Saran

I breathe air like ink, silently drawing time. His petrol blue eyes stare out from under the shade of his rocky outcrop of a brow. It’s as much raptor as concierge, strategizing my pleasure and his; I feel hunted and it heightens my lust.

On the flight to see him, I order a beer and run my finger through the ring of condensation it leaves behind on the tray, thickening its line and circumference. Our relationship is still pretty new, and visiting him on a work trip is a bold step forward. I’ve packed nine tubes of lipstick—all red—and every sex toy I own. Rope, nipple clamps, clothes pins, a stainless steel butt plug, a roll of plastic wrap, paraffin candles, chopsticks and rubber bands, a Wartenberg wheel, dildos, cuffs, a flogger, a crop, and a paddle. I packed four sets of lingerie and my three tallest pairs of heels. I only packed one outfit to wear around the city. 

He greets me with a very quick kiss before putting my suitcase in the back seat. My nerves are ripe, they feel visible. I start a tight chatter to hide them, telling him about my flight and whatever comes to mind as he tensely navigates the tangle of arrivals traffic. When we get into the looser flow on the highway he relaxes and places his hand on mine. 

Smiling, his voice like a clarinet, he asks me to tell him again about my trip now that he’s able to focus, and, calmly, I do. 

We talk easily all along the highway, to the exit, across the overpass, and into downtown Chicago. The lowering sun casts long shadows and is reflected in windows like pennies. I marvel aloud at the skyline and the river and all that brick. At a stop light, I turn to see him watching me. Staring straight into my eyes, he reaches into my shirt (I’ve buttoned it low just to entice him) and pulls my breast out of my bra just enough to expose my nipple, then rolls it between his fingers until the light turns green. I cover myself back up and we drive breathlessly to the hotel.

~~~

“Strip.”

My blouse is nacreous pink charmeuse, the color of a doll’s skin. No part of my body is so delicate a pink. My colors have more rut and snarl to them. I unbutton it slowly, with a controlled exhale and slide it down my arms, the silk licking my skin as it glides down. My arm hairs stand, feathery and dark. 

“Bra.”

I twist my arms behind me and unclasp the eye-hooks. I am looking at his eyes, but he is staring at my breasts, waiting for them. I slip the straps off my shoulders, the hotel AC shivering them. I drop the bra and it loses itself on the carpet with the blouse. My breasts fall loose and I hear his breath deepen. I go to unbutton my pants but realize he hasn’t told me to, and pause, hands stuttering at my hips. The cold air molests me as I wait, pulling my nipples into points. He seems impressed that I’ve caught myself before disobeying and he squeezes his erection through his pants, looking back into my eyes. His eyes look lit by something similar to fury. He steps into me, opens my pants and quickly pushes them down my legs along with my underwear before leaning into me until I fall back on to the bed. He squats down to pull them off completely and throws them deep into the room somewhere.

He brings me back up to standing by my shoulders, and bends just enough to push his pelvis into mine. He licks my lips and I open my mouth. He kisses me with his tongue and when I try to meet it with mine he withdraws it, breaking away slightly. He kisses me again, reentering my mouth and I try to close my lips around it. He withdraws. He continues teasing me with his tongue until a whine escapes me and he ends the kiss. He spins me away from him and slides his hands up my belly to my breasts. He cups them, he pinches them, he squeezes them. He slaps one breast and my knees collapse a little. With his hand on my sex, he steadies me and pushes against me so I can feel how he’s hardened. I moan low.

“That’s right,” his tenor rasp like leaves falling past my ear. “This is what you love.” My moan enters its alto register. 

He slides one finger between my labia like an oar in water, slipping it back and forth, to demonstrate my wetness. He bites my neck as he brings the finger to my mouth. I suck and lick it, wanting to excel at anything he asks of me, and my eagerness catches him off guard.

“Fuck,” he says. It is mostly breath, pure exhalation. My mouth follows his finger as he withdraws it. He walks away from me, my back feeling the cold in his absence, and unzips my suitcase somewhere behind me. I don’t know what he’s going to choose.

I hear plastic stretching off itself; the balloon sound, that squeaking, stretching, tearing sound. A thin layer passes in front of my eyes like a warping lens and he wraps it tight around my head two or three times, leaving my nose uncovered. He pushes three fingers against the plastic and into my mouth until they burst through, leaving small shreds of the film behind like thin epoxy, plasticizing the tips of his fingers and nails like a doll’s hand. He explores the inside of my mouth, feeling my teeth, stroking the inside of my cheeks, grabbing and tugging on my tongue as he groans my name and rubs his cock on my ass. 

