I can hear the city wake up slowly. The sounds of the multitude soon to drown silence disrupt the smells that overtake the city at night when very few are awake. I’ve grown accustomed to them, not the people and noise of the city, but the concoction of aromas in the wee times of dawn. I’ve wandered up and down these streets as if a vagabond searching for redeemable bottles, learning the intricacies of the night and its players. I’m not someone in the city, I’ve become part of the city.
I walk with a purpose but not a destination. For the past few hours I’ve been fooled by wind tunnels rushing around parked cars, tall buildings and dark alleys. They carry a foreign scent intently masking its origin from me. But I don’t care. I’m far too versed at this game of hide and seek. Sooner or later I’ll win.
I had expected the wind to calm down much sooner allowing an easier path to victory, but at last the still of the wind reveals the destination of my purpose. I walk hastily towards the taller buildings with bedroom lights sporadically turning on. I walk with my head down and hands in my pocket concealing a defensive apparatus that’s kept me safe tonight. It’s my handy companion through the back alleys that few find appealing.
The aroma intensifies as I approach the darkest part of the city known for the plethora of night plays. Plays that many fantasize about but few carry out. This close to the scent it is easy to track where I will conclude my venture. My walk has gone from a near gallop to a leisure. I’m in no hurry to discover what awaits me. I’ve been here before believing it was time for me to take role on a play, but I’ve but been moved by the finding.
I expect the result to follow the ones before it: a bewildering aroma turned futile. Between car horns, and the few garbage trucks cleaning the city, my footsteps cut through the silence of the night. The acute paddling of my footsteps echoes between the tall buildings. I am very close to the source of curiosity. I ignore the rustling coming from one of the alleys at the west side of the street, there are more important thoughts to appease.
There it is! I look to my left, my right, behind and in front of me. Between the two buildings, hiding amidst the stench left behind by the drunken few who’ve disgorged a good night in the city, along with urine, and broken bottles of emotional liquid suppressant, that musk blares at me. It’s the scent of man. I don’t know who. But, if the smell of cigar soaked in aged whiskey reveals anything to me, he can’t be another ignorant shrivel of man laying on his own regurgitation waiting for waste management employees to waken him in the morning.
Cigarette lights, I shake the match’s light off, and toss it in a puddle of water at the entrance of the Alley. I hold the cigarette, look ahead through the darkness and proceed. It’s dark in there, only a single-dim-light at the end of the corridor keeps total obscurity from taking over. A mob of cats is heard shredding a poor rodent that wasn’t too swift to out run them. There are a few garbage cans; some are house sized cans, while others are the type that needs to be lifted with forklifts. I haven’t any fear, I firmly grasp my trusty protector and advance towards the aroma. My heart hesitates to pulsate trying to keep all of my focus in sync with my safety.
I can’t see the person but, the smell of the cigar and aged whiskey, along with that seducing musk that’s brought me here is at arms length. I don’t know if he can see me, but if he’s half alive, the piercing sound of my shoes approaching him should have alerted of my presence. The continuous sound of a striking objects is distinct; someone is trying to ignite a friction match. I lowly inform the person to try a new match. The strong flame and smell of sulfur caused by the combustion make me look away.
There isn’t a need to place that match close to my face. I’m as appealing in the dark as I am in daytime.
The voice of man asks of me to follow him closer to the end of the alley where the lighting is appropriate for night encounters. What have I to lose! I pull my faithful companion out to greet the night, take a deep hit on the cigarette and follow the splash of his footsteps. By the time the spotlight at the end of the alley shapes more of his figure, my conviction has shed all doubt and readies for a play. Don’t walk any farther mister, I notify him.
We engage in small chitchat for sometime. By now a few more dormitory lights from the adjacent buildings have turned on. And, the sun is no less than a hour away from illuminating the autumn sky for the first time. He pulls out a flask out of his jacket, discards the cigar, and takes a solid drink. He hands it to me, but I decline. Of vice I only have cigarettes and the insomnia that keeps me roaming the nights.
