The mic off

Jesse is twenty-nine, and he did not flinch when I wrote the words I wanted in the chat. Slut. While he fucked me. Not as a joke he would take back. I also wrote the stop. Cut. If I say cut, hands off, cock out, scene over, no sulk. He repeated it back at my table before either of us undid a button. That is the kind of curious I can work with. I do not have a boyfriend, and I did not want a man who would get sweet the second my cunt got wet.

We recorded first, on purpose, and only the talking. I sat in the denim jacket, short black hair, dark lipstick, silver ring in my nose, the microphone pushed aside but still live for the minute we agreed. No screen glowing with a script. I asked him his age again. He said twenty-nine. I said I wanted to be called a slut while he fucked my cunt, and that the file of this conversation would be deleted after, because the sex was not for the show and not for a souvenir. He said yes. We talked for ten plain minutes about pace and about cum. Then I reached over and turned the mic off. The little red light died. I deleted the file in front of him before we even started, so nobody could pretend later that the fuck had been content. The conversation had been the consent. The consent was done. The file was gone.

I shrugged the jacket off after that. He kissed me like a person and then, when I told him the names could start, he said it against my mouth. Slut. I grinned. We got on the mattress I keep behind the blankets. I sucked his cock first because I wanted the taste, and I told him to say it while I did. He called me a slut with his hand in my hair, not pulling me down, just there. I got my jeans off and put him on his back and sank onto his cock. The stretch made me swear. I rode him and made him keep the word in the room. Say it when I clench. He did. My cunt took his cock in short greedy drops, and I rubbed my clit and came looking at his face, loud, shaking, still a slut if he wanted to say it again. He said it again. I liked it more after the orgasm, when I was loose and mean and happy.

I got off his cock and told him to cum on my tongue. He knelt up. I opened my mouth and stroked him, and he came across my tongue in hot pulses, some of it on my lip, and he called me a slut one last time while his cock jumped. I swallowed and showed him. Cut never came up. I did not need it. I wiped my mouth, put the jacket back on, and walked him to the stair. The microphone stayed off. There was nothing to upload and nothing to miss. I slept like someone who had heard exactly the sentence she ordered.