The Literary Courtesan

An erotic salon where my pen will stroke your senses.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Postprandial negotiations

"That's a lovely view you're offering," he said. "But what makes you think you get to be in charge tonight?"

She loved negotiations, knew exactly how she could get her own way. She thought to pull down his jeans, kneel before him, suck his cock, swallow him. She reached her hand out, began to unloop his belt from its buckle. But he was bigger than she was, and before she could finish loosening his belt, he had swung her around so that she was up against the wall. He pulled her skirt above her hips, grabbed her labia, rubbing the lips together. She could feel the rough brick against her bare ass, and she tried to put her hands behind her to protect the flesh. Instead, he grabbed her arms, pinned her hands above her head with one of his hands, while the other continued to squeeze and rub. He was not being gentle and she felt herself respond to the roughness of it even as she became aware of just how little she could do to stop him from whatever he had planned. And it was that awareness of her body’s weakness that caused her to rebel, to struggle to free her hands, to pull away from the other hand that was between her legs, rubbing her clit. She struggled harder, trying not to lose her balance on the stiletto heels but trying to pull away from the hand that was now tormenting her with pleasure