On Snow White Carpet - Sex~Kitten.net

I'm not exactly the practical sort. Not that practical has ever figured into my life. So when David took me into his room I plopped onto the bed, fumbling around, searching for the remote. He walks into the bathroom, saying something that I don't hear. I'm too busy decoding images flashing on the television. A love triangle projected from space for my viewing pleasure. My pleasure like everything worth being apart of. And I sit there hypnontized by the dancing lights from the t.v. screen, trying to figure out which friend is fucking which other friend, and of those friends which is doing it out of malice and out of love. It’s a lot of work and I become bored easily--an odd resemblance to my life.

I turn to the side table and am confronted with a picture of David and his girlfriend Sara, on vacation, hugging one another, smiling. Maybe they’re in the Swiss Alps, or the Caribbean. Wherever it is, I decide I never want to go there and I grab the picture frame and turn it over. David jaunts back into the room. He's in his Sunday's best--nipple clamps connected by a thin, dangling chain and a hard-on. He also seems to have added excess pomade to his hair. I don’t think he could have looked any cheesier had he tried.

"What do you want?" I ask him obtusely.
"Well, what do you think?" He says as he strokes his cock.

I talk in riddles, backwards and forwards a series of ill equipped words quickly strung together to make sense of ideas flying around in my head. I talk incessantly, but I don't answer him. Instead I get up and walk to the window. I turn and look at him and decide silently that he looks pretty stupid. Actually, he looks pretty goddamn immaculate.

Still, I know he's dumb as a brick, but I’ve made compromises for perfect bodies before—and this will be no different. I know exactly what guys feel like when they get stuck with the incredibly hot, but daft sorority chick. It is never as empty as you think it will be. I sigh as I realize I am about to mount a sculpture. All stone and no heart. Bodies are not meant to be this perfect.

"You don't plan to screw in here. Do you?" I ask as I start taking off my sweater.
"In my house?"
"No stupid. In Jesus' house."
"What?"
"Forget it. I don't fuck in bedrooms, let alone a bed. It’s my thing. It bothers me and I can’t."

He stares at me blankly, as though I'd just knifed a tiny child and asked him to smear the blood all over his body. The sweater is hanging around my neck and I am becoming increasingly enraged with his blank, vacant gaze. For a small second I think about strangling him with the stupid nipple clamps, instead I grab a cigarette and light up.

"Huh?"
"Showers, tables, floors, couches, cars, counter tops,” I exhale smoke into his face and continue, “merry-go rounds, the back of busses, washing machines on spin cycle, the Jacuzzi, sex swings, and tons of other nefarious things which currently escape me." My explanation does not seem to help the situation as he continues standing there with an empty look on his face. He no longer bothers stroking himself. I roll my eyes.

"You don't fuck in beds?" He scrunches his face up and stares into the distance. Suddenly, I get the feeling, kink boy was about to treat me as though I'd asked him to shove a Nerf football in my pussy so I could kegel it across the room.

"Is that a problem for you?" I shoot back.
"Well, yea. I have a very bad back. My chiropractor says I cannot lie on a mattress that is not orthopedic. I've been in years of therapy, rehabilitation."
"Years of therapy?" I quip. "You do realize you're a grown man wearing fucking nipple clamps, don't you?"
"Not that kind of therapy." I knew it wasn't that kind of therapy. He began touching his dick again so I figured it might be a good time to give him his options.

"Oh yea, so how about you go out and turn on the spa and we fuck in there, or I finish my cigarette and leave."
"Babe, it's cold outside.” He walks over and puts his hand on my breast. It is very clinical, like he’s grabbing a doorknob. “I am so hot. Look at me; do we really need to go outside?"

His narcissism half makes me want to vomit, half mount him. I stay put, but decide to hold my ground. "I cannot fuck you in your parent’s house. It's weird. I feel like we're fifteen-years-old. You don't do anything. You work out. You are a goddamn trust fund. Can you just placate me and just fuck me outside," I exhale slowly as I continue to talk. "That way I don't have to see pictures of your girlfriend and mom smiling placidly at me while I am trying to get off. Is that too much to ask?"

Segue to him agreeing. And I follow him down the long ominous hallway as I strip, dropping clothes throughout the petulant, unguided tour of his house. I am a sardonic water nymph, giggling giddily at the prospect of being outside & getting my way. In the hallway he turns and kisses me. It is meaningless and devoid of feeling. I kiss him back and tug on his nipple clamps.

He stops and goes outside to turn on the hot tub. I am naked in the living room. I start to play with myself. I'm enjoying it and I wonder if I even want to bother with involving him in the mix. Lying on the snow white carpet I finger at myself while I look at the pictures of David’s family. Hey Mom, get a load of this. He returns, standing above me. And I think to myself, I bet your bitch mom would really enjoy this. I wink at him and the front door opens.