i wrote a morbid story to go with the day, but this one needs to go up first.
i liked it...a LOT, ahem...so i hope it finds you the same...
Fantasy Friday XII: Love in an Elevator...
sitting across from you, i see your lips moving, but none of the words make it to my ears.
the clattering of silverware and the white noise of distant conversations are fading as well.
i slide around the bench seat so we're closer and reach inside your pants.
you swallow hard and take a quick look around.
then you smile at me and keep talking, although now none of the words make sense to you, either.
you glance down and my skirt is pulled back, my legs spread just enough, just for you to see...
you reach for your glass and take a drink, hoping to maintain the appearance of normalcy.
your free hand grabs the edge of the bench, knuckles white.
you begin to sweat as i massage in a beautiful rhythm.
for all your efforts, you cannot stop yourself from calling out in release as i fill a red linen napkin with warm and sticky you.
you cover with a forced coughing fit and we pay quickly and scramble to a cab.
you push me against the door and reach up my skirt, your fingers sinking deep, your mouth on mine.
payback's a bitch...you whisper as the cabbie asks whereto?
bring it on i whisper back, then bite your neck to keep from squealing.
you grunt the address to the man in the front seat, then open my shirt.
my nipple in your teeth, my hands in your hair,
the cabbie turns on the defroster, turns up the music--and adjusts his mirror.
you're hard again and i don't know if i can wait to have you inside me.
you toss a 20 over the seat for this $6 ride and we punch in the code for your building.
the lobby is quiet and the elevator empty...
as it edges past floor 4, I open your pants and you punch the stop button.
you brace me against the wall and i pull you into me, clawing at your back, panting harder, oh god, harder!
we climax together, release the elevator and cover oursleves.
as we walk into the party, your wife smiles at me, thanking me for making sure you made it on time.
i excuse myself, to take my coat back to the bedroom.
you follow, locking the door.
in that pile of coats we fuck harder and faster than before but can't seem to stop.
every orgasm means we must start over.
no one seems to notice that the professor and his protege are walking around smelling like sex, with cloudy eyes and smudged lipstick.
these two who keep turning up missing at the same moments all night.
these two who emerged from the bathroom together, running into an unsuspecting guest, and mumbling something about finding an asprin, while tucking in their shirts.
***Happiest of horny valentine's days to you all***