Cover Up

He said he was too ill for sex. He'd hurt his foot in the rain and his stomach in a Mexican restaurant (I blame the greedily-gulped wine rather than the food). I told him I was tired anyway. My sister had just been shipped back to the Old Country and I'd spent too long browsing pens and paper and pins.

It was hot. I was hot. Summer seems replaced by stickiness and no sun.

I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear and lay back on his bed, cuddling my new owl cushion and flicking interestedly through The Encyclopaedia of Unusual Sex Practices. Absorbed in coprophagy, child marriage and corporal punishment, my flushed skin cooled and my body relaxed.

He came to give me some affection and noted my all-but-bared body with interest.

"I'd fuck you right now if I were feeling better." He said, with a mixture of lust and disappointment.

We moved into my room to play a boardgame, but it didn't quite turn out that way. I decided that the short journey required more clothes, especially if we wanted to be sociable and leave the door open. So I donned the khaki jumpsuit from our little military coup the other day. It's light and not fussy and seemed perfect.

I'd have thought I'd be less alluring to Crush with more clothes on, but no. Covering up just made him all the hornier, it turned out. He crawled over me as I lay on the bed, breasts trapped by poppers that were so easily undone, skin tightly dressed in smooth fabric. He ran his hands over the khaki and ripped the poppers apart.

He pushed me down and swiftly pulled the top of the jumpsuit from my body. I removed the bra straps from my shoulders and he flipped down the cups, exposing my breasts to him. He smothered them in kisses before leaping up and tugging at the bottom half of the jumpsuit.

I toyed with him, struggling here and there, obstructing his efforts, playfully trying to resist him. But I wanted it too badly to really protest.

He whipped off his trousers and rubbed the fat head of his cock against my pussy. I was already slightly slick, but he still had to take things slowly, pushing his cock in and out, adding a centimetre of length at a time until suddenly my cunt resisted no longer, he was inside me and could fuck me with abandon.

And so he did.

He moved like an animal as I writhed underneath him. I bucked my hips and watched his feral movements in amazement. His haunches rocked back and forth, driving his shaft deep into me, his hands gripping me possessively. I moaned and wriggled and soon he was coming loudly within me, spilling himself into me, spending all his little energy.

He collapsed, head on my breasts and I stroked his hair. We'd already reclaimed the room, indeed bed, my sister had borrowed for the week: a week of late nights and camaraderie but not one single bit of sex to speak of.

Well, ill or not, tired or not, it was all better now.

Republished with permission from Being Blacksilk. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo via Explicite Art..