We’re having dinner with his parents and I’m on my best behaviour, of course I am, bringing wine and flowers and holding his hand like a power supply and admiring baby photos of the man I love. All is well, dinner is planned late, later, later still because timing is not his mother’s strong suit but I am doing well and he is gently stroking my palm with his thumb, which is the reminder I am doing fine.
Let me tell you about my muse, unintentional fueller of my fantasies.
I do not think of him and feel my mind begin to wander to delicious places.
I do not hear his name and immediately find myself transformed, come pooling beneath me, my knickers sodden as I picture his assaults on my body.
I prostrate myself at the altar of his knowledge, of his words which cut so quickly to the sordid beauty in everything.
And he arouses my skill like no other.
Despite never having laid a finger on me.
And I cannot explain it, only know for certain that his words inspire my own and I am forever grateful that I am gifted his time, his light.
Let me tell you about my muse, her sweetness and her darkness.
I think of her in a hundred ways and every one fits comfortably, completely together.
I see her body and give thanks for it, remembering the one occasion I allowed my dormant dominant side to flourish and turned her arse a healthy pink.
I marvel at the chaste beauty of her body, at the endless, nurturing power of her love, of her freeness and ease with her world.
She makes my words burn with untold feelings;
In the year since first I touched her.
And I cannot explain it, only know for certain that her existence inspires my own, and I am forever grateful that I am gifted her time, her light.
I took the photo myself. My body looks very white in his darkened, twilight room lit only by the camera on my phone. I don’t concentrate on his handsome head nestled between my thighs, the drinking of life. I am forgetting the pleasures afforded by his tongue, today at least.
Almost every flat I’ve ever lived in has had thin walls and noisy neighbours. I once shared a adjoining wall with a couple who would have loud arguments each night at 11pm, soon to be followed by even louder (make up?) sex.
Once I heard the male of the couple shout ‘perineum’ mid argument. The rest of the sentence is long gone but this one word remains lodged in my psyche and no amount of mind bleach can remove it.
This story is about much nicer neighbours.
Those of us who grew up in the country will know at least one person who learnt to drive doing circuits of their uncle’s field at a frighteningly young age, probably without a seatbelt.
We were visiting his parents, and within that visit, spending an afternoon in the barn conversion of some parental friends. Everyone else had gone on ahead, whilst I, being terrible at decision making at the best of times, had spent ten minutes picking out shoes, ended up making us late. And lateness breeds unfortunate consequences.
We drove along personably enough for ten minutes, out of the suburbs with their neat-ish gardens and rows of newer terraces with useless chimneys and Chelsea tractors in the driveways. Once the houses began to peter out and were replaced by sprawling fields and dotted homesteads, his manner changed. He pulled into a layby a couple of minutes later, and without turning to look at me, ordered me into the back of the car.
“And take this. You’ll need something to keep your mouth busy.” he handed me the hdeously-coloured suction cup dildo we mostly kept because it made us giggle. No one was even smirking, now.
I didn’t argue, and went to sit in the back. I could see him looking at me in the rear view mirror as I leant over and closed the passenger door.
“No, on your knees. Hands and knees. All fours. Like a dog.”
I nodded again and assumed the position. He started the car and pulled away, continuing on the journey as I concentrated on keeping myself upright, the silicone cock hitting the top of my mouth with every bend of the road.
“Knickers down.” He called out, turning left down a narrow dirt road with high fields of wheat on either side. I pressed my face into the seat for balance as I reached under my skirt and pulled the underwear to my knees.
The dildo bulged obscenely against my cheek as he slowed down.
“Now, there’s another five minutes of slow driving down this lane until we get to the house. You’re going to take that cock and stick it against the car door – that’s right.” He registered approval in the tilted central mirror as I took the spit drenched tool out of my mouth and passed it between my legs, both of us watching as I used all my viable strength to smack it against the plastic surface and hoped it would hold.
“You don’t need me to tell you what to do next, do you?”
I shook my head, and slowly impaled myself on the dildo, my eyes never leaving the reflection of his. He said there was five minutes until our arrival, but who knew how honest he was being? It could be two minutes, leaving me pinned to the car via my dripping cunt as a small crowd of well-wishers crowded round to meet the prodigal son’s girlfriend. The unlikely outcome that they would press their faces against the glass and call for the windows to be opened so they could paw at me, taunt me, and some of them could show their appreciation for my display with a shower of approval, to be licked off by still others….. that kept me going as the shadows of the farmer’s wheat dwindled away and the later afternoon sun cast its shadows over my body as we approached the house. My only intention was to make the most of the punishment he had chosen, and the minutes to enjoy it he had so generously given.
See who else is being wicked this Wednesday below!
Content warning: degradation. NSFW. Please avoid if you are squeamish about such things!
This is dedicated to my dear Hannah. With love x
“He’ll never love you.” She said weakly to her reflection, a vision with puffy red eyes and crumbs of mascara peppered around them like funereal glitter. Her flushed chest matched the crimson hue of her eyelids. The bridesmaids dress, which had once held her like a lover and accentuated the curve of the arse that the groom had fucked the night before his engagement party, now hung a little less naughtily, gaping where her hunched shoulders diminished the volume of her breasts, threatening to be exposed by the dress, that was now sizes too big.