Reports from the Dead Museum: Hekatombs

Hekatombs

Afterwards she wanted to light a cigarette but I said no, I hate the smell. Turn on the tube if you must and watch them sentence the president to death. That'll be the day, she said and sneered,
reaching for the butts again. I grabbed them out of her hand. I had to pry her fingers. They were white and blotched with red where the knuckles stretched tight against the skin and there were dents in her palm where the nails dug in. You bastard, she whined and turned over on her stomach and wrapped her arms around her hair, blond, straight and dirty. Her nails were painted pink and made a good color contrast, splayed across that mop. I slowly pulled the sheet down over her back and got on top and pulled her ass cheeks apart. She was still wet and didn't say anything as I slid in but she started to breath harder and dug her fingers in to her scalp. I
lasted a long time and she went around the rollercoaster a few times before I was done. As I pumped I concentrated on the
feeling of her ass against my stomach. The fit was tight like a pair of biking shorts and after a while the sweat made suction as her cheeks spread and contracted against me, sometimes catching the hair that grew out around my belly button. As I closed in I put my arms under her arms and gripped her shoulders. I kissed the wing tips of her shoulder blades as she was coming and here I felt all my muscles contract and she contracted with me as we rolled across the width of the bed, tangled in the sheet, crushing the
discarded pack of butts and finally landing on the floor. She was on top of me now and she reached down to touch me and press me further inside and touch herself too.
I opened my eyes now and noticed that the light coming in between the closed slats of the plastic venetian blinds.
Morning had arrived.