Sunday, 1 August 2010

'How... ?'

An erotic story by Sandrine Lopez


How did we end up this way... ?

Every single part of me aches and spasms. In a good way. One part in particular knows pleasure beyond pain. The pang of being entered, penetrated. Again.

I can no longer see you, even if the dark night masking us is giving way to dawn. Has it really been that long. How quickly time flies...

"Enjoying yourself?" he gasps from behind, each syllable parted with intense effort.

I'm nodding but being pounded so hard you can't tell anymore. My lip tears itself from being gnawed by teeth to allow a response.

"Fuck yes!"

How did I end up... ?

Halfway up the bedroom wall, pushed over the headboard to sprawl, arms wide, fingers clawing at the wallpaper, breasts and face pressed against the cold surface.

You put me there. But not against my will.

We started at the foot of the bed, clothed, late last night, or was it this morning, and journeyed up the sheets, shedding shirts, blouses, trousers and skirts on the way, to here.

How did we... ?

Meet? A club. A bar. A chance meeting. It happens, though rarely to me. Then he came out of nowhere, a man crafted from my daydreams, my nightmares. Not underwear wettingly drop dead gorgeous, neither terrifyingly ugly. His looks, somewhere inbetween. His character...

"What's a lovely woman like you... ?"

"Oh, please!" That's even older then me.

A shrug but he's not giving up. I admire perseverance.

There's a slight accent to his voice that suggests he's northern.

Even when he bends forward and whispers in my ear.

My eyes widen. Fingers grip my glass hard.

He leans back, casually but unforgiving. "What can else I say?"

I should have responded, "Anything but that." But in all honesty it sparked a response, a quiver deep in my soul of souls, I wasn't quite expecting.

"At least that's honest." I finally find the voice, slightly breathless now, to answer him back.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he suggests.

"Is that an unsubtle way of getting a 'yes' out of me?"

More than the hint of a smile. "For a woman, the pleasure is usually in getting something into you. Be it a delicious drink, an astonishing meal at a fabulous restaurant, or... "

"Point taken, thank you. Yes, please."

A raised eyebrow.

"I'll have a drink."

Because I think I'm going to need one.


How did... ?

I let him in, so soon? What happened to make me from cautious, not quite spinster-of-the-parish but getting close, to slut-of-the-moment?

As the cliché goes, a lady in public but a slut in...

My bedroom. So many barriers demolished in a single night.

By him.

How did... ?

One drink too many? No, we shared rounds. And pleasures. He's absolutely filthy, my coy blushes turning into hot flushes when he says things I wouldn't usually have laughed at but now...

"Do you know how absolutely fucking hard I am now?" He asks, completely shameless. A few people within earshot jerk their heads round, wondering if they misheard.

I'm aware we have a small audience. Taking a page out of his book, I lean in and whisper in his ear.

He raises his glass. "I'll drink to that."


And drink we do.

How did we... ?

After getting naked on the bed, he divides my knees and thighs, and conquers my pussy. All the giddy drinking and dirty explicit chat have dribbled through me until I am totally soaked down there. A fountain for him to quench his thirst for me.

I'm still blushing, flushing, absolutely gushing as I feel his lips snogging me, tongue fucking me, in the most explicit of kisses imaginable. I feel drained of blood, of moisture, as he sucks me dry. And then I have more wetness still for his needs.

"You're tickling me!" I wail, writhing bare on the twisted, disturbed bedding. And we've barely started.

His face unburies itself from below my muff, a hint of froth trickling from an open mouth. Which just leers, indecently.

"You're not usually at a loss for words." I note, punctuated with the loud beats of my heart, the indelicate spasms of ecstasy.

"When I've finished fucking you with my tongue," he promises me, "You're going to find out first-hand, how fucking hard I am."

There I gush again.


How did I end up... ?

With him between my thighs, spread with total abandon, with him hammering inside me like there is no tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. Only the clock shows tomorrow has already come, early hours of the day. He has come too. And so have I. More than once. Twice. Three times a...

