I moved between paint and wall, my thighs smoothed against one another. My clit swelled, peeking from its hood as I started work on Liuz’s balls. My breaths were short and gasping, and I was bombarded with images of us fucking in every position. Noisy, sweaty, animalistic.
Within minutes I’d created soft sacs, heavier at the base and the skin loose and hair-coated. I could almost feel them, cool, slightly prickly, a perfect cupped palmful.
Briefly, I paused to look at the photos whirring from the printer. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I hoped it would give me a clue as to what his cock would be like. Would he have a generous length but a slim girth, or a fat, wide dick and a mushroomed head?
Sloshing more wine into my glass and gulping fast, I had a sudden inspiration; it would be like the rest of him, perfect.
Starting above the testicles, I created a thick, upwards-pointing shaft, then, a fraction before I reached his navel, I fashioned a capped head. Something told me he would be circumcised and this was how I painted him.
With a smaller brush I added in shading, bulging veins and a rim beneath the glans. The slit was central and wide, and I placed a blob of perfect snow white in the middle to look like a pearly drip of pre-cum.
Done.
I squeezed and strummed at my nipples as I admired my full-size mural. Liuz stood before me, brooding, naked and hot enough to sear my skin.
Grabbing the pile of photos from my printer tray, I then spread them on the floor around myself, covering my cut hair and the new splatters of paint with the photos’ cool surfaces. There was only one thing on my mind – an orgasm.
I had to climax, now.
After knocking back the last of my wine, I delved into the desk drawer and pulled out my favourite long black vibrator. I never used to keep it in there, but since talking to Liuz on email, it had made its way into the room I now masturbated in with the most frequency.
Dropping to the floor, flat on my back, I stretched my legs wide. Propped the soles of my feet on the wall either side of Liuz’s painted knees. Stared at his cock and delighted in the sliding photographic paper beneath my back and hips. I was surrounded by him. Above me, beneath me. All I needed now was to imagine that greedy, determined cock pumping into me.
I spent only a brief second spreading my natural lube around the satiny plastic head of my vibrator; then I shoved it in, hard and fast, just how he would do it. I arched my back and cried out, and I did not take my eyes from Liuz’s cock.
Jerking my hips and ramming the vibrator upwards, I imagined him taking me over and over. I could almost hear the hard panting breaths he would groan out as he forged in, not stopping until he’d penetrated me to the hilt. I snarled through the pain, even though it was my own doing. I didn’t want comfortable fucking. I wanted to be ravaged by lust, consumed by desire. I wanted it to be as basic and primitive as it was possible to be.
I clicked a button at the base of the shaft and allowed the vibrating plastic ears to embrace my clit. The action was a signal for my body to seek out release. Within seconds I was climbing, climbing high and rapidly. I wanted to shut my eyelids, and my body was ready to fold in on itself. But I wouldn’t let it. I had to come with the image of Liuz before me.
I did. In an explosive burst of contractions and spasms, I allowed my orgasm to rake through my core. I stared at his painted cock, wishing it was in me for real. Pounding, thrusting, jettisoning hot, viscous cum into my pussy.
All too quickly the vibrator had served its purpose and I tossed it aside. But I kept my feet planted on the wall; my pussy, swollen and sopping, opened wide before Liuz for his sulky, unblinking gaze to feast on.
Chapter Four
‘Oh my dear God!’ squealed Hector, my long-standing hairdresser at Portobello Cuts. ‘Darling, what the fucking hell have you done?’
I shrugged. ‘I’d had some wine, fancied a change.’
‘Bloody Nora, why didn’t you call me, anytime day or night, no need for such drastic action when Hec is only a phone call away.’
‘From Hell to Hec,’ I said with a grin. ‘Do your best to tidy it up, and dye it black while you’re at it.’
‘Black!’
‘Yep, black.’
Hector frowned and tutted, his whole body twitching up towards his ears. ‘My beautiful Hannah, I only hope this is because you are on some super undercover journalist mission and not that you have gone completely insane. Your lovely blonde tresses have been an advert for my work for many years.’
I sat in the chair and allowed him to drape a shiny silver gown over my front. ‘Absolutely, a top-secret journalist mission that will hopefully be very lucrative and very satisfying.’
He shook his head and ran his fingers through my tufts. ‘Black, really?’
‘As black as you can make it.’
* * *
Walking along the street I’d previously pounded in pouring rain, I allowed the evening air to swirl around my newly exposed nape. It was a Thursday and people were still milling about, some in suits having worked late or going straight for drinks, and some in casual evening-out gear. Men in nice shirts, ladies in dresses with subtle make-up and jewellery; decent girls who looked as if they enjoyed being wined and dined.
Not like me.
I just wanted to be fucked.
I made my way down Woodstone Road creating a show of searching for number 78 just in case he was watching from his window. My aim was to look like I’d never been to this part of Brixton before. I was a newbie, a blow-in.
My heels clacked on wonky pavers and I brushed down the wrinkles in my short red skirt as I approached. I’d worn the opposite to yesterday. No sneakers and jeans for me tonight. I was no longer the inquisitive woman who’d hung in his shrubbery, splashed down the street and ran for the bus. Tonight I was a slut, a harlot, a woman who was ready to be used for a man’s most basic satisfaction.
I opened the gate and climbed the steps to the front door, noticing that his curtains were drawn. They were unlined and a weak light shone through them onto the bushes beneath the window. With a trembling hand, for nerves along with lust had overtaken my body, I pressed the intercom buzzer next to ‘L Biros’.
He didn’t speak, just released the lock to let me in.
The short corridor, leading to a steep set of stairs, was empty of furniture and people, the walls a grimy beige, and as the front door shut behind me with a resounding clunk, silence enveloped me.
His room, number 2, was the first on the right. I took a deep breath and stepped up to it. Draped over the handle was a piece of purple material, about the length and width of a tie. I picked it up, wondering what it was. Painted on the underside were two big eyes. They were almost comical, bright blue and with long lashes, the whites completely exposed.
I now knew what he wanted me to wear.
A blindfold.
I should have
