I enter the utility elevator, Matt behind me. I know he’s there, but I don’t acknowledge him. I can’t say anything in front of the guys, can’t look at him, but that’s part of it anyway. They start drinking at six in the morning, beers bought over at our regular place, our other lives, and they put the beers into little Igloo coolers. They can drink on their breaks. Matt and I do something else to pass the time.
It’s a beautiful day, warm and breezy, like summer was when you were a kid. It’s good to work on a high-rise on a day like this, away from the people, like a park you get all to yourself.
The floors flip by, 57, 58, 59, 60 and I stop us at 61. The electricians are coming in next week to hang their stuff, but right now it’s just a platform under another platform in space. And it’s unoccupied, no walls or windows, just concrete and blue air.
I attach our harnesses to the structure, OSHA stuff, and Matt looks at me for the first time. He says he gets scared of me sometimes, but he smiles when he says it, and that’s all I need to know. Sometimes I feel like kissing him, making him feel alright. This is not one of those times. I take my helmet off and my sunglasses. He’s already done the same, the dust greying the skin of his cheekbones. His hair is kind of long and it flies around in the wind. He just stands there, waiting for me, barely blinking.
“Why do Scotsmen take their sheep to the edge of a cliff?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer, just sways slightly, his mouth open. I pretend that he’s going to answer for a few seconds, then I turn him around, take him by the collar and step us to the edge of the floor, him in front of me, the sun making direct contact with us. His toes hang over the edge. His shoulders lift and fall. I reach around him and unzip his suit, my hand slipping around his chest, his muscles tight.
“So they push back,” I finish.
We had his wife put velcro in the ass of his suit a few months ago, Matt explaining that sometimes he had to go and it takes too damn long to take off the suit and the harness. He stopped wearing anything under it then too. I rip at the velcro and slipped my hand around his ass. It’s tight, a little hairy, warm. I open up my little Igloo cooler. Under a few beers is a bottle of lube. I bend him over, pulling at his middle and pushing at his back. His hands grip the edge.
“Are you scared?” I ask him.
“Yes.”
“Good, you’ll be tight.”
I put a condom on and lube up. He jolts when I touch him, only my fingers rolling the wetness on and into him, but he’s the guy staring into the abyss. Most guys don’t really look, not even the older ones. It’s not cool. But Matt sometimes, I’ll see Matt just looking down. He doesn’t smile or look scared or anything but just looks out over the space, regarding it quietly.
I twist my cock over the pucker of his asshole and make a dent in it. His arms straighten and he pushes back, sliding me into him. We pause and breathe for a second. He is tight. He’s clamped down on me like a vise. I grab the lower part of his harness and begin to fuck.
Ten stories below us, Jimmy just made a crack at Jose about his haircut, Skolichnyev (who we just call Skoli, or sometimes Stoli when we’re drunk) just grabbed Carl’s beer and made like he was gonna shake it, Nels bitches about his wife and Nick is just sitting there grinning like he knows something. Me, I’m jackhammering Matt, pulling so hard on his harness I feel like I’m gonna throw him to the ceiling. He’s groaning, moving the bottle of lube out of the way so he doesn’t knock it over the side, his hand going back to beating himself. My hand chokes up the harness and he comes up, his left hand lifting off of the ground. “Fuck me harder,” he says, before the wind comes and steals it. “Fuck me harder.”
My hand pushes down on the top of his ass and I slow down, grinding him, hard but slow. Fuck, is he ever tight. His hand flies up and he waves it in the air, dark silhouette from my angle, and I feel his ass snap on me, then relax and snap again. I’m back to jackhammer, my bottom lip in my teeth. He’s totally limp now, hanging from my hands. The sky turns orange and dark, a red bliss building in my knees. I make one last shove as my back arches. “Fuuuuuck!” I yell and come hard, almost painful, every muscle in my body tearing up.
I drop him slowly, his arms stretched out over the side and slap his ass a little before sealing the wide strip of velcro.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Watering the Plants
It’s early in the morning, the sun just coming up. If I move my head a touch against the pillow I can just block the rays with the iron bars on our balcony. I readajust the pillow so that it’s comfortable at that angle and continue to watch the sunrise.
