Blurs

I don’t remember why I wrote this exactly. I know I wrote it for someone who wasn’t much impressed with it, but I like it well enough.

Consensual, caring BDSM. All characters over 18. No one is a blood relative. NSFW. 18+ only. Copyright me.

“I’m scared.” I say, looking at the bed nervously.

“I’m not.” He replies, half-smiling.

He walks over to the window and takes in the horrible, industrial view. A city in the twilight, covered in dust and thoroughly disgruntled. It’s warmer in the room than the summer night outside.

“Do you have air con?”

“I have everything. Come here.”
Slightly reluctantly, I edge over to join him, fixing my gaze on the point where the horizon blurs into electric lights and grey hills. I don’t, I won’t even look at him. He doesn’t seem to mind. After two minutes or so he takes my hand and holds it.

“We had a nice time.” He says, eventually.

We did. We walked around a lot. He knew to take me to a museum, to point things out that he liked. I managed to drink three cocktails and I wasn’t sick. He only told me after that they had half as much alcohol in as they should have. He knew, after all. And now we are here in his hotel room and my stomach is in knots.

“I told everyone what we were doing today.” I sound unlike myself, firm and wise and sweet.
“Everyone?”
“Well, not my mum..”

“Just a postcard for her, then.” He strokes my palm very, very gently with his index finger.

“I told them exactly what you’re like. What you do. I said I wouldn’t go to bed with you.”

“Very wise, very sensible.” Still stroking, but his body turned by a quarter, leaning over me, his voice winding through my hair.

“They know you’re rough. Restraints. Bodily fluids. My face painted with messed make up, tears and cum. They know you enjoy degrading, pushing every limit you can think of. They know I can’t take those things. I won’t take those things, either.”

“I know that, too.”

“I trust you.” I say firmly.

He kisses the top of my head.

“That means a lot to me.” Now he speaks directly over me, I feel the warmth of his breath on my scalp. “Come and lie down on the bed.”

I meekly follow him, pausing to remove my shoes and t shirt even though he hasn’t asked. He is still fully clothed. We lie down next to one another on the typical hotel duvet. We fall into silence again.

“I’m going to go down on you. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” I say without thinking.

“Good.”
He sits up and walked round to the foot of the bed, watching my stomach rise and fall before he begins to unbutton my jeans. He pulls them down slowly, taking care not to bring my knickers with them. He lets his hands travel from my backside, down the backs of my thighs and behind my knees, and seems to stay here for a long time, where the fat and the muscle fight for supremacy and fat ultimately wins. I can’t move my knees further than a foot apart. He sees me struggle against the denim.

“Perfect.” He says.

I cross one arm over my stomach, biting on the thumb of my free hand anxiously as I watch him. All of the insecurities of first time sex bubble up inside me. Did I smell? I was wearing cotton underwear – cute, breathable – but we’d been out for hours and my thighs rub together and sometimes he’d put his hand on the small of my back to guide me out of the way of passing tourists and I knew at each of these I had grown a little wetter, a little hotter, a little more uncontrollable. I have to trust that even if I did, it didn’t matter.

He kneels at the end of the bed and rests his chin at the v where my limbs meet my troublesome cunt and I watch his nose for any crinkling against stench. None came.

“Are we sitting comfortably?”
“We’re not sitting.”
He reaches under my knees and pulls me towards him, the only manhandling of the evening and I am open mouthed in surprise that he moved me as though I was made of rags and candyfloss, no big deal. He glares.

“Then I’ll begin.”

He purposefully licks the damp, clinging material using the flat of his tongue, tasting with his very being, as some kind of overture to what would be going down. I laughed when I thought this, my hilarious accidental punnage. He watches my stomach shake approvingly and waits until I’ve composed myself before continuing.

I think he’ll take this opportunity to take my pants down too, but instead he just stretches the material, distorting the pattern so he can work his tongue into my delicate areas, his kisses over the warm, inviting flesh. Each time he ventures inwards – to my clitoris, the obvious choice, or my inner lips where I’m wettest – I buck against him, breathing heavily but still mindful of the guests next door. It’s 4pm, though. Maybe they were still out. Maybe there had never been anyone there at all.

