Black Room: Door 7

by Jade London

  “Pinch your nipples,” he orders.

  And I do it. Fuck, why do I obey him so instantly? Why do his words, his simple instructions work on me like this, unbidden and without thought? My hand flies up to my tit, and my fingers roll my nipple back and forth, pinching hard.

  “Oh—oh god,” I gasp, then, because it’s all too much, the orgasm is rising inside me like a tsunami approaching shore, gaining size and power and intensity the closer it gets.

  “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” He asks.

  I nod, my eyes fluttering, but I still can’t quite look away from him. I’m laying down on the dock, staring at him over my body, fingers at my clit and on my nipples, and my breathing is ragged and harsh, and I’m there, riding the edge.

  “Goddammit,” he growls. “You’re killing me.”

  My hips move out of my control then, flying up and down, and my voice is a whining gasp through gritted teeth, and my fingers are a blur, swiping around my clit hard and fast and relentless.

  I think of Charlie just inside, sleeping. He could hear me and come out at any moment, see me masturbating while a man I don’t know watches, mere feet away.

  He could touch me, the man in the boat. If he were to reach out his arm, he could run his hands along my leg. Leaning forward just a little bit, his fingers could replace mine. If I shimmied toward the edge of the dock, he could do so many dirty things to me, things nobody has ever done before.

  “Quit looking at me like that, goddammit,” he snarls.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re afraid I’m gonna do something I shouldn’t.” He shifts on the bench. “Like touch you.

  “I’m not…afraid…of that, necessarily,” I hear myself say.

  “Fuck.” He slides across the boat bench, closer to the dock, arms uncrossing. “No? Then what?”

  “More…wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “What I would do if you did.”

  “You really shouldn’t wonder that.”

  “Why not?”

  His hand extends, and his index finger touches my kneecap, circles, and then slides down my shin. “Because if I did touch you…” He trails off, his fingertip skating up the side of my calf.

  “If you did touch me…what?” I shouldn’t be wondering that, shouldn’t be thinking that, and shouldn’t be saying that.

  I’m all but begging him, daring him, inviting him.

  “Because if I did touch you, honey…I wouldn’t stop until I’d made you come so hard you’d remember that orgasm for the rest of your fucking life.”

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit.” I growl this through clenched teeth, angry at myself for being so weak, so needy. But I’m coming—it’s happening, and I can’t stop it and he’s watching and I need to be touched.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah—oh…oh yeah…” I sound like the girl in the porn, all breathy and horny and erotic and whining high-pitched whimpers.

  My eyes are narrowed to slits, my hips pumping, my fingers flying. I’m there, oh god, oh fuck, it’s hitting me like a freight train, blasting though me so hard I can’t bite down on the brief, shrill cry.

  “Fuck!” he snarls.

  And then I feel his hands on my ankles, right as I’m coming. Pulling me.

  Toward him.

  I’m terrible, a horrible person, a dirty girl with sinful needs, but I shimmy on my ass across those old boards, to the edge of the dock. He pulls a little more, and now I’m nearly hanging off the edge, my ass mostly in the air. He plants my feet on his shoulders, and he’s a solid, immovable wall of gorgeous man.

  I can’t help but watch, then, as he runs tickling fingers tripping and traipsing up the insides of my thighs, stopping at my pussy. He touches me then, and I flinch, gasp.

  “Sensitive?”

  “Like crazy,” I whisper.

  His finger glides down the seam of my swollen labia, and then back up. He finds the hard bead of my clit and flicks it, and I jerk.

  “Holy shit,” I cry out.

  I’m so, so sensitive from having just come that any touch is too much, but his touch…like this? I almost move away from how completely overwhelming it is. I don’t know him, not even his name, and I’m on my dock, alone, naked, in the middle of the night, and I’m married.

  I’m a terrible, terrible person.

  But I’m not going to stop. If Charlie can cheat on me, I can cheat on him. Shitty logic, but there it is.

