Tags
erotica, fiction, passion, relationships, sensuality, sex, short story
Where: Twitter.
With: @IndianErotica.
When: March 3, 2011.
Note: Her tweets are italicised, mine aren’t. I was captivated by this all the while.
She leaned against the wall, the smoke from her cigarette outlining his profile in the gloomy backstage. She was fascinated.
The wisps spelled warnings she ignored. The alley was deserted but for him and her, and even as a stranger he was all hers.
She had this thing for costumed men. It didn’t matter if they wore garters or if they wore cummerbunds or grey wigs. Underneath it all they were still men. Strong and compelling and good to admire.
The cigarette was at its term’s end, and so was her patience. She wanted to be burnt in a man’s mouth and exhausted to her butt.
He did just that. The frothy gown he wore grazed against her as he enacted that little scene in her head. His cue, her growl.
She stubbed the cigarette on his shoulder, the fabric giving way to skin gleaming in moonlight. He snarled with furious eyes.
He was singular in his aim. He grabbed at what she bared to his sight. He bruised what she sought to keep flawless. He took.
She countered with the wrath of her nails and the hostility of her heels but he wasn’t the one to relent.
Makeup had painted swirling tattoos where her clothes covered her. Bared in the mood lights, she was a knot of bold lines.
He smeared the red of her lips with his rough finger, tinting her cheek with scarlet, then bit her lip to draw red of her own.
She ripped his skirts off and spoiled his coiffed hair. The woman became the ravisher, but the man had drawn first blood.
He had his masculinity on display for the rotting foliage, for decaying corpses of rats and for her – the toxic vixen.
They switched their roles backstage and paced their steps amidst a backdrop of their own making & liking. Turn on. Turn off.
Little did she know, she was just an actress in his contrivance. His forceful maneuvers directed and showed her her place.
They gleaned a largesse of pleasure from these little roles they played. They said it was all sex, but it was all a lie.
She would set the stage sometime, or let him be the conductor – but the act soon dissipates and their urgent needs take over.
In this manner of pose & play, they became the toasts of the stage. Their greatest sin becoming their greatest skill.
~ Fin ~
Great. I managed to miss this too!
wow!