He holds the material more tautly against my thigh so he can see the whole of me and begins to lick harder, more pointedly and then I feel the tip of his finger circling the wet entrance to my cunt. Just circling. Tracing the edges but never venturing in. I twist against this simple motion; knowing it to be deliberate torture. Still he licks but here was the same, the barest traces of his tongue over my clit but nothing more as I writhe and writhe and stare at the ceiling where the Artex pattern makes my eyes glaze over.

I grab at my breasts through the thin, style over substance bra I’d chosen to wear for him even though I had maintained he would never see it, never see me naked, certainly never slide just one of his fingers into me and then raise his eyes to mine from between my legs and say smugly.

“How long do you think I can stay here?”
“Longer than you expect.” I am still staring at the ceiling. “I’ve got a lot of stamina. I am mostly made of stamina and small spaces.
“You weren’t kidding, this is a very tight space, indeed. I like it. What I’d like more, of course, is to see how I could make you squeal feeding my cock inside you.” And he laughs when my cunt clenches around the finger at his words. “I’d like so much to fuck you until we’re both raw. I’d like to fill you full of cum and then bend your neck so you can watch it dribble out of you. I want to see you naked, so tired you can’t move, covered in sweat and sex. I want to be the one who corrupts you.”
I sneeze in response, then I giggle.

“I am already corrupted. Tough luck”
“A guy can dream, can’t he? I like how you taste. You even taste innocent compared to other girls.”
“How can pussy taste innocent?”
“I don’t know, but you do. You taste like coconut and mischief.” he flicks his tongue over my clit, just once and I make the noise of those losing control of themselves.

“Mmph….!” Gagged by my own lips pressed together the noise still escapes from me and his wicked face grew wickeder still.

“There we are.” As if that was all he had wanted. “See, you know I know you’re a noisy girl at heart, there was no point in trying to hide it from me, was there?”
“It’s more like hiding it from the neighbours.”
“I know. But it’s not like I’m murdering you. So this is an order. Make a fucking racket.”

And down he goes for a second time. And we know that when ordered to do something it can often be difficult to perform that task, particularly with an audience. He takes my clit between his lips immediately and the Mmph comes again, through my nose and my hips jerked upwards and he removes the finger only to replace it with two, his thumb pinching my fatter outer lips as he sucks. It was the third finger, almost angrily shoved into me that makes the fire explode from my mouth, makes dirty words pour forth like a river of depraved liquor.

“Fuck. You win. FUCK. YES. MORE.”

Now he only raises his head enough to say sternly,
“More, what?”
“PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!” I moan, gripping the sheets in my fingers until my knuckles ache, my toes curled into the air and I can feel the wetness coating my inner thighs – cum, saliva, sweat, indefinable wetness, the source of the rivers of salt ultimately untraceable.

“Good girl.” He murmurs.

And attacks my nethers like his life depends on it, his fingers stretching and pounding; his tongue light and his lips direct and perfect and as I come and my thighs clench around his ears I feel him laughing uncontrollably into me and this makes my euphoria thrive.

As it subsides, I realise he is lying next to me again, sucking on the fingers, slightly dehydrated from their ministrations. I turned on my side with my hands pressed under my head.

“Isn’t it funny how we’ve never even kissed?”

“To some people it probably would be, sweetie.” He offered me the last finger and I accepted. To me the taste seemed different from someone else’s touch. His fingers were wider, stronger than mine. I hold his palm with both hands and back my body up against his so we’re spooning, the finger still caught between my lips. He’s still clothed. I’m still trapped from the thighs down by my jeans. His erection presses firmly but not intrusively against the cleft of my arse.

“It’s yours if you want it.” He murmurs into my neck, but he doesn’t push the subject. The day was barely half done. There’s plenty of time.

When I’m satisfied his finger is clean, or rather, I’d grown bored of sucking it, I begin to gnaw at the pad of his fingertip, not intending to hurt him, just being… playful. He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway.

“Guess what’s in my bag.” I say.

“What’s in the bag you made me carry up four different flights of stairs this morning?”

“Mean.”
“Just paraphrasing. What’s in it?”

“No, Guess.”
“Is it a ball gag?”

“No, it is not a ball gag.”

“Is it a clit pump and an industrial-strength Hitachi?”

I give him a look.

“Play properly!”
“I’ll have you known someone has rocked up to my door with a miniature dungeon in her carry-on more than once. I am playing properly. Besides.” He adds, gently prising his hand from my grasp and stroking my hair. “I know what’s in your bag. I peeked while you were in the loos.”

