--The beginning--
I don't care for abstract art but this artist's paintings fascinate me. The crisp lines, interflowing textures, colours, the curious, creative mind that perceives and shares what few of us see. The young woman behind the counter smiles and says, "They're not paintings. They're photos". I have to meet the artist who created these photographs. It's an impulse, sudden and inexplicable. The young woman picks up a phone and makes a call.
The following day I arrive at your home. A bungalow sitting sedate on a tree-shaded street divided by a median in the middle of which flows a spring-fed stream. A quiet neighbourhood. Little to no traffic, pedestrian or vehicular. You're gracious, hospitable, attractive -- shoulder-length hair flowing skirt, loose blouse, smile warm as was your voice on the phone giving me directions to your home. I want you. I also want one of your photographs. You bring them out. Selecting one is difficult but I finally purchase one. We chat on your back porch. I admire your garden, mowed lawn. Your knowledge of plants impress me. I will possess you. This I know with absolute certainty.
Two years later. I enter your hotel room. After months of texts, emails, foreplay, becoming acquainted, you're standing by the bed in the middle of the room, smiling. I stride toward you, pull you to me, your breasts crushed against my chest, our groins and thighs touching. I kiss you, my tongue deep in your mouth, exploring, tasting, our tongues intertwining as you explore my mouth, sucking my tongue. I like the way you kiss. It's reciprocal, as though I'm kissing myself. My cock, hardened, lengthened inside my pants, presses against you. You moan.
I shove you against the wall, sucking your tongue, your lips, first lower, then upper. I know you feel my long, hard cock, still inside my pants, pressed against your cunt. You moan, your knees buckle, your breathing a heavy panting. I grasp your throat. Your eyes, clouded with desire, meet mine. Our feet entangle within the rumpled heap of your skirt, your panties and my pants on the floor at our feet.
I shove you onto the bed, almost ripping the buttons from your blouse in my haste to undress you. Your bra follows. I straddle you, pressing the side of your head against the bed, baring your neck. I bite, sinking my teeth into your flesh. "Oh god," you moan, a delicious sustained symphony of pain-tinged ecstasy as I move from your neck to your nipples, sucking, biting softly. Your moans grow louder as I caress your stomach, your belly, your pubic mound, pressing my fingers against the entrance of your cunt, moist, slick, ready, sliding up to your clitoris, circling gently, massaging the hard bud. You buck, thrusting your pelvis, pressing your cunt against my hand, a silent plea for more. I slide my fingers along the slit of your cunt, your vulva slick, moist. I caress the area between your cunt and anus, now wet with your pussy's overflow, insert my fingers, first one, then two, into your cunt, curling them up to massage the roughness of your g-spot. The muscles of your cunt tighten around my fingers. You're gasping, humping, moaning, "Oh god. Oh god. Alex", your orgasm, like a slowly approaching train, closer, closer. You scream, a loud, long orgasmic cry that fills the small motel room, your eyes glazed, staring at some unseen distant spot. "Oh god. Oh god". Your shoulders shudder, your hips hump, your eyes shutter closed, as does your mouth, as though attempting to clamp within you the agony/ecstasy of orgasm.
I stroke my hardened cock, watching the way your body relaxes as your orgasm subsides. Your eyes regain their focus, staring at my hand stroking the long hardness of my cock. Our eyes meet. You smile. a contented smile. "Hi", I say.
I pinch and roll your nipples between thumb and forefinger as we lay in bed, side by side, talking, laughing, munching the snacks you brought. You even brought rum. You're a treasure. You stroke my cock, a slow sliding of your hand along the shaft. Easy, relaxed pleasure as our conversation meanders among topics, no stress, no searching for words. Even our silences are comfortable as we lazily stroke each other.
I feel the urge to take your nipple into my mouth. I do. You moan, stroking my cock as I savour the hardness of your nipple against the tip of my tongue. I taste your stomach, dip the tip of my tongue into your belly button, nuzzle your pubic hair, ingest the musky aroma of your cunt, taste your clitoris, hard against the tip of my tongue, slide my tongue along the slick slit of your cunt, tasting, dip the tip inside your pussy, insert two fingers into your cunt as I lick your clitoris, flicking from side to side, circling, squeezing your nipples with my other hand, eliciting a pain/pleasure cry with each hard squeeze, your gasps and moans growing louder with each flick of my tongue against your clitoris until you come, loud, hard, thrusting your hips, flailing your arms, your fists grasping the sheet tightly. Your second orgasm. The night has just begun. Orgasms (more than you've had in the past 10 years, you say) leave you exhausted. "I'm sleepy", you say.
Through a crack in the heavy drapes I see the sky lightening. We both have lost count of your orgasms. I've withheld mine, my intention being to please you, knowing there will be times when I will come inside your mouth, your suction generating ecstasy so intense as you suck my hot semen from my cock, it will be almost unbearable. I will come slightly as I fuck you, withdrawing my cock and smearing your face with my semen, owning you. I will fingerfuck you and you will stroke my cock in darkened clubs and cinemas. I will fuck and you will suck my cock in public places: parks, darkened alleyways. But tonight, our first night, is your night. Now it's daybreak.
--Arrival--
