Talk Hard

"Why is it," you murmur, "that you let me do such dirty things to you but won't tell me your fantasies?" You smack my ass, watch me writhe.

"I don't know," I manage. "It's just so...intimate."

"And this isn't?" You slowly work a finger into my [DELETED]. My head spins.

"Point taken." But I'm silent. Distracted.

You take your hands away. I whimper. "Tell me," you say.

"Well…" I falter. "We're at a restaurant." You touch me again: instant reward. "You grab me. By the restrooms. You tell me not to scream. You drag me inside, pull my shirt up to cover my eyes. You use my panties to tie my wrists behind me."

You turn me face-up, spread me open, rub against me.

"You push me down, shove your [DELETED] into my mouth. Harder than usual. I realize I never saw your face. You could be anyone."

You slide into me just a bit, then out, holding my hips so I can't wriggle onto you.

"You [DELETED] my face," I pant, "a little too roughly. I can't catch my breath. You hit the back of my throat over and over…"

You grunt, but don't move.

"And then you hoist me up, bend me over the sink and thrust into me, and I'm coming --"

You groan, finally slamming into my [DELETED]. One, two, three strokes…

And you pull out, leaving me open-mouthed, gasping. You head for the door. "Get dressed," you say, grinning. "I'm taking you to dinner."

[written for Alison Tyler's "[DELETED]" contest]