Just like this hot-el flash that Sommer so graciously shared to make our Monday very dirty indeed. Today’s refreshments in Suite 69? One of those high-protein energy bars that you cram into your mouth when you need physical stamina, but don’t really have time to eat a meal. Because you’ve got something important to do during your lunch hour….
The dizzying, this-isn't-quite-my-real-life-but-it’s-gorgeous-and-I-can't-get-enough photo is again courtesy of the talented Nikki Magennis.
Temporary Amnesia by Sommer Marsden
I. Will. Not. Do. This...
I count the words off in my head, measuring them against each tap of my heels on the marble. I smile at the bellhop and resume my internal chant.
I call the elevator still convinced I will turn back.
I enter with the key that was delivered to my office today. I. Will. Not. Do. This.
I can hear the shower running. I go into the bathroom and start to take my clothes off. With each item I discard, I say the words in my mind. The words suddenly mutate. I. Cannot. Do. This.
“This is the last time,” I say out loud as I step in.
And then he’s on his knees, running that fabulous tongue along the seam of my ass. From asshole to the small of my back. My eyes roll back, and I try to remember what I have said. This. Is. The. Last. Time.
Then his fingers are in me. Two to start—that’s how ready I am. A third joins the fray. That tongue is still there. Working its magic and it all starts to grow fuzzy around the edges.
I plant my hands on the cold marble, suck in the dense air while fingers are replaced by cock. And I see that he is just as ready for me. He is just as willing to forget. To bend time. To welcome the shift in reality.
When we move together, I ignore the glint of the diamond on my hand or the sheen of the band that matches. Forget that reality. Forget that this is the last time I will do this. And that hitch in my throat that tells me I’m about to come makes me welcome the temporary amnesia all the more.