Come Up

"Pick up!... Pick up!... Pick up!..."

In my head my inner voice sounds like an alarm going off, insistent and urgent. Urgent is ok, desperate isn't. Desperate could lead to something bad. The phone rings four times before he picks up.

"Come up," is all I say. Sometimes that is all it takes but this time I've called him late and he must have been asleep. His voice sounds rough.

"Come up...No...No...You coming up?" I try to sound commanding, not desperate.

I hear him groan and yawn. I imagine him swinging his legs off the bed, sitting up hunched over and rubbing his eyes.

"And...just...you know...be ready." I don't wait for an answer. I hang up the phone. It's the way we do it, just hanging up. No goodbye, no politeness, just hanging up and we both know we'll be fucking in mere minutes.

I unlock the door so he can walk straight in, the usual way. Already my hands are shaking. I take off my clothes and get on the bed to wait. I have to will myself to keep my fingers off my pussy.

The minutes tick by, too slowly. He's seven floors below in the same building but it shouldn't take him this long. I ache from the desire, my body on edge. I'm trembling I'm so keyed up. I want to plunge my fingers inside of me but I hold off, hold off. It will be better this way. I think about calling him to get him to hurry up, but then he'd be pissed. Do I want him pissed tonight? Sometimes that is good, hard and angry. Yes. I pick up the phone again, but before I can dial I hear him come in the front door.

The lights are off in here but they are on in the hall. I hear him kick off his shoes and start padding his way to the bedroom and when his silhouette is in the doorway I can see he is already throwing off his shirt. His jeans are gone in a second and he stands there naked, his shape, that physique, he's making me look, making me wait and I'm about to say something angry but he starts toward me like he's moving to the centre of the ring.

I said be ready and he is ready, already hard. Quickly I work up as much spit as I can. I grab his cock before he can get onto the bed, that beautiful cock of his, a good long one, a cock that stands up with a proud curve, not one of those straight logs that just flop aimlessly when they're hard. No, his is a real prick, a prong, and I grab it and plunge it deep into my mouth.

I feel his whole body shudder. He moans long and deep and his hands are at the back of my head. I start to work it, out until just the head is in my mouth, my lips soft around that perfect spot, that spot where he wants it. But not too long, not too long, I know that his pleasure is overwhelming him. I go back down as deep as I can. His hands try to make me take more but I make my teeth brush against him so he knows and I push back hard so he's all the way out. I gasp and wait. It means don't do that again. It means I'm running this, I am, not you.

I go back at him, hard, deep and fast, letting him know that it's my way tonight, not his. I work him, always hard, never soft. His hand wraps up my hair in a fist but he's just hanging on now as I go on him up and down, up and down...

"Fuck! Stop!...I'm gonna...You better stop," he says like he's afraid he going to come. I don't want him to come either, not this way. His voice is husky. I take his cock out of my mouth gripping him hard in my hand, settle him back down. I lie back on the bed bringing him with me, like his cock is his handle.

I hold his cock and pull it toward my pussy so he won't fuck around in the dark looking for it and right away, right away, there it is, that slick, beautiful, cruel thrust that fills me up, the force of his thrust on my body, animal, inescapable, bearing hard against me like it might hurt me.

But now he's pulled almost completely out, for too long, out too long and then blessedly back in hard again, pinning me, and I can't move and I'm gasping, clawing at his hips to pull him in deeper, hard, and he's out again for a second but when he drives in again it's with his jackhammer rhythm hitting me hard, hard, hard, faster, now.

"Oh my G...fuck...me...fuck me...," I hear myself say, commanding him but suddenly I can't talk anymore. I'm taking huge gulps of air, gasping and he's drilling me, hitting me like he hates me, like it's punishment, but that's how I need it tonight, how I have to have it, and he hits me over and over and I'm getting there, getting there, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop and he's a machine on me battering me hard and hard and hard and I'm getting closer, closer...and I can feel it now, can feel it now and I won't be able to stop it, can't stop it, can't...My body is taut steel, every muscle clenched, wait, wait, wait...

...and over I go. I disappear, ripped from this world and now my pussy is the whole universe, all that there is, my gasping, clenching pussy. And it lets go its vice grip and then that maddening pause before the next spasm, knowing it will come, stronger than the first, resigning my body to it, that glorious pause before the next one but now blinding lights are going off in my closed eyes and my pussy clenches again and again and I feel him hit me again and it's a chain of crashing, pulsing waves of pleasure in my pussy and it clenches again and again and my whole body is clutching at him, grabbing at him, out of control and then it's the last one, the last hard convulsion I think but then it's not because it's a trick. There's a relaxing pause, starting to let it go and then he hits me again and there is another shock in my pussy and one longer but less strong, and again, and...now his body turns to rock, his turn, and he hits me and stays in...

"Don't pull out, don't pull out," because I might start again if he stays inside me, but he's going over now and can't stop himself and he pulls out and slams back in and I can feel it inside, his pulsing and he's out and he hits me again and again and now he stays in, hard, one more time hard and in a second his arms suddenly go limp and all there is our gasping our breathing and we're both coming down, coming down...

He is heavy on me, dead weight, too much weight so I try to throw him off and he's going soft and now out of me and finally he rolls away and we're breathing hard, coming down and I hear him sigh once, and again and now it's just regular breathing slow now and like before it started, we're apart, two separate people but floating...

After a few minutes he turns to me and kisses me, tenderly, nice. It's not how we are, but it is part of what we've done, the end of what we've done. His hand is on my face gently, holding my face while he kisses me and it's perfect, perfect until he pulls back and there's this pause and he says, "I'm gonna stay tonight." Not asking, no "okay?", he's telling me, telling me as if he gets to say how it is.

"Greg, no," I say, "no...come on...we're not like that." He's going to wreck this. I was floating but now I'm not.

"I know, I know...," he says and I think I hear disappointment, disappointment for all the wrong reasons. His thumb gently sweeps over my temple and he's looking at me. I want him to stop caressing me because of what he said. I move his hand away from my face but he puts it on my hip and strokes me there.

"It's just I'm tired...got out of bed and dressed to come up here...don't want to do it again...okay?" he says. The words are one thing, but I don't know if he's trying again. We've been through this before.

"No, Greg... you know we don't...I don't want..." I can barely see his face. I wonder if he's mad or if he's sad. Mad is okay. A feeling flashes through my head that, if that's it, if he's mad, then maybe I can let him stay, just roll over like he's not here and go to sleep. Maybe he's just being lazy. But maybe not. I'm not floating but right now I'm not sharp either.

"Does that make you mad or sad," I say but even before I finish saying it I regret it. I don't care if he's sad.

He doesn't answer right away. It means he has figured it out. He's not stupid, far from it.

"Mad. What did you think?" he says with a deep sigh, the right answer but I still don't know if I can trust it.

"See, I have to get up early," I say as if that will convince him to leave.

There's another pause. At first I can't get the vibe, but then, finally, he rolls away and gets up to his feet. It's for the best but I feel bad, or do I? I'm not sure. I don't want to get out of bed either, but I guess I have to.

He's looking for his clothes and getting dressed. I roll off the bed, wrap myself in the comforter and stand there waiting for him, I feel his cum sliding down my thigh. He turns and stumbles away, toward the door.

He's slipping on his shoes in angry silence. I better say something, but what? I say, "Man you do me good. Thanks." It's without cheer, without encouragement, without hope. But it is a fact. I close the door after him.