Bench Trial
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2021 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: One of those backroom deals you read about (or don't read about). Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Illustrated .
By midnight we were the only ones in the lounge. We took our drinks to a padded bench with a view of the Capitol. The dome was brighter than the brightest moon.
“So near and yet so far,” she said. “Blinding isn’t it?”
I made a sort of shrugging sound. “Is that one of those leading questions you’re so good at?”
“Maybe if you light the candle,” she suggested. “Maybe then you won’t feel so bad.”
For the first time in recent memory I had a chance to use my father’s lighter. “There, now will you...” I struggled for how exactly to put it.
“Not use what I have? You can’t be serious.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I hadn’t thought she would, but I swallowed. Then I drank the last sip of wine, and because there was no coaster for the coffee table, I set the glass on the floor. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
She smiled faintly. Familiarly. “I don’t think so. But if you like, I’ll jerk you off one last time.”
“No.”
“Oh come on. You know you want me to. Your cock is practically begging for it. What do you say?”
It was true. I had an erection. It was rare I’d be anywhere near her and not have an erection, even after she’d brought me off or made me bring myself off at least a dozen times in the last two days. But I knew I had to be strong. “What? Here?”
“Why not? No one’s around. It would be fitting. Your semen shooting out in the light of the Capitol.”
The dome in the distance was a bright golden haze. Probably only a couple of guards inside the building at this hour. And night birds, possibly bats, gliding about the dome snatching insects, midnight snacks.
“I know you think I’m some kind of pathetic cum-machine,” I told her. “What if I jerk you off?”
“Ha. I told you, I’m not into guys.”
“Right, you told me. But what if I can make you come before you make me come? Will you kill the story?”
She made one of those soft snorts, a mirthful breath of good-humored disdain. “You can’t make me come.”
“But if I can? Say just from touching your nipples?”
Another soft, mirthful snort. “How could you even tell?”
“I guess I’d have to trust you.”
“That’s your problem. You’re too trusting.”
“I know. So what do you say?”
“Fine. Take out your cock.”
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