Work Text:
Your wife makes apologies for you.
We sit together in the hotel bar
I work during the day
you know this
and she is pretty, and her wrists are thin, and she wears a delicate silver bracelet that looks like a handcuff.
She fidgets and toys with it, no different than the place on her left hand where her wedding band should sit.
Her hips are pleasing and she wears the sleek of black yoga pants
smells like pumpkin spice and nice white sweaters and daily exercise and wears her hair a soft blonde cloud shaped to bob.
She says she
doesn’t blame me
but asks how much
and I tell her five-hundred
(at least)
and I am poured into jeans that show the latent benevolence of genes and synthetic hormone
a nice white sleeveless top with a zippered front that shows a tinge of pale shaped abdomen
and big breasts
hourglass
tall barefoot in nice black heels.
She says she
was surprised a woman
uh
like me
is so
pretty, is that wrong to say? Her voice is all sweet and breath and wounded teenage whine.
She has bought me overpriced iced tea, said my hair looks like a noble’s in some old painting, tight oiled black curls arranged elaborate, I am a vampire queen she says.
She wonders
am I married?
I tell her nothing and she says it feels
feels very strange to know your spouse is
her eyes are the kind of blue that belong to clean frozen lakes and bright days.
She opens an expensive purse
(Vuitton, black leather)
and breathes
and slips out a thousand dollars in new hundreds and says she is giving me this in case I have to cancel an appointment and because her mother taught her to be
(her breath catches bright and hysterical)
polite.
She has brought her own strap
(black)
a much bigger cock than you
(also black, I do not ask)
her body is beautiful, compact where I am curves, but her hips and ass are full and made of bubbles and sunshine and she is all Aryan peach where I am consumptive English pallor.
The second we are in the room she is a hurricane of hands, her teeth are small and neat-ordered, she wears heeled sandals and sweat creeps into her hairline and she says thank God, you always want the AC too much
and she nips my chin
coos how pretty I am with
with such simple makeup, too
(she has photographs, they show you are not very discreet, it is not my fault they look like modeling shoots for me in black and blown-out eyes)
peach eyes and pink lips and she asks what
what she can do
and I say what we discussed.
She kisses me
I must lean down
and she makes me feel tiny for all the stoop when she slings strong arms around the back of my neck and sucks my tongue in her mouth.
She drives me back on the bed.
Asks if I’m ready
(I am, I breathe it, I can’t stand it, she tastes like clean water and black coffee, she is ice pick and velocity, she digs her thumbs and fingers deep in my thighs and curdles my breath in a scream and it is nine-thirty in the morning and I am barely awake even after three miles and floor work and now my eyes are shocked open)
she calls me honey now
hard and facetious and porn-fed
leers
she drips her spit in my mouth and makes my clit pulse
traces the outline of my naked hip
sears heat under my mound
rolls a rubber on her cock and spreads a greasy smell of latex and lube
pushes
a sticky-wet noise
deeper
when she bottoms out she laughs
asks if she’s better
it comes out as a gasp
already, already, oh, my God
crossed eyes
tongue lolls
she is aggression
her face is madness
her makeup is simple and her blush comes from blood when she throws me on my side and lifts a long leg like a Barbie doll
(and says it)
digs deep with the constant thump-thump of hips and finds the rhythm to burn orgasm in a sob and crumple it all down like a forsaken soda can and make my clit jolt and spill over the bed.
I suck breath.
Your wife leans back on her palms, shared sweat polishes our bodies, my pussy groans too empty and throbs at her.
She says she wants to be a regular client, how is she going to go about that?