Dubious Moves

The late afternoon sun came in bits and pieces through the faded blue of the soft drink vinyl hoarding that served as a curtain. Outside, in the din that accompanied the evening throng of people making their way home, a bus honked tiresomely.

He reached down for her nipple, running his tongue over the hard tip of her areola before lifting his head to look at her. He half-raised himself, one hand pawing her breast, the other gripping the edge of the cot for support, thrusting rhythmically. The soft sheen of sweat on her body gave her a golden hue. She saw him looking at her through half closed lids, and moaned. Her false encouragements and the practiced wetness suddenly irritated him. Even as he thrust harder, he felt himself losing interest, and suddenly stood up. Grabbing hold of a fistful of hair, he pulled her to him and pushed himself in her mouth. She half-gasped at the suddenness, and then she had swung her legs off the bed and was making wet noises as he jammed her to his body. As suddenly, he turned her around and she was face down, on the bed again. He began licking her body, starting from the ridge between her shoulder blades, following the curve of the spine till it reached the cleft with its soft roundness at the bottom. He moved up again, easing his body over her, heavy, pressing insistently into her, still licking as he came to the nape of her neck, brushing aside her hair, soft tickles with his tongue. Even as she struggled to mould herself beneath him, he reached down, and spreading those mounds of firm softness apart, drove into her. She cried aloud at the violation, but he had her pinned down, one hand still on the cot for purchase, the other on her shoulders, pressing her down with his full weight, her whimpers muffled through the lumpy cotton mattress he ground her into. She clenched involuntarily as he gave a mighty shove, the roughness chafing him, hurting her, but she couldn’t move. He ground himself into her, welcoming the burning friction as he swivelled his hips in and out of her. He saw her in profile then, the black hair a cascading curtain behind which she cried. And then he saw nothing, the feeling starting as a velvety caress around his balls, tightening, and then progressively becoming aflame. He grunted as the flame moved upward, a hotness that seared through his bruising prick till it was a bloody release. Finally losing control, coming in spurts, half inside her, half spattering her ass that quivered involuntarily, till he ended in a dribble over her back.

He gave a deep sigh, rose and went into the bathroom, washing himself in the washbasin. He came out lighting a cigarette, and looked at her, still face down, still whimpering. He pulled on his trousers, and as he was zipping up, looked at the crumpled notes on the stool next to the bed. Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out a couple more, and placed them there before walking out of the door.