saw the sheen of my lust shine on your fingers.
Wait, just you wait and see how I can please you too!
I bend toward you. Your cock had a heady smell. Reminiscent of the corduroy fabric of your trousers. But also the smell of man. Wild. Lingering…
The joy in my stomach, which still hadn’t subsided, rose sharply again. I laid my tongue on the tip of your cock. It was slippery. A thin, appetizing, salty stream pearled out of the thin hole and I spread it all over the pink, round, bare, stirring glans. Men’s cocks are custom-made to be devoured. There’s nothing more eatable in a man. It’s firm, elastic, spongy, so soft you feel your tongue should dance on tiptoe over it, like a cheeky skater on a bed of ice.
Your cock is so thick I don’t think I could suck on all of it… At any rate, not in my present position… Under my skirt, the echo continues. My cunt is still quivering.
“Give it to me…”
“Ask, come on, you can ask better…”
“Please, please, please. I want it badly…”
“You can do better!”
“Come to me, please… I am so hot inside. Touch me, touch, I’m on fire, I’m so wet, put it inside, I’ll go crazy. I’ll suck you off so good. Come!”
“Ask! Ask again!”
“Damn it! Come… Look, how it needs me too: it can’t even stand still, it’s ready to burst if you don’t put it in, put it inside me, fuck me, please? Come. I’m hungry, hungry for you, hungry for it. Look, it will slide in so easily, it’s ready… You can’t keep it, this big dumb thing, all to yourself? Look, look, I’m opening up for it, see. See how I gape wide open, hurry, hurry, or I’ll come without you, just the thought of you screwing me… We will lose it all…”
The threats had the desired effect. You laid me down onto the seat, down on your knees on the other seat you pulled me across, pushed your trousers down… Lust stabbed through my heart. And I still hadn’t even seen your balls!
You move into me like butter. I can almost feel your taste. It’s a famished beast I have between my thighs. Eat, feast yourself, my little animal! It’s Christmas, I’m your midnight supper!
I swallow you whole with torrid pleasure. Your cock is hard, I can feel it butt against my walls, at the back, and the soft blows reverberate all the way through to my arse. It’s exhilarating… I’ve a finger on my clit, doing God knows only what, and it feels good, like a mandolin player. And with my left hand, I held your balls, heavy, thick, gorgeous. My imagination is on fire thinking of them, swollen and creamy. Eat, kiddo, eat! Soon it will be time for dessert… This guy is soon about to spurt all the way into you, the way you like it! My brain grows more excited as it pictures visions of eruptions surging upwards at the speed of light. I naively press hard against your balls, as if to empty them.
“Come, come…”
“No, not before you do. Come quickly.”
“I can’t. I just can’t, yet.”
How could I explain that my lust was dependent on yours?
“You first, you first… you keep on saying,” and I realize that you are going to wait as long as it takes while I’m almost suffocating here, suspended above the abyss.
“Tell me what you want me to do? Tell me… You’re so good to me.”
“Take me everywhere. Behind, also.”
You are obedience personified. My desires are orders. You stab my arsehole with your thick, aggressive, fiery thumb. It scares me and fills me with joy at the same time.
“Do you feel me, there? [Hard not to. I feel only you.] Are you ready to come, now? Ready?”
“If you keep on stretching me open so, everywhere, yes, yes, it’ll soon come… Listen, listen, it’s coming, it’s coming, it’s almost here, it’s… now, right now, give, give it to me, you too…”
You fell upon me. You’re much heavier than I thought you would be. And so much more gentle, too.
When I opened my eyes, the snow had stopped falling. You caught your breath back, readjusted your clothing, settled again behind the steering wheel. My chest is still resonating, my ears too, full of the roar of the giant wave that has washed me away. With sharp burns everywhere, their scars gradually declining and being replaced by a wholesome feeling of lassitude.
“You can sleep, if you want to.”
You indicate the cot, behind the front seats. No, I don’t wish to leave you on your own. I will not sleep.
And the journey continues, quietly, slowly. We’re in a sleigh smoothly sliding through a white and sleepy landscape.
From time to time, you stop. People wish you a merry Christmas. We go again. There are bells in my head, champagne flowing through my body, and my heart. Small bubbles sparkle and tickle me everywhere. You’re nice, you’re funny. I don’t regret anything.
In the morning, you lightly brush against my drowsiness.
“We’re arriving in La Rochelle. Where do you want me to drop you?”
I open my eyes, see a dead town amidst a still black dawn.
“At the railway station.”
“What?”
“Yes, I have to tell you. You know, when we met, I wasn’t leaving Lyon. I’d just arrived. I was going to spend Christmas there. I didn’t feel like it…”
“You’d just come from La Rochelle?”
“No, from Grenoble.”
“But…? Why did you tell me of La Rochelle?”
“I saw you. I saw your lorry, the sign ‘Marennes’. I thought, ‘That’s where that guy is going back to, tonight.’ And I reckoned ‘Why not?’”
Your eyes flickered with laughter.
“It’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Because, when you saw me, I was about to hand over the lorry to a mate. I wasn’t supposed to bring it back. I was scheduled to sleep in Lyon. I’d already been driving all day.”
“That’s why you had to go to the office?”
“Yes, that’s where I was meant to meet up with him. I told Dupre, ‘I’m replacing you.’ He didn’t mind.”
“Is it legal?”
“No, not really, but it can be done… He’d found this chick in Lyon. Gave him the chance to spend Christmas Eve with her. He was pleased.”
“Weren’t you supposed to spend Christmas with your family?”
“No, I was going to wait for the next lorry to do the journey.”
“So, now, what are you going to do?”
“First, sleep a bit. Then return to Lyon.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning, maybe.”
“So…?”
“Yes, why not?”
THREE FOR THE MONEY by Marilyn Jaye Lewis
Yesterday, I went to a funeral uptown. When I left my apartment in the morning, it had been the proverbial spring day, birds chirping, daffodils blooming in the park – the works. Naturally, by the time I came up from the subway station an hour and a half later, it had begun to rain. Funerals are a bit like rain dances in that way; people gather together in mourning, and the earth itself cries.
