U is for Us

Instantly, Nick changes his mind about killing it and pulls out. Because ‘killing it’ means that the fun would be over for him for a while. One and done for a day, unless a certain pharmaceutical help is involved. We use them occasionally, when we get a chance to sneak away for the weekend for a special us time. What’s happening now is nothing but a dream, remember? It’s most definitely us and more than special. I would give anything, give up on everything, for it to become us.

His cock bounces in front of my face, hard, demanding, glistening from my drool. The botched blowie was an intermission only, a pleasant one, but Nick has a job to finish, and only then he can relax and allow himself to finish too. I sit on the floor in between his legs. That stupid see-through blouse doesn’t conceal much of my heaving braless bosom, crowned with erect nipples. Nick makes a show of unbuttoning and tossing away the last garment off my body. He slides off his own boxer briefs too. Now we are on the even ground, equally naked and quiet. 

I press my hands to my face and feel the heat emanating from my burning cheeks. I don’t know what I want anymore: to jump Nick’s bones and ride him into the sunset, for him to fold me in half and do the same to me, or to continue what we started. The throbbing pain is everywhere; I will tip over in no time. But I don’t want to decide. I want Nick to truly take over and hold the reins, deciding for both of us.

Nick McDreamson reaches for the forgotten barber strop and pats his bare thigh with his free hand. Oh, that perfect invitational patting! The lust widens his pupils so much, his eyes seem black and not the usual honey brown. When I lie across his lap, I will feel every twitch of his persistent cock underneath me. But no, he will not take me until I’m there, delivered to the land of fairies and unicorns and then safely brought back. I stand on my knees, not hesitating, but mesmerized. Nick picks up the cowbell and presses it into my palm.

“Make your exit now or else. The train ain’t gonna stop no more till its final destination,” my train conductor lost his Southern drawl, but not the essence. “Speak up, young lady.” The strop lands on my thigh with an encouraging smack.

“Yes, sir, I’m staying.” My words hurry, and so am I, like a frantic passenger, scared to be left behind at the end of the platform of a godforsaken train station, which most trains disregard the stop and swoosh by. 

“Climb aboard then.” Without taking his eyes off mine, Nick strikes my thigh again, this time with more force, leaving a wide red mark.

Skin on skin, I stretch across his lap. The cowbell clangs inadvertently, hushed by my capped hand. It’s not just him or me anymore, only us.