The ring popped around his shaft, aided by the soft, cool fingertips of the woman who was leaning over his crotch. He stared at her, investigated those dark, crystalline eyes as they aimed right back at him. They said so much without needing any words; lust, desire, arousal, love, attraction, connection. She had a look that told him, "I know what you want and I want to give it to you," and so far, she was not disappointing him.
It had been something of a slow build-up in their friendship. They had met in college and immediately hit it off, sharing the same witty, dark humor and interests and even the same attractions - she was bi, he was pan but had a healthy libido. It took them less than a year to talk about sex and less than two to share nearly everything together - all, that is, except for sex itself. Within two, they'd seen each other naked. Within three, he'd watched her slide her hand into the pants of a man at the bar, and she'd seen him through the cracked bedroom door as his cheeks tensed up above the hips of a woman in his bed.
Neither could quite explain why it had been this way around sharing sex, though; they just,
hadn't.
Put it down to not being the 'done' thing between friends, or a desire not to jeopardise their connection, or just to sheer uncertainty - whatever the case, so far, neither had made the move.
And now, here they were. Horny, a little tipsy and way too clued into each other not to know what each other needed - or wanted. He drank in that short-cropped, jet-black hair cut like a 90's punk rocker, the heavy black makeup, the metal - and all he could do was throb for her. Grinning, she pushed the rubber material down, stretching his already taut skin as it rolled along his length and down until it nestled, finally, deep in the base of his shaft. The wad of spit she deployed to aide it two-thirds of his length down did nothing to soften him, and he felt the warm fluid work under the trinket as it lowered along him in her hands. He yearned for more from her, but just as much as she knew him, he knew what she would do with him; she was a cunning little cunt, and she didn't give without getting first, the type to see an offer and ask "so what do I get out of this?" As if she could read his thoughts, she grinned, white teeth showing behind black, plump lips.
'What?' She questioned, grinning above his cock as innocently as a schoolgirl, the smarmy bitch. 'Thought I'd just play nice? Spread my little slut legs for you and call you daddy?' She teased, slapping his wobbling length. 'You don't know me very well, if you did.'
'I know you're a dick,' he replied, grinning up at her.
'No, I'm a bitch
whore
,' she said. 'And I'll
eat
your
mother.
'
It had always been like this; the emo kids, the rebels. Him in leather and boots, her in spandex or corsets. He wore the tight pants; she wore the skirts that kept little hidden and less to the imagination. He shaved his head first - but she held the clippers. When she went shirtless for 'free the nip', he went with the little guy in a cock sock, drew exaggerated boob-shadows and little lactation drips on himself. And now - now... Well, now here they were.
Despite everything they'd been through together, this was somehow different. This was new - and yet, so very the same. Now that they were here, neither of them had changed. She was still an edgy, emo bitch, and he still acted like he was some tough man around her who'd beat her half to death and still put his cock in her bloody mouth. And yet his heart fluttered like a little virgin schoolboy, and he thought he could make out something in her eyes, in the way they had gone wider than usual, and how she was pussying about the actual activity despite acting as grandiose as she always did. Seriously - his pants were around his ankles, and yet her tits weren't even out - and he'd
seen
those before. It was different now, and yet... She was the only one he felt comfortable around, even now, even like this. It felt...
Right.
Yet, it felt so groundbreaking.
'Are you just going to play with it, or are you going to do something more than yammer with that big mouth?' He teased, watching her and her cleavage retreat down the motel bed, his helmet resting atop his navel, red and thick from the ring.
Just like her to wear a cock ring as a piece of jewellery,
a small part of his mind thought as she sat up.
'You know you're as fuckin' annoying in bed as you are everywhere else?' She said, reaching for the clasps running down the front of her corset. She unlooped one, then... Paused.
He sat up, cock pointing stupidly about in the air. 'Hey.' he said, suddenly serious. She didn't reply - just knelt there, straddling his knees, black-and-white stockings contrasting the soft skin of her thighs. He reached forwards and took the stiff material in his fingertips. 'You know how we both flashed that ride-on pub crawl wagon from the library window?' He said, pushing two loops together until they popped apart, her chest bouncing slightly as the pressure started to ease. 'Remember how you went to that protest in your panties, and how we did that midnight rave?' Another loop, then another. 'Well,' he said, focussing on the clothing as he spoke. 'This ain't anything I haven't seen before.'
Her hand touched his, soft and clammy. He stopped, looked up.
'This is... Different.' she whispered down at him. Her wide, black eyes lifted just enough past her sweeping hair to meet his. 'This is...'
'Nothing at all,' he said. 'Just you and me doing what we do best. Not giving a fuck.' The second to last loop slipped apart. 'Just two friends sharing a good time.' The last loop started to squeeze together. 'Just a normal... Average...' He stalled. Slowly, he looked up, taking in the unlooped corset, the soft white flesh beneath it, the cleavage, the neck, and lastly the face above his, half-hidden behind her emo haircut. Something unspoken and inexplicable passed between them, something neither could consciously detect, yet which changed the meaning of their whole world in an instant. He met her gaze. It was weak, vulnerable and needing, yet angry, righteous and defiant. It was... It was
her.
'I love you,' he breathed.
The corset parted and tumbled from her back as she came down above him, her muscles all moving at once of their own accord. In an instant, lips found lips, and as his head went back into the mattress, he felt her breasts touch his chest. They were round and pert, not large but big enough to fill those goddamn corsets so well, and her nipples scratched his own. His cock twitched as her heat soaked into his skin, and as the kiss opened up, he became aware of her breathing all in sudden a rush, noticing as if for the first time how heavily she panted and how rapidly he was breathing himself. His eyes fluttered closed, knowing hers were doing the same as the hot embrace tightened. Her searching hands left his head, slipped over his sides, down his chest, relying on his hand and face to support her as she searched up his body and to her own. The stupid little skirt had already ridden up her sides and she didn't care - all she could feel now was the burning heat between her legs, not just her own, but his, pointed and ready. His knee had come up inside her thigh, pushing her legs further apart, and she half-knelt, half-bent over him in the perfect position. Her left hand slithered up her inner thigh and skated across her panties, feeling the wet spot at their centre and twisting behind them. A moment later, the offending fabric was ripped aside, and she held it bundled up in her hooked fingertip so as to allow him entry.