"Lady...?" He prises open the flaw in our flirting, as we fuck. "Do you have a name?"

Now isn't really the time for introductions.

And it doesn't even come close to ending there.

"Do you like being fucked this way?" he wants to know. On my back. Pretty vanilla but the pressure of his stomach to mine is exquisite.

"Fuck yes."


I roll him over, straddle and ride him. He tries to reach up, touch me and molest my breasts but now I grab his wrists, pin his arms down and just do what I want. What I need. Pressure onto him, around him, impaled on him fully and blissfully. Ramming and thrusting the full ample weight of my body down, surrounding, until he gives in, gives it all up. Gives his moisture back, his wetness, a jet of pure juicy bliss, captured in thin latex but fighting to be free, like a pulled punch within my belly. Aches and spasms.

And gushing, once more.


How did I end up... ?

With my tongue down his throat? Everyone in the club was watching by then.

"Do I deserve a kiss?" he asked.

I shouldn't and normally couldn't but I wouldn't forgive myself if I hadn't. It's a tender smooch on the lips but as they touch, under the table his fingers have quickly, daringly, sought out my thigh, shot up my skirt and poked through my panties.

My eyes widen a second, but not the last, time that night. My lips part. His tongue runs over them. Aroused by his fine fumbling due south, my tongue is spurred to the challenge. No resistance back as he welcomes me in. Lets me taste his breath, sweet with wine.

How did we end up... ?

Halfway up the completely messed bed. We're running out of positions, out of condoms, surely not? He's insatiable, appetite personified but somehow I'm keeping up. Keeping him up. Finding out first-hand how absolutely fucking hard he is capable of staying, all night and into morning. I've lost count how many times now.

If the tally of scratches by my nails on his back, his chest, neck and arms are anything indication, not nearly enough times. Add to that the bitemarks on his shoulder, my own arms, back of hand and knuckles...

I try to imagine what kind of marks, unseen by me and only felt, he has left on my thighs as he clawed them apart. On my arse cheeks as he slapped his joy on them. Around my cunt as thrust his cock inside. How his friction brands me as he slip slides it back and forth, over and over.

What manner of score he is keeping, if any?


How did I... ?

Let him escort me home, swirling and snogging slowly up the street? Urgent pangs of need making me push him, or him shove me, into lampless shadows. Almost but not quite having the sex, right there and right then, we both want but just stop frustratingly, panting and gasping, short.

Clothes increasingly creased, pulled aside or fumbling through fastenings. Teasing. Caressing. Massaging. Rubbing. Frigging. Yes. No! Yes yes! Noooooo...

Not yet. Yes but no but...


How did I... ?

Yes yes yes yesyeeyee... yeeeeeehhhh!!!

Come so quickly? Ohmygod, I never used to...

How did he... ?

Do that? So intense, so sharp, so unbound. Not even sure he came that first time.

Just watched him unroll the condom, first of many - did he have that many? - over the naked tip, then my needs urgently rush-charged my fingers to finish smoothing it on, dressed for the job.

Intoxicating scent of him, smell of latex, feel of it warming from him under my palms. Featherlite, as his tentative teasing, guided by my fingers, slowly found, ground, me around him...


How did... ?

We manage that first time, still mostly dressed? Skirt hitched up, trousers round ankles. Was that the excitement? The daring? The sudden desperation of here, now, right fucking there and then? Constantly delayed from that first meeting, the chat, drinks, already foreplayed from Bar A to Bed B, just get to where your drives have driven you, him, us together.

How... ?

Loud did I moan, cry out and scream? I used to curse noisy next-doors when their bed banged against dividing walls, hearing them shout and swear, now I put them to shame...

No bangs to tell me to shut it. Perhaps they're out. Maybe they've got ears pressed to the wall for tips.

"I like you loud... " he pants.

