Slave Of Love

J. has the back of her right hand pinned to her cheek, palm arched upwards, attempting to obscure her face. The coquettish act initially strikes R., not the most perceptive of creatures, as redundant, seeing he is roughly fucking her mouth. Then he realises it is the porn stylisation, her relegation to a corporeal prop, and that she possesses a keen sense of aesthetics and knows that she looks like shit that has engendered her coyness . They both look like shit. J. is lying on her left hand side on the double bed, in basque, black stocking, suspenders and red satin knickers, the mound of a sanitary towel clearly discernible under the latter, blue veined tits like bananas and gagging on his cock. R. is tall and skinny and hairy with a countenance of feral aspect topped by a mop of brown hair. He is on his knees prodding her mouth with his dick. Her mouth is small and though the mouth fucking looks good he doesn't feel much and the whole scene has a bathetic quality.

The set up was subliminally influenced by a scene in Insatiable where the gardener fucks Sandra Chase but she isn't no Marilyn Chambers type cock hungry Hera and he's certainly no super schlong stud like David Morris. He is twenty and will soon to run to fat and she is forty but comes across as older. Growing bored and afraid he will lose tumescence, he grabs an handful of her long black hair flecked with white and twists it; shock and fear makes her relinquish his cock, eyes stark and imploring, and he is rock hard again. The big turn on with her is that she is submissive and easy to bully; where a lot of women would have bit his cock and told him to go fuck himself she merely cowers in the manner of a scalded domestic animal. He pins her shoulders to the bed with his knees and kneads his cock over her face. The temptation to jerk off and cum all over her grey face punctuated by sweet brown eyes that conveyed inner truths is resisted. However, this was the first time they had been alone together properly in her flat, with her alcoholic husband now sectioned on a psychiatric ward, and he wanted to string things out a bit.

"Suck my balls."

He lowers his scrotum onto her face. Obediently she tongues his balls and then pops one in her mouth and sucks hard but clumsily, making him inhale sharply and wince with pain. He sees the flicker of a smile on her colourless thin straight lips and thinks maybe she has claws after all. The abrupt withdrawal of his cock and the twisting of her left nipple reaffirm the mechanics of control in their congress. Did this shit turn her on? What to do now? He needs to be inside her, but she has informed him that she is menstruating heavily. J. has given him a few outdoors blow jobs, kindly swallowing, and he'd finger fucked her in return but he couldn't even stick his fingers in her pussy to see if she was wet because of the blood.

R. is tempted to spread his buttocks and get her to lick his arsehole, just to set the boundaries of how pliant she really was, but is not sure if his arsehole is too shitty and it seems a bit too faggoty. He thinks of Eddie Nash, the gangster who instigated the Wonderland murders, who used to take a dump and then get his coke whores to earn their blow by licking his arsehole nice and clean. Oh well.

"I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. "

"I really can't. I'm bleeding really...it would be too messy."

"Jesus, we've waited so long for me to be inside you."

"There'll be other times dear heart."

"Will there?"

His cock is softening. R. is sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. She is stroking his back.

"We could do anal?"

J. laughs derisively, her open contempt surprising him. So her limits were set pretty close.

"It was only a suggestion. It was only because I want to be inside you, be with you properly."

"You can cum in my mouth."

"It's not the same. I just want to be inside you."

"I'm frightened it would hurt. I've never done it before..."

"Maybe I should go..." R. stands up and reaches for his boxer shorts.

"No don't..." J. reaches out to touch his thigh. His studied display of petulance has worked.

"I've never done it like that before. I'll be gentle," liked R., staring abstractedly through net curtains guarding the bedroom window. An old woman was dragging a tartan shopping trolley down the street, while outside the Chinese take away two drunks toked super strength lager.

"Promise you'll be gentle."

R. turned and smiled at her, trying to resist the urge to beat her face to an unrecognisable pulp.

"Of course."

"I love you," says J. climbing off the bed. "There's some Vaseline in the bathroom."

J. leaves the bedroom. As she rummages about in the bathroom R. puffs up a pillow and places it on the middle of the bed. She returns with a large pot of petroleum jelly and without her knickers. R. finds the sight of her disorderly bush unsettling. He takes the pot off her and she gets on the bed, lying flat on her stomach on top of the pillow, her buttocks offered to R., who lubes his cock and anoints her anus. He pokes a finger into her anus and she flinches. Spreading her buttocks with his hands, the tip of his cock is nudging her glory hole.

Balls deep. R. had tried to ease his cock in slowly; frightened of ripping her open, but he'd just kind of fell into the void. As he went in up to the hilt, J. arched her back violently and shrieked, like she'd been tasered or something. He starts to thrust purposefully, fascinated by the spectacle of the old in out, while J. digs her fingers into the mattress and grimaces, making low groans face buried in the bed. R. is surprised by her discomfort and a little disappointed; he thought it would be a tight dirty fuck but her arsehole is roomy and he doesn't feel much, and he wonders if she's hamming it up. For the first time he notices the full length mirror propped up next to the bedroom window and he watches himself fuck her in it, offering a few Harry Reems puzzled reaction shots. R. laughs and J. looks up at him with a mixture of bafflement and anger. They get back to the smooth fucking rhythm. She is now mewling, her facial expression relaxing and becoming dreamy.

"Is it alright...not hurting too much..."

"It hurt at first but it's quite once you get used to it..."

He's getting bored again so he slaps her arse hard, making the flesh go blue. Time to shoot his load, but orgasm seems far away. He just isn't feeling much so he really starts to grind his prostate against her buttocks. R is balls deep again, awakening J. from her reverie. Her discomfort excites him and with some relief he feels the burn of imminent orgasm. Whoosh. His orgasm is magnificent and he makes sure he empties the lot up her rectum. R. withdraws his cock and her arsehole makes a gassy hiss. She quickly climbs to her feet and runs to the bathroom which is adjacent to the bedroom. J. turns both taps on full and he hears the toilet lid slam down and the door crunch shut.

The sound of rushing water hitting the sink is not enough to obscure the sound of her loudly evacuating her bowels. I've fucked the shit out of her, thinks R. as he ponders the mucus like substance collected on his deflating cock. He wipes his cock on the curtains and peers onto the street scene. It is now going dark and the Chinese is a neon glow. The drunks are now goading the staff of the takeaway to the amusement of a middle aged smack-head on a mountain bike. Everyone has a fucking cigarette in their hand. Such a cliché of North West England urban gothic. They dress in separate rooms. R. is satiated and listless. He joins J. in the living room. She looks nice in the little black dress and black woollen tights. They smoke cigarettes and drink tea and listen to Danse Macabre. He is nervous and visibly shrunken after orgasm. J., book of Rilke poems in her hand, is serene and chatty. R. finishes off the bottle of scotch he brought with him and smokes his last cigarette.