CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revisited // Montréal // 3.2

Nia had perfect teeth. They were a brilliant white, of even size, her incisors and canines perfectly spaced. Her gumline was healthy and well-formed, undulating half-moon scoops of pink flesh that glistened with her saliva. She flossed twice a day; she used Scope twice a day, brushed at least twice a day. Her lips were curled back in a passionate snarl. No lipstick, just her dry but plump vermilion scrolled back from her wet mouth. She hissed breath lightly through her teeth in sharp surges, a dry sound over the greasy battery-powered motor. He was lying on their bed propped up on an elbow, head in a palm, the other hand holding six inches of the seven-inch chrome vibrator inside his wife. It was set on speed three and he was watching her face, studying it with intense scrutiny as she was about to come.

Nia had both hands around his wrist, holding him in place as her hips moiled against the metallized plastic intrusion. They were under the covers. The sun had come up and it dropped a sharp-edged sunny rectangle across the white cotton duvet. Her bare feet poked out under the bottom hem and he knew her blood-red painted toes were curling.

Her breasts were clutched forward, half her nipples revealed along the sewn edge of the cover. They were a soft pinkish brown, not rock hard, but pleasantly tumid. Her soft flesh quivered with her imminent release.

So, this lovely creature, this magnificent fairy, was looking to get it rough. He was scared by that. She was so thin and feminine; he thought of her as elegant. Why would she be attracted to such harsh treatment? And what did she consider rough? Her revelation had devastated him. But in the greatest way. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that this was who she was. Those nights twelve years gone, his arms around his friend while they ate and watched TV, were tinged with a knowledge: this was her safe space. Her Geoff-space. Her Geoff-space was warm and protective and it kept her from harm. She felt good there. But really, while he was kind and oh-so-good to her, there was a greater reason she needed his refuge—it was the disparity of the world outside his safe-space walls to the one within. When Nia was out there, it was wild and it was passion and it was danger and it was pain. He always felt that, and sometimes she would tell him a little, just a little, preferring to keep the lid only cracked—he could see the shine but not the light. She kept that hidden. Maybe she was ashamed of who she was.

Her revelation that night on the way home from Innisfil had opened the lid just a tad more. Geoff wanted to peek in and see, really see what was in there. But maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe she wasn’t ready for it to be seen either.

She moaned softly now, delicate vibrations in her throat and nose, her breath trailing the lightest squeak as she exhaled. She was exquisite. The tendons of her neck flexed, a vein pulsed, one in her hairline too. Her teeth parted and he could see her glistening pale pink tongue in there, pressed down, tip curled slightly to a wide point. Her breath was held. She trembled. A creak like a tin can across gravel from the back of her throat . . . she exhaled, gasped and panted.

“Did you come?” he whispered.

Nia nodded, still softly gasping. Her hands came up from under the covers and she rubbed at her face and pushed her damp and sleep-stringy hair back over her ears. She looked satisfied, tired, eyes watery. She whispered, “Are you hard?”

“Yeah.” He withdrew the vibrator and she took it and turned it off while he pulled his pyjama pants down. She climbed on top of him, hair falling around his face. He blew it out of his mouth and nose. She kissed him. The tip of his cock pressed into her butt cheek and he tilted his hips so it fell into place. She eased herself onto him, wiggled so he slipped inside her. She was hot inside, hot and slippery. “Oh, Nia,” he groaned.

She fucked him. Did all the work. Rode him, his hardness all she needed. Her mouth pressed to his and her fingers locked through his fingers. Her pussy was tight and their union made soft sucking noises in the quiet, sunny bedroom.

“Tell me what rough is,” he panted.

“What?” she squeaked.

“I want to know what you think is rough.”

She kept thrusting, her face clenched. She shook her head no.

“Why not?”

“I just, mm, don’t.”

“No lies, remember.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to tell you.”

She kissed him to shut him up. Her lips clamped on his and he let her keep his hands pinned overhead, happy to have her ride his hard cock. He flexed his rump, flexed his cock for her. She gasped again, feeling the surge of his already hard flesh swell even larger inside her.

“You’re gonna get it rough?”

“I am,” she said, humping him faster.

“You think Rocco can give you what you want?”

“He can. I know he can.”

“But you have to tell me—”

“I know Geoff, I know, I will.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“You’re asking me to, mm, tell you something, ah, deep, personal—it’s not the same as telling you about, oh, events that happened.”

“I get it, Nia, I understand . . . Nia?”

“What?”

“What if I—what if I wanted to . . . watch you?”

