Balcony

I’m thinking of adding my lover’s balcony into the Helsinki series in which I list suitable places for public sex. She lives on the first floor in a densely built area that however has few grand old pines that give shadow and cover. On that balcony she fisted me good the other day after dark. We’d had amazing sex for hours already and needed a break and some fresh air in order not to collapse on each other. I was wearing her bathrobe and lying on her garden chair, resting my back to the railing. She was having a smoke when her fingers casually found their way into my cunt, then the palm. She looked at me intensely the whole time her lower arm circled around my core and told me to keep it shut. I rubbed my clit frantically and buried myself into her eyes, keeping it quiet when I came violently pulsing against her fist and over it, four times in a row. The pines were watching, the people on the street couldn’t see or hear us, I felt like I was under water, with her, breathing salty water, suddenly finding myself able to.

Earlier that night she had put the collar around my neck, spanked me with a belt, hit me across the face and fucked me. Few times she was on the verge of losing control of herself and at those times I always get secretly excited, pushing her off the limit, hoping her to let it go and hurt me against my better knowledge. Yet, I’m too scared to let her try new forms of pain on me when she’s at that state, and often try to stop her when the reality of pain dawns to me. So far she has always forced herself to stop right then.

How I love the feeling of leather around my neck, her hands that fasten it tight and her hands that take it off after everything is done. We take care of each other, caress for hours and talk and hold each other tight. Sometimes I cry, but more and more, lately, I smile. Never before can I remember having smiled to my lover after sex, happy, all consumed, full of unreserved love.