As Much as Possible

As Much as Possible

Arriving slightly behind the clock, her nonchalant sense of timing almost evaded the purpose, nearly eclipsed the destination. The goal. She opens the door with the card, lays it down on the bed, and fully undresses except for a blindfold.

On the bed were various objects: a few men's ties. A large silicon vibrator in the shape of a tentacle. A few flogging instruments.  She shut the door. And the only light was a diode on the tv.

She sat on the bed. In the dark.

Then...she heard his breathing. He was already in the room.

He knew.

He seemed to wander about the room. His finger tips skimmed her shoulder.

This. Like the first time.

She had placed the ad to get his attention. She already had it. He had known. And she was predictable.

He put his hand over her mouth. They still had not spoken. They never did.

He reached down around her, from behind, travelled by each flicker. Lip, nipple, clit....wetness....

He grabbed her up, threw her on his chest, and slid her down to his chin, mouth, tongue....and held her wrists now,  letting her mouth gap, drowning in murmurs of yearning satisfaction cascading in sprints of resolution and exhaustion.

She was terrified and aroused beyond capacity. She felt herself manhandled, pushed onto her face, pulled up by her hips. Everything was foaming over with need and insecurity.

Round after round, her orgasms ran and roared.

Her breath became labored. The dark had become unsupportable. Whatever she had ordered up, this is what had arrived, and just as quickly, the event was over.

Used. Taken. Spent.

Just exactly what she wanted.

He had said he left his calling card on the desk. It was blank on both sides.

Perfect.