The street has begun to fill up with noise. You can hear them, but they can’t hear you. At this time of day, it’s the rattle and slam of delivery trucks and drunk drivers screeching to stop at red lights. A seagull flies by outside, pissed off at something. Pete appears in silhouette on the balcony, a curve of his ass and an orange glimmer of light across his back. He has a large plastic green watering can. He waters the flowers twice a week, and despite all that, and loving care, they die anyway.
I close my eyes, anticipating the sudden blindness, and go to join him outside, the concrete cold on my feet, my hands in front of me searching for him. I feel water down my front.
“Jill, what are you doing walking around with your eyes closed?” he asked, instead of apologizing.
“Bright. Sun,” is my only response.
My eyes are open now, only to be joined with another quick splash in the face. Pete smiles and turns back to the plants.
“Give me the watering can,” I say, figuring a direct order might work.
He walks past me into the apartment, waving the can. “Need more water,” he says. I figure I’ll save myself the trouble and wait for him to return to the balcony. When he returns, I try to grab it from him.
“Stop it!” he says. “Do you want these flowers to die?”
He pours some more water on me, just to exclamation his point, since I’m already soaked. I snatch the spout and play tug-of-war with him for a while. He opens my robe with his free hand and lowers the spout, though I fight it, to my clit. It’s warm. Were it not for the original shock, I never would have tried to move it. He moves his body up to me, touching his chest to me where I’m still dry and slowly drains the can. Water stops pooling and makes a lemming-line off of the side of the balcony. It’ll be a surprise for someone far below. He opens his mouth and licks the sides of my lips. It’s impossible for me to kiss him. The stream of water is hitting me just right. I know it will end soon, though the daylight is turning the sky pinker and my knees are beginning to shake, that can is going to run out of water before I come.
He bends me back against the balcony rail and the sunrise blows colors on him, orange, red, yellow. He splits my pussy lips with his fingers and aims the watering can again. I start, my head popping back over the rail. He kneels.
“Peter. Pete.”
The can runs out of water at last, just a few drips and slices of water running down my legs, my clit buzzing, frustrated. He turns the spout up and fucks me with it. I can’t make words anymore and gape up at the world, the blue gradient dark at my chin, almost white at my hairline. I feel a tongue, a gentle swipe up my clit with a dance there at the tip, rolling into a sweet massage.
My knees are downright buckling now and shaking. Pete holds me up with his thumbs hooked around the inside of my thighs, the watering can, coated in white milk at the spout, placed next to him on the ground. He squeezes me tightly at the ass, and I’m almost there, a shimmering burn running in circles on my thighs. He knows it. He knows me well.
He stands up, places one of my feet on one deck chair and the other on the barbeque, pulls his hard cock out of his pajamas and enters me. I feel split open, whimpering. His thumb goes where his tongue was and I grip the railing. It’s not so soft anymore. It’s not so nice. He pumps into me hard and straight, my back bent into the iron painfully. His face begins to change, but I can’t watch it. Chaos is in my head. I think about the spout of the watering can inside of me and it settles it. I’m shot out of the gun. He holds his thumb just touching me throughout my orgasm and suddenly lifts it away.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he says, and begins to grind into me.
“Oh, Jesus,” is all I can respond with.
His face, the jaw turning and clenching, suddenly goes limp and he plods slowly back and forth. He stops suddenly and orders me on my knees. “Open your mouth,” he says. I do, but he doesn’t enter it. I can smell my juices on him, musty and sweet. He gives himself two more swipes and presses his cock down onto my tongue. He watches, his body jolting. I hear it hit the roof of my mouth, feel it land on my tongue. I roll it on my tongue and swipe my lips with it, before swallowing the rest.
He falls down onto his ass and knocks the watering can over.
The street has begun to fill up with noise. You can hear them, but they can’t hear you. At this time of day, it’s the rattle and slam of delivery trucks and drunk drivers screeching to stop at red lights. A seagull flies by outside, pissed off at something. Pete appears in silhouette on the balcony, a curve of his ass and an orange glimmer of light across his back. He has a large plastic green watering can. He waters the flowers twice a week, and despite all that, and loving care, they die anyway.
I close my eyes, anticipating the sudden blindness, and go to join him outside, the concrete cold on my feet, my hands in front of me searching for him. I feel water down my front.
“Jill, what are you doing walking around with your eyes closed?” he asked, instead of apologizing.
