Denying, but inviting Distraction

There was an intrinsic sort of trust that came from being someone's sexual partner for the better part of one's adult life -- the sort of trust that allowed him to man-handled her into the position he wanted, while she did what she needed to help facilitate the position -- hands gripping the edge of the horse stall, for instance, to help keep her weight low for him to be able to thrust up into her over and over until he came from the effort -- her ankles crossing behind his back, so that even in his more frantic moments, they'd not slip apart. Trust was something that they had for one another in these moments, and the understanding that what they did in the dark was between them, whether it be because of someone else or not, their time being adjoining puzzle pieces was theirs and theirs alone.

And those years had made it so that she knew where not to touch, where not to make comments -- her body situated finally, and her folds parted and filled, she let one hand come down to his shoulder, her thumb along his neck, to trace over the column of his throat as his lips closed around air pebbled flesh. Being a whore, one would have thought that she lost all the joys of sex long ago, but with she never had with Ruth. One of her regulars had told her it was a disease of the mind, her compulsion to fuck and be fucked -- he had read about it, he said, in one of the manuscripts in the City -- nymphomania it was called, which she didn't believe, she could stop any time she wanted, and she was going to, for Colt. She really was -- after she sorted Ruth out a few more times.

Only for you, you know that, you got me trained that by the time I know it's your horse coming up the lane I already start dripping down my legs, and lucky for you, she breathed quietly as she teased her thumb along his throat, to have him look up to her, so that she could claim those lips with her own, to feed deep of the kisses she dreamed of so many days and nights. I've not had a client in over three days now and you know I can only shove my own fist in me so many times before even that loses it's appeal. Can't even chop courgettes for the stew either without thinking they'd do the trick. I was contemplating the aubergine too, and then here you are, answer to my prayers.

@Ruth Yoesif