  But as the man’s finger teases down the slit of my cunt again, still tracing the seam of my lips, guilt hits. I don’t want the fucking guilt, goddammit. I want to feel good, I want to feel wanted, and this man’s touch gives me that. His eyes give me that. The way he’s taking his time, just staring at my pussy as if he’s memorizing it, touching it as if intending to make this moment last in his mind forever. As if he’s sure he has only this one single moment with me, and he’s going to make the most of it.

  “I shouldn’t—” I start. But then he flips his hand so his palm is facing up, and he curls his long middle finger into my cunt, and I cut off with a gasp. “Oh fuck.”

  “What?” He leaves his finger inside me, the backs of his other fingers flush against my pussy, and then crooks the finger inside me and touches something that makes me writhe up off the dock and cry out. “You shouldn’t what?”

  “I shouldn’t let you do this to me.” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows and watching his finger move inside me.

  “Too late now, beautiful. I am doing this to you.” He watches his hand, too.

  We’re both watching him slowly, sinuously, curl and straighten that middle finger inside me, and each time he curls it just so, he touches that spot and I whimper, and my hips start to flex.

  “Oh god—what the fuck are you doing to me?” I sound desperate, wild, confused, almost in pain.

  Because what he’s doing feels so incredibly good it almost hurts. No, it does hurt.

  And then he changes tactics. He pulls that finger out my cunt entirely, stares at it, and lifts it to his mouth. His finger is glistening, wet with my essence, and he puts that finger in his mouth and licks it clean. I moan, watching him do it.

  “What does it taste like?” I ask.

  His lips curve. He slides that same finger back into me and swirls it around my channel, then withdraws it. I sit forward, knowing what he’s going to do, and I want it. Dirty, shameful, but I want it. I want to know what my own pussy tastes like. He fits that long, thick finger into my mouth, and I close my lips around his finger and lick it with my tongue, and I taste the salt of his skin and something else, something tangy, almost sweet, musky.

  He pulls his finger out of my mouth and I go back to leaning on my elbows. He looks me over, eyes lingering on my breasts, on my wide dark areolae and thick, erect dark nipples, so hard, so sensitive.

  “I could spend an entire night on your tits, you know that?”

  “Doing what?”

  He laughs, a low, amused, aroused sound. “Everything.”

  “Oh—god.”

  I fucking want that. What would he do? Lick them? Kiss them? Pinch them? That’s as far as my imagination goes, but the look on his face tells me he has a much more vivid imagination than I do.

  His hands reach for me, and I shudder all over at the sight of those big, rough, strong hands closing around my hips—

  My brain misfires, and I’m seeing him grip my hips like that, but it’s a…a memory, a memory of this man, whom I’ve never before met in my life, grasping my hips and pulling me like he’s doing in this moment, pulling me toward himself, but it’s not now that I’m seeing, it’s some other time…the past, or the future, or an alternate reality, or I don’t even know.

  I see his swarthy, sun-darkened, work-roughened hands on my pale white flesh, cupping the generous bell of my hips, pulling me across lily-white sheets. I see his knees, he’s sitting on his shins, and my ass slides up his thighs and his cock is erect a
nd thick and veiny and there’s a slight, trimmed smattering of curly black pubic hair around the base and a dusting on his heavy balls. The head of his cock is a broad mushroom, the groove of the glans ridged and puckered, the flesh beneath lightly pebbled and dark and stretched taut. God, it’s so fucking huge, this cock. Perfect, so, so perfect. Straight as a rod, so thick there’s no way my fist will close around it. And he’s pulling me toward it, gripping my hips in those big, rough yet so exquisitely gentle hands—

  The boat rocks as he pulls me. The vision is erased, and I don’t understand it, because I felt it, felt him, and I knew it was him even though all I could see was his hands, it was like I was seeing myself from a bird’s eye view, from above, out of myself, looking down on this man and me.

  He was about to fuck me in that vision.

  I shudder, and I’m on the dock, completely suspended now, my lower half off the dock and in his hands. My legs are curled around his neck and his hands are under my ass, holding me up, cupping my buttocks.

