Doorknobs!
I blame mum’s soup.
I mean there were contributing factors, the fact it’d been left in the fridge for three weeks probably hadn’t helped, but it was mostly the soup. Vegetarian cuisine has an unfair reputation for exercising the digestive system, but mum’s soup very much lives up to the lentily hype.
It’s Sunday afternoon, we’re both sprawled about the living room, he on the sofa, me on the beanbag watching unlikable people competing for underwhelming prizes on the tv. He leans, theatrically, onto one buttock and screws up his face.
“Safe,” he declares.
About a minute later I smell the fart. I grab a cushion and throw it at him, telling him he’s a repugnant excuse for a human being.
“Hey, them’s the rules, at least I’m being honest about it.”
“It’s a stupid fucking get out clause, I should be able to ‘doorknobs you’ anyway.”
“But that’s not the rules,” he says, grinning.
I make a few disapproving grunts and turn back to the tv.
“Safe,” he says a few minutes later.
“That’s just horrible, look, can’t you go somewhere else if you’re going to–”
He interrupts me with an audible display of flatulence.
“D0–”
“–Safe!–”
“–orknobs!”
I scowl at him and, without a word, pick up and re-fluff the beanbag, before slumping back into it, facing straight at him.
“You’re not going to win,” he says, grinning.
I smile sweetly back at him. I don’t want to.
It takes a while, good old mum’s soup has been working its way through my system for hours, but I want it to be good. I sit very still, letting the bloated feeling grow inside me.
He farts another three times, each one accompanied by the word “safe” and an infuriating wink. Finally I can’t hold it in any further. I close my eyes and clench. The walls echo with the burbling thunder-clap of my flatulence. I open my eyes and grin at him. For a moment he’s transfixed, mouth hanging loosely open. I continue to grin at him in silence, not saying the word, daring him. His lips recover themselves enough to shape the word.
“Doorknobs!”
The nearest door is the one between the living room and hallway, but as there’s no handle we agreed weeks ago that it doesn’t count. This means I’ve got to get all the way to the front door of the flat, and he’s allowed to do whatever he likes to try to stop me.
He lurches towards me, but I’m already rolling out of the way, carpet hissing against cloth as I come up into a crouch and make for the door. I’m jolted back by his hand grasping my ankle, sending me sprawled, kicking and giggling. I manage to free my foot, and flail both legs defensively while I drag my body forward, forearms burning and red as they scrape against the floor.
I grab the door, dragging myself up and getting my feet back under me, only to be shot forward by his shoulder catching me behind the knees. We slam into the vinyl covered floor of the hallway. My kicks are useless this time and I feel him muscling his way up my body like quicksand. I let out a sound, half giggle, half shriek and try to reach for something, anything, to drag myself along with. My skin raises wet, rubbery squeaks from the floor. I feel his weight pinning my knees, my thighs, my hips.
A hand grasps my shoulder and I know I’ve lost, but I don’t stop struggling. Another hand clenches around my waistband, tugging at my trousers and knickers. Without unfastening them the waist of the trousers is tight, scraping and crushing my buttocks as he forces them down, rubbing tight against my struggling thighs. He lets go of my trousers and I hear him unfasten his trousers. The he grabs my other shoulder and pushes my chest into the floor as, one after the other, he nudges his knees between mine, prying my legs apart.
My arms sweep helplessly back and forth to either side of me, I buck and writhe trying to shake him off but it’s futile. I feel him lower himself over me, the heat of his crotch against my bare buttocks. I squeak and squeal as he moves into position, but I don’t say stop, because I know he would. Because I know that in a moment I could have him cradling my head in his lap and whispering reassurances to me while stroking my hair.
He pushes his cock into me. It’s a struggle. My hips against the floor and the angle of him pinning me down means that he has to push hard and deep to get even a portion of his cock into my pussy. And he wants me so badly, he pushes so very very hard. He pumps himself into me, fast and powerful, roughly using me for his own pleasure, his balls slapping furiously against my clit with every thrust. He grinds me into the floor as he fucks me until we’re both lost in panting sweaty exhaustion and I feel his cock jerk triumphantly inside me.
I put a hand to my shoulder, stroking my fingers over his, asking him to lie on top of me and warm me like a blanket. He obliges and we lie together, forceful grasps giving way to tender holding, muscles unknotting, limbs intertwining. All is quiet, until mum’s soup forces one last release from him. I pull his head close to me and whisper, “Doorknobs!”
Love it! Hot, sexy and simultaneously gross!
that is simply fabulous, i love the fun that they are having in such an ultimately sexy scene!
This sounds like a scene from REAL life. Love the fun and grossness of it!
Rebel xox