Gothic Plum

Gothic Plum

"Time to get ready," he says, leaving her embrace to pull on his trousers. "I'll be downstairs."

She waits, tangled in the sheets, savoring his backside as he walks away. So easy for him to get dressed up.

In the bathroom, she breathes in his lingering scent. Her back arches, recalling his breath on her neck and his hardness against her from behind. Her thighs ache from being wrapped around him, but the flowing water eases her tension with a blur of serenity.

Towel around her hair, she steps out of the shower and smiles as she inspects the reflection in the mirror. Mascara lines run down her cheeks, her makeup ruined from the tears she shed, gagging on him over and over again. She wipes away the streaks and opens her bag to start anew.

She stops. A new item sits atop the others, a piece of parchment rolled up like a scroll, held in place with a red wax seal.

Breaking the seal, she unrolls the note, which contains a single sentence:

You will wear this tonight, babygirl.

She shivers, in a room hot and humid with steam.

Inside the rolled note is a single case of lipstick. It's a bold, stark hue. She finds the name: Gothic Plum. Smirking, she holds it next to her fingers. Is it coincidence that the shade matches her nail polish? The same one he picked for her last weekend.

Her routine is automatic: It gives her headspace to remember, and to imagine. A tingle passes along her arms, and up to her neck. She picks up her phone and sends him a single text:

"I can still feel you."

She's nearly ready by the time he replies. "Good."

It's time for the lipstick. Slowly, she turns the bottom to expose the color inside, and paints the deep, dark shade across her lips.

---

He's waiting for her as she treads down the stairs, engrossed in a book until he looks up, pages forgotten.

"Oh my," he says, eyes lingering on her lips, then back down over her busty chest, jet black skirt, and revealing fishnets.

He's dressed to match in a dark sleeveless shirt with canvas buckles running across the front, collar fastened tight enough it must be choking him slightly. She stops herself from licking her lips, lest she smudge the plum still wet from application.

"Shall we?" she asks, sizing him up as he stands.

"We shall," he says, taking her hand in his and kissing it before leading her to the door. He reaches down to explores the curve of her hip, squeezing tight. She breathes in deeply, recalling that same grip, and the feel of his pelvis against hers.

She steps closer and her lips creep forward toward his, stopping when they are separated by centimeters. He tilts his head to kiss her, and she stops him, hand against his chest.

"Now, now," she says. "Wouldn't want to ruin this Gothic Plum before the night begins."

"Of course not," he replies through gritted teeth.

---

The warehouse pulses with throngs of humanity dressed in leather and lace. It's their least favorite part of any outing: An unfamiliar crowd.

"We're in this together," he says.

"I know." She smiles and clasps his hand, then they step into the moment. Naked bodies and smut adorn the art from wall-to-wall. They navigate the gawkers and the crowd envelops them with the smell of cheap booze and the sound of idle chatter.

A watercolor catches her eye. She stops, admiring the portrait of two naked bodies. One is on her stomach, the other pressed against her from behind, masculine hands wrapped around feminine ones. A moment of passion captured on canvas.

"Remind you of anything?" he says from behind. His arms envelop her waist. For a moment, it's just the two of them, and the couple in the painting. Everyone and everything else blurs away.

She turns her head, catching his bright blue eyes in her periphery. "That's us," she whispers.

The moment ends as a tottering woman in pasties and little else bumps against them and giggles at a nearby piece.

"Damn vanillas," they say together, grinning. He rests his head against her shoulder for a final quiet instant, beard gently prickling her neck, before they move on.

---

"What did you think?" he asks. The car is blessedly warm against the winter chill.

"I think you were the best of the show tonight."

"And I you." He reaches over to grasp her thigh. Their lips meet fully this time, and she allows herself the slightest of moans.

"Now, now. Careful with the fishnets," she says. "I want to wear them again."

His grip tightens. "Whatever you say, my slut. My gorgeous Gothic Plum."

She feels her eyes widen against her will.

"We best get home," she says, pressing her thighs together and holding them tight.

---

They cut through the night, past streetlamps and restaurants, white picket fences and carefully landscaped yards. The house is cold and dark. He forgot to leave a light on.

They make it through the door, and not much further. She reaches to flip on the light, and his hand stops her, gripping her wrist.

Ah, he didn't forget.

His outline edges closer in the darkness, and she grunts, backed up against the wall. Lips find her neck, and then her shoulder. Oh, Fuck. She bites her tongue not to cry out, as the softness of his lips turns to the bite of teeth on her flesh.

He's got both of her wrists now, held above her in one of his hands. The other has somehow made its way inside her clothes, middle finger running softly over her clit. Teasing bastard. She'll show him.

"Let me taste myself," she says as she meets his eyes through the darkness.

"Let me taste myself..."

"Fuck. Let me taste myself, please."

He looks down at her from over his glasses, saying nothing, finger inching deeper inside her.

"Let me taste myself please, Daddy."

"There it is," he says as he brings his finger to her lips. It smells of her lust, and tastes of her arousal. She wraps her lips around his finger, enveloping it, watching his eyes.