“Bright. Sun,” is my only response.
My eyes are open now, only to be joined with another quick splash in the face. Pete smiles and turns back to the plants.
“Give me the watering can,” I say, figuring a direct order might work.
He walks past me into the apartment, waving the can. “Need more water,” he says. I figure I’ll save myself the trouble and wait for him to return to the balcony. When he returns, I try to grab it from him.
“Stop it!” he says. “Do you want these flowers to die?”
He pours some more water on me, just to exclamation his point, since I’m already soaked. I snatch the spout and play tug-of-war with him for a while. He opens my robe with his free hand and lowers the spout, though I fight it, to my clit. It’s warm. Were it not for the original shock, I never would have tried to move it. He moves his body up to me, touching his chest to me where I’m still dry and slowly drains the can. Water stops pooling and makes a lemming-line off of the side of the balcony. It’ll be a surprise for someone far below. He opens his mouth and licks the sides of my lips. It’s impossible for me to kiss him. The stream of water is hitting me just right. I know it will end soon, though the daylight is turning the sky pinker and my knees are beginning to shake, that can is going to run out of water before I come.
He bends me back against the balcony rail and the sunrise blows colors on him, orange, red, yellow. He splits my pussy lips with his fingers and aims the watering can again. I start, my head popping back over the rail. He kneels.
“Peter. Pete.”
The can runs out of water at last, just a few drips and slices of water running down my legs, my clit buzzing, frustrated. He turns the spout up and fucks me with it. I can’t make words anymore and gape up at the world, the blue gradient dark at my chin, almost white at my hairline. I feel a tongue, a gentle swipe up my clit with a dance there at the tip, rolling into a sweet massage.
My knees are downright buckling now and shaking. Pete holds me up with his thumbs hooked around the inside of my thighs, the watering can, coated in white milk at the spout, placed next to him on the ground. He squeezes me tightly at the ass, and I’m almost there, a shimmering burn running in circles on my thighs. He knows it. He knows me well.
He stands up, places one of my feet on one deck chair and the other on the barbeque, pulls his hard cock out of his pajamas and enters me. I feel split open, whimpering. His thumb goes where his tongue was and I grip the railing. It’s not so soft anymore. It’s not so nice. He pumps into me hard and straight, my back bent into the iron painfully. His face begins to change, but I can’t watch it. Chaos is in my head. I think about the spout of the watering can inside of me and it settles it. I’m shot out of the gun. He holds his thumb just touching me throughout my orgasm and suddenly lifts it away.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he says, and begins to grind into me.
“Oh, Jesus,” is all I can respond with.
His face, the jaw turning and clenching, suddenly goes limp and he plods slowly back and forth. He stops suddenly and orders me on my knees. “Open your mouth,” he says. I do, but he doesn’t enter it. I can smell my juices on him, musty and sweet. He gives himself two more swipes and presses his cock down onto my tongue. He watches, his body jolting. I hear it hit the roof of my mouth, feel it land on my tongue. I roll it on my tongue and swipe my lips with it, before swallowing the rest.
He falls down onto his ass and knocks the watering can over.
Scuffed Toes
P. I felt his breath under the tie, on my cheek. His arms went down mine, pushing them behind my back as he reached down to my wrists. He changed position and pushed me forward, still holding my wrists in place, the tie still covering my eyes against the carpeting, fixed tightly enough around the back of my head to stay in place. I heard the slap of the leather belt behind me and felt it coil a few times around my arms, leaving my fingers free to wriggle uselessly, but that’s all. He pulled me back by the shoulders onto my heels, and I sat there, silently, wondering what he was doing. I could hear him breathing, but nothing was happening to me.
D. She sat, fully clothed, on the floor, quiet as she could be, the strange black bar across her face like she was protecting her identity, her shoulders straining at the pull of her arms behind her. She’d been complaining lately that the toes of her shoes were getting scuffed from all the kneeling, but she had nothing to say now. I wanted to touch her more than anything, but was enjoying this too much, the opportunity to look at her hard, the square, pouting lips and the way her skirt lay across her thighs. The small brown moles on her face and neck. I rubbed across her lips with my thumb and she shivered at the touch. I pulled my hand back, stood up over her and unzipped my pants.
