Mar 272010
 
The “Under 500” are posts in which I attempt to do a sketch of a moment, generally sexual, in under 500 words. I’m inspired to add this to the stash. I hope you enjoy…

Panting unsettles my orgasmic dénouement. His hand was still on my neck. Big, strong fingers tracing deceptively delicate diagrams at the hollow under my chin where the throat’s thin-skinned then a finger slid abruptly to pull insistently on my lip, insinuating between my teeth with a blasé approach to the grinding porcelain and bone threats to his digital integrity.

My right hand tightened reflexively on his flank where it had been marveling over, over and over, the preternatural rigidity of the muscle under the sweat-slicked skin. My left hand went AWOL on its mission to sink fingers into the flesh of his forearm…bicep…shoulder that remained frozen in place holding him up seemingly effortlessly as he inhaled my skin, sensitized as it was by the rough stubble of his chin and cheeks, each stroke its own small riot of sensation across my flesh.

I shook again.

And again.

And each shudder shoved…dragged… shouted me back towards that inevitable singularity of another orgasm and as my breathing was slightly obstructed by his formidable grip on my throat the inevitable became? Itself.

My reduction yet again to a barking growling sightless being of insensate sensation was met with a flat ferocity from him and his teeth, capable as mine are of inflicting pain, set about to dig in to my neck, at the place where the neck meets shoulder and I cannot say how this is but I can say that I could not of anticipated the effect this had on me.

Immediately.

Terrifying shocks, vision blurred panic,  his hand tightened and the biting took on a possessive feral dark green pain that blossomed in (of all places) the thrumming nexus between my legs. Even as another orgasm compressed me as surely as his impossibly dense muscular body did, his knee, shoved as it was between my legs, slammed into my cunt and my head snapped back his free hand pinioning one of mine to the bed more surely than a steel cuff. More surely because that inanimate steel might have tensile strength but lacks the strength of intent, you see.

And the overwhelming show of force coupled with his mute desire to overpower me was frightening. As frightening as the inexorable tightening of his hand again on my throat and the syncopated thrusts of his knee between my legs and the bestial gnawing of his teeth into the distressed muscle of my shoulder and neck and now? Now it doesn’t matter because I’m screaming screams muffled by his tongue, slipping between my lips. Tart and sour from the wine he’d sipped earlier. My mouth, fucked as it was, comes again. My skin, fucked as it was, comes again. He says nothing but.

Breathes.

Low.

Almost subsonic his seemingly bottomless appetite for my body terrifies me again my head screams of fear and fight and flight my throat screams of pain even as I brink another orgasm my fists pounding at his unyielding bulk terrified, frustrated and…Lord. Help me…still hungry.

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  8 Responses to “Under 500: The Hungarian.”

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