He lets in a single breath as she finishes, a look forming on his face, jaw set forward.

She spins around, showing off her curves. His hard cock finds the small of her back and slides down to her ass, pressing against the thin material separating them, letting her feel his arousal before he steps to the side.

He holds her wrists against the wall once more with one hand while the other sneaks inside her clothes again, sliding down her ass.

His teeth find her shoulder again, biting and sucking at her exposed skin as his hand sneaks further down, sliding between her asscheecks and pressing against the tight rosebud of her asshole.

"Do it," she begs. "Let me show you what an anal slut I am."

His harried breath rasps against the back of her neck as he plunges his finger into her. Her back arches, stomach hitting the wall from the force of his trust. His other hand releases her wrists and slides underneath her clothing from the front once more as he finger fucks both of her holes at once.

"What do you want tonight, darling?" he asks into her ear.

"I want to show you what a dirty babygirl I can be," she says.

"And how are you going to do that?"

She pushes him away and falls to her knees. Her thighs shake as she takes each of his middle fingers in her mouth, silently sucking each of them clean, one after the other. Small streaks of Gothic Plum coat his fingers as her lips pass over them.

Finally, she stands. "Shall we?" she asks, smile grazing her lips.

He takes her hand and leads her on, deeper into the darkness.

---

A half a dozen candles flicker in the bedroom, light playing across his naked body as she finishes undressing him. He stands before her, chest tense with anticipation, muscles taunt as she allows her hands to linger over her favorite parts. She skips over his hardness, instead massaging his thighs and calves. She lets her hand slide back up, stopping just short of his groin.

Finally, he breaths in and then lets out a long, slow groan, head tilted at the ceiling.

She smirks and lays down on the bed, stomach down, still mostly clothed in her outfit. Her hand reaches over the edge to continue teasing him.

"I knew you couldn't stay quiet for long," she says.

He takes her hand in reply, placing it against his shaft. He strokes himself with her hand, letting out a string of guttural moans. The dam has burst.

"Already soaked," she observes, smiling at the wetness of precum on her palm.

He lowers himself to her level, allowing their eyes to meet, her hand still slowly stroking him.

"You want this cock."

"Yes."

"Show me. Show me how much you want it. Beg with your body."

Her hips rise and fall. Over and over, she thrusts against the bed.

"Harder," he says.

She forces herself to hump the mattress with all her strength as he stares into her eyes, still sliding her hand over his slippery cock.

"Good girl," he says at last. He motions for her to sit up, legs over the edge of the bed. She glances at his cock, standing at attention before her. She tries to inch closer, but he presses her backwards, holding her in place.

"It's time to get you naked." He pulls off her top, letting her breasts free. He takes them in his mouth, sucking and biting at her, growing more urgent as the tip of his cock rubs against her legs. He pulls at her bottoms, muscles tensing against her.

"Remember the fishnets," she breathes.

"They're coming off."

She moves her hips upward so he can peel them off.

"No. Not like that."

She gives him the most subtle of nods, and he growls like a beast come to life from some forgotten Penny Dreadful. Taking the lace in both hands, he tightens his grip on the fishnets.

"Oh, shit," she says, as he tears them apart.

---

He's on top of her, looking down upon his prey. She closes her eyes, spreading her thighs open for him, waiting.

"Tell me what you want," he says, the tip of his cock playing against the folds of her cunt.

She takes a breath, and then releases it, letting out the first thing that comes to her mind. "Fuck me like you hate me," she says. He tilts his head, considering.

"You get ten thrusts. Ten thrusts to show me that you deserve more. Can you do that?"

She presses her plum-smeared lips against his in reply.

He enters her, driving deep. One.

He grips and smacks her breasts as she looks up at him, forcing her eyes open so she can watch his teeth clench with desire. Two, three.

"Count for me," he says.

"Four," she whispers for him, in between grunts. "Five."

He withdrawals almost fully each time, then rams back into her sopping cunt. He lowers his mouth over hers, and with his sixth thrust he gathers saliva on his lips and allows it to drip into her waiting mouth.

"Seven," she says, as his hand wraps around her throat.

"Eight," she croaks against his grip.

His arms envelop her head, pressing her against his shoulder.

"Nine," she says, voice muffled against him.

And finally, his tenth thrust hits the perfect spot, and she squeals.

"More," she begs. "Do it. More. Please. Do it. Do it!"

He pounds her. She shakes and tightens around him. Time expands, then contracts. Her body pulses, her feet tingle, and pleasure overtakes her. Everything is wet. He's gripping her arms against her body with his, cock pulsing until finally she feels him release, waves of seed smashing against the walls of her throbbing cunt.

His body quiets against her, still holding her down, both of them panting for breath. They lay still, her head in his arms, his lips finding her cheeks and forehead.

Her eyelids feel heavy as blankets cover her in a cocoon of warmth. His arms wrap around her waist as she drifts to sleep, his Gothic Plum utterly spent.