Underwater
Verse 2
Her choking subsides as we find our rhythm. I grip the ponytail firmly, my free hand on her throat, fingers squeezing her flesh there. I can feel my hips coming into sync with her gaping mouth, accepting what she can’t deny, the deeper, forceful thrusts that build with my pleasure, until she surrenders. I feel the tension in her shoulders and neck fall away as she accepts the violation of my need.
She sings her song of vowels for me again, my pretty songbird. Breaths come in gaps — my mouth and hers.
How long will I fuck her mouth? These questions do not apply. They are not asked or answered. There is no answer, and she’s come to know this through trials and tribulations.
Once she struggled, her body rebelling even when her mind told her to accept. Like snorkeling, when the eyes know the water drowns while the mouth still takes a clean, clear breath. Where the mind battles itself, her body warred against the invasion, but soon there was nothing but submission. Mouth open, she accepts my driving ache, understands her place in its release.
Her eyes locked on mine, she watches for my pleasure, even until her vision fades and her eyes lose focus, a vessel more than a partner, a tool for meeting my wanton needs. Long after she can see my eyes, when all of her senses are turned inward and her breathing is synced with my thrusts, when her body crosses over from person to portal, I fuck her.
The vowels bubble through the saliva that drips like rain from her open maw. It splashes on her breasts, her open legs, seeps down between the folds there and mingles with the flood already pooling on the tiles beneath her. She kneels in a sea of her own waves, the throb of her pussy pulsing in line with my thrusting. Her hips quake, her empty vagina pulsing with each violation.
Deeper and deeper we go, both hurtling toward a contrary end. Mine will end in vowels that twin hers, long silky strands of a spider’s web falling across the ruddy blush of her cheeks. Hers will end in the gasps and tears of an unfulfilled ache, a burning desire that will persist until first light Monday morning.
