You enter me first, your hand trembles as you guide your cock into me. You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, long enough that you still can’t believe it’s real. Will I feel the weight of him as he slides his cock into your ass? He pushes into you easily, I feel the tremor deep inside of me.
We rock back and forth awkwardly for a few moments finding our common rhythm. We adjust knees and elbows, and suddenly we’ve found it, we all move as one. You fuck me on the same stroke that he penetrates you. We settle in and go deeper.
I stuff my fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick and suck them. The sweat rolls off your neck, dripping down onto my breasts, every thrust from him echoes through you. You close your eyes, drowning in the moment.
My eyes lock with this stranger over your shoulder, we share a moment, sharing your body. Our rhythms change, we’re fucking each other now through you. We keep our gaze steady, your body is only an instrument of our pleasure. Do you even notice? Are you so completely lost in all this sensation, his cock buried in your ass, your cock slamming into my pussy?
We move as one enormous fucking beast, the bed creaks and groans against our weight. We pause, untangle, shift. Now you come at me from behind, I’m on my belly. My fingers press against my clit, you lay against my back, each of us only focused on what’s in front of us. You bite my neck, sinking your teeth in as he rams you, his hands clenched firmly on your hips, guiding you into me, guiding himself into you.
Your cock swells, filling me, your thrusts powered by his momentum. My fingers are frantic, I try to keep up. I feel your head raise up from against my shoulder, he’s grabbed a handful of your hair, now it’s the tipping point. All this energy courses through you, you’re coming, he’s coming, I’m coming and we all cry out and shudder and thrust. You’ll turn your head and kiss him deeply, not just for you, but for me too.
We’re in a museum, and we’ve wandered into the children’s wing. Kids are shrieking happily, making giant soap bubbles and pressing big red buttons that light up giant displays of frogs or dinosaurs. There’s an art area tucked in the corner, the only people sitting there are tired parents with armfuls of coats and sweaters watching their children run around the room at full tilt.
Edward sits down in front of a comically small easel, made of sturdy yellow and blue plastic. He tears off the top sheet of paper and arranges several colors of magic markers in front of him. For a long moment, he stares at me. Just when the feeling is getting uncomfortable, he picks up a black marker and furiously begins to sketch. The marker goes dry, he picks up the green one instead.
Within moments, with just a few well placed lines, he’s replicated me in multi-color: the bump on my nose, the loose hair falling from my ponytail. I look beautiful, and it surprises me. I’ve never seen myself through someone else’s eyes before. Continue reading