Sunday, 19 August 2012

Mattress Music - Sunday Snog

Welcome to Sunday Snog! This weeks' smooch is from Mattress Music, the first in a set of three novella's featuring sexy rock 'n' roll band The Manic Machines. In this first scene we see Nina trying desperately to enjoy the hot guy she's picked up in a bar. Trouble is she's struggling because of the music she's put on to cover up the sex noises...

Elton was killing me. I needed to do something—fast. I glanced at my iPod in the far corner of the room. The small blue circle stared at me uncaring, as if it knew I’d lost the remote in the move and could do nothing, in my current compromised position, to shuffle the droning song.
And boy, did I need to fast-forward Candle in the Wind. It had conjured a head full of images of Marilyn and Diana, big hair, sweet smiles, churches, orphans—
And it seems to me you lived your life—
I pulled in a deep breath and focused my attentions. What did it matter what song played? Its purpose was to mask noise as I concentrated on Ian, the hot guy I’d picked up at the Solo Bar. He was where my thoughts should be trained, not icons and princesses and worrying about my new flatmates hearing our sex noises.
Because bless him, Ian was doing his best down there, licking and sucking, swirling and fondling. Hell, he even had two fingers searching out my G-spot. But what could I do? My head wasn’t in it—
Your candle burned out long before—
Neither was my body...
“What’s up?” Ian asked, throwing off the duvet as he came up for air.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I curled my hands over his wide shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. He tasted of me, hot and spicy, slippery-tongued. He settled his sheathed erection between my legs and prodded my entrance. All I could think of was Marilyn being found in the nude, Diana forever in England’s greenest hills.
“God, you feel good,” he said in a tight voice. “So damn good, I won’t last long.” He had a rugged, should’ve-shaved look and now, hovering over me with his face flushed, pupils wide and a sheen of sweat on his brow, he really was drop-dead gorgeous.
I wrapped my legs around his hard thighs and encouraged him in. Despite his appeal, it was just as well he wouldn’t last long. Because there was no way I was going to climax, not with Elton warbling on miserably about dead people. Might as well get it over with, then I could turn off the abysmal mattress music and get some sleep.
He pounded to the hilt on his first plunge. I caught his uncontrolled moan in my mouth to stop the guttural sound vibrating through the walls into my flatmates’ ears. I had three—two guys and a girl. They were nice, friendly, but I hadn’t been living at 62B Chiltern Apartments long and I was on my best behavior. Last in, first out played on my mind—if any of the longer-tenured residents complained about my weekend habit of picking up strangers and fucking them stupid, it would be me who had to leave.
“I’m coming,” Ian gasped, racing in and out of me like a jackhammer, our skin hot and sweaty, dark coils of his chest hair sliding against my jiggling breasts. With one hand, I grabbed hold of the headboard to stop it banging and tried to find a spark in my clit. Elton carried on singing, totally oblivious to my predicament.
“Aah...” Ian grunted as he froze, buried as deep as he could possibly go. I clamped my vaginal muscles and gleaned what physical pleasure I could from having a hard rod pulsating deep inside me. He tried to lift his head but I pressed his nape and caught his second long moan in a kiss.
He quivered and shivered and then his weight landed hard. “You’re fucking awesome,” he whispered into my ear on a hot, panting breath.
“You too,” I said, running my hand down his perfectly smooth back. Not a pimple anywhere, just acres of glorious hot, male flesh and a deeply guttered spine lined with solid muscle. “Really good.”
He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. “Liar.”
“Liar, you didn’t come.”
“I did, it was were great.” Lying to a man who was buried inside me was not something I was good at.
“I’m not stupid, Nina, I can tell when a woman orgasms. I can’t always tell the difference between real and fake, but bloody hell, you didn’t even try to pretend, not even a little wriggle and a gasp at the right moment.”
Frowning and shifting my hips, I muttered, “Sorry,” as I pushed out from under him.
“Don’t be sorry.” He rolled to his side, bent his arm and propped his head on his hand. The flat silver cross around his neck hung toward the mattress. “Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it for next time,” he said, still catching his breath.
Next time? Not likely. One-night stands were my game. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I pulled the duvet to my chin and turned to the wall. “It was me.”
He caught my jaw. “Tell me,” he ordered, tipping me to face him. “I want to know.”
