Ashnaa
Favoured Frenzy
The bass of the music thrummed through the floor, a primal beat that seemed to sync with the blood rushing in your ears. From across the cramped, smoke-hazed bar, he held your gaze. Mr H, they'd called him, a name as intriguing and unfinished as the conversation you hadn't even started. His eyes were dark, promising a world of unspoken things, and they refused to release you from their magnetic pull. You felt a current pass between you, a silent, charged agreement that this night, this feeling, was too potent to be diluted by words.
His eyes weren't dark, you realised as you drew closer, they were the deep, startling blue of a stormy sea just before it breaks. A flicker of neon from a nearby sign caught in them, making them gleam with an intelligent, predatory light. Without a word, he stood, and you followed, the crowded room parting for you both as if by unspoken consent. The journey to the restroom was a blur of noise and shadow, his presence a solid wall of heat at your back. He pushed the door to the men's room open, the gesture both proprietary and an invitation, and you stepped into the relative quiet, the scent of tile and disinfectant a strange backdrop to the raw anticipation thrumming between you.
The moment the heavy door clicked shut, he was on you. His hands weren't gentle; they were firm, claiming, one sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head up. His kiss was just as demanding, a deep, searching exploration that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with the taste of whiskey and something uniquely him. You fumbled with the buttons on your blouse, your fingers clumsy with desire, while his worked expertly at the waistband of your skirt, the fabric whispering as it pooled around your ankles.
He then proceeded to get on to his knees. The anticipation was thorough. You could feel his breath whisper across your thighs. This made you clench up. ‘Relax’ he whispered. You let out a little giggle, embarrassed with a hint of excitement. His tongue starts to graze across you. The tip of his tongue slowly moving up and down you. He knew what he was doing, you could feel the wet of his tongue starting to massage your clit. The feeling was hypnotic. You had to fight every urge in you, not to grab the back of his head and pull him closer. He wouldn’t have allowed it anyways, but the thought was there. You noticed the pace increase rapidly, your legs starting to buckle a little. Struggling to keep your balance, you decide to make the next move.
You pull his head up to you, to get a taste of yourself, from his lips. You had forgotten the sweetness inside you. He enjoyed this. A lot. You brushed your hand up to his face, along the way noticing how hard his bulge had become. He was into this. You hear a sudden unzipping noise. It was time. You proceeded to now get on your knees, eyes perfectly fixed on the slit in his jeans. You reach in and pull out his throbbing sense of approval. ‘A great size’ you mutter to yourself, as your tongue starts to thirst for it. You slowly swirl the tip of your tongue around the head. Looking up as he is titling his head back in euphoria. ‘You like that’ you murmur. ‘Fuck yes’ he whispers back at you, as you proceed to put him inside of your mouth inch by inch. You try your best to take it all, but you struggle. You persevere and let the tip hit the back of your throat. You feel him tense up.
You can feel how disgustingly wet this is making you, the tension, the passion. You begin to stand up in anticipation of where this is heading. Slowly, pulling down your soaked underwear, before letting them slide to floor from your knees. You’re at his disposal. He swiftly grabs you by your hips, forces you into a 180 degree turn. You look up and see yourself in the mirror and you know what’s about to happen. He puts his tattooed hand around to your mouth, telling to you to moisten his fingers. He proceeds to rub his tip and slowly, pushes every inch of himself inside of you. He starts off slowly, before picking up the pace. You can’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror, knowing the sin you’ve done.
