The scarf

The fair was over and the shop was locked. I do not do this on the clock, and Pascal does not work for me. He is thirty-eight. We had talked at a public table with the lights rude and bright, and I had told him to come by after if he still wanted what I had said in a full sentence. He came. I stood at the wood bench in a cream blouse buttoned to the collar and charcoal trousers, short black hair, gold hoops, unlabeled bottles in a row. A black scarf was folded on the wood. I put my hand on it and said the night again. I want the scarf on. I want your cock in my ass. I have the bottle in the drawer. If I say cedar, you stop. He said cedar. He said he wanted to fuck me that way. Then I let him stay.

I closed the blinds. I put the scarf over my own eyes and tied it myself, because the dark is mine to start. The room became sound and smell and his voice asking if the knot was all right. I said yes. I took the blouse and the trousers off and bent over the clear end of the bench, the bottles far from my hands. I heard him open the drawer. I told him to slick his cock and wait until I reached back for him. I found his cock, thick, already hard, and I guided it to my ass. I pushed back. His cock opened my ass slowly because I made it slow. I swore into my arm. I said there. Now fuck me.

He fucked my ass in deep, careful strokes, one hand spread on my back, the other useless until I told him he could hold my hip. Blind, I was all cunt and ass and the wet sound. My cunt dripped down my thigh. I rubbed my clit and told him not to go faster until I said the word faster. Then I said it. He fucked my ass harder. I came with the scarf tight and my mouth open, cunt clenching on nothing, ass gripping his cock, a sound I would never sell in a bottle. He asked where. I said on my back, not inside. He pulled his cock out of my ass and came across my lower back, hot, and I felt every stripe because I could not see them.

He took the scarf off when I said he could, and the first thing I saw was his face, wrecked and pleased and still checking me. I laughed. I told him he had done it right. We wiped the bench. Blouse on, trousers on, bottles untouched. He left by the alley door. I stayed long enough to smell the room turn back into resin and peel instead of sex. Cedar had stayed a word in the pocket. I walked home alone, hoops still in, already thinking about a night with more than one voice.