She hangs onto the drapes, pressing her arse back to meet my thrusts. I quickly release the clasp on her brassiere, slipping my greedy hands beneath the now-loose cups, moulding her full, soft flesh to my grasp. Each time I enter her to the hilt, she gasps with blissful fulfillment; each time I withdraw to the point where the corniced ridge of my glans pulls provocatively upon her labia, her sighs of pleasure sound bitter-sweet. I fuck her with long strokes, my lips and my teeth working upon the collection of delicate nerves where her neck becomes her shoulder. I hear the curtains straining in their tracks, and half-expect them to come crashing down. And through it all, she watches my reflection in the window as I watch hers, and beyond our transparent duplicates, the night watches us both.

At the moment, I cannot think of anything better.

Sarah and Joan were talking about blow jobs, and Joan was giving her some tips and advice. Joan was not outspoken, but extremely comfortable with her sexuality, and happy to help a friend. They discussed confidence, rhythm, technique, wetness, fingers, and just about every aspect of a blow job under the sun. Naturally, this kind of in depth conversation got us all in a highly aroused state, not that it was difficult to get there.

“Let me just show you. Dave, can I give you a blow job?”

Right… like I need to tell you what the answer to that question is.

Joan had explained that when you’re giving a proper blow job, the conclusion is the guy cumming, and you shouldn’t expect sex afterwards. A proper blow job should incapacitate him, and leave his mind flailing. They are for times like this, four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Sure it’s great to suck his cock a bit as part of foreplay before sex, and he sure as hell better reciprocate, but that’s not a blow job.

Ah yes, le petit mort…

The specter of every phrase
goes brittle at the edges.
I cut myself on them
to make sure they
were ever said.

I’m usually at a loss for poetry. This, however, is not lost on me.

She trembled as I stripped her in the dark until she was naked, her smooth curving form contrasting eerily with our jagged and shadowy surroundings. My fingers explored her wet and wanting sex, delving, touching, toying, finding and tormenting her clit and her increasingly wet hole. She clung to me desperately as she gave in to her base desires. I spanked her pussy as she murmured her want and pleaded for mercy.

Superbly dark.

At one point he was teasing me about my accent and i laughingly told him that i didn’t have an accent. It was in that moment, the moment i laughed, that the atmosphere in the room changed. The sound of my laughter died on my lips and my breath caught in my throat as i watched his expression change from something light hearted and relaxed to something dark and intense. i had no idea what had happened, but i knew something was very, very different. i didn’t say anything, i just watched him with big eyes as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest. He slowly leaned forward in his chair, unblinking as he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. When he spoke his voice was still deep and calm, but all traces of my friend were gone and in his place was a Dom.

That instant, that moment, where the change happens from one to the other: it’s sudden, jarring, and complete. It reminds us that there’s only one thing as fast as the speed of light: the speed of dark.

So there was that. Then there were the kisses that became starved, vicious, desperate, and movie scene worthy sweeping me down, bending me backwards. The exhibitionist in me delighted in the fact that we were on the dance floor, and inches away sat other party goers, some perhaps glancing in our direction. We weren’t being discreet, as his hand trailed up the thin fabric of my dress, in between my legs.

The scenery is the key, here. An adventure— something possible in the doe-eyed enthusiasm of youth.