Waltz for Venus

I'm poised over him, his tip at my enterance.

He's someone new, I found him at a club the weekend before last.

We're on a white leather couch in one of his stores on La Brea.

Balancing myself with one hand on the back of the couch, my knees on either side of his thighs, I rub against him, making him slick and smooth. He leans his head back and moans when I use him to pleasure myself.

The only light comes in through a window above the storefront, all other light being blocked by the metal siding that shows this location is closed for the day. Even though it is midafternoon and sunny, everything is gray through this glass filter.

When I near orgasm, he flips me onto my back, fingers driving deep and searching. Puddles pool on the leather as my body spasms and spasms again.

As my breathing stabilizes, his cock finds its way to my mouth.


He wants something from me, something other than sex. I do not know what it is, though I listen to his words, listen to the things he does not say, does not comment on, and try to piece it together. I think I'm missing information, but I'll understand soon enough.