This weeks Wicked Wednesday prompt is: “Can you make bad sex erotic? Can you write about someone having bad sex (the reader being able to tell the sex is bad) yet make it sound alluring?” I am not sure if I have achieved this or not, you shall have to be the judge of that but I do want to point out that this piece is a work of FICTION although loosely based on my masturbating habits during my previous marriage.
I spread my legs a little wider as you slide your cock into me. Just that bit wider so that I can feel the twinge in my hips, the pull on the muscles and the twist of the tendons acting as a physical reminder of my sluttery. The darkness is deep and consuming but in the shadows I can still see them, faces, eyes, outlines of bodies picked out by the moonlight that creeps in around the curtains. They gather around the bed, stepping just a little bit closer as I spread myself to welcome you into my body.
Your grunts and groans as you pump away inside me are briefly distracting but as my voyeurs inch closer to the edge of the bed my focus jumps back to them watching me as I lay here and let you use me. I can see in their eyes the desire, the need, they want it to be them who is pushing their hard cocks into my flesh. I see their eyes flicker down to between our bodies in an attempt to see my sex.
Finger tips brush against my face, a light delicate touch that drifts across my cheek and over my parted lips, lingering for a moment in the heat of my breath inviting my tongue to taste, making my mouth water as I let my imagination turn fingers into cocks.
My body tingles at the thought of those hands drifting downwards, across my body, pawing at my tits, twisting my nipples, grasping the flesh of my thighs as they hold me wide open. In my hair, fingers bury themselves, finding purchase there and pinning my head down on the bed. Hands assault me, crude impolite touches exploring me, making me gasp. You take it as a good sign and continue on stabbing away at me.
Over your shoulder I can still see them, circling, waiting, sure in the knowledge their turn will come with this little slut, this wanton whore who spreads her legs and lets men push their hard cocks inside her.
You come with your usual grunt of satisfaction, for a brief moment we lay silently bound together before you slide from my body with a barely audible little plop and collapse on the bed next to me. The hands drop away as the watchers retreat and vanish into the shadows. You kiss me on the cheek and mutter something that sounds like a thank you before rolling over away from me and tugging the duvet up over your shoulders. In moments I can hear your breathing change as sleep gathers you up in its arms for the night.
Beneath the covers I reach down between my still parted thighs and find that aching little nub of flesh that you continually fail to pay any attention to and let my fingers glide softly across it. You mumble in your sleep and I freeze, quiet and still I listen and wait, for you to settle so the silent watchers, their roaming, demanding hands and the thoughts of all the dirty things they want to do to me can finally return and finish things off properly.