Through the dim light, blushed orange by a streetlamp, I could see his dark eyes staring straight into mine, unblinking. One of my flatmates banged crockery in the kitchen next to my room then a deep rumble of laughter from one of the guys, Jerry I think, filtered through the thin wall.
“Why do you care?” I asked, toes and fingers curling.
“I’m lying naked in bed with you, we’ve just shared as intimate an experience as two people can, and you wonder why I’m bothered that you didn’t have as good a time as me? Would I be human if I didn’t give a shit?”
I shrugged. Candle in the Wind had finished, and in its place Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me was swirling around us.
Too late to save myself from falling—
That was me, I thought, too far gone on this road of shagging any cock I could find to be saved. In my old flat, living with Dee and Fiona, life had been great and mattress music was never needed. We all just went for it, having as much sex and as many noisy orgasms as possible. We would giggle about it over breakfast and swap stories about what racy shenanigans we’d been up to.
But now they’d moved on. They were both head over heels in love and settled in their own homes, leaving me out on a limb and living here with strangers.
Of course I wasn’t technically alone, but if I was honest I’d never felt so lonely. I didn’t want to be, loneliness was like a dull, gray hole swelling inside me. Starting in my stomach and stretching outward. And in the center of this hole was a new bitter emotion—envy. I envied what Dee and Fi had found, lasting love with respect and commitment. But admitting what I wanted and changing the fact that there was no one special in my life were two separate issues.
More pressingly, at the moment anyway, nor could I change the fact that I hadn’t orgasmed since I’d moved. My one-night stands just weren’t doing it for me anymore. The intimacy of getting naked and sweaty with someone wasn’t satisfying the hunger, the need that was eating away at me like an itch I couldn’t quite reach.
I’d been here three weeks, three fucks. But each week there had been something sneaking into my brain that had distracted me from the delicious buildup to climax. Deadly quiet the first week when I was with a bodybuilding scaffolder from Durham, every mattress squeak and grunt sliding under the door and echoing through the walls. With Dave, an earnest accountant from Chelsea, a knock on my door midway through a blowjob put me off my stride. And now this morose mattress music was stopping me from having a great time with the truly gorgeous Ian.
“Nina?” Ian pressed, dragging me from my depressed musing.
“It was the damn music,” I said with a frown. He wasn’t going to let it drop so I might as well fess up. “I couldn’t concentrate. You were doing it right, great, but I just kept thinking of Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana and Elton singing at his piano with his big, wobbling white wig and that mole thing he used to paint on his cheek.”
Ian tipped his head back and laughed. A big guffaw that shook the bed.
“Shh!” I pressed my fingers to his lips.
“Thank God for that,” he said, grinning. “Thought I’d lost my touch.”
“It’s not funny,” I whispered.
“No, no.” He tried to straighten out his grin. “Of course it’s not. I’ve just never thought of it before, the words in a song competing for the attention of the woman I’m trying to please.” He dropped a kiss to my lips. “So why did you put it on if you don’t like it?”
“So no one will hear. The walls here are so thin, and I’ve got male flatmates who I don’t want perving with glasses pressed to the walls.”
“You think they would?”
I sighed. “Probably not, they seem nice enough, but just the same...”
“You want your privacy.”
“Exactly.” I paused then sighed. “We should have taken a cab and gone to yours.”
“Yeah, but this was closer, much closer, just a quick walk around the corner.” He smoothed the hair from my face. It always went wild after sex. The hundreds of tiny, copper corkscrews seemed to take on lives of their own. “Maybe we could leave the music off and do it really, really quietly,” he whispered, spreading springs of my hair over the pillowcase.
“No,” I said. “That won’t work, I’ll be too conscious of even our breathing, or if the mattress squeaks.”
His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek flexed, then he got up, dropped the condom in the bin, walked to the iPod and finally silenced Elton. “This isn’t over, you know.”
“What isn’t?”
“” He flopped back down, scooped an arm under my shoulders and pulled me onto his chest. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly, rubbing a circle over my bare upper arm. “I can tell you’re exhausted.”

Have a great Sunday :-)

Lily x

1 comment:

  1. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who thinks song lyrics can be a mood killer...though I get the feeling that's not her only problem. Interesting excerpt.