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Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere 18/01/2015

OK, so here’s some very NSFW writing from me today.

What was interesting here wasn’t so much the mechanics of the scene because I believe that I have that down pat. What the challenge here was to show you the reader what goes on in a man’s head when he’s in intimacy without bogging it down with exposition or losing track of who’s doing what to whom.

Pornography isn’t a good model, there’s an artifice to it, and oddly a lack of desire or humour within it. Although there’s a d/s element to it, it’s not the baroque slightly overwrought pacing that I’ve never gotten into as a writer or a reader. There is that sense of roleplay, enthusiastic consent, safe words etc but I established those earlier in the book.

I’ve decided to share it because I am proud of it and also because it illustrates what I am talking about. It was a quick scene to write because I know what these characters want from one another and where the scene needed to be by the end of the two page section.

It’s below the cut, it’s explicit, NSFW and it’s a first draft so any mistakes are there as apogees for the creative rush.

CHAPTER

‘Are you saying no to me?’ I said.

She dropped her chin to her chest and folded her arms.

‘You can’t make me do anything you want.’ she said.

I strode forward and picked her up by her right arm. She resisted me and I knew that this was part of it. Her commitment to it was absolute and she struggled against me.

I spun her around and pushed her against the wall as I brought my right hand back and swung it against the meat of her left buttock. She cried out and I saw her hands were flat against the wall. I circled my fingers around her throat from behind.

‘Does that answer that question?’ I whispered into her ear. I saw the corners of her mouth were up and I swung my hand back again, hard enough that it stung my palm. She sighed again.

‘I’m sorry. I just want to be sure that you can make me do anything.’ she said.

The playful whisper of her words made me ache as I turned her around. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open slightly as I pushed her to her knees. She reached inside my fly and gently untangled my cock from my underwear. Her fingers were warm and she started to stroke the underside of my cock in slow, gentle movements. I looked down and saw that she was looking up at me.

The purity of that expression was more intimate than her hand on my cock. She fixed her eyes on me as she lowered her head to take the head of my cock between her lips, lapping at the underside with her tongue as her lips sealed around me.

I touched her face with a shaking hand, incapable of saying anything more cogent than ‘good.’

She hummed something and I shut my eyes, caught by the silvery delight of the vibration travelling up through my body. I gave into the vulnerability, as though I were stepping into a moment of pure light. My thoughts flew away as I surrendered to the tender skill of her lips and tongue.

I would maintain the play by reaching out and tugging at her hair but in truth, there was so much pleasure rioting through me that it was all I could do to remain standing. I was free of the concerns of everything, listening only to the rush of blood through my veins, the weight of my breath and the thump of my heart as the pleasure pooled in my groin. She took my cock from her mouth and held it between her fingers as she lapped at the skin of my scrotum which made me throw my head back with surprise.

She put me back into her mouth as she rocked my foreskin back and forth. I opened my eyes and saw the intent, forceful expression on her face. Her right hand reached around and began to stroke over my buttocks and down the backs of my thighs. The overlap of sensations, the intensity of her expression all fed into and blended with one another, assembling into a negotiation with only one outcome.

I whispered that I was close and she winked at me before she shut her eyes and increased the vigour of her strokes. I felt that cramping, expectant pressure in my thighs, the muscles of my groin as the pneumatic thump of my impending orgasm found it’s way into being. It was a process of relief and regret, the loss of self that accompanied the moment and the physical power of simply letting go.

I loved to come.

It’s a link to something outside of myself and yet it resolutely connects me to my body.  There’s a pooling sensation that builds in my thighs,  the small of my back and up my spine,  there’s the same kind of energy you feel in the air before a rainstorm when it’s been humid – potential and it’s inexorable. I could spend forever there and I’ve studied and practised delaying because it feels incredible.  Utter raw maleness,  you’re winning an audience with the infinite and it amplifies all the senses.  If it’s penetrative then you want to get lost there, the warmth and the slickness feels incredible as you get closer and then you can feel it roaring throughout you and you disappear for a second whilst you feel your come shoot out like you’re a hand that’s unclenching after being held in a fist forever.


Alone, it’s pleasurable, like stretching out a cramp or relieving your bladder after a long time with that moment of loss but for that magical, transcendent elevation, it’s a collaborative endeavour.

Sometimes it might be the only peace that a man might ever know.

I began to breathe more rapidly and she kept the rhythm smooth, knowing that my body would take over. At the last moment, she pulled me free of her mouth and bullied my cock into spurting thick ropes of my come over her chest and throat. My eyes were squeezed shut but I felt the snap of the cool air, in comparision to the humid tension of her mouth and opened to see her kneeling at my feet as a gelid smear of my own come laid on her cheek.

She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek and then her mouth as her eyes, dark with triumph looked at me. She darted her head forward and sucked me into her mouth again, a tender gesture that made me touch her face again. She got to her feet and looked at me.

‘Was that what you wanted?’ she said. ‘Was I a good slut?’

These were points of liminal space between us, but the softness of her voice and the way that she would fold herself into me made me wonder if this were still part of the ritual or the point of it.

‘You were.’ I said.

We kissed, and I could taste the faint salt and ammoniac cocktail of myself on her lips but I ignored it as I felt her against me. I picked her up in my arms and carried her through to the bedroom. I was still partially dressed and she only had a sports bra on. I wanted the tang of her skin on me, to suffuse everything that I was carrying.

I wanted to carry the scent of her in my nostrils all day. We laid down on the futon together, and I moved onto my back. We were silent as she draped her left arm across my chest and nestled her head in the meat of my shoulder.

Somewhere, a phone chimed. We ignored it as we laid there.

By MBBlissett

Writer. Working on book-length projects and posting fiction and poetry here.

You can find more about me here: http://wp.me/P4B2tw-1

Represented by SMART Talent Agency (http://www.smart-talent-kent.co.uk/)

I am available for writing projects via my agent, Kelly and I look forward to hearing from you.

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