Cold Ass Ice
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Step outside and it feels as if you’ve entered a hot, wet oven. You’re the pat of butter on the baked potato that is Gotham. It’s hot, hot, hot heat, wet and hot, and it cleaves to you, sweat-pressing your skin and enervating you with its doughy-moist succubus embrace.
You need to go somewhere the sun don’t shine. You need to find your place in the shade. You need to embrace your inner arctic. You need to stick an ice cube up your ass.
Maybe you try it on your own the first time. Maybe you go out and you buy a bag of ice because the cubes in your fridge just seem like you’d be shoving a square peg in a round hole, which you would. So you go out to the delis and the bodegas, the grocery stores and the mini-marts, you search high and low for those cubes shaped more like a child’s cartoon smile than a shoe box. You find a bag, you plunk down the outrageous $2.50, and gleefully you bring them home.
Key Chains
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You were playing with the key at breakfast — an early breakfast, surprisingly so, and I was doubly surprised to see you at the table fully dressed so soon after the smell of coffee woke me. You were wearing one of your better-than-usual suits and sipping your black coffee while you turned the key over and over in your fingers. It was a small key, smaller than a normal padlock key and attached to a slim chain. I sat down, gathering my old rough bathrobe about my knees, and asked, “What’s up?”
You coiled the key and chain into your palm and put your closed fist in your wool-suited lap. “Court appearance,” you answered, knowing that wasn’t what I’d asked about. “If I don’t get Tindal an updated brief before I leave, she’ll scalp me.”
I allowed the misdirection and leaned across the table, robe opening across my bare heavy breasts, to tousle your short, mink-rich hair. “I’d never let her do that.”
You responded with a rude snort. “You don’t know her like I know her.”
I got up to get my own coffee, to be denatured with a ton of cream (one of several reasons I’ll never match your feline tautness) and as I reached on tiptoe for a mug on the second shelf, you asked suddenly, “Jen, have you ever thought about being tied up?”
The question made a tremor scamper across my shoulders like a tiny animal. “No.” It came out sharper than I intended. As I filled my cup I could hear you rolling the key chain in your hand. “Well I do,” you said unexpectedly.
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learn to use that safeword, honey
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Wear a short skirt or dress, the shortest you have. Nothing underneath. Bare legs. Bare feet.
The extent of force will be up to you. If you want me to enter unannounced, unlock the door to your apartment at 9:28. I’ll be arriving at 9:30.
If you want to let me in, keep the door locked, and I will knock. But we won’t speak. No small talk, no chit-chat. You can say things in character — however much you like. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know me, you can still ask what are you doing and you can say no. You can struggle.
But I won’t stop.
You have a safeword now. You’re going to have to use it.
All this heat
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I’ve been hard for days. Ready to fuck. I take long luxurious laps at the briefest contacts to my pelvis – the moment of walking through the subway turnstyles. Leaning up against a table. My hips tilt upward in wait, like the center of a plant revealing to the blue sky. Magnetic and animal and it’s all I can do to keep from growling, sharpening my teeth on the skin of the girl next to me, behind me, in front of me.
My cock is hard. That internal butch cock that raises and piques when I feel that rush to my clit, that swelling between my legs.
I am a battery charged. Plugged in and there is much I would do for the chance to spend a weekend in bed. Or a day – I’d settle for a day.
Cock so hard I could force it through brick. Through plywood. It could puncture glass, plastic. What would it do to you?
weekend, part two: dancing
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I slid my cock inside her swiftly and she took it easily. Let out a little cry, lifted her ankles around my hips. I was hungry. I could feel her opening, could feel how she could be filled.
“Get up,” I said after a while. I lifted myself off the bed and began switching to my other cock, the bigger one. “Turn over.”
She started to, up on her hands and knees, and I reached my arm around her hips and pulled her off the side of the bed, her pussy at my cock’s height perfectly. I took a palmful of lube and fucked her, hard, deep.
Moans and cries from both of us as I pounded into her. Fucks like that I swear I can feel my cock thickening, getting harder, being restricted and pulled into her cunt by her tight rings of muscles. She’s discovered that she can lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around my waist when I fuck her bent over the edge of the bed if she has the right grip on her hands (because it’s just the right height), which gets my cock ever deeper.
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weekend, part one: flogging
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Part two will come next.
Friday night. My roommate was gone over the holiday weekend.
Penny wanted to be flogged.
I stripped her bare and shoved her against the brick wall in my bedroom. She’s smaller than me such that I can place my thigh against the bend of her hips so she can lean against me as I hit her. Not necessarily hard or solid, but subtle, so she feels supported.
I hit her with my hand a while first, bringing the skin on her ass to a nice baby pink color. I kept the flogger draped over my shoulder and let the leather brush her skin a while before taking grip on it and beginning to swing.
She’s been letting me hit her harder lately. Less afraid and more breathing into it, ever since that night of the sex party where I shoved her up against the wall, pushed her dress up, and used my bare hand.
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Bully
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You are face down, ponytail bobbing, wrists and ankles tied to my bedposts, the simple steel I won from my last breakup. Since then, I have fucked five women in this bed. You are the sixth.
Does it matter how I got you here? Whether I wined and dined you, bought you indulgent fruity mixed drinks, a delectable dinner, your body now satiated but wanting other fullness, wanting me to stop fingering my fork spoon knife glass napkin ice cubes and begin placing my hands carefully on your skin.
Or perhaps I simply ordered you over here, sent a car to your apartment and was waiting downstairs when you arrived at mine, paid the driver, removed my dark tie from the tight collar of my baby-blue button down and slipped it over your eyes. Leading you up two flights of stairs without your sense of sight.
No matter. You’ve been here before. Nothing really to see.
I am tempted to rip seams, pop buttons open with force. You know how you bring that out in me.
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