He stripped me. Kissed the clothes straight off me after his sweet talk in the cafe. Please don’t judge me.
We came to mine, to bed.
I know. It’s only 10am. Ok. Judge away.
But honest to fuck he’s doing something to me. I’m not sure what. But he’s doing something to me between my legs that I can actually feel in my molars.
He’s using his fingers.
Deep. Up inside.
Curled and moving like he’s trying to fish the last olive out of a jar. And Jesus Mother of God something’s happening. I do watch then, focus on my glistening slit, half expecting him to reveal a briny Kalamata.
He watches too, with an amused curl of lip. He knows what he’s doing, is enjoying my helplessness as I surrender hooked on the end of his fingers.
I break the silence with a series of shakily chanted ‘fucks’ then see myself drip slowly down his fingers and into his palm.
Less than 500 words, prompted by FISH for #whimword on Twitter.
thanks for reading xxx