Rasha Kahil’s XI and la gueule du monde

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XI was the sadist to my masochism.

We had g-chatted all day at work, but I had misunderstood his invitation to fuck in the office toilets, and missed my chance. By 6pm, I was all tingly and force-invited myself to his flat, despite his protests about him having band practice. I told him I just needed 45 minutes, to which he replied “only?”. I smiled as we boarded the 55.

I propped myself on the kitchen counter and he grabbed and parted my thighs. The sound of keys fiddling at the front door interrupted the beginning of what could’ve been an unusual fuck. His kitchen is not very clean.

We walk up to his room, he throws me on the bed and strips my tights and panties down. He likes the tan lines on my butt: they simulate little white knickers against the darkness of my sunned skin. He feigns trying to remove them and digs his nails into my flesh. I laugh.

He smokes a joint in silence. I know I am here only because I invited myself, only because the need to be fucked by him became unbearable. XI plays with me, makes me punchbag my own insecurities. I am almost in love with him, already enamoured by our fucking, and he knows it. It is too easy for him. He taunts me with his silence as I buzz around him like a needy child.

Lying on top of me, he looks me in the eyes and spits on my face. He licks my teeth. In one brisk thrust, he’s in me. He’s big, and it is always delicious when I am not completely wet yet. His eyes in mine, a harsh sultry look. His smell is intoxicating, a bitter mixture of sweat, sex, dirt and mdma. He rarely washes, but his stink exhilarates me and I lick his acrid armpits with delectation.

He always kept his black Oxfam-bought jeans on during sex, simply letting me unbuckle, unzip and pull out his dick from his boxers. The belt-buckle pricks my groin. I like it like that, especially if I’m completely naked under him. But that day, he only removed my tights and let my panties dangle around one foot. I was wearing a grey jersey dress. I suckle his tattoos.

He rolls me around and spanks me. The word ‘spank’ belies the intensity of his slaps. They’re painful, hard and fast, relentless on my bum cheeks. They burn and turn bright red, I can feel it even though I can’t contort enough to see. I relish the stings. I’m like a child in his lap. If I put my hand, he still slams down. He makes me feel small, because I am falling for him, a man who does not want a girl. He has told me so. Several times. I am still in denial.

I suck at the wedding ring tattoo on his hip.

I love it when he fucks my mouth, chokes me with his dick. I seek his crotch, he grabs my head and forces himself down my throat. My eyes tear a bit, but I enjoy the forcefulness of his thrusts. He moans as he rams himself in and out, pulling slightly at my hair. I don’t want to hurt him with my teeth, I perfect the hole, fill it with saliva so that he can groan louder. His dick is big and fervent, he grips at my head guiding himself deeper in my throat. I have to pull away when breathing becomes impossible. I have never allowed cum in my mouth, but I dabble with the thought of gagging with XI.

He throws me on my stomach and takes me from behind. If I clench inside, I can feel myself enveloping him. He’s slow in his thrusts. His hand presses down on my back, he tilts slightly to the right and pushes in slowly. He makes the most delicious sounds, grave moans from somewhere deep inside. I know the expression on his face behind me, the pout and the abandonment in his eyes. I don’t know if my eyes are open or closed, but I grip at the bedsheets. I suck and nibble the thumb he forces in my mouth….continued

XI and la gueule du monde is available at www.rashakahil.com

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