Friday, March 11

I am wet.

We are in a cab. The taste of Marlboro and whisky on his breath as we kiss, his hand runs under my t-shirt, fumbling for the release of my bindings.

My hand is on his cock, over his tight jeans... he is hard, hot under my fumbling fingers. I rub him through the coarse fabric, as his fingers release the elastic. I exhale heavily as he releases my chest, the smell of sweat and stink release as my tits move for the first time today, his hand pulling drunkenly at the thick wrapping. His tongue sloppy in my mouth, running over my teeth.

The cab is lurching uptown, stuck in traffic. We are close to my place, I keep rubbing... his hand finding my nipple, he whispers something as he feels my metal bar. Kissing me harder, his hand on mine as he shudders... I feel his pants hot and damp under my hand.

I throw some money at the driver as we stumble out. I can't quite stand right, it's not spinning but not not spinning either. I fall back on the wall of the elevator, he is pressing into me... my legs wide. I tell him to push floor 8.

We are in my room now, I am on my knees, undoing his belt, pushing down his tight jeans and boxers. He has cum already, the smell and stickiness over his cock and shorts, but he is not soft. My hands cup his shaved balls as I take his cock in my mouth. He is not steady, his hand on my head, not to fuck me but to keep standing up. We both drank way too much, that is why we are where we are.

He is hard in my mouth. I feel where he stops shaving, the hairiness of his body meeting the smoothness of his balls... he is muttering something — taste of precum in my mouth. I stop, not wanting it like this. I pull myself up... stumbling... kissing him.

I fall back on my bed, the ceiling is spinning over me as he falls on me. His pants are off. Falling onto me, he bumps his head into mine, his stale mouth finds mine. I feel like I am going to puke, but suck it in, turning my head.

His hands are over me, pushing up my t-shirt, pulling at my loose binding. I arch my back as he pulls it free, his hands clumsy over my breasts, kneading them like they are play-doh. My hand finds his hair, thin and greasy, sweaty from the club.

He moves down my body, his hands find my jeans, unbuttoning them. His mouth on my tummy, I lift my ass as he pulls them down, his fingernails scraping my sides. My arousal hitting the air as he releases me, my rubber bulge falling aside, useless. My head is spinning...

I pull him up, just want it now. His wet dick running up my leg as he leans over me... I take my hand to it, guiding it to me. He is too drunk to care, saying something as he pushes into me. Still wet, he is in me.

His body is heavy on mine, teeth biting into my shoulder, hand pressing on my face, finger in my mouth. He has no real rhythm as he fucks me, my jeans still around my thighs, my legs together.

I am holding onto his ass, hairy, sweaty. He is grunting into my ear, saying something, but I am not listening. My breath is heavy, aroused, trying not to puke as the room spins — the last rounds of shots hitting me hard.

I run my finger over the wet matted hair between his ass cheeks, pressing in. He grunts. I can smell him: smell his sweat, full of whisky and city and cigarettes. I rub his hole, he fucks me harder... closer to what I am wanting.

He tenses, goes quiet... jabbing me hard... I feel his cock in me, unloading himself. Half way through he realizes where he is and pulls out — his cock slick with me and him, painting my thigh. He lands on me, his cock hard and wet, leaking on my hip.

I want to be alone.

He is murmuring something: not freaking out, but asking if I am on the pill. He seems suddenly sober: I tell him I am — he doesn't need to know.

He slides off of me... the room keeps spinning, I suddenly feeling cold.

I close my eyes, hear him pull on his jeans, saying here is my number: a card on my desk.

I mumble that I will call him.

I wake up, not known how long I have been out, but not think it is long. I am laying in a cold wet spot on my bed, thighs sore: jeans biting into my skin, still around my thighs.

I kick them off, feeling the redness on my skin. A truck bounces over an expansion joint of the bridge a few feet from my bedroom. It is otherwise quiet, he is long gone.

I take my hand to my face, I smell him on it, moving it to my mouth, tasting his musk heavy on my fingers. My other hand feeling the dried wetness on my pubic hair, my fingers finding my arousal... starting to finish it off.