P. I heard his zipper and waited for the warm approach of his cock to my lips but it didn’t come. His breathing skipped a little but there was no gasp, no squish sound, nothing. I wondered if he was undressing and angled my head down a little, as if my eyes might meet his and be humbled.
D. My cock hovered out of my fly, desperate for her, but I wouldn’t touch it. I kneeled down myself and popped the buttons of her shirt open one by one, her chest tightening and relaxing under my fingers until I had them all. I opened her shirt wide and pulled it down over her shoulders as far as I could, part of her tether now. Her breasts, small but swollen, were open to me and I blew on them. She reared up a bit on her heels to get closer to me, but I held back.
P. Then there was something scraping me, like a nail but duller. It was slippery too and it crossed my breasts and then my sides slowly, pirouetting a delicious tickle in my skin and across my nipples. It went on for a long time, longer than I thought I could possibly take, but I couldn’t say a word and I knew it. The words “David, do something, David my pussy, please, something please,” ran back and forth in my mind, beating against the front of my skull to get to him. I concentrated on the words to keep me from saying them, to keep from doing anything. Rush him and he would stop, and I didn’t want that. Not at all.
D. Her body was crisscrossed by a trail of oil as the guitar pick swiveled in my fingers. She was breathing so fast now, her nipples wet and hard swaying. I put the pick down mercifully and took her bottom lip in my teeth, running my tongue along it. She almost said “David” but stopped after the vowel. I glided my tongue into her mouth for a second, let the tip flick against her tongue, felt her exhale hard over it and let my mouth flip her top lip on the way out. I stood again and pushed my fingers into her hair. Her head pulled back, her mouth opening at the pull of her neck. I pushed my pelvis in closer and ran the tip of my cock along her cheek, down to her chin and against her lips, the precome leaving a trail at the side of her mouth. I let it rest on her bottom lip. Her tongue came out to greet it. I let her head drop a little so he could take in the tip. She licked it in and suckled on it gently.
P. I wanted his whole cock in my mouth so bad, kept working at the tip of it with my lips to pull it into me, but he wouldn’t let me, wouldn’t let it in. His fractured exhales let me know he wanted to, though. I didn’t want to appear too eager and switched to my tongue, to tease him, to make him feel how I felt. I hadn’t worn underwear that day. The air in the room left a cool spot on the wetness that was forming there, probably soiling the carpet with drips. It would be so easy for him to reach under, to feel the edges of my skirt rise up my thighs and his fingers on my slippery clit. He held my head in place by the hair, let me down fully onto him for a second, with a rough inward note on his part and pulled out.
D. I stood back again, a new aching throb in my cock, and reached between her thighs. I made sure my face was close to hers but not touching. Her breath quickened and she squirmed a little, but I stopped until she settled down. I could feel the heat of her before I touched, my fingers teasing the lips. Her head turned as if she were embarrassed of it. I bent her back over her heels and split her knees, lifting the skirt to the top of her thighs. Her stomach tightened and let out. I licked the lips apart, though there was hardly a need, and pressed my tongue down blunt on her clit, the little wrinkles flattening under it. I began to work her clit with my tastebuds, slowly, so slowly, so slowly dragging up and down and she bucked. I backed off and went down again slowly so slowly and she bucked again. I held her hips down and twisted my tongue and slid up one, two, three seconds and a wiggle at the top and back one, two, three seconds, then slightly faster. She strained forward, shy little moans shaking out of her nose. Her body warped and I put my thumb in her. She came, shuddering and puffing. I gave her a moment, but a moment was all I could give.
P. My body buzzed, eyes blurry, pussy aching. He pulled out from my thighs and pushed me forward, all the way down to the floor with my ass in the air. Quick for the first time, I heard his knees bump across the floor, quick, my calves straddled, quick, and in me hard, one, two, three, four, coming, five, moaning, six-seven and he fell over me, pressed his stomach into my hands, gasping sweaty above me. He left my arms tied and my blindfold on, but pushed me to the side onto the floor and wrapped around me, spooned me, until my heart slowed down.
D. She sat, fully clothed, on the floor, quiet as she could be, the strange black bar across her face like she was protecting her identity, her shoulders straining at the pull of her arms behind her. She’d been complaining lately that the toes of her shoes were getting scuffed from all the kneeling, but she had nothing to say now. I wanted to touch her more than anything, but was enjoying this too much, the opportunity to look at her hard, the square, pouting lips and the way her skirt lay across her thighs. The small brown moles on her face and neck. I rubbed across her lips with my thumb and she shivered at the touch. I pulled my hand back, stood up over her and unzipped my pants.
