This was the 74th one – Kris Rennig

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.

This was the 74th one. They really were all the same. Aspiring, timid, unsure or arrogant. She’d learned to pick them as they walked through the door. Arty outfit – published and not making money. Tall, angular and articulate – issues. Blonde, petite, and wishing to be somebody else. Then there was the only boy. She licked her lips as she looked at him, tasting the red lipstick that was her signature. Before she launched she had a quick fantasy of a pale white chest and a warm tongue, soft yet firm.

On with the song and dance. People love to talk about themselves. Let’s do that for a while. They did and she watched him. He was shy, a slight stammer but oh so fresh. Like rain after a drought. And it had been a fucking drought. The world-weariness of her friends, whose names she loved to drop, was the biggest sexual downer. She needed fresh meat.

When it was his turn to speak, she didn’t really listen to the words but watched the way his mouth moved around them, imagining other places they could be. When she set a writing task, she stood behind him, her breath on his neck and her influence in his mind. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead and it took everything in her being not to lick it slowly and inexorably towards his mouth.

They only had 30 minutes for lunch, but she could escape because she had to ‘organise a few things’. She followed him to the loo. He was just washing his hands as she entered and pushed him into the nearest cubicle. She sat him on the loo and hitched up her skirt. It only took him a minute of confusion before he realised what was happening – was really happening.

‘Shirt,’ she said and fumbled at his buttons. He flicked them open, shyly uncovering his white, hairless beauty. She ran her hands over him and groaned softly at his cool smoothness.

‘Pants,’ she said as he reached for his zipper, his cock straining the greyish whitey-tighties he was wearing. ‘No, don’t you dare, Mum,’ entering and exiting his thoughts quickly.

She positioned herself over him and deliciously lowered herself onto his so underused prong. He groaned in sheer pleasure… but mostly disbelief. She put her hand over his mouth, while simultaneously shaking her head, her eyes closed, rising and falling slowly, exquisitely slowly. She put her finger between her legs and found the spot, that one, the one that oh…oh…oh.

He watched her as she came and then he exploded into sheer white light. He couldn’t breath, speak, see, hear … be.

He leaned back against the toilet and she was gone.

The afternoon was a blur.

 

 

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