I frown. “Well that spoilt everything, then.”

“Not really. We talked about it a lot before, didn’t we?” He moves his head closer. “Are you going to put it on for me?”

“Ok then.”

But first I have to struggle out of my jeans, flailing about like a beached mermaid shedding her tail. Eventually with a final flourish of my ankles, they hurtle over the edge of the bed. I take the bag and lock myself in the tiny ensuite – a shower cubicle with a toilet basically plumbed inside it and a sink above.

It isn’t so much the dressing that’s the issue, it’s making myself look neat and presentable with it. I examine myself in the mirror, my hair in messy pigtails and my face flushed. I take the hairbands out, smooth my tresses and re-plait them more tightly. I adjust my cardigan and the knot of my tie beneath my chin. The flat bar shoes I brought with me on the hour long train journey have scuffed on something in the bottom of the bag but they’d have to do. I take a breath and step out into the bedroom again.

The smile spreads over his face like a virus.

“Perfect. Just perfect. Well done. Turn around for me.”

I made a slow twirl then stand with my hands crossed in front of me.

“Knee length. Good girl, you know you shouldn’t wear something shorter because you’ll just flash your knickers at all the boys when you bend over to tie your shoelaces.”

“My shoes don’t have shoelaces.”

He just stares at me. I get on my knees.

“And so obedient, too.”

He reaches down into my hair and says quietly.

“Off you go.”
Unbuckle his belt; unfasten the top button; unzip his flies; do your job. Face to face with the penis of a man I will never kiss. I put the head in my mouth and look up at him.

“I wish we’d agreed to take photos today.”
I blink and say nothing.

“You look so sweet. So adorable. Your face should be captured forever.” He takes a firm grip on my plaits and pulls on them hard, the hair coiling round his hands, jerking my face forwards and watching as more of him disappears into my mouth. Then he lets them go and presses his hand to my forehead, pushing me backwards. His erection springs up as it falls from my mouth.

“Who’s a naughty schoolgirl?”
I wipe my mouth.

“I am. I am a naughty schoolgirl.”
He grabs himself at the base of his cock and directs it towards my cheek, wiping saliva and pre cum over my skin. He sighs.

“Not even one photograph?”

I shake my head. He sighs again.

“Open your mouth. Now stick out your tongue.”
He stares down at me, admiring my wide eyes and hopeful expression and the shadow of his erection cast across my features.

“I’m going to jack off in your face, and you’re going to kneel there and take it. You don’t get to suck, but you have to keep your mouth open in case I want to watch you choke. Understand?”
I shudder. I nod.

“Ahhhahhhh.” I gurgle over my stretched tongue.

“Good girl.”

He strokes his shaft in the most ordinary of ways. He’s doing it on purpose. Fingers curled, the skin shifts and stretch and make my mouth water. Drops form at the head and he rubs his thumb over them and anoints my forehead and then goes back to his work, sometimes grabbing the back of my head so he can feel the back of my throat and then pushing me back again, laughing at my tear-stained face. Drool drips and runs down my chin. He laughs harder, his fingers catch it and he spreads it over my face, into my hair.

I know I look cowed. I look disgusting. I look beautiful. I would walk out of this room with eyeliner and lipstick staining and streaking my face and I will be smiling, secure in my own wonder. Echoing my own thoughts, he smiles down at me.

“You look so pretty. So pretty. You’re going to be even prettier in a minute.”

He begins to breathe faster, his hands gripped tighter. He braces the heel of his hand against my forehead and jerks off over the bridge of my nose, almost directly into my eyes, with only a reluctant stream aimed into my hungry mouth. He moans, he makes noises I don’t think I have ever heard before. My head starts to hurt from the press of his hand, from holding my head up and still, and my eyes sting from the chemical mix that blurs my vision.

“Pretty as a picture.” He says agreeing with himself. “I always knew it.” he finally removes his hand and laughs even harder.

“Go and look in the mirror.”
I try to stand but my vision has almost entirely gone. He lets me struggle as he tucks his cock back into his boxers and fastens his jeans. He helps me to my feet and walks me back to the bathroom.

“Look.” And he points at my reflection, where my forehead is red with the imprint of his palm, my eyes glued shut with his cum and my mouth swollen.

“Just gorgeous.” And I know this to be true.

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