It wasn’t Albuquerque, and it wasn’t Barcelona.
Rainbow spirals flared and fizzled outside, illuminating the night sky.
I watched the fireworks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, as every burst cast a new color along my bare skin, mirrored in the glassy marble floor.
Metal salts and fire.
I shivered as I felt his fingertips trace down my spine. The rush of goosebumps was undeniable, even in the low light of the hotel room. I bowed my back.
“So eager.”
I could hear the smile in his voice, but it held an edge to it, like he knew things I didn’t, yet. It made me feel a little dizzy, deliciously unsteady under his touch. He dragged his palms down to cup my ass, and I pushed myself up against him. He was a trap, and I knew it.
I didn’t care. I wanted it.
A flush crawled across my body. I knew it, and I wanted it. I wanted him inside me, to take me, violate me, let me taste the sweet hardness of him as he defiled my throat.
Yes, I was eager. He had teased me for so long. “Please,” I whispered.
The sheets rustled as he shifted. The warmth of his palms evaporated, as he drew his fingers along the wet heat of my center. “Please what?”
I whined, without meaning to. “You like torturing me.”
“Hmm.” He made the word sound contemplative, as if he hadn’t considered it. His touch became lighter, the pad of his finger resting lightly on my slippery, needy opening.
“Gods, fuck. Please,” I begged. “I need more.”
“More?”
He pushed one finger inside me, and my thoughts twisted and dissolved as quickly as the showers of colors outside. I felt myself clench and squirm, intoxicated by a single touch.
“You’re dripping,” he said.
I imagined what he was seeing: the evidence of my desire, glossy strings yawning and breaking between my pussy and his fingers. I blushed; my body ached for him.
He slipped his arm underneath my hips and flipped me over so I was on my back, and plunged his fingers back in. I was so close already, and every nerve raced toward the precipice, my breathing ragged. I watched the pink and green and red lights reflect in the blue of his eyes.
“So fucking wet,” he whispered. “Tell me how much you want this.”
A thousand words ran through my mind, all of them wholly inadequate. A volley of thoughts and images cracked and sparked, as ephemeral as the spiraling explosions in the night sky. I moaned and lifted my hips to meet his fingers.
“Please… just please.” I felt empty, needing so much to be filled. My desire curled tighter and tighter. “Please make me cum. Make me cum for you.” I could feel the wet heat of my orgasm about to spill over.
So close.
“Not yet,” he said, pulling his fingers from my clenching pussy.
I nearly cried. My body shivered at the cruelty of it, but that did nothing to ease my lust.
He brought his slick fingers to my mouth and pushed them between my lips. The taste of my own pussy assaulted my senses, with the tickling promise of sweetness like an under ripe apple. I ran my tongue over and between his fingers, imagining that I was teasing his cock, instead. Salty and sweet.
I watched his eyes darken as he took a long, shuddering breath.
At least I wasn’t the only one.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, pushing his fingers further into my mouth, until I gagged. As he pulled them out, he plastered the long strands of slime across my face, before grabbing a handful of my hair.
A tiny, needy noise escaped my mouth. “Better than a top floor hotel suite and fireworks?”
He dragged me to my knees on the floor, just as another round of multi-colored coils and corkscrews flashed across the sky. “I hope so.” He stood, his hard cock in front of my face, bathed in the reflected light.
I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to feel him between my lips.
He reached for his phone.
His phone?
“What are you doing?”
He smiled down at me. “Reading to you, while you suck me.”
I giggled. “What are you going to read?”
“Just some stuff.” He wrapped his hand around the back of my head, and slowly impaled himself in my mouth.
I was lost in the feeling of delicious violation, the length of him filling me and edging further into my mouth with every new thrust.
And then he started reading.
I listened to the words permeate the space between us, listened to the sound of his voice tease across my skin.
Except I knew these words.
I knew the shape of them, the texture across my own teeth. As his cock breached the bend at the back of my mouth and penetrated the deep slickness of my throat, I knew their individual and collective colors. I could see the sentences in my head.
Because I wrote them.
It had been ages, certainly. It was a story I had written about a green dress, and a throat fucking against the wall.
His voice wrapped around each word, bringing heat and life to a long-buried memory.
Did he know?
I blushed and gagged, and pulled him from my mouth. “What are you reading?”
He looked down at me. “Just a story I found on Literotica. Do you like it?”
I blushed harder.
He pushed his cock back into my mouth, going straight down my throat. Long strokes, in and out, tied to the meter of my own story about another merciless blow job I had imagined myself, years ago. This is meta as fuck.
Every sentence spun me deeper, tumbling down the rabbit hole, as his pace quickened. He left me less and less time to breathe, and I looked up at him with round, teary eyes. His gaze darted between his phone and my face, and I felt his muscles tighten.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… your throat is so goddamned tight.” He dropped his phone on the bed sheets. “Look at me.”
I tipped my head back and gave him the best eye contact I could, although the room swam with my tears, tinged with the colors of fireworks.
“Fuck.” His voice was barely above a whisper, now, and his breathing was ragged.
I thought about the story he had picked to read to me, and I wondered if he had ever read it and cum to it before.
Maybe.
I thought about him reading my stories, slowly jerking his cock. Fuck.
The thought made me shiver, and my pussy dripped. He pushed himself between my lips again and again, using my mouth like a cunt. Just like in the story.
I heard him moan and swear softly, as he bottomed out in my throat and pressed me hard along his stomach.
Use my mouth like a cunt. Use me.
I felt his cock twitch against my swollen bottom lip, as my lungs burned and my gag reflex revolted. He was cumming down my throat. It was an agonizing, exquisite violation, and the orgasm that had been coiled so tight in my core burst out in a shower of hot liquid. I screamed against the head of his cock buried so deep, as I soaked the inside of my thighs.
Metal, salt, and fire.
He let out a shaking breath and pulled out, sitting back on the bed. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story, while you clean me up?”
I nodded and crawled between his legs, gently licking and sucking his softening cock. After choking on it only minutes ago, it was a small pleasure to find I could now fit the whole thing in my mouth, without gagging.
Still, I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know, before he started reading again. “How did you find that story?”
He shrugged. “Found it randomly one day.” He picked up his phone again.
Really?
I swirled my tongue over his soft skin. Did I believe that? “I like it,” I said.
“I do, too. After I found it, I read through everything else they posted. Fucking hot.” He sighed in pleasure. “Now, do you want me to keep reading?”
I smiled up at him. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”
Should I tell him?
Later. Maybe later.
A barrage of colored lights crackled against the dark sky, lighting up his features as he began to read, once more.
Photo by Mike Enerio on Unsplash