Mantraed yesyesyeses become random obscenities, meaningless sounds. If I were religious I'd say I was speaking in tongues, new languages of pure lust, gift of a god among sex gods.

As if reading my mind...

"Worship my cock." he demands. "The same way I'm devoted to your pussy."

How did... ?

It become Sunday already?

New condom, new taste. And as loud as being gagged by his dick, thrusting over my tongue, allows...


How did I end up... ?

Halfway up the bedroom wall, pushed over the headboard to sprawl, arms wide, fingers clawing at the wallpaper, breasts and face pressed against the cold surface?

You put me there. I willed you to do it.

Sprawled wrists pinned by your hands, between my sprawled spread thighs, you pinning me further, deep, faster, harder than ever before. Just hours before.

Us both on knees, legs intertwined as kneeling, submitting to joined lust, allows.

My bare skin warms the wall. Your body burns my back, my bum. And between us, see-sawing, sizzling delights of the soul, the bodies. There's no love, attraction, just hunger... purely, simply, physically.


How did we end up this way... ?

Exhausted, clinging to each other, hanging half off what's left of the bedding, as if what's left of life within us, is everything, anything, that matters. Thin threads of consciousness snapping away to an uneasy, shallow-breathed slumber of aching limbs, quivering goose-bumped skin and naked bodies.

How did we end up... ?

Not meaning to fall asleep together? Don't remember stopping fucking, curling up round him. It just happened.

Waking, sudden shocking, limbs springing from each other. The warm light of day illuminating the realisation of what we did.

There should be words. There are none. Smiles, yes. Blushes. Realisations.

Slowly coming back together. Not because of need, but because it was wild, unexpected, sudden, intense beyond intensities.

Lying there. One arm round me, his other fumbling to the floor, discarded creased jacket. I smooth his tired muscles. He massages my bedraggled skin. Lips meet, a kiss. Not love but just thank you, fuck you, very very much...

His hand rises from the search, waves triumphantly. A single condom left. Our eyes find each other, a knowing glance. We can but laugh.


How did we... ?

End that morning? The urgency gone, lust fulfilled, the beast satisfied?

Not in the slightest.

"One more fuck?" The red square wrapper dangled in front of my nose. The smell of us on his hand, whole body, sweat and other dried moistures, tantalising my senses...

No point prettying up what it was, will be.

One long single morning shag, from dawning realisation to lunchtime feeding of each other.

Still insatiable. And so is he.

How did... ?

I take him so much deeper than before, wriggle around for mutual pleasure. He's already up and hard. Bringing me up to speed, slowing to take stock, letting me catch up, catch my breath, until we're both ready. Both there. Hold it. Make it last longer. No hurry.

How did... ?

We make it last? God knows. But we did.

Reenactment of all last night's positions, from bed bottom to wall sprawl.

How did I end up... ?

Halfway up the bedroom wall again.

You put me there. I liked it. Wanted to experience it, you, one more time.

Your hands over, fingers interlaced, with mine. Both on knees, bowing, bucking to each other. The cool wall soothes me from the slow sear of your chest to my spine, your hot stomach to my arse. Cold against the wet of my muff, as you go from dreamy rocking of your cock into my cunt, to pumping me mercilessly. Splayed, splated, flesh pressed to wallpaper, leaving an indelible imprint of perspiration there to reminisce under, for future fantasies.


Then, without remembering you'd departing, you're gone.

I lie there, dazed, amazed and sated, trying to remember...


I got there, breathing hard, from the sensations of rough touch and vivid penetration. Unwind the feelings back through time, and relive them again, enhanced by the sharp scents of our bodies, dissipating through the open window, and the vague marks of my moistened skin crucified on the wall above me.

I recall each one.

And how!



  1. oh this was quite simply delicious, Sandrine! *fanning*

  2. Miss Sandrine,

    My oh my, that is one hot piece of writing. I do hope there will be more.

  3. Oh...bravo! bravo!!

    Wonderful piece... yes, I agree with Ruby and hope there will be more.