The quarry

The quarry was closed and I was not working. The gate had a chain on it that the watchman leaves loose for me because I buy the offcuts, not because I was on a clock. Benno met me there, fifty-two, shoulders like a man who lifts for a living that is not mine. I told him I do not fuck anyone who learns a chisel from me, and he does not. He buys lunch near the supply shop. That is the whole resume I needed. Dusk sat on the pale blocks. I stood among them in the canvas jacket, silver hair in a bun, fair hands already chalked in the creases, and I let him look before I offered the game.

We agreed it at the gate. I walk the yard. He follows. He catches me by the blocks, not before, because I decide the spot by stopping. Rough, standing, his cock in my cunt. If I say marble, he stops, hands off the stone and off me. He said marble back, slow, which matches how I talk until I do not. I walked. The blocks made a corridor I know. My cunt was wet from the decision. I stopped where two faces met and put my palm on the pale grain.

He caught me there, chest to my back, heavy the way I had ordered. I said now. He opened my pants. I kept the jacket. Night air on my ass, dust on my wrists. I reached back, found his cock, and stroked it once so he would feel how sure I was. I said fuck me. He spit in his hand, slicked the head, and pushed his cock into my cunt. The stretch pulled a sound out of me that the quarry kept. He fucked me standing, rough, deep, hips knocking me toward the block. I told him harder. He gave it. My forehead went to the stone. I came like that, cunt gripping his cock, grit on my skin, a long shake I did not pretty up.

I said not on the work. Cum on the ground. He pulled out. His cock left my cunt empty and aching, and he stroked it toward the dirt, cum falling on the gravel, not on the block, not on a face I might cut tomorrow. I watched the last of it and nodded. We fixed our clothes by the gate. He asked if the studio kettle was on. I said it was, and it was not for him. Marble had not been needed. The game had stayed a game. I drove the yard truck back alone, forehead still cool from the stone, and I smiled at the dark because the fuck had been exactly as heavy as I had asked.