  I blink, disoriented, and then I watch him open his mouth and his flat pink tongue extends and touches my clit, and I jerk, shudder, cry out—it’s so strange, that feeling, the wet slithering pressure of his tongue against my clit, but it’s bliss, it’s euphoria, it pleasure beyond the ability of words to capture.

  I watch him, don’t even blink, don’t dare breathe as I watch his mouth close around my pussy and feel his tongue warm against my clit. Then I feel him suckle, and lick. I crane up to see more, and he backs away and extends and licks my cunt from bottom to top, again and again and I feel each lick shuddering through me like earthquakes. He licks me and licks me, slowly, taking his sweet time, and I can’t prevent the whimpers from seething past my clenched teeth.

  He pauses between swipes of his tongue and glances up at me. “You…woman, you are the single most beautiful and erotic creature I’ve ever encountered in my life.”

  My heart twists, squeezes, contorts. “I’m not.”

  He laughs and sucks my clit between his teeth. “Yes, you are. So fucking sexy, so gorgeous. The sounds you make? Jesus. You’re killing me.”

  Then he can’t talk anymore because he’s eating my pussy like it’s a last meal, tongue laving madly, and his left arm hooks under me to take my weight and his right hand slides around to fit two of his fingers into my cunt. Index and middle, driving in. Fucking heaven, I’m in heaven, I’ve died and gone to a place of utter ecstasy. I moan and whimper and reach for him, bury both hands in his thick and loose and wild hair, and then I let myself go. I keep my eyes open and watch, curled forward as far as I can to watch his mouth move and his fingers move, fucking me in and out.

  My hips become pistons, driving me against him, grinding, and my teeth are clenched so hard they ache but if I don’t keep my jaws together I’ll scream. As it is I’m barely containing myself, barely able to stop from screaming even with my jaw locked. My voice is hoarse and ragged and raw, breathy moans and gusting shrieks. And he’s nonstop, tireless, fingers fucking and mouth kissing my cunt and I’m—

  fuckfuckfuck—

  “Come. Give it to me, right now.” I hear him growl the command, feel his lips moving against my pussy.

  It’s like his words flip a switch.

  I come.

  Oh god, fuck—Jesus, I come so hard everything goes dark, dizzy, twisting, shattering, collapsing, flailing, writhing, too breathless to scream. I come and I come and I come, wave after wave of driving piercing orgasm, climax without end. And his mouth is there on my cunt licking kissing, eating, devouring until the climax shatters and becomes something else. It’s too much, and I’m outright sobbing, shuddering all over, muscles contracting helplessly, searing euphoria like jagged shards of distilled, crystallized pleasure replacing my blood and bones and thoughts and needs.

  “Fuck, fuck, stop, stop,” I gasp, pleading with him. “Please, stop. It’s too much.”

  “No.” He lets me down onto the dock and his fingers leave my cunt and I blink and look and see those two fingers are coated with my cum, my essence. Seeping, dripping, liquid desire is leaking out of me, his fingers are coated in it, dribbling down his knuckles. “Not enough.”

  He wipes all that essence onto my clit, and I jerk at the wet contact. He dips again into my pussy and scoops out that creamy moisture and slathers my clit with it, and then that becomes his rhythm: in, circle, in, circle. Fucking, smearing. I feel his other hand on my hip, then my belly, then my ribs, and my heart—already hammering so hard it hurts—pounds even harder as I force open my eyes and watch as his palm skates up over my breast, cupping my tit.

  He touches my breasts reverently, one then the other, over and over, and all the while his fingers fuck my pussy and then smear my wetness over my clit. The orgasm hasn’t stopped, hasn’t lessened, and everything he’s doing is making it worse, better, deeper, harder. I can’t stop shuddering, shaking, can’t stop gasping and cursing, can’t stop watching what he’s doing.

  I know, without a doubt, this is the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

  And I know I won’t end this when I stop coming.

  I’ll touch him.

  I’ll fuck him.

  I’ll suck his thick hard cock and I’ll swallow his cum.

  I’ll ride him from moonrise to sunrise and take his gloriously perfect cock a thousand times and a thousand different ways.

  Because he is…

  He’s everything.

