The apartment

Norris is thirty-nine. Different man, upstairs, which I do not offer as a habit. I wanted a bed and a sheet I could ruin and strip. I met him in the doorway dressed, green shirt, jeans, hair down out of the clip, the bed behind me with a plain quilt. He saw that first. Clothed, ordinary, a woman at her own threshold. Then I told him the order. I fuck his ass with the strap. He rubs my cunt while I do it if his hand can reach, or I rub it myself. After he cums, he fucks my cunt, and I will squirt on the sheet, and he will cum inside me. He said yes at the door. I let him in. He is not a customer. The shop was dark under our feet.

I got the strap on and the jeans off and put him on all fours on the quilt. Lube, finger, then the toy. I fucked him slow and then harder when he asked for harder. My voice stayed warm. I told him to reach back and rub my cunt, and he did, awkward and earnest, fingers slipping on my clit while I fucked his ass. The angle was bad and the intent was perfect. I took over with my own hand when I wanted a better circle, rubbing my cunt in time with the strap, and I came once like that, standing, a sharp little orgasm that made the next thrust sloppy. His cock hung hard and untouched until I wrapped a hand around it. He came on the quilt, groaning, and I stroked him empty.

I dropped the strap on the chair. He got on his back, cock still thick enough, and I sank onto it. My cunt was swollen and ready. I rode him and told him not to rush. When the pressure gathered I leaned back, fingers on my clit, and I squirted across his stomach and the sheet, a wide soak I watched happen. I laughed. He looked wrecked and happy. I kept riding, cunt wet and loud, and told him to cum in me. His cock kicked and he came deep, heat spreading, his hands careful on my thighs like I might be breakable. I am not.

I rubbed my cunt once more while he was still inside, lazy, not chasing, just feeling the wet and the cum and the fact of the strap on the chair. I like a night that has both. I fuck a man with the toy and then I get my cunt fucked. I do not pick one and pretend the other is a phase. He stayed still until I climbed off.

He left when I said the stair was that way. I stripped the bed, quilt and sheet in the basket, and I slept on the bare mattress, naked, happy, citrus still faint in the room from the day. I did not text him. One night is a complete object. I like complete objects.