P. I heard his zipper and waited for the warm approach of his cock to my lips but it didn’t come. His breathing skipped a little but there was no gasp, no squish sound, nothing. I wondered if he was undressing and angled my head down a little, as if my eyes might meet his and be humbled.
D. My cock hovered out of my fly, desperate for her, but I wouldn’t touch it. I kneeled down myself and popped the buttons of her shirt open one by one, her chest tightening and relaxing under my fingers until I had them all. I opened her shirt wide and pulled it down over her shoulders as far as I could, part of her tether now. Her breasts, small but swollen, were open to me and I blew on them. She reared up a bit on her heels to get closer to me, but I held back.
P. Then there was something scraping me, like a nail but duller. It was slippery too and it crossed my breasts and then my sides slowly, pirouetting a delicious tickle in my skin and across my nipples. It went on for a long time, longer than I thought I could possibly take, but I couldn’t say a word and I knew it. The words “David, do something, David my pussy, please, something please,” ran back and forth in my mind, beating against the front of my skull to get to him. I concentrated on the words to keep me from saying them, to keep from doing anything. Rush him and he would stop, and I didn’t want that. Not at all.
D. Her body was crisscrossed by a trail of oil as the guitar pick swiveled in my fingers. She was breathing so fast now, her nipples wet and hard swaying. I put the pick down mercifully and took her bottom lip in my teeth, running my tongue along it. She almost said “David” but stopped after the vowel. I glided my tongue into her mouth for a second, let the tip flick against her tongue, felt her exhale hard over it and let my mouth flip her top lip on the way out. I stood again and pushed my fingers into her hair. Her head pulled back, her mouth opening at the pull of her neck. I pushed my pelvis in closer and ran the tip of my cock along her cheek, down to her chin and against her lips, the precome leaving a trail at the side of her mouth. I let it rest on her bottom lip. Her tongue came out to greet it. I let her head drop a little so he could take in the tip. She licked it in and suckled on it gently.
P. I wanted his whole cock in my mouth so bad, kept working at the tip of it with my lips to pull it into me, but he wouldn’t let me, wouldn’t let it in. His fractured exhales let me know he wanted to, though. I didn’t want to appear too eager and switched to my tongue, to tease him, to make him feel how I felt. I hadn’t worn underwear that day. The air in the room left a cool spot on the wetness that was forming there, probably soiling the carpet with drips. It would be so easy for him to reach under, to feel the edges of my skirt rise up my thighs and his fingers on my slippery clit. He held my head in place by the hair, let me down fully onto him for a second, with a rough inward note on his part and pulled out.
D. I stood back again, a new aching throb in my cock, and reached between her thighs. I made sure my face was close to hers but not touching. Her breath quickened and she squirmed a little, but I stopped until she settled down. I could feel the heat of her before I touched, my fingers teasing the lips. Her head turned as if she were embarrassed of it. I bent her back over her heels and split her knees, lifting the skirt to the top of her thighs. Her stomach tightened and let out. I licked the lips apart, though there was hardly a need, and pressed my tongue down blunt on her clit, the little wrinkles flattening under it. I began to work her clit with my tastebuds, slowly, so slowly, so slowly dragging up and down and she bucked. I backed off and went down again slowly so slowly and she bucked again. I held her hips down and twisted my tongue and slid up one, two, three seconds and a wiggle at the top and back one, two, three seconds, then slightly faster. She strained forward, shy little moans shaking out of her nose. Her body warped and I put my thumb in her. She came, shuddering and puffing. I gave her a moment, but a moment was all I could give.
P. My body buzzed, eyes blurry, pussy aching. He pulled out from my thighs and pushed me forward, all the way down to the floor with my ass in the air. Quick for the first time, I heard his knees bump across the floor, quick, my calves straddled, quick, and in me hard, one, two, three, four, coming, five, moaning, six-seven and he fell over me, pressed his stomach into my hands, gasping sweaty above me. He left my arms tied and my blindfold on, but pushed me to the side onto the floor and wrapped around me, spooned me, until my heart slowed down.
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