“Stand up.” I do, automatically.

“Arms up.” He winds the roll around my body, squashing my breasts like supermarket fruit, like day-old bread. I’m becoming less of a body, and more of a mylar mass.

“Arms down.” He steps behind me and wraps my arms together and then pushes me back again onto the bed. He stares at the plastic edges fluttering around my mouth when I breathe. I see his blurred profile through the film, his chin curved like a comma. We’re both removed from each other, anonymized. He wraps my legs and I can feel the urgency in his speed. He rips the end off and my ankles are pulled even tighter together. I can barely hear. The plastic over my ears is shifting, hissing on my hair when I move my head. I see his silhouette move, and I identify the sound his belt makes as he undoes his pants. He crawls on the bed toward my mouth, lifts my head and stuffs his dick into my waiting mouth. He uses me the way I like to be used sometimes: strictly for his pleasure. He slides himself through my lips in long deep strokes over and over, bottoming out at the back of my throat. The plastic around my eyes slides up as he puts my head back down so he can reorient himself above me, and I can see again. Looking up, I see his fist at the base of his cock, behind his balls, and above that, his face barely registering me as he guides his cock back into my mouth and continues fucking it. From this angle, his curved dick matches the shape of my throat, and he is able to fuck further into me, moaning every time he feels me swallow or gag when his pubic bone hits my chin. He sounds ecstatic but frustrated, like he’s disappointed he can’t push his whole body inside me. He pulls all the way out with each stroke, to savor the full sensation on repeat. Tears stream into my hair, matting it under the cap of plastic. I feel him shift and he kneels further away from me, up higher on his knees. He’s red in the face, hawk-eyed. I gasp. Staring at my mouth, he squeezes his cock until precum drips onto my tongue. My mouth is already slick with it, but it still makes my guts clench when I taste it. I watch him move around to the foot of the bed, stroking himself and taking inventory of my available body. He pulls me down the bed, so my feet are on the floor. My shoulders are starting to feel the strain of my body’s weight resting on them, and my fingers are starting to numb, but I can tell he’s about to start fucking me. My thighs are still bound tightly together so he rips a hole in the plastic and pushes my legs apart. My body is sliding around in the plastic from the sweat on my skin. He squats slightly, aiming his dick at my hole, staring at it, spreading my lips apart with his other hand. His dick is crimson and streaming precum. He licks his hand in one broad stroke from wrist to fingertips and starts giving rapid, spitty flat-handed slaps to my pussy, slowly increasing in intensity. My voice hits its highest register, as I squeal and try to resist the urge to squirm my antagonized clit away from his slaps. I want to take as much as he can give. My eyes scrunch up, my mouth widens, and I’m about to cave. He senses it and plunges fully into me, filling, stretching. My face instantly relaxes and seems to spread and widen on my skull, and all I can do is grunt and whine. He fucks me steadily in a cruel, taunting rhythm. He fucks my pussy the way he fucked my mouth, all the way out and all the way in, disappearing over and over into unseen depths, reemerging each time wetter than the last. I start groaning, hiccuping a little at the bottom of each thrust. With his bodyweight he pushes me further up on the bed, fucking me into place. He looks into my eyes and spits on me. He smears it around my chest with the flat of his palm. The shock, the degradation, the grossness of it sends me over the edge and I start to cum. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he says, pulling out immediately. I am bucking my hips, trying to get what I need to finish, but he climbs up my chest to a straddle and strokes himself furiously. I don’t recognize the sounds coming out of me as he erupts, mixing hot cum with the now cold spit on my chest, and glazing the bare, exposed skin of my neck. He pulls my jaw down with three fingers, holding my mouth open to aim one long spray of jizz into it. I feel it sting slightly as it reaches the top of my throat, and the menagerie of sounds pause for a moment as I swallow. Eventually he stops shooting, but his cock stays hard in his hand. With his other hand, he pulls the plastic off my face and then slaps his satisfied prick against my cheeks, leaving a few shining lines of cum behind like a lewd illuminated script. He rolls onto one knee and tears off the rest of my full body prophylactic, bundling in such a way that the fluids stay inside it, all the signs of our lust disposed of like trash. 

I feel the air on my skin again, the sheets. 

My sweat evaporates quickly and I feel a small grief in the dryness.

Photo by the author