“Dangerous Strangers”–flash fiction, Difficult People

Dangerous Strangers



          She didn’t like him around that much. She was married, but he fucked really good. They play acted. It got rough sometimes. Sometimes they took chances.

          It all began at work. She had a part-time job, and he was a salesman, in the office two or three times a week. The first time they kissed in the supply closet. Then they went for a drive and he found an old graveyard and fucked her in the woods behind these rich people’s mausoleum.

          Then they started fucking in the front seat of his Lincoln, she astride him, face to face. She came when a cock filled up her vagina. She had a great, perky ass. Her boobs were small but round and pert, no implants. She was small and he was big. She came in just a few strokes the first few times they fucked, so she learned to keep going, pumping on him till he exploded inside her. And then she started having multiple climaxes…screaming, gasping, massive comings, sweat pouring off her.

          When he started sneaking into her house, or when she went to his smelly bachelor apartment, things got rougher, more dangerous, and darker. She liked the little slaps, and she enjoyed whipping him while he twisted against the bed board, his hands tied with her silk scarves. His erect dick she beat as well…until sometimes he came, the pearly seed gushing off the head, her lips, tongue feeding off the bulging, purple mushroom.

          The wild sex escalated on and on in their affair until they were really dangerous, exhausted strangers… and then it was over. Simple as that.



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