Pretty in Pink

With matching words came matching enthusiasm, the man’s strokes increasing in strength and urgency; a steady progression of intensity, culminating in a vigour befitting the request.

“Yeeesss,” Jessica purred, still enjoying the easy candour of her anonymity, safe in the knowledge her partner had no expectations or motivations beyond the obvious: “Make me cum!”

She tried to say more but to little avail as her words were undone by the tempo they inspired. Her arms succumbing to the weight of his thrusts, inching her body closer to the wall; her breasts compressing against the wooden divide as her partner proceeded to rock her against it.

An exhilarating minute passed, or maybe two, and so emerged a score of sharp inhalations and soft moans muffled by the percussive accompaniment of their colliding bodies. Still Jessica spurred the man on, in voice and in deed, compelling him forward with occasional expletives, and using what little leverage the position afforded her to push herself against him whenever he slowed. Her efforts were rewarded by those of her partner as he continued to fuck her without refrain, the pitch of her moans informing his pace while he fashioned an angle bespoke to her pleasure.

“So good,” effused Jessica, her pussy conforming to the shape of his cock, its curve caressing her anterior wall. It was a singular sensation soon joined by another: an orgasm, nascent but unmistakable, swelling inside her. She closed her eyes, and her mind drifted into delirium, memories and imaginings overlapping into labyrinthine thought; a fever dream from which she was **** to wake but deprived of the choice when her partner stepped back.

“Noooo!” Jessica growled, refused the conclusion which had seemed so assured. She turned to admonish the man but his preemptive apology denied her that pleasure too.

“Sorry,” he said, his tone sincere but markedly strained. His posture spoke of the same malaise, the heat of the sauna having taken its toll.

“Are you okay?” Jessica asked, returning the courtesy of his earlier concern.

“Yeah,” the man rejoined; his nodded response at odds with its accompanying mannerisms, his shoulders heavy, breathing laboured. His appearance was that of a man who shouldn’t be standing, so Jessica asked if he wanted to sit.

“Please,” he replied and duly obliged, traipsing the distance back to his seat.

Jessica followed immediately after, her return to the bench unburdened by the concerns that had caused her to leave it, all apprehensions now afterthoughts to an enduring desire for closure. She observed her admirer, sat ready in wait, his arms tentatively outstretched as if grasping for a mirage that would fade upon the attempt. Absolved of her own uncertainty, Jessica sought also to relieve him of his. She stepped up on the first bench and kneeled on the second, one leg either side of his as she lowered herself onto him.

She looked into his eyes and he responded in kind, their stares unwavering during the steady descent; the pair immersed in mutual admiration as the ambient light acted as an equalizer, concealing perfections and imperfections alike. Even veiled in dusk, Jessica’s looks alone could separate almost any man from his restraint. But what would be the fun in that? she mused. No, Jessica had other plans for the one man audience, equal parts captive and captivated, beneath her.

“Relax,” she said with a softness that echoed the instruction, pressing two fingers to her paramour’s chest, “It’s my turn.”

Content to watch or simply too tired to insist otherwise, the man sat back; his hands on her hips but not altering their cadence as she began to roll them atop him….