erotica, Uncategorized

Mantle

Those asymmetrical arches in her eyebrows sunk a sharp hook in my cheek. She had been staring at my eyes spoor. It was cutting, I felt its origin before I ever met her gaze. Her name was Emily, and we were obviously friends of the same. I never would have guessed to see her at an Embassy Gala.

When our eyes met, the heat I felt from across the room ceased, and the air between our oculus froze. Her eyes shot away so sternly it recoiled in her neck. Her perfect, naked neck. I tried reading our past encounters, wondering if there had been something to warrant the cold avoidance. I’d had her tied and kneeling, she wouldn’t stop smiling and calling me an asshole. I’m not an asshole, but I learned this favourite phrase of hers had a subtext by the way her pussy clamped and released in orgasm as soon as I slipped the vibrator in her ass, and pressed it deep with each of my own thrusts. I caught her looking again. She had simply felt the pull of the rod and was playing her catch. I smiled.

She was in a crimson dress that matched her lips, and the deep amber earrings the mouchetures of her eyes. She was with a man, but I could see by the obvious tension in the back of her jaw that her smile was that of a waitress, the curtain of false interest as a means to her ends. I watched her for what felt like an hour, trying not to swell in these dress pants, thinking of her mane wrapped around my knuckles while I watch the small hairs on her back lifting at her peaks.

I rarely smoke anymore, this felt like one of those times. We could enjoy a longer moment fantasizing about this fox,  Joe and I. I sat in the parkade on the hood of my car to smoke, my eyes on the stars but my head somewhere between her thighs, until the unmistakeable click of stilettos on pavement closed in, and stopped in front of me. I sat up to say a word, but her knee had come up between my groin and her hips blocked mine. She took my cigarette out from between my lips with her french manicure before taking a long drag and tossing it. She kissed me behind my ear and grabbed my groin, the threat of the nails I’d seen sending an erotic jolt up my spine and igniting my limbic payload. Having a large cock occasionally had its downsides- it easily gave away my arousal, which I usually kept as a reward for this type of girl. Spoiled and catered to, these rich ones. They always want it so bad, and nobody gets what they want all the time, I love teaching them that. It certainly didn’t seem like I was going to be in control this time.

She obviously felt my flinch, and told me not to move, and not to bother talking because I won’t waste my time answering and you run risk of ruining this for both of us. Ok. She was straightening her legs and sliding her panties around her ankles, and asked for my hands above my head. My wrists went tight through the wrapped panties, which she then tied to my windshield wiper, and untied to knot around my neck. She wrapped around my eyes with my tie, and after what was probably less than a minute, but felt like hours admiring her own work, she began to touch me through my shirt. First on my collarbones and chest, my nipples, then the swollen top muscles of my carapace, down to my hip bones, back to my abdomen, my belt. She stroked obvious hardness through my dress pants while releasing my buckle and fly.

I hate the loss of control, but love the notion of these amazon using my body as their toy, because I am what they want and need, just as in the opposite. Probably similar to how an amiable man enjoys meeting somebody else to take the wheel of conversation, and finally allow him to close his mouth and listen.

My pants dropped with the weight of my belt, but pinned against the car at my thighs. I smiled at how ridiculous I might look through my minds eye, tied by pink frills with pants down and a tall cock, but had the tables been turned I’d be sporting the same pulsing erection.

She began by stroking, becoming familiar again. Her soft, white-tailed fingers were so pampering to my cock, and when I felt the breath of her nostrils move in to the bottom of my shaft, I had to fight my orgasm. Her tongue ran to my tip, and I felt the warmth of her breath for a heavenly second before she was back to the base. She did this all the way around my cock, until half was cold and wet from the evaporating saliva, the other still warm from her mouth. She drew her face away, and after two clicks of stilettos, I felt a new warmth above my waist. She slowly lowered herself onto me, her lips gripping at first, then meeting her spit and sinking deep. The heat inside of her practically sent me over. Her own hand muffled her pleasure, but after a few moments lost control and squealed loudly in heat. As soon as I felt her shuddering, I began bucking my hips, loudly shaking the hood of the car and surely drawing attention to our escapades. I succumbed to orgasm when she grabbed my hips and pulled herself down deeply, alternating between rolling her hips and bouncing her huge round ass against the bones in my waist, and at my announcement she dropped to her knees and resumed pace with her crimson lips, sucking herself off of me and never pausing between hums and moans. She kissed my hips and shaft for a breif moment afterwards, a quiet Thank you, then footsteps away until I could no longer hear the clicks.

When my breathing finally regained its silence, and the flood of hormones levelled, I remembered where I was. I pulled at the sheer panties and they ripped easily, and laughed when my makeshift blindfold fell away. Alone in a parkade, with a half-mast cock, painted red by lipstick like some dystopian Margaret Atwood character, smeared up my shirt and perfect lip marks on my mons.

I’ll have to return the favour.

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