The Phone Booth

After a particularly intense workout at the gym, I had changed into a black and white striped sweater top that bared my shoulders and a khaki skirt that lifted indecently from my rear whenever I bent forward at the waist. I met Amadeo at a pub in Holborn. He discovered I had come commando when I flashed him at the bar. I had not worn a bra either. The weather was chilly enough in mid-June that my nipples peaked.

At the restaurant, I sat slightly further from the table than strictly necessary, with knees separated and feet planted apart. The fabric bowed, the dip of the cloth draping over the middle and covering me (just). During the meal - sushi - I kept my legs together and behaved. The napkin, which extended over my thighs, enhanced my modesty by a factor of two.

Amadeo told me about his recent visits to Germany. I told him about what I have been working on at the university, my plans for the rest of the summer, and how the thesis clock would tick relentlessly once I returned to Boston in September.

After dinner, Amadeo ordered an espresso. I had a caffé latte. As there wasn't a need for the napkin anymore, it sat in a crumple upon the table. Pushing myself back half a foot, I hiked the skirt up my thigh and showed my stuff underneath.

Amadeo smiled appreciatively at the view. The tip of his tongue slowly traversed from one corner of the lip to the other and made the amble in reverse. I licked a bit of cream lasciviously from my finger.

He held me by the waist, one step in front of him, as we descended the escalator into the belly of the tube. The tug on the fabric pulled the top down the left shoulder. The drape of the cloth accentuated my cleavage. Amadeo deposited small kisses on the trapezius muscle. I was moist below.

On the train, he sat on the ledge near the door at the end of the car. His arms wrapped me from behind and he laced his fingers over my pelvis. I reached behind me to grip his hip. My knees bent a fraction as I pushed my weight against him. My feet held my backpack in place.

Amadeo took his cell phone from his pocket and took a snapshot of us, together. The flash from the second photograph went under the ledge the bottom of my skirt made across the tops of my thighs. I laughed when he took this picture and felt myself getting wetter.

We took the long way to his apartment. Amadeo shouldered my backpack. We clasped hands. His enormous paw covered my small fingers.

In a dark shadow under the trees, I spied a man peeing. I nudged Amadeo with an elbow to the ribs and nodded my head at the unknown man.

Amadeo stopped, and he considered. "Not today," he decided, which was a pity.

We walked south. Victorian houses lined the street on either side. Their facades stretched a city block. About half the windows were lit. Silence sheltered the road. A few streets away, cars rumbled on the still busy main thoroughfare.

I raised to the points of my toes and placed a kiss on Amadeo's cheek. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me on the lips. As the kiss deepened, I brought his hand up to a breast. His fingers tightened. He extended their reach. Lured by his taste, my tongue followed his into his mouth. The kiss broke because one of us moved our head in an unanticipated direction. We laughed and re-engaged. I sucked on his tongue, latching on to the tip with teeth to forestall him taking it away. Amadeo palmed my buttocks, one cheek in each of his big hands.

"I'm going to fuck you," he stated. His voice had a growl. He rubbed me between the legs.

I spotted a red phone booth on the corner of the street. "In there," I pointed.

The box was a tight squeeze. We stood back to front with the phone on our left. I told Amadeo that I had condoms in the side packet of my backpack. He unzipped and covered his cock. I pushed my hands off the paneled glass and thrust my ass at him. Amadeo prised my legs further apart and entered me from behind. I was so wet that his penis slid all the way in at once.

He fucked me in that constricted space. The cock was like the piston of a steam engine, a single cylinder moving in a two stroke cycle. In and out, in and out, it went. My cunt, greased by arousal, provided the lubrication for the shaft. He accelerated to a pace that worked. After that, the speed didn't change. Instead of going faster, he went harder. Amadeo held my hips and slammed his cock home. The balls clapped against my buttocks. Their impact echoed in the booth.

I saw my reflection in the glass. My face scrunched up in lines with the effort of fucking. My moans had volume. He matched them with his grunts.

Amadeo pulled the sweater down my shoulder to expose one of my breasts. Shoving me against the wall of the phone booth, he flattened the tit against glass. The surface felt cold to my bare skin. It made me shiver.

A sharp tug of the hair forced my head backward. He bit my bottom lip. My nails broke the skin on his forearm. The end of his belt slapped against my thigh.

His fingers gathered the wetness from my pussy. He pressed them into my mouth.

There were lights in the building. I wondered if anyone saw us. I hoped so.

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me." The words were my mantra.

My hand reached behind me. The grip on his ass encouraged his movements. Amadeo was deliberate to allow me to come first. My wetness splashed onto the backpack situated on the floor of the booth. He stopped moving while my vagina contracted about the shaft. He grunted at the achievement of holding his orgasm back while my muscles constricted around him. Head thrown back, I laughed like a madwoman.

He started moving again when I told him to fuck me.

I started chanting again, this time punctuating the observation that he should fuck me with the demand that he must do it harder.

Not a minute after my orgasm, his arms wrapped my waist, and he lifted me up. My feet were suspended in midair. His shaft plugged me impossibly deep. Shrieking, I clamped myself about the penis as it convulsed inside me.

His jolts went on and on in a sequence of hard pulses. His hand gripped the tit that was still partially exposed. My legs kicked in the air as he tightened his hold on me. "Slut," he intoned.

Yes, I am.

When he set me down, I sagged against the side of the phone booth. The air stunk of sex. My makeup and hair were disasters. I needed to pee.

I heard the zip of his belt and the metallic ring of his belt buckle. I smoothed the skirt to cover myself. Turning, I spread my arms to embrace him. We kissed, and while my arms circled his neck, he lifted me up once more.

We were three blocks from his apartment. I walked there on unsteady legs.

Republished with permission from Leah Lays London. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo by John B. Root.