On some occasions, they have no need for words.
He takes her to an expensive restaurant where they sit across from each other, ever the smart, sophisticated, beautiful couple. Beneath the table, she spreads her legs for him, the clingy black dress she wears riding up her slim thighs. He knows she’s not wearing panties; he watched her dress.
Above the table they continue their conversation; careers, house prices, hobbies. But beneath, he reaches out, his fingers walking their way up the length of her leg toward the wet cleft between her thighs. Using his index and forefinger, he strokes her shaven folds. He peels her open before plunging his fingers into her depths.
To the rest of the room, they continue their charade. He holds her gaze, almost challenging her to break from the act, to cry out. Hidden from view, he finger-fucks her, adding a third finger and then a forth, impaling her on his hand. The waiter comes to the table to pour them some more wine. He stills his hand, though his fingers remain embedded in her tight sheath. She offers the waiter the briefest of smiles. Her chest is flushed, the color creeping up her throat.
The waiter moves away and he continues his movements, sliding his fingers in and out. His thumb finds her clit and he hooks his fingers inward, locating the fleshy pad on the inside of her walls that he knows will send her over the edge. He works her clit in small circles, his fingers now held deep, but still moving inside her. The scent of her arousal lingers on the air and she comes fast and hard, all words failing her. Her hands bunch above the tablecloth, her eyes squeezed shut. She’s trapped inside herself, focused only on the waves of pleasures clutching her in their grip. But not a sound is uttered from her lips.
And then she comes back to him.
At home, he pushes her onto the bed, wanting to finish what he started. He clamps his hand over her mouth, preventing any words. He drives his cock hard into her pussy, pinning her arms above her head with his other hand. Only their cries and breathing fills the room as they join themselves together.
But sometimes words are needed—coarse, harsh, vulgar. He wants to hear the come from her mouth, from the sweet lips that talk so politely to strangers, but with him reveal a different kind of woman altogether.
“Oh yes,” she gasps as she kneels in front of him, his dick brushing her soft lips. “I want to taste your big, hard cock. I want you to fuck my mouth.” Her tongue flicks out, sweeping the clear drop of pre-cum from his slit. “I’m going to lick you and suck you. I’m going to make you come so hard.” She sinks her hot, wet mouth down the length of his dick and her words are muted.
He takes over. “I love it when you suck my cock. You’re so fucking good at that.”
Emboldened by his words, she goes deeper, drawing him to the back of her throat. “Suck it harder, baby. Use your tongue.”
She does as he tells her, rubbing her tongue along the flat underside. As she bobs back and forth, the tight circle of her lips creates a friction that drives him insane.
She stops before he comes, his dick slipping from her perfect mouth, and crawls up onto the bed, wiggling her heart-shaped bottom as she goes. “You can put it in any hole you want,” she entices. “My tight, wet pussy or even my ass.” She reclines on the bed and gives him a naughty smile.
He climbs on the bed with her and suspends himself above her. He applies attention to her small, jaunty breasts. Her nipples have always been slightly too large compared to the rest of her tits and he enjoys sucking their lengthened peaks to the roof of his mouth, rolling the hard nub with his tongue.
“I love it when you suck on my nipples,” she tells him, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he says.
He moves down her body, his tongue tracing a wet trail down across her flat stomach and then pubic bone. He stops between her thighs; his tongue finding the little bud nestled below the small patch of tight curls. Her taste is so familiar to him, it could be his own.
With his tongue and fingers, he brings her close, but before she tilts over the edge, he lifts his mouth from her. “Turn over. I want to fuck you from behind.”
He likes to watch his erection slide between her swollen pussy lips, slick with her juice. He builds up his momentum, the pleasure of her hot cunt gripped tight around his erection making his head swim.
“You dirty, fucking slut,” he says. “Dirty, bitch, whore.”
And somehow these words notch everything up a level, excite them both.
“Fuck me harder,” she tells him, watching him from over one shoulder. “I want you big, hard dick to pound me so hard it hurts.”
He takes her at her word, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers moulding into her flesh. He uses her momentum to drive himself deeper, harder, faster.
“Say it!” he tells her as she slams into her, balls deep. “Tell me what a whore you are.”
“I’m a dirty little whore,” she says between gasps. “I’m your filthy little slut.”
This final admission tilts the axis and they both find their release. He comes inside her with grunts of pleasure, shooting hot steams of cum. Her pussy contracts and pulses around him and she cries out, her head hung, her back arched.
They collapse; a mass of heavy breathing, sweat-soaked skin and hot flesh. They curl together as he grows soft inside her and their breathing returns to normal. Her plants a kiss on her shoulder and pulls her against him.
And they need their words no more.
Copyright © 2012 M.K. Elliott
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.