  I know this, and it’s not because I’m—fuck, fuck, FUCK!—coming again, coming harder than the last time, putting my knuckle between my teeth and biting down on the scream—it’s him, it’s the way he touches me, the way he looks at me, the way he does everything.

  This is meant to be.

  He moans as I orgasm around his mouth. I feel his tongue drive between my labia and he’s licking away the dripping juices and licking my clit and he’s lifting me up with both hands again and his tongue is wild, manic, mad.

  And fucking hell, it’s so incredible I don’t want it to ever, ever, ever stop.

  I want to come on his mouth and never ever stop.

  “Jesus Christ, you come like a goddess.” His voice breaks my orgasmic reverie. “You are a goddess.”

  His words, my god, his words. They hit me like a fist, slice through me like a knife. They make the after-shocks ripple harder.

  I collapse back against the dock, gasping for air. Quivering, shuddering, shaking.

  I open my eyes, and he’s breathing almost as hard as I am, his mouth and chin and upper lip glistening. A grin on his lips. Eyes gleaming, aroused, amused, self-satisfied.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  “You’re fucking amazing,” he says. “I could spend all day and all night making you come and never get tired of watching you.”

  He shifts back onto the boat bench, flexes his hips, plucks at his zipper. He’s still hard. He winces as he adjusts himself, as if he’s in pain.

  “That was…god. Thank you, I—I didn’t know it could be like that…” I trail off, because he’s grimacing, jaw clenched, fists squeezing until his knuckles go white. “Are you okay?”

  He shrugs. “I’m about to come in my pants like a damn teenager, that’s all.”

  No.

  No.

  Don’t. Don’t do it.

  Don’t go down that rabbit hole. You’ll never stop yourself. You can stand up and walk on your shaky stupid legs back up to the house and pretend this never happened.

  But I can’t.

  He was right. He did exactly what he said he would: give me an orgasm I’ll never fucking forget for as long as I live.

  And I need another one.

  Look at him, though. Gorgeous, male perfection. My cum on his face, on his fingers. Zipper stretched from the hard arousal behind it. Pain on his face, aching, shifting uncomfortably, barely holding it back.

  I want him.

  I want to touch him.

  Once Charlie and I went from making out and
fumbling at each other to actual sex, we never just…touched each other. He fucked me, I didn’t come, he fell asleep, and I finished myself off.

  This…

  This man, this is different.

  I need to touch him. I have to.

  “Don’t come in your pants,” I say.

  I sit up, facing him, and dangle my legs off the dock, feet kicking a little. I look down at him, at the bulge in the zipper of his khaki cut-off shorts.

  “No?”

  “No.” I lick my lips, knowing I shouldn’t do this, and knowing I’m going to. “Let me…help.”

  “Help, huh?”

  I nod, and then feel a bolt of daring shoot through me. “Let me touch you. Like you touched me.”

  He leans back, unbuttons the fly of his shorts, and lowers the zipper. Commando underneath. His cock springs free, huge and erect and thick and dark. My gut twists at the sight of it, my heart stops beating. If I could come again, I would, just from the sight of his cock, from the aching desire to touch it, to have it in my hands, to see him come. To know I made him come as hard as he made me.

  I reach for him, and he grabs my waist, lifts me down to his level, the boat rocking gently from side to side. His strength has me marveling, the way he lifted me so effortlessly, set me down as easily.

  There’s another bench in the bow of the rowboat, but I ignore it. I sink to my knees as he pivots to face the bow, and me. His shirt is on the floor of the boat, providing a cushion for my knees. He wiggles, shimmies, and tosses the shorts toward me. I put them beneath me for added cushioning and move toward him, until I’m between his knees.

  I’m trembling at his proximity. His nearness is intoxicating, nerve-wracking. This is wrong, forbidden…and thrilling. I’ve never been so scared and nervous and excited in my life.

  I’ve never been here before, kneeling in front of a man, his cock in front of my face. With him, like this, somehow...I don’t feel like being on my knees is demeaning, but rather…powerful. He wants me to touch him, he needs my touch, and I’ll only give it if I want to.

  And fuck, I want to.