[ trying times || salisha ]
“I barely was wet,” she spat back, as her back thumped against the wall. Alisha folded her arms beneath her bra that was wrenched to one side. A nipple, lightly dusted a soft tawny shade and still stiff from her previous pulls and twist to it, was exposed, like most of her body. Her jumper was off, underwear balled on top of it. And despite their session abruptly ending, she didn’t motion to get dressed. Her short legs and shapely thighs, still bent at the knees, sharply closed at the knee. Leaving her partially covered, but still open. Situated to taunt him. Dare him to venture a peek between her legs; where her evidence of her lay. Because it was noticeable - the sleek heat, dripping, and shining - she was everything ‘barely wet’ was not.
She was soaked. Which was why the words were pointed and crude. Cripple him like he crippled her orgasm that was just seconds away.
She sighed again, practically pouting. Which could have been cute, if not for the hard, slanted lines of her eyebrows and the daggers she was shooting at him. Damn his hard jawline. The cold cut jaw, that pulsed with tension when they had their joint masturbation sessions. That always made her weak - the pulsing; whether it was his or cock. Then there was his mouth, always exceptionally still except for the occasional quiver of his lip, or when they peeled back, baring his perfect white teeth when he orgasmed. It was erotic, and unhinged from his usual rigged, Fort Knox stature; where eery movement, or lack of, always seemed to be a calculated move on his part to make himself disappear.
God, she was really horny now. Thinking about Simon not holding back; them not having to hold back with one another. But she couldn’t say that.
That was kind of her thing with Simon. Insult him, be indifferent at best, and sometimes - when she couldn’t fight it - begrudgingly smile at him, because he made her happy. She had a theory: show a guy you care, show yourself to the ‘used and played’ door. As long as she kept Simon directly under heels, Alisha was sure he would stick around.
She pulled out a joint and sparked it. “Maybe you need to focus on me more,” she said a little less tempered. “Like, you do the dirty talking. I mean, it’s only fair you get me off.” The last part picked back up on that edge again; the leering judgement eagerly awaiting the signal to join if he didn’t, or couldn’t. She took another puff. “Maybe I’ll let you film it so you can have something to watch other then whatever freaky shit for later.”
He swallowed thickly as her thorny words hit his ego. Simon felt like wincing, letting his body bend as he braced himself against the sharp quip. But he’d been around the ASBO gang long enough where their comments didn’t have the effect that they used to anymore; he’d grown a bit of a backbone spending time painting walls and picking up garbage with Nathan, Curtis, Alisha, and Kelly and their back-and-forth banter. He might not be able to toss a grenade of jest right back at them, but he didn’t physically shirk at their remarks anymore.
But it was moments like this where he wished he could do chose another superpower. Instead of invisibility, he wished he could have gotten a power where he could control Alisha’s body -- with her permission of course! The no touching thing was a pain-in-the-arse. If only he could practice some kind of telekinetic, body-manipulative puppetry, he could manipulate Alisha to touch herself. So, by extension, it’d almost be like him touching her. He thought of being able to watch Alisha lose herself in the sensation of her ministrations, without actually being in control of administering the orgasmic touches. He thought about how hot it’d be if could play her body like a cello; if he could touch here, rub there, and caress her body until she sang the moans of a sexual release.
Simon nodded thoughtfully at her suggestions, but his eyebrows rose sharpy at her last proposal of allowing him to film her. The idea of the opportunity to do this sent a thrilling throb to his cock. His eyes returned to her face, watching the tip of the blunt burn cherry-red and hot. His cheeks quickly mimicked the blunt. The long sleeves of his orange boiler suit that he had pulled down to have better access to his balls ticked the skin above his ankles. He wanted to scratch but refrained. Scratching was one of his nervous ticks, and the last thing he wanted was for Alisha to catch a whiff of any nervous demeanor.
“Oh-- um… Yeah, tha-that could work.” Simon cleared his throat, his voice sounding huskier than usual. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. I want to make you come.”
The metal folding chair creaked as he shifted in his seat and fished out his cell phone. He held the device in his left hand while his right creeped over his lap to cover his growing erection. He wanted her to feel like he was doing this for her; not for material for his spank bank. (That’s just a perk of the opportunity.)
Filming was going to be the easy part. The dirty talk was what was going leave him stumped. He’d done it before; he had been visiting adult chat sites since year seven. But it was one thing to do it to faceless strangers online and an entirely different situation to do it to an actual real-life half-naked woman in front of him.
With his camera phone open at the ready and a deep breath of confidence, he scooted his chair a smidge closer to Alisha, closer but not touching. “Open your legs and show me how wet you are.”
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