Calypso

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Malorie and Mick dance.
750 words
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All characters are over 18. As always thanks to Max for taking the time out to edit.

*****

"I'm pretty sure I'd rather pay you back. It's a thing of mine."

I hated owing anyone and last week's fuck up with my check had left me doing just that.

Whereas, once I would have been grand taking advantage of the generosity of any one of my many male friends, living barely employed had taught me the true cost of many things. Yay, zero hour contracts. A moment, a beat, as his thumbs twiddle the controller. We are alone in the thickly furnished flat. A fly buzzes somewhere.

"You could always suck my dick."

A moment longer than the last. Mick's tall frame is as relaxed as ever, hunched as it is on the low couch, thumbs still working away. Unsure if I should laugh I breathe.

"Say again?"

He pauses the game, character left perched on some Venetian balcony.

"You - could - always - suck - my - dick." He says it without turning. A slight blush on his cheek.

The infuriating fly has gone silent; met a sticky end by way of purpose made tape. Cheese and soy sauce flavours the air faintly. Truly, the house of two mid-twenties lads. Lost in thought, a sudden pressure brings me back. The ps4 controller lies idle, groundside. He breathes into my neck, grip tightening on my thigh.

I should resist, recoil or twitch. I don't. I've always fancied him in the way any red blooded female appreciates an attractive male. Tall, broad shouldered, regal in a way with his wide boyish face framed by locks of hair like burnt umber...or autumn leaves. Nice full lips - which I found pressed to mine. I gasp, have been gasping, cooing, sighing all along it seems. Whilst apparently his hands have been fumbling with my coat, button after button freed. The flimsy top underneath stands no chance.

We are a melody, a Calypso of staccato heels and heavier bass filled steps. Closet meets shoulder and suddenly I am lifted, swung neatly on the bed as though a pile of freshly laundered towels. Leaning down he kisses me, spreads my unprotesting limbs.

"Do you want this?" his pants are unbuckled, his scent overwhelming.

It stirs something within me, and I am cooing my consent. His smile is glorious, Cherub like. I giggle to myself and then I am out of myself - nerves raw with electric lust. Yes, sighing cooing almost as I writhe out of my skirt with grace. I am playful as a pup, as randy as a she-goat. Then suddenly, I am pierced.

It hurts. It hurts so badly, blood spats a solid blot on linen. Mick pauses, reconsiders my form. He reaches for my left breast, caresses the swollen nipple, presses, then pinches, and thrusts with vigour. I scream. He laughs but slows down long enough to kiss me on the cheek. He begins again with a steadier motion, almost ponderous really. Quickening his pace, he plays at dragging the the length of his shaft almost all the way out of me before resuming the same slow ponderous pace - strokes my sides, feather-like down my spine.

"You should have told me. I..."

He is flustered, exhilarated perhaps, but seems embarrassed.

He is still inside me, throbbing like a second heartbeat. My cries have subdued to moaning, an almost kittenish purr. He is kneading my rather generous behind now. Waiting for an answer?

What can I tell him, that I have often thought of what it would be like and with whom? That I knew it'd hurt but not that much or that my scream hadn't been entirely in pain?

As always, I am thinking yet my body has answered. Turning to face him, this time with purpose, I spear myself on him. Beckoning is unneeded, he folds to me, so tall his chest is face-level and the beads of sweat all forming are clear.

An absurd thought, could I lick it? Would I like it? I like this.

My legs rise to clasp him and fast in me he is, pounding lost to ferocious rhythm. I feel I am fizzy like cola, nerves now fully wired to this sensation. I am thoughtless, pulling him further in, further than I knew I contained. It is done. We are there.

He is stroking my back. I am kissing his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, wondering does it taste of strawberries.

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