It’s not difficult to know that I’m not one for games when it comes to play. I take the flask from his grasp, and toss it on the floor. Grabbing his hair I push him against the wall. He doesn’t have to tell me he’s not from around. His scent as well as his mannerism and speech reveal he’s as foreign to the city as his aroma is to the stench of beer spread throughout this alley. Still grasping his hair, I use my free hand to entice his right hand to lift my dress and feel the heat trapped behind my panties. He’s shy, but I’m not. So I force his hand to caress me. I pull my legs apart to clear an entrance for his hand. He plays, teases me by circling about the wet of me. I pull out his shy hand and slide my finger between my legs and right into me. Oh, I’m as warm as I am wet. Once, twice, trice, I slide in and out, up and out into my mouth, into his mouth.
The aged whiskey, the cigar, the aroma that brought me here, it appears they were all but a front to the shy man inside. He’s heart beats scared. It tells me that he fears that I’ll take his innocence without respect or care. I tell you, I do not… care. One by one each button holding my dress together from the very top to the bottom is released. Here is my body. I stand exposed to all the filth in the alley. I’m going to use whatever moral degradation resides in the alleys of this city and use them as a tool of pleasure.
With the stench in the alley he can’t possibly pickup the desire dripping from inside of me. My finger is still in his mouth. I know he likes the taste of my essence by the way his tongue is massaging my finger. I pull him down by the mouth right down to this knees. Had I been a man I would have shoved me deep inside his mouth looking to restrict his breathing with each thrust of my hips. I manage to place my left leg over his right shoulder, thrust my pelvis forward and use my hands to push his head forward to just where I want his mouth to land. Whether breathing easily, or with difficulty it’s not a care. Of interest is what I want to get from this play.
Every so often I loosen the grip of my hands against his head allowing him to freely moves his head, allowing his tongue and lips the ability to please me as he desires. I enjoy feeling that supple and moist body part separating my lips, stroking around drawing gratification from me. I like the times he uses his tongue to push my soft muscles aside, reaching inside in a prelude of the hard girth that awaits me. Enough of the sensuality, I shove his head against me again, but instead of waiting for his lips to move about, I tell him where to go, and how to go about it. My hips shift around, grinding on his mouth. He’s unshaven. I can feel the stubs of his mustache and beard irritating my skin. He’s trying to punish my audacity, but I like the feel of it all. Makes me feels decadent.
I didn’t walk the night to climax in a dark alley while shoving lips against my lips. I push him away, and again rub myself just to get a taste of how badly I want him to finish me off. I unbuckle his belt, the pants, slide his zipper down, and slowly lower his slacks down to the ankles, and pull the right leg right out of them. I bite my lower lip, run my tongue through the outline of my entire mouth, reach towards him and grasp him right under the entire package. I hold the sack on my hands, but not just it. I reach far behind with my index finger. He seems unwelcoming, but I tell him that in the alley, the ruling is of the feline. That, fortunately, is me. He clenches his posterior muscles, but all that’s going to happen right this second is a feel his discomfort.
I massage him slightly then proceed to engulf him with my mouth. In the deem light not much can be seen. I wish I could see the reaction in his face. My lips wrap tightly around him, my mouth soaks him, my teeth purposely scratching the tip. I hope it scratches him because a little discomfort is always necessary. Not only am I sucking him, I’m trying to inhale him. I wish him to feel the warmth of all of my mouth, just as I want him to feel the comfort of my throat. I gag, but just a little. I push his pelvis forward while still holding him and reaching between his legs far to the back. I’ve made him forget about where my index finger has rested for the past few swallows.
Now I’m pushing in, weakening him, taking him close but no so close. I love the feel of the body going all the way in and coming right back out continuously retrieving saliva out from my mouth into my lips. The veins… how easily it is to feel the shape of his every being when I push in meticulously; ever so meticulously that despite the clench of his buttocks, my index finger has entered where I’m positive I wasn’t asked to reach. The reaction of his knees tell me that not only am I correct of where I’m going, but that he didn’t think pleasure laid in the action. As deep as he reaches inside my mouth, is as pleasurable as I reach in him. The feel of my mouth, my tongue sliding out when thrusts of his deep into my mouth make him want to go in as far as he can in search of climax. I bet he likes the feel of my nose pressed against his lower abdomen when he’s fully in; how I gently nudge my head side to side clearing space for him to disappear in me. He’s liked it, both the slight abuse of my throat, as he has the feeling of my index finger expanding his vocabulary of debauchery.
