AislingWeaver, Erotica

#Border :: #WankWednesday

The following was written in response to Ruby Kiddell’s #wankwednesday writing prompt. Do check out the rest!!


Smudged makeup on pale cheeks. Deep red stain gone irregular pushed past the border of a pair of lips. He’s her mirror, her confessor and conspirator.
Lillian hitched herself up on the vanity, leaning in, outline of reflection and reality a Rorschach test of fantasies. Will’s cock twitched. It could do little more, regardless of the inspiration.
“We can’t do this again.” Lillian said that every time, a weekly repetition that had long ago sounded a hollow echo of things left unspoken.
He looked at his hands, threaded together and resting on the soft swell of his middle aged stomach. The sun-dark skin of his arms stood out stark against the pale swell. His fingers were just as clearly outline when he cupped Lillian’s breast or ass.
“I know,” he finally answered, returning his attention to her magic trick. A dab of tissue, swipe of makeup and his lover erased his effect, once again composed and collected. His cock twitched again, swelling beneath the cool drape of the motel’s cheap cotton sheet.
She didn’t notice him rise. Unlike his mother, once mistress to some back alley mob brawler, Will was the one trapped, unable to refuse Lillian’s summons. He met his own glare in the mirror as she slid her dress over her head and tugged it down over her hips. His cock looked out of place against his body, all hard and jutting.
No one noticed her cry of alarm when he bent her over the sink. No one would in a place where you rented rooms by the hour. It was all business.
Will kicked her ankles apart, scrunching her dress up over her hips. He kissed his cock against his lover’s bare cunt. “You’re a bitch, Lillian,” he snarled, thrusting into her. Her expression twisted up in pleasure and fury, her muscles clamped around him, tighter than they’d been just a short while earlier.
He jabbed at her, short, angry thrusts that did nothing to alleviate the bleak cold climbing his spine. Could he spend himself when he wanted nothing more than a great tall building to dive from?
Lillian tried to speak; her mouth delivered only wordless sounds between the slap of his belly against her ass. His fury built; she drew closer to orgasm.
When her eyes drifted shut and her mouth gaped in an oh of pleasure his anger conquered his lust. His cock went soft between one thrust and the next. It angled against her cunt, no longer rigid enough to penetrate her fisted muscles.
Lilian cried out in frustration then in indignation.
Her cheeks glowed red. She jerked her dress down, swaying unsteadily. He watched her impassively as she gathered her clutch and strode out the door.
A mirthless chuckle bumbled up. Will dressed, ignoring the hysterical cackle that erupted from his lips from time to time.
“See you next week,” he told the mirror, tucking the tissue with Lillian’s mouth outlined in red into his pocket.

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