A Stray Fuck

You left me yesterday, trying to find a skirt that covers my knees. In the end (and in honour of the late-fifties-ness of ska) I chose a circular skirt printed with big blousy tea roses and with a rustling petticoat underneath. Afterwards, he said it was the rustle when I walked that attracted him. I told him it was his hands that attracted me. He was the quietest of Lynda’s paramour’s friends, happy to sit back and listen and laugh at jokes but with little to say for himself. I would have given up and ignored him except I caught sight of his hand, wrapped around his glass.

It was broad and long, with thick, strong fingers, roughened from work, his nails slightly ragged and bitten. Lucifer on my shoulder whispered in my ear, “Imagine his hand resting on the curve of your hip” and that was all it took.

At 3 in the morning we stood shivering in a taxi queue. How do you flirt with a taciturn man? Words are my thing. I slid my hands into his coat pockets, twined my fingers through his and smiled up at him. “Fancy a fuck?”

Naked on his bed, my fingers wrapped around the headboard, I drew my knees up, parting my thighs. “Slide a finger in.” He held his hand up and wiggled his fingers. I laughed and pointed, “That one.”

Slowly he buried his middle finger into my sloppy cunt, drawing it out to its tip then sliding middle and index fingers back in to the knuckle. I gazed at his ceiling, grunting softly as he finger fucked me, kissing and sucking on my nipples, still having spoken barely a handful of phrases to me.

He drew his fingers out slowly, and sucked them clean while I rolled a condom onto his rigid cock. No more messing about with foreplay, I wanted a nice hard rogering. I straddled his cock, sinking down onto it with a sigh and rode him hard, my buttocks slapping against his thighs, my fingers rolling and pinching my clit, cumming with a hiss of breath drawn sharply between my teeth, the muscles of my belly and thighs spasming and twitching.

He rolled me off his cock onto my back, my head propped up on a heap of pillows, and pressed the head of his cock to my lips, still wearing his condom. I suppressed a laugh as I realised, “It’s because he doesn’t know where I’ve been” and I opened my mouth.

I sucked steadily on the head of his cock, my fingers wrapped around its base, wanking him off as efficiently as I could, just a little bored now that I’d had my go. He shot his load with a grunt and slumped back onto the bed, surreptitiously shooting a glance at his phone on the bedside table.

I’ve never needed telling when it’s time to go after a stray fuck, so I left him to check his messages and after a quick bathroom trip I was back, dressed in my swishy skirt again, some concealer slapped on the dark shadows under my eyes. In the last five minutes he said more to me than he had all evening but I’ve forgotten most of it. In the end, I think all I wanted was that moment when I watched his finger sink into my cunt. Everything else was just a perverse form of good manners.

Back home, I tiptoed around the house. With D ill and not sleeping well I’ve been in the spare bedroom. He called my name softly and I popped my head around the door. Blearily he peeped over the duvet.

“It’s nearly morning. Have you been out shagging?”

“Mmm? Maybe. A little bit.”

I knelt down by the side of the bed and kissed his cheek. It felt hot.