This piece of erotica is wonderfully self-indulgent, as I imagine getting to interact with the kink dynamic of two of my current Twitter crushes. It’s something that will never happen, but I enjoy pretending that it could: that after wine, she’d have lipstick kissed on her thighs…
Content note for exhibitionist fucking.
“May I?” I whisper, and she nods enthusiastic consent. I work my way down her body, nipping and kissing, and kneel between her thighs. I ask again, looking up at her with pleading eyes.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please…” she hisses as I drag my nails up her calves. I begin kissing her. Kisses as light as the brushes of a fluttering butterfly’s wing, but I know she feels every single one. It is not only to tease her, though I love the little squirms she makes as she tries to hurry me up. No, it’s because I want to take my time, to savour this. I ignore the ache between my legs, determined to revel in every moment.
This is an opportunity unlikely to occur twice.
As much as I try to focus on her soft skin under my lips, as I begin to nibble at her labia, I cannot forget that he’ll be watching. A tiny fraction of his attention never leaves her, and so I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know his gaze will be on us in this dark corner. Even as I lick – slowly, tasting her arousal – from her cunt to her clit, a part of my awareness does not leave him. Heady with her scent, I imagine him striding over to us, pulling me away from her and beating me for touching his property. Or maybe he’d wait until she came in my mouth, and then punish both of us together…
I wanted to make her come. I wanted to even more because I know he’s training her to only come when his cock is in her mouth.
It’s not the first time I’ve gone down on a girl, but it’s also not something I’ve done often. I seem to be doing something right though, if the whimpers and moans she is making are any indication. My lipstick has decorated the inside of her legs, but her cunt itself is so wet. For the first time that night, I trust myself to read her body and slide a thin finger into her cunt. The sound she makes is exquisite, and I reward her with another one. With two fingers in her slick heat, I concentrate my mouth on her clit.
I wonder if I could get off on the sounds she makes alone, and then – as I begin to pump my fingers in and out – another filthy thought crosses my mind. This time, instead of being strapped as punishment, I’m tied to a chair. No, wait, a mechanism of some kind. One that means I cannot look away or close my eyes, and have to watch while he fucks her over and over, drawing orgasm after orgasm from her body until the sensations I gave her are nothing, nothing, compared to the ocean of pleasure he’s drowning her in. Although I would receive no simulation at all, I imagine that I would still be overwhelmed by the sight and sound of her that I would come.
Her hands tangle in my hair, urging me closer, and I grin as I do the opposite of what she wants and slow down. She gives a frustrated, adorable huff, and widens her legs, pulling me into her with force. I behave, and work to bring her to the edge of the orgasm I’m so desperate to give her. My own clit is throbbing, and indeed has been since she threw her head back in laughter at my joke earlier. It knows that if it gets any attention, though, it will be much later, in my hotel room. I will have the memories of this, though, of her skin under my hands and her taste on my tongue and his eyes heavy on the back of my neck as I eat out his girlfriend.
Even if nothing else happens, I’ll forever remember how my lipstick looks on her thighs.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.