Work Text:
I knew someone would approach me. That was the point of sitting in the windowsill, having it frame me like a portrait. It was an invitation to the assembled plebeians to dare, and there was always at least one bold enough to try. I did it sometimes to amuse myself by coolly and publicly rejecting the especially good-looking ones, which I knew would create a ripple of shock in the room and dent the confidence of every man there.
But last night I had another motive. Last night was revenge on Jago, fucking Jago, and you couldn’t have been more perfectly suited to the task. You were a proper bit of rough, weren’t you? Swaggering over to me with your drink in your hand and a stained t-shirt, like some common oik in a pub. I know other women with my background would have been appalled at the audacity, but I think that’s what clinched it for me.
When one of the smooth-jawed public school boys did it, their arrogance in assuming parity with me was part of the pleasure of turning them down. But your arrogance was different. You knew you didn’t belong here among dreaming spires and vaulted windows, and you just didn’t care. You thought you’d have a go because what did you have to lose?
I liked the recklessness. I think it’s something I share with you that I can see the use in. But I’m not a total bitch, and I was surprised at how much else we actually had in common. There was catharsis in talking to you afterwards about your family, and the very peculiar and specific things that children and young people face when their parents are well known and not very well respected. For a few moments, I indulged myself in a little fantasy that we were soulmates, and this was a fated meeting, and I only laid the fantasy down when I saw that you looked like you believed it too, because it was far more powerful if you believed it and I didn’t.
I enjoyed the stares when I took hold of your hand in the window and walked out with you. I drank in their stunned disbelief that you had made a conquest of me, though of course, it was nothing of the kind. I know you enjoyed that my hand closed over your crotch as we left the building, because you made a filthy comment of the kind you had probably made to the loose girls you’d been with in your provincial backwater when you knew your luck was in. I imagine your luck was in quite a lot, because now I’d been with you for an hour, I could see that you had charisma to spare, and your broad-shouldered fuckability was very attractive.
When we got into my room, you went to kiss me, and I pushed you away and made you stand and watch as I disrobed while holding your gaze. I’ve known for a long time how to work men, and I thought you’d be fairly unreconstructed.
I’d walked to you naked, and then I’d let you kiss me, which you’d done with slow reverence, and then you’d watched me slide to my knees in front of you and unbuckle your trousers. You were hard, and really quite impressive, but I didn’t let that show on my face. You needed to understand the power balance here: that I was only on my knees physically. I teased you, and you breathed out blasphemies with each new movement. The minute your hand touched the back of my head that part was over, and I stood.
I pulled the dirty t-shirt over your head, and you kicked off your shoes and stepped out of your trousers. Then you kissed me again, and you were very good, your big hands holding me close to your broad, hairy body, the kind of hairy that I suspect will only increase as you get older. The contrast of it, pressed against my alabaster curves, was exhilarating.
Then you surprised me, lifting me like I was no weight at all, hooking my legs around you, spinning and pushing me against the closed door. You reached between us to touch me, working your thick fingers against me, dipping them inside and swirling them, and you had turned me on so much with this unexpected display of strength that I was already wet. I’d told you in our frank discussion as we walked here that I was on the pill, which was true enough, though you haven’t yet learned you have no reason to trust a statement like that, especially from me, so you didn’t even pause as you lined yourself up and drove deep. I’m sure anyone around the corridor at that point would have heard the sound of me banged against the door and my appreciative shout about your size, and the news would get back to Jago fast, so that lent an excellent hue of success to proceedings.
You fucked very well, hard but not too hard, varying your rhythm, sucking in my earlobes and down the sensitive flesh of my neck. But I doubted at that point I was going to come, because I rarely do from this sort of encounter. I usually just store up the memories and sensations to masturbate to later, and feel no particular loss from that. An orgasm isn’t the point of this, it’s the game, the power play, that hits my spots.
I faked a noisy orgasm as a courtesy, and you bucked pleasingly hard in response and carried on thrusting for a while after you came. You let me stand and stepped back, and I wasn’t done with you, so I crooked my finger as I walked past you to invite you into the bed, and you grinned crookedly in response as you followed me. I let you hold me for a while, and we talked softly, and you were actually very sweet for a big, clumsy looking lad from the West Country. I allowed myself a little fancy that I was a farm girl who was in love with you and that you were my first time.
The fact that you got another erection quickly didn’t surprise me. We’re both young, you’re clearly not afflicted with a low sex drive. But when you shifted and began to snake down my body with your mouth, settling between my legs, I admit I was rather surprised you wanted to go there rather than just have another quickie, in the bed this time.
My surprise continued when your mouth connected and I knew this really wasn’t your first time out. You lapped and sucked, using both your hands on me too, your thumb running a curving crescent at the top of my labia in tandem with your tongue, and two of your large fingers inside me stroking insistently at my g-spot. I could feel my climax building and it was so thrilling to be surprised like this I forgot myself and the sounds of my real orgasm were nothing like the fake one.
You were above me again while I was still shuddering, and I pushed at your clenched backside with my hands, wanting you inside me again, and this time I gave you genuine passion, my kisses deep, sucking on your tongue, digging my nails into your arse as you fucked me. If I thought it couldn’t get any more exciting, I was dead wrong, as you hoarsely whispered in my ear for me to turn over, and you pulled out to let me.
I flipped myself over and got on my hands and knees, tossing my hair out of the way to look back at you, your expression intense and focused, and you wasted no time at all in positioning yourself and beginning to piston into me, your grip on my hips firm. You moved with exquisite balance, slipping one hand up my spine and stroking the other around my waist to work against the tip of my clitoris once more, and I could feel the both of us were reaching a peak of pleasure that was so deliciously unexpected I actually cried your name out, which I never do in a one night stand because I usually can’t be bothered to remember the name in the first place. I fell forward as I came, and felt you following hard after, the disbelieving sounds of unrestrained crescendo you made only adding to my delight at both winning my game and discovering a skilled lover.
We talked a little more, and slept spooning, and in the morning I awoke to feel you hard again, prodding my lower back and we greeted the day with a slow, lazy fuck. I’m laying here now, in the afterglow of that, feeling your nuzzling kisses against my neck and already suspecting I might have made you fall in love with me. Of course, I appreciate the power in that, and I won’t waste it, but there is something about your husky, unpolished exterior, concealing whip-smart intuitive intelligence that fascinates me, quite apart from your carnal abilities. I might decide to fall in love with you too. But I know, at least, that I’m really not done with you yet.