You Can Keep Your Hat On

clown woman in bowler hat

Emma is laying on her stomach on a sagging bed in a darkened hotel room with Dance’s hands moving smoothly up and down the muscles beside her spine, along the flare of bones in her hips, and around to the edges of her belly. He’s careful, not tickling her, and his body feels very warm. He’s taken the lover’s liberty of straddling her thighs and leaning over her to reach as far as he can up her back, up into her neck sometimes.

She can feel him trancing out on massaging her, all of his attention smoothing through his hands, pouring heat into the muscle knots, soothing the deep aching places in her pelvis with long careful persuasion. He brought her to an almost perfectly silent orgasm, all the more perfect for being so motionless, safe for her much-abused back muscles. He has no hesitation telling her how much her odors have been changing during her period, and how much it turns him on. But the massage oil smells lightly of sandalwood because he’s diluted it by half with unscented oil, telling her that it’s just too strong for him, he can’t take the original dosage.

She feels a pause in his movements, a shift in his attention. She murmurs a questioning lazy noise without turning her head.

He says, “SSssshhh,” and kisses her on the small of her back, his hair brushing at her. “Drin,” he murmurs, kissing along her tired spinal bones, licking her skin, breathing on her. No one else has ever been able to lick the small of her back and have her purr in bliss. She doesn’t even think to twitch.

She’s seen him reduce Drin to the same sort of dazed sprawl. At the time, she thought then it was the single hottest thing she’d ever experienced. She keeps having to knock it down the list as the boys keep giving her more interesting experiences. It’s still good enough to warm a cold night.

The lock clicks, the door opens a crack, Drin murmurs something, and steps in, a tall shadow. He does not turn on another light. In the relative darkness, he sets down a paper bag on the table, puts down car keys and coins, shrugs out of his coat, hangs it up. Then he walks up to the bed, looking at them. “God,” he says. “Feel better, Emm?”

nude woman's back, feet foreground, b/w photo
starting with the feet

“Oh yes,” she murmurs. “Oh yes.”

Dance kisses her again, moving his tongue on her pelvic crests, brushing her sides with his hands. She can feel his genitals sliding along her thighs as he shifts weight, and then he’s braced his hands on either side of her and straightened his knees from his crouch, lifting his hips up, away from her. She can hear a little clatter as Drin’s pants hit the floor. Cool air rushes between them for a moment, and she hears the sounds of paper being ripped, and the moist little noise of the lube cap being opened.

The end of the poor bed sags further when Drin’s weight joins theirs. Dance braces up, with a soft little sigh, and she can feel his thigh muscles harden in place, taking up the strain. “Ahh,” he sighs, and a little drool of syrupy warmth slides onto the back of her knee. His penis brushes her leg now and then, but none of their combined weight ever comes down onto her fragile back, not the whole time they are making the bed rock and groan around her. She’s come to trust them for that. She lies there blissfully loose in the cage of Dance’s limbs, listening to them breathe and moan and make love. Dance is very strong. She’s not worried. Not even when she feels something touching her side lightly, resting against her like a hand, the tip of it stroking her ecstatically. Whatever it is, it loves her. It feels warm and reassuringly solid. She knows what it isn’t. His wrists are halfway buried in the mattress on either side of her, and she can hear what Drin has been doing to his genitals.

Drin knows that body so well that he can do anything he likes with it. She doesn’t have to see it to know every motion of Dance’s body is as fluid and responsive as when he’s dancing a tango, his face turning to bliss, arching up into it, with Drin’s big hands all over his skin. Tonight Drin is driving their reactions at a steady long-distance rhythm that reminds her of the way the big old car rocks and sways around them when he drives.

She closes her eyes, seeing the long white lines fading off into the darkness of the night, and falls asleep.


Challenge: Cornered

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