That there are, at this very moment, molecules of me in your atmosphere, makes me laugh.
If you reach into your handbag, sitting innocently on the passenger seat, you are within millimetres of me, of my cunt. Of the time I sat, dripping wet and writhing with anxious arousal, with my bare backside nestled neatly next to him as he drove us home. This I know, but you do not.
You remain blissfully unaware that at the first set of traffic lights, he reached over and placed his hand firmly between my thighs, full ownership of what he owned. I had to remind him the colours were changing and he should concentrate on the road, so drunk was he on who he loved.
I am smug to imagine how, as you drive to work, and shift in your seat, his biology surrounds you too. More than his discarded skin and eyelashes; his sweat.
We stopped, once. The countryside so beautiful, every turn of the awkward, treacherous roads revealed something new. A field of cotton wool sheep. A hillside marbled in green and brown. A fast flowing stream. I love water.
The path was just wide enough for us to pause and drink in the perfect, unassuming prettiness.
He undid his seatbelt and began to unbutton his flies. My heart fluttered with anticipation and anxiety and pure, molten lust as his free hand wended out and his fingers threaded through my hair to bring me to him.
I sucked his cock in your car.
I sucked his cock, as other vehicles slowed to avoid peril on the tracks around us.
I sucked his cock and he held me down so I could feel every twitch, every throb, the shudder of every moan in his chest.
I sucked his cock and sucking his cock made me squirm and squirm, conscious of my soaked knickers, and I would be conscious of them for many hours still, until we were alone and he took me to bed and fucked me senseless.
When he came, splashes hit my face, his stomach. I wiped my mouth and cleaned him, softly laughing at the drops of cum on his jumper but I was afraid, too that you would find the marks, look at us – at me – and know what I had done.
I am not afraid now.
I could never be afraid of you now.
I am soaked into your upholstery, [redacted].
I am seeping into your life still, though you think you have banished me.
You cannot kill me, I am still there. Still shuddering, vibrating around your airspace.
You can’t do a fucking thing about it.
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More Masturbation Monday below!