“Watch me with another man?” she gasped.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“I don’t know—but what do you think?”

She smiled suddenly, as if she were picturing it. Her eyes were closed and her wet lips stretched wide, the corners curling. Her head tilted up, her closed eyes looking to the skies.

“You’re thinking about it,” he laughed

“Yeah, I am.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s fucking—”

“Fucking what, Nia?”

“Hot, Geoff. You want to, unh, w-watch me?”

“I would fucking love to watch you.”

“Oh, Geoff, that’s so fucking amazing. Hot. But, I don’t, mm, know.” Her voice squeaked at the end as she came again. Her face contorted and she showed him her snarling white-toothed face. Her head whipped forward, slashing him with her hair. He gripped her shoulders, her face fell to the crook of his neck, breathed hot panting billows against him, hardened his nipples as he thrust himself into her, hard and fast. He was so close, and he focused on a singular image of her face as he’d just seen it, twisted in orgasmic ecstasy, but there was an enormous powerful fist gripped behind her neck, clutching a handful of her raven hair, the hairs plucked painfully from that sensitive wispy part at the beautiful nape of her neck. He could hear it rip like velcro. Nia cried in pain and he knew she was coming, knew that hand was attached to a man that was six-foot-five, three-hundred pounds of muscle and his massive throbbing vein-squiggled cock was tearing Nia’s pretty pink insides.

He roared, and sent his come into her in forceful spurts. He bucked and humped and Nia gasped, clawed her nails on his shoulders. He clenched her, wanting to do it harder, feeling it wasn’t his role, softening then, his straining grip turning to a coddling squeeze as he felt the last ticklish surges spread the hole of his penis inside her. He lay gasping underneath her, both hands clasped on a firm slim butt cheek. He felt their shape under his palm, gently hefting and caressing. He still leaked inside her, his wetness slipping out and dripping onto his pubic patch and slipping down his creases, tickling him.

“Love you,” he sighed.

She pecked his cheek, sighed a laugh and slipped off to slump next to him on the bed.

“Uh, wow, what time is it?” She sighed and put a forearm across her brow in defence from the sun sliding higher up the bed now.

“I don’t know. Seven?”

“We should start getting ready,” she said. Her hand went between her legs, feeling how wet she was. She rolled and grabbed her T-shirt she’d been wearing before he’d started with her this morning when they first woke. She’d been very receptive, and she’d taken a real liking to the toy he’d brought home for her. She plopped back next to him, wriggled into him until their shoulders touched and she clamped her T-shirt between her legs. He reached down and pulled the duvet up to cover her bare breasts in case Odele wandered in. She kept one long leg stuck out to the side. It was hot in the bedroom this morning. First of July, Canada Day, and they had great weather in the forecast for their trip up to cottage country to celebrate with Rocco and his family.

“Hey, Nia?”

“What?”

“You think it’s okay that Rocco is married?”

She sighed, and scratched nails through his thick hair. “That’s who it’s going to be, Geoff. He’s a big boy and he can make his own decisions. I’m not going to take him against his will. If Jenny from Evergreen threw her pussy at you, would you catch it?”

“What? Nia, no. Never.”

“She’s very pretty, don’t you think?”

“She is.”

“She is Geoff. She has a perfect face. You two would make a very hot couple.”

He laughed. “We would?”

“Yeah, same skin colour and hair. But if she threw that pussy at you, just cleared her desk one afternoon and lay on it and spread her legs for you, pulled her panties down and showed you her stuff, what would you do?”

“You know.”

“Yeah, I do know. You’d be very polite, tell her no, but then try to make her feel okay about it. Tell her she’s very special and you’re flattered. How if you weren’t so in love with your wife you would be honored to make love to her. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Take her out for lunch and make sure she was all right. Make sure things were still cool between you and her feelings weren’t hurt.”

“I wouldn’t want her to be embarrassed for taking her panties down. That’s a big move. It would have been hard for her. I’d hate for her to feel bad.”

She smiled wide, enjoying it. “That’s so fucking you, Geoff.”

“So?”

“So, I love it. I fucking love it. You are the most rock-solid guy I’ve ever known. You make the right choices. You live your life the way you want. So does Rocco. So does his wife. She knew who she married. If he can stray, he will stray. At least I’m not going to run off with him.”

“Yeah, but he has kids.”

“Geoff, we’re just going to fuck. That’s all. I’m not going to tell his wife. He’s not going to. Are you?”

“No, of course—”

“It’ll just be sex.”