Excerpts Mr. Match

I seduced her that night. I seduced her with the tree, and the food, and the beer, and the music. My tattoos that transfixed her. The muscles she couldn’t stop touching. She was a girl. It was very plain by the way she let me fuck her that night.
Eager to please.
Tiny moans that made her embarrassed. Unwilling to do it standing up, or against the wall, or on the kitchen counter. Protest after protest for every kinky fucking idea I came up with.
Not there. Not like that. Not with the lights on. Not in front of the window. Not in the shower.
It makes me laugh now. Because in the end we fucked in all those places, in all those ways, and she came back for more.
I made my move before I even started cooking. Fingertips on her bare thigh brushing up against her skin. Just the slightest touch as I slipped my hand underneath that little tartan skirt and found the wet spot soaking through her panties. I fingered her through the thin cotton. She wanted to take them off but I was not in the mood to give in that night. I was in the mood to have everything my way. Just the way I wanted. For once.
She came with my fingers inside her. Her body folding against mine, her nails digging into the thick muscles of my shoulders. And then she sank to her knees. Her bare skin on that hard concrete floor.
She looked up at me and smiled.
I got my cock sucked good that night. She let me guide her any way I wanted. Opened wider on command. She let me face-fuck her. She licked my balls, fingered my asshole.
    Put her hands behind her back and looked me in the eyes.
I figured why not? Why not get one good night out of her?
She wants to be a whore? Make money dishing out the fantasy? I can be her customer.
I took her to my bedroom—which was nothing more than a mattress on the second-floor loft where tires were still being stored, and reachable only by a moving set of stairs on wheels.
I undressed her in the fading light. Just enough light to make her fair skin glow and look beautifully surreal. Her gun came off first. Put safely aside on an overturned crate acting as a bedside table. Then the blue blazer. The shirt was untucked next and I started unfastening the little clear buttons denying me a view of her breasts spilling out of that innocent white bra. I kissed her shoulder as I slipped the shirt down her arm and let it drop to the floor.
I left the skirt on and started eating her pussy while she was standing up. Her legs spread open just enough to give me access, my fingers pulling aside her already wet panties.
I didn’t let her come that time. Just played with her until her knees got weak and her thighs began to tremble. Then I took her hand and led her to the bed. Pushed her back against the pillows, opened her legs, and positioned myself between them.
“Take off my skirt. My underwear.”
“No,” I remember saying as I entered her. “I like the school-girl look.”
Oliver comes into the picture just as the music starts. A dark, deep, electronic thrum of organ, and bass, and slow tech synth beats. The vocals claim they want more. And I can relate.
“I want more,” Younger Oliver sings to Younger Katya in his low voice. He lowers his naked body over hers. “More… gimme more… gimme more.”
Then Older Oliver is walking down the stairs, hunger—nothing but complete and utter hunger—in his expression as he looks at Older Me.
“I want more,” he says, coming up to the stool. He lifts both of my legs, placing my ankles on his shoulders. He grips my white schoolgirl blouse and rips it open. Buttons fly off as he exposes me with a small grunt that sounds like lust. And then he pulls my panties down to my knees and presses his body into mine.
Fingertips on his zipper, Pulling him out. It takes me one whole slow-motion second to realize I’m the one doing that.
His hard cock bumps up against my wet pussy and he grinds me like that. His breath is hot like cinnamon when he kisses me. “More… gimme more… gimme more,” he sings into my mouth. “I’m gonna take more, Katya.”
I have no complaints. I don’t even bother wasting time forming words to let him know.
On the wall, Younger Katya is moaning as Younger Oliver slips his dick inside her pussy.
In front of me, this Oliver does the same thing.
The music is hypnotic and the sex going on all around me is like a drug. An aphrodisiac that makes liquid pool between my legs. Surround his cock as he fucks me slowly. Makes my whole body yearn…
More… gimme more… gimme more.
“Oliver,” Younger Me is saying in the movie on the wall. “Oliver,” Older Me is panting in real time.
“I love you,” Younger Oliver says in the movie. “I fucking love you,” Older Oliver is saying as he bites my lip hard enough to make it bleed.
The sex is loud.
And sick.
And slick.
Filled with filthy erotic grunts and the slapping of skin on skin as he pounds me to the rhythm of our past.
We are animals. We fuck like animals. Primal and intrinsic and primitive.
But it is nothing if not love.
We come together this time.
Hot, and so sweaty our bodies want to stick together. And then we kiss. He kisses me like he is thirsty and I am cool, clear water.
More… gimme more… gimme more.

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