Friday, March 11

I am wet.

We are in a cab. The taste of Marlboro and whisky on his breath as we kiss, his hand runs under my t-shirt, fumbling for the release of my bindings.

My hand is on his cock, over his tight jeans... he is hard, hot under my fumbling fingers. I rub him through the coarse fabric, as his fingers release the elastic. I exhale heavily as he releases my chest, the smell of sweat and stink release as my tits move for the first time today, his hand pulling drunkenly at the thick wrapping. His tongue sloppy in my mouth, running over my teeth.

The cab is lurching uptown, stuck in traffic. We are close to my place, I keep rubbing... his hand finding my nipple, he whispers something as he feels my metal bar. Kissing me harder, his hand on mine as he shudders... I feel his pants hot and damp under my hand.

I throw some money at the driver as we stumble out. I can't quite stand right, it's not spinning but not not spinning either. I fall back on the wall of the elevator, he is pressing into me... my legs wide. I tell him to push floor 8.

We are in my room now, I am on my knees, undoing his belt, pushing down his tight jeans and boxers. He has cum already, the smell and stickiness over his cock and shorts, but he is not soft. My hands cup his shaved balls as I take his cock in my mouth. He is not steady, his hand on my head, not to fuck me but to keep standing up. We both drank way too much, that is why we are where we are.

He is hard in my mouth. I feel where he stops shaving, the hairiness of his body meeting the smoothness of his balls... he is muttering something — taste of precum in my mouth. I stop, not wanting it like this. I pull myself up... stumbling... kissing him.

I fall back on my bed, the ceiling is spinning over me as he falls on me. His pants are off. Falling onto me, he bumps his head into mine, his stale mouth finds mine. I feel like I am going to puke, but suck it in, turning my head.

His hands are over me, pushing up my t-shirt, pulling at my loose binding. I arch my back as he pulls it free, his hands clumsy over my breasts, kneading them like they are play-doh. My hand finds his hair, thin and greasy, sweaty from the club.