The stone yard

Stig was a different man, thirty-six, from the bar, not from the quarry night. He came to the studio yard after I texted a pin and a sentence: blowjob, then a fuck, then you leave. He answered with the word marble, which I had told him was the stop, and with yes. I was seated on a low stone when he arrived, canvas jacket, dark work shirt, bun already loose, a chisel on the ground with no mark anyone could read. Dust lived in the creases of my hands. I let him see that, the clothed minute, kettle silent inside, night air moving the loose hair. Then I pointed at the dirt in front of my boots.

He stood. I opened his belt and took his cock out, half hard and quick to finish the job in my fist. Stone dust still greyed my wrists. I did not wash. I wanted the filth of the day on the hand that held him. I sucked his cock slow, tongue under the head, then deeper, one dusty hand at the base so I set the depth. He groaned and did not grab. Good. I sucked until spit shone and his thighs jumped, then I let his cock leave my mouth and stood. I told him the block behind me was covered with a tarp for a reason. Not the work. The cover.

I bent over the tarp. He shoved my pants to my knees and rubbed the head of his cock along my cunt until I swore at him to fuck me. He pushed in. The covered block held. His cock filled me, and he fucked me there in long strokes that turned short when I told him not to hover. Dust shook off my wrists onto the canvas. I reached under and rubbed my clit. The yard was mine and empty. I came with my cheek on the tarp, cunt clutching his cock, a hoarse yes.

I said cum inside. He asked if I was sure. I said I am forty-eight and I know what I asked. He fucked me through the aftershocks and came in my cunt, heat, a bitten-off sound, his hands heavy on my hips where I had put them. Marble never came up. I stayed bent until I felt the cum start to slide, then I stood, pleased, and pulled my pants up over the mess on purpose. He wanted water. I gave him a glass and the gate.

After his truck left I took the broom and swept the yard alone. The chisel went back on its nail. The tarp stayed on the block. I did not text him a second pin. I drank the dusty tea standing up, his cum still in my cunt, and I liked the quiet better than company. The stone could wait until morning. I had already gotten what I came outside for.