This is not his night to use me. I’m here as the protagonist of this play. Not even as a supporting role, will he get a say in what’s to happen. I shove him by the hips off of me and against the wall. He trips on the flask and it goes flying making a thundering clash when it bounces against the wall and trashes about the floor. It broke open coupling the aroma of its contents to the stench of the dark alley. The few stray cats left behind after their meal hiss and yow before scurrying away. I know what I want and how am going to get it. I think to myself that I must hurry because too many windows now display bright lights. The dark is not even dark anymore, but a gray hue that will soon discern our identities.
I walk towards him against the brick wall, and pull him off it. I face the brick wall and rest my face on it with my left cheek. I look to the side while using my hands as balance against the wall. I’ll need the hands to keep my face from hitting the wall with any strength. I then take a step back creating space between the wall and my pelvis; I ensure to raise my butt, and spread my legs. I tell him to draw close and choose a pleasure.
He comes close and for the first time during the act he speaks. You might have used your finger, but I get to use something more adequate. I can tell you that I expected and wanted it. I spread my legs farther apart, and curved my back as much as I could preparing to be pleased. It was surprising that he didn’t go straight for it, instead he easily slide inside of me proving that nature creates the best of lubricants. He had fooled me, the girth inside of me felt bigger and harder than that I found smacking the back of my throat. Although I tried to cushion the impact on my face against the wall it didn’t help much, he was holding my face steady against it, marking the bricks on my face, scratching my face with signs of desire. I lust for both, the scratches telling me he was real, and the throbbing pushing in and out of me. This part of the scene is comparable to that of my lips – the constant slap of his pelvis against my ass and the withdraw of him from inside of me retrieved saturation that dripped throughout my vulva, just as it did down my thighs. There is enjoyment in knowing that the morning is almost here, that the neighbors can be watching as I take a man without begging for mercy. He works at different whims. He goes fast and hard, slow and steady, short and quick thrusts with just the head coming in and out, then pushing it all in colliding against my butt causing my face to shift around against the bricks. I’m going to need more make up in the morning.
He withdrew, then slid his thumb where he had just been while using his index finger to massage me; to press against me soaking his hand. His thumb but amused me after just being cater to with more mass than it could present. I didn’t want to miss much, so I reached behind with my right hand to feel that girth and pull it towards where I wanted it. He caressed me before he pushed it in. The caress was certainly attempts to lubricate the area before making me feel the bliss remaining within him.
Hold steady, he told me while grabbing my waist with both his hands. He assumed that I was going to change my mind and enter an unwelcoming position. After sweetly caressing me with his fingers, and briefly his tongue, he stood up and showed me the feel of the tip slowly pushing in. I didn’t move, I want to feel how I would wrap around the head. Once I did, I forced back with all my might and took him in. He took a step backwards unprepared for my approach. He had to stand strong and feel shoves of my buttocks back into him. He stood in a defensive position cushioning each strike, using his hands to prevent my full exit when moving forward looking for leverage.
Off all the sounds of the morning, only ours was indiscreet. It moaned, and cursed about wanting to climax in that filthy alley. I wanted to leave my morale there; leave it to whatever audience was present to judge how well I performed; leave it to puritans to forsake my being. The scene spoke for itself – a stranger to the city just had part of the city.
I pushed back constantly, asking him if I felt as tight as he had expected; asking if he liked that he was hurting me; how the hard girth and length made me not want to stop this play, even if I came. But this wasn’t for him. I never intended to fishing. I pulled forward loosening from the grip of my hips. I turned around to look at him. He was sweaty, panting, fully engorged. He looked delightful enough to conclude the scene. But I couldn’t! The sun was out, the night cats were sleeping, the flask was broken void of aged whiskey, and I wanted to stay saturated, filled with desire, and walk out to welcome the multitude with a stench of drunken sex, even if a drop of liquid emotional suppressant I hadn’t…
My back leaning against the wall, I ponder about it all.