For the second year running, I’m one of the featured writers in Tamsin Flowers’ Supererotica Advent Calendar. Once again, you’ll find me behind door 15, this time with a piece that pairs unlikely bedfellows in the form of ‘sexytimes’ and ‘Croydon’.
The story is called Upward Management. Here’s an excerpt:
Until that day, I’d never really thought of myself as dominant, and I still couldn’t tell you what’s different with her. I just know that when I looked down to see her big eyes staring up into mine, refusing to blink or look away even as the tears formed, something shifted inside me – or perhaps just clicked into place. I wanted to slide my hand under her chin, clamp it tight around her jaw, and thrust my cock as far down her throat as I could get it. What I found more shocking than my own desire, at least back then, was that Georgina clearly wanted that too.
In one sense, the location is entirely incidental to the way the action unfolds – neither brutalist architecture nor concrete car parks are unique to Croydon, after all. However, the story couldn’t really have been set anywhere else, and even though the kinky office power games got layered on top, it’s one of London’s least-loved boroughs that sits at the heart of what I wanted to write. Well, that…and a pretty stunning red dress. I don’t often have sex that I know I’ll later turn into fiction, but this was definitely one of those occasions…
We slipped out of the bar together on a quiet Sunday evening in mid-September, and I marched her back towards East Croydon station. The back of her neck was damp with sweat; I pushed my fingers up it, into her hair, tugging just hard enough to tell her how wound-up she’d got me. Even though we were catching different trains, I knew I couldn’t go home without fucking her – the dress alone had made that impossible.
The car park was pretty grim, but somehow that just made it hotter, as did the people we occasionally saw (or heard) walking along the street outside. The office block next door was dotted with light – people getting a head start on the working week, perhaps, or more likely a building security guard/cleaner. Anyone looking out of the window would have seen everything.
She knelt down in the middle of Mr Hardwick’s parking space (that particular detail had to stay) and slid my cock all the way to the back of her throat, her lips kissing the base. Around us the air felt still, cold, and deathly quiet, and each stifled moan I made as she sucked me seemed to echo out off the concrete pillars, into the space beyond.
I had to push the hem of her dress up over her perfect arse in order to fuck her. She bent forward, and her cunt was already so wet that I couldn’t have thrust in slowly if I’d tried. I clamped my hand over her mouth – she’s incapable of staying quiet without external assistance – and took her like that, quick and hard. It wasn’t a pretty fuck…
My heart still pounded afterwards, as we walked the last couple of hundred metres to the station. I could feel her body trembling, and as I turned her hand over in mine I saw that it was scuffed and grazed from the car park floor; smiling, she pointed to her pale, bare knees, each now decorated with a dark smudge.
“War wounds,” she whispered, and reached into her handbag for her Oyster card.
So yes, thank you so much to the lovely Ms Flowers for hosting me again this year, and for putting up with my terrible deadline management. Her Supererotica project has brought together some insanely talented writers, so I’m honoured just to be a part of it – I look forward to seeing who else is still to come!