Hot wind whispered softly through the cherry trees–the late summer evening telling heady, perfume-laden secrets everyone already knew, like rumors that had been around the block enough times to become folk tales. It made the inhabitants of the apartment lazy and slow, sweat trickling into hidden crevices, skin sticking to skin.
Fortune spread her legs to the fan in the window and caught her own scent as it wafted, pungent with the musk of sex, across her face. Roderick caught it, too, and it pulled him from his brief sleep, animal instinct overriding heat-fatigue.
Eyes at half-mast, he reached across the bed to run his fingers across his mistress’s naked, belly, circling her navel with his forefinger. The nearly imperceptible tremor beneath her skin, deep in the muscle of her lower abdomen, sang ancient poetry to the sleeping dragon between his thighs, and the dark onyx sparkle of her eyes made him hungry with a need to possess and protect. She spread her ruby lips and licked them, breathing in deeply. He watched her small breasts heave upward and then down, her torso undulating slowly and shallowly. It mimicked the u-shaped waves on a peaceful lake, and his gazed followed them to the shore of her perfectly groomed pubic hair, black and glossy.
Roderick reached his hand between her open thighs, slipping his fingers between her labia to find her most precious jewel. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, rolled it like a pearl, and pinched it until her breath stopped and a cat-like cry caught in her throat.
Though they moved slowly, the intensity was always just below the wave of heat, ready to strike. They’d already fucked seven times today, and the skin of his cock was raw. But she was insatiable, waking every hour to consume him. It’s what kept him coming back to her and why he’d offered to keep her this way, tending to her financial needs and coming to her as often as he was able.
“Eight has long been regarded as the luckiest number in my culture,” Fortune whispered, as she grazed her deep-red nails across Roderick’s sensitive thigh. He twitched as the sensation shot upward, toward his hip-socket and directly toward the base of his growing cock.
Fortune sat up, but Roderick kept hold of her bodily offering between his fingers as she crawled on top of him, straddling him high on her knees to allow room for his impending erection to bloom beneath her.
“It is associated with prosperity and joy,” she continued.
His fully-erect cock pointed like an arrow between the v of her spread thighs, just inches from touching the slick, swollen pink of her folds.
“Then for country and luck, we must…” he replied.
Fortune bit her lip as he pinched her clitoris harder, and she lowered herself down to meet the head of his cock, her wet, petal-soft skin sucking him in with intoxicating warmth. He could feel the ridges of her pelvic bones squeezing against him as he entered her deeply, her tiny frame — a most gracious hostess — accommodating all of him. The perfect bulbs of her ass cheeks rested briefly against his scrotum, and then she began to fuck him, her eyes squeezed shut above her high, blushing cheekbones. The points of her black hair, cut at an exact a-line angle, brushed her shoulders as she moved back and forth, and his eyes focused in on the tattoo just below her right breast…a fortune cookie, with an expected slip of white protruding from its inner shadow. The words printed on the paper, I am the maker of my own fortune, were faded enough he’d had to squint to read them when he’d first seen it. He’d known then:Your name isn’t really Fortune, is it? She’d kissed him then, evasively. So it would remain hidden with hundreds of other little details she doled out to him like sweets to a well-behaved child, strategically and over time.
He released her clitoris and licked the fingers that had held it. She tasted sweet and smelled of salted honey. Looking up into her eyes, he felt the first impulses of his building orgasm. Reaching behind her, Fortune took his balls in her hand and squeezed loosely as his abdomen contracted and his back arched. His head pressed back into his pillow, exposing his neck, and she could feel his thigh muscles tight beneath her.
His whole body taut and rigid, pulsing from its core, she leaned forward and kissed the depression between his clavicles, collecting a pen from the nightstand as she sat back up. Roderick relaxed and focused on letting his breathing slow incrementally. He rested his hands on Fortune’s thighs. She took his left hand in hers, turning it palm-side up. Right above his heart line, she wrote the word Joy.
This was the original draft I was working with for Smut Marathon round #6. I had too many words and couldn’t figure out how to keep it together with loads of cuts. I also felt that the judges and readers wouldn’t find it “hot” enough…since that seems to be a recurrent problem for me…and that it was maybe still too “sad”…which is also something that many readers/judges are turned off by. I went with a second choice that I knocked out in a day. It fared decently, but I still like the essence of this story better. It has the wistful, incomplete contentment that I like my stories to have.