"It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others." - Steven Wright

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Wednesday, October 22, 2008


He's sitting next to me. We are silent. Our eyes are fixed on the screen. I can smell him. Testosterone fills the air. He's not concentrating on the movie. He's distracted by my tits and memories of past encounters between his dick and I. I can smell him. The stale air is thick with old popcorn and desire. I can smell him. There's lust and filth filtering through my nostrils. He's jonesing. He wants it. He thinks I might be watching the film. He's being polite. He's not coming on to me. I might be enthralled with the formulaic blather sputtering through the speaker or the mundane scenes flickering from the projector, so he leaves me alone.

I decide to take him.

I throw myself against him. My hand is undoing his belt. I'm unbuttoning his pants before he can protest. He's unzipped before he can utter a word. He can't talk now. My lips are pressed against his. My tongue is worming its way into his mouth. My tongue grabs his and they wrestle. My hand is fiddling with his penis, freeing it from his pants.

I know what he needs, a good build up. I'll bring him close and take him back. I'll tease his cock until he begs for release.

I look into his eyes. I don't let him look away. I never look down. My hand has eyes. My hand is on automatic. I'm in his head. I know what it wants. I know how to work it. My mouth never leaves his. I kiss him passionately. His kisses plead his case. I ignore his appeal. I play his dick like a fiddle, back and forth, up and down. The rhythm of my hand. The beat of his moans. The symphony of our heat. He's close. He wants it. I know when to back off, when to press on. It's unfair. It's torture. It's sublime.

My cunt is dripping with longing. I'm craving it, but I want it to be controlled, specific. He's gonna cum when I decide the time is right. I'm in control. He wants it to conclude. He wants it to continue. We're craving release. I remove my mouth from his lips. I stare more deeply into his wanton eyes. I smile lasciviously. His eyes petition me for mercy. I stroke harder and faster in a corkscrew fashion. I'm pulling out his seed. I slow down. My touch is softer. I avoid the head. I squeeze out the last of his spirit. His eyes close. His breath slows. The moans subside. My cunt drips between my thighs.

No napkins or tissues. I lean over and lap up his cum. No need for napkins or tissues. The taste has me feverish. I grab his hand and suck his fingers. I push them under my skirt and into my twat. I pull his fingers out and stick them back in my mouth. My juices taste like sex. I smell sex. Cunt. I reach down and stroke my clit. I rub myself while I lick the last of my sex off his fingers. I cum. I squirt. No napkins or tissues. It'll have to soak into the seat in front of me. No need for napkins or tissues.

We're done. The movie is over. He pulls the car out of the noisy parking garage. He's hoping for road head. He'll get it. No need for napkins or tissues.