It starts with a sigh.
Her sigh starts guttural from her throat and ends breathy in her mouth each time his fingers come across the right spot.
Her voice carries the inexpressible weight of animal impatience and want. And she tries to unleash it a little at a time, because she is afraid of where it will go.
She punctuates the transitions between the phases of her sighs with other sounds.
There is the pursing of the lips she was biting as she sucks back her breath with a snarl.
There is the gasp where her mouth opens in shock, and for a second there is no noise… and then that high-pitched scramble of a gasp comes out. In that surprised rush of sensation she is like a record spun in reverse, suspended and then released.
There is the hiss of her tongue between her gritted teeth, accented by the incensed yet vulnerable want in her eyes. He can ignore her eyes but he cannot ignore that hiss, it warns that he continue, it begs that he do not stop.
And in between always, the sighs, his thrust, her sigh, his thrust, her sigh.
Maybe his hands are moving a bit faster now, maybe he has reached a little deeper than before, maybe there is just the right amount of heartbeats between his each motion, just the right amount of pressure in his fingers.
She is the commentator to his motions, the vocalist to his actions.
And there is increasing pain in her sounds, as there is always pain when she lies sandwiched so close between the beginning and end of her desire.
She knows he listens to her and how it arouses him. And it makes her want to be heard, to goad him on, to summon him closer to her.
Soon, as he moves, his voice joins hers, and she is thrown higher and in another direction. His accompaniment throws her out of herself for a moment. She plays to more than just her own need now and it excites her.
It is corny but she thinks of that moment when the guitar kicks in and the guitarist looks at the pianist and there is a flash of a smile and they nod to each other as they play and they say ‘yes’.
His groan is her yes, and she takes it greedily. Those groans when he closes his eyes to feel her even more, she takes full pleasure in them.
When he enters her, their bodies begin to converse in close harsh slippery whispers, his cock grating against her insides, her breasts smashed against his chest, her legs wrapped tight around him.
And their sounds converse too, incoherent organic communication that makes sense only in times like this.
They are so close now. The air around them need not be jealous because they have met there as well, the peaks and valleys of their vibrations have meshed in pathways all around them. They disperse and fade away in some corner of the room, only to set out again.
As the end draws near, her noises explode frantically against his own. She doesn’t mean to be loud but there seems no choice, and she cannot tell who started it first, except that his growl starts from somewhere inside her cunt and amplifies in her loosened vocal chords. Strange sounds, strange tones come out of her, dropping in pitch, and then picking up with his, to the backdrop of the sound of her cunt smacking wetly against his slapping balls. Miming each other’s crescendo unconsciously, belting out together now to the rhythm of their clashing thrashing bodies.
And then -
Words are useless here.
There are tom drum heartbeats. And there are their dying broken singing sighs.
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