not in a forced way, I’d never force her to do anything, even in my fantasy world, no, in a protective way. I will accept her however she is.
I’m wet, my unsettled dreams affecting me, fingers playing with my clit. I know I shouldn’t. I’m scared of letting my imagination wander, scared of the places it might go, especially during the anonymity of night time. Me on top, hands around her neck, taking control away from her.
Her body pushing up against mine as I tighten my grip, looking into her pleading eyes. Wanting to slap her face because I know she wants it and I want to do it to her. How can I possibly explain this to anyone who doesn’t understand, the guilt partially carrying me over into orgasm.
And I start crying.
I walk into the kitchen, the morning sunshine streaming in through the window and illuminating her. I tut at how clichéd that sounds, even in my head. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts which is baggy on her, making her look even more attractive because it’s mine. She looks up and smiles.
“Morning. Listen, I’m sorry about last night, Liv …”
“Don’t, no need to apologise. It needed to come out. Whatever we are, you know you can speak to me about anything, that’ll never change.”
“Whatever we are?”
I walk over to her and lean down, kissing her softly, not expecting her to open her mouth to me. She invites my tongue in, lets out a delicate moan, almost apologetically. It makes my insides tighten. She’s the only person who has ever made me feel this dominant.
I pull her out of the chair, turn and face her towards the counter top. Without any direction, she places both hands in front of her, which naturally causes her back to arch. I’ve just realised she isn’t wearing anything apart from my t-shirt, which causes my breath to catch.
“You’re not wearing any panties …”
She turns her head and looks at me with innocent doe eyes I’ve only ever seen her use once before. I know what she’s doing and she knows I know what she’s doing. In a way this is like acting, playing another character gives us permission to do things we feel uncomfortable admitting.
“… Girls with no shame should be spanked.”
I pull her t-shirt up at the back, which is perhaps the most erotic sight I have ever seen.
She whispers it, pleads with her eyes. I’m part of this, it feels fucked up and yet I can’t stop, her kinks and mine coming together without either of us really planning it.
I reach out and gently cup her, immediately feeling the extent of her wetness. Pulling my hand away, I inspect my fingers as she watches.
“See, you have absolutely no shame. You’re soaking wet.”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t. Don’t spank me, I’ll do anything, Liv.”
The way she says my name makes my head spin. It’s very Marilyn-esque, which makes it creepy and uncomfortable and yet at the same time sparks something in me. I know her and I know why this is getting her off and that makes me uncomfortable in itself, we’re both walking a knife edge.
I give her zero warning, the sound of it reverberates around the kitchen. I can tell she’s shocked, the red mark forming almost instantly on her delicate skin. I spank her again, in the same place, harder this time, her body jerking forward, away from my hand.
“I’m sorry, please.”
Again, this time on her right cheek. I can feel my underwear sticking to me, know I am just as wet, if not more so than she is. In a strange way this is like an exorcism of our demons, a cleanse of all the emotional baggage we have been carrying together. Getting it out into the open and exploring it together.
I can see the tears in her eyes but it’s not sadness, it’s something else entirely.
One last spank and I come up behind her, press myself against her, folding her body, hand on the side of her head pressing her right cheek down against the worktop. Not hard but with some pressure. Never violence, only suggestion.
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