Quick Colorful Encounters – I just Can’t Say It

Flash Fiction of 1500 words or less.
Flash Fiction of 1500 words or less.

“Where is my hand?”

Sweat poured down my forehead, stinging my eyes, as I strained against the pressure of her hand. I sank my teeth into the flesh of my tongue to the point where I swear I could taste blood, even though I hadn’t broken the skin. Kalyn was as determined to make me say it as I was resistant to not utter that word.

It’s not to say that it has never left my lips. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in frustration. It’s a word that, even though it’s used sometimes to describe exactly where is her hand is located, I couldn’t bring my lips to say it. I attempted to close my thighs and grant myself a moment of relief, which only made Kelyn force a third finger inside me.

“Oh, fuck!”

My body shuddered.

That word, I have no problems with. I can say fuck without hesitation. It’s one of my favorites. There’s something wonderful about how those four letters create a cornucopia of pleasure once it’s released from your gullet. Hell, sometimes I walk about the house singing it at the top of my lungs because it brings a smile to my face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Beautiful, poignant, sometimes powerful, other times, silly. It can mean so much to so many for all sorts of different reasons. And even though it’s considered a curse word, a four letter word, it’s become such a part of my lexicon I don’t know how I could live without it, but that’s not the four letter word Kelyn wanted me to say.

My struggle against her force made me more slick between my legs. Her hand glided deep inside me, despite my resistance, and I felt just moments away from giving into her and belting it out but… I just can’t do that. Not now, not like this, not…

“You fucking, bitch!”

The bite from her fingers pinching my nipples through my blouse caught me off guard. My body soared on the pain. I thrust my hips forward. She turned her hand upward in response, fluttering her fingers in the vicinity of my pleasure zone. I gasped, held my breath, and swiveled my hips in a failed attempt to force her digits to stroke me where I needed them most.

“Say it. It’ll set you free.”

I squeezed her wrist and clenched my pussy hard, attempting to force her fingers into a point but she was too strong. This was the hand she used on the neck of her guitar and the decades of playing power chords and intricate solos was no match for my sudden infatuation with yoga. My will started to bend. After all it’s just a word, right? What harm could it do? Except I made a scene about how much I hated that word when it rolled off her lips with such ease as she referred to the bass player in the band the went up just before hers. They had history. They had hatred towards each other. I understood that and maybe it was warranted but that word makes my skin crawl.

It was only a few hours ago that Kelyn was in my office at the bank opening up a new account. I had no intention of ending up in her dressing room, legs open, pussy sodden as her gifted hands worked me into a frenzy. I didn’t even ask what type of music she played. I should’ve been able to tell by the flyer. I was too taken by the way she undressed me in that plexiglass cubical to question her invitation. The transparent fishbowl we were sitting in started to fog up before she left. Now here I sit, dressed in my business suit, surrounded by posters of legendary punk rock bands, as the scent of my sex cuts through the lingering smell of stale cigarettes, beer, and weed that hung in the air.

I shut my eyes hoping the darkness might give me enough strength to keep her at bay but I lost my focus when I spotted a vintage The Runaways poster. I used to finger myself senseless dreaming of Lita Ford eating me out while my other hand was wrist deep in Joan Jett. Sandy and Cherie each had one of my breasts in their mouths while Jamie worked my asshole over. I didn’t even buy any of their music until I was in college but damn that poster and those memories. They pulled me out of my current state just long enough for Kelyn to use it against me by placing her thumb against the hood of my clit, exposing it to the sweltering air of her dressing room before igniting it with a slow deliberate flick from the tip of her tongue.

The Runaways
The Runaways

I clutched her short cropped black hair and yanked her head back. The sight of her lips, shiny from my juices as her olive-skinned hand was lodged between my caramel thighs almost made me come. My legs trembled as I forced her head towards mine for a kiss. Then she stroked her fingertips inside me, forcing me to gasp, followed by a pained whine of desire that shot from my mouth as my wound beckoned her to finish me with an unexpected squirt.

“Say it,” she growled just above a whisper with our lips so close I could feel her breath. “Tell me where my hand is at?”

“You shouldn’t end sentences with a preposition.”

“Smart ass.”

Kelyn gave my insides a quick slap. My stomach tightened as my body quivered until a sudden harsh knock on her dressing room door startled us.

“Five minutes,” called the gruff voice of the stage manager.

Kelyn chuckled before delivering a stare that told me she hasn’t begun to torture me from the depths of her skill. I swallowed hard. More nervous than excited. To calm myself I reached down and plopped her breast out from her loose fitting shirt. They were magnificent in every way with almost chocolate erect nipples against her tender skin. I pushed her back until I could wrap my lips around one and gave it a firm nip as I sucked away on it. She hummed and clutched my breast as her other hand played patty cake with my g-spot until I was writhing. Then her hand moved up my neck to my throat and with a gentle squeeze had me lost in her power, her strength, and floating on a tidal wave of sensations as she pulled in her thumb and entered me fully.

“Kelyn,” I whimpered.

I looked past her arm on my gullet to see her hand had disappeared inside me to the blue Star of David tattoo at the base of her wrist. She brought her fingers together, accented that with a tight squeeze of my throat, and I came violently around her hand. The strain intensified my orgasm. I’d never come so hard in my life, or so I thought until Kelyn released her grip on my throat for a second, allowing the rush of blood to my head to shoot me to another plane. I was suspended, unhinged, and embracing every second of this indescribable intensity. And just as quickly as it had embraced me Kelyn shut it down by reinforcing her grip.

“Now where is my hand, Erica?”

I could still breathe but she owned me as the craving for that rush consumed me. The letter “c” rushed out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop myself and I didn’t want to stop it. Her hand was there. Deep, wet, firm, and beautiful. It was heavenly and nasty, filthy and blissful. The semantics didn’t matter. I knew where her hand was and it didn’t matter what I called it because what I felt in this moment was so much more important.

“In my cunt,” I squealed.

Kelyn let go of my throat. The rush almost made me black out as I scraped my fingernails across the tarnished wood of the already damaged counter. Kelyn slipped her hand from inside me and licked her glistening fingers one by one, sucking each digit, and giving me a smile that would’ve made me melt if I already wasn’t limp.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?” Kelyn smirked before she kissed me. I continued to quiver, still under her spell, and locked my dream like gaze on her. I forced my body to sit up and reached for my panties but Kelyn snatched them away from my grasp.

“You’ll get these back after my set. You can stay here if you like.”

All I could do was nod. Kelyn put my panties in her pocket and left me alone in her dressing room. Just me and my cunt, still wet, still lost in her power, and now craving what she’d let me do to her after her next set.

© Kendel Davi 2015

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