“You know what your problem is?” she exhaled a soft blue plume of smoke and stubbed out her cigarette on the edge of her saucer, swigging back the last of her tea with a zeal and authority that made me feel weak. “Your problem is that you just don’t understand how to please a woman.” She looked at me, through me, and smiled. “Despite being one.”

She unfolded her legs from beneath her and stretched, arching with feline grace, her small breasts jutting towards me where I lay beside her, wrecked and lazy from fucking, my thighs clinging wetly to one another in the warm dampness of the bed. Her glossy, blunt hair was tousled, the only thing about her that might convey vulnerability; my Deco Diva come undone. She slid herself on top of me, sitting on my belly like it was her throne, the heels of her hands crushing my shoulders into the mattress, her feet hooked up onto my thighs. She was so much stronger than she looked.

“Is that so?” my quip was followed by a smirk that made her take my chin roughly with her hand, her dark eyes on mine.

“What would you do if I pushed my cunt into your face right now?” she whispered against my mouth. The acrid sweetness of her earlier cigarette on her breath made her feel all the more dangerous to me.

“Exactly what I did last night.”

“And what was that?”

“I … pleased you.”

“Did you, now?” she laughed in my face and it made my cunt twitch and melt.

“Didn’t I?”

“I’ll never tell …” her teeth crushed my lower lip and she licked the roof of my mouth as we kissed. My body begged her to tease me again, to mock my stupid, brutish words and then silence me as she used my mouth for something more than talking. I shivered beneath her heat and basked in the power she exuded, my stomach slick from where her cunt was grinding into me.

“This isn’t real love, ” she whispered. “I’m just playing with you, my dumb little toy.”

“I know.” I swallowed by heart back down into my chest and she hitched her hips closer to my face, laughing as I blushed, her irresistible musk overtaking me. Her cunt was velvety and dark as she consumed my face and I cried hot tears, humiliated at how I worshipped her, grateful that she would not hear me crying as she came.


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Violet Fawkes

Violet Fawkes (she/her) is a freelance writer and sex blogger focusing on pleasure education, erotic fiction, and the intersection of identity, kink and mental health.