i frame so the light glowing across the skin of your haunches arrests the pan slightly before it continues in a smooth thoughtless flow across your back without spilling into the containing space and objects of the set – a discarded world of kicked off shoes and clothes on the pale rug. the sofa back cuts off the view behind or there might be a shadow cast by a plant on the wall or other shadows to be patched out later. her mouth makes a perfect red O and her body seems to be as transient as a series of smoke rings puffed horizontally through the frame or else hoops of light around the robot in metropolis. a tube that formed a perfect shape that he plugs into as he is just now. and you are another tube, a wide O at the back, your ass and a narrow o opening at the front, your cum-hole. a vulnerable shape to slot into.
the juices that coat his shaft as it withdraws fills the lens in your mind – the movement dragging her lips a little as if clasping being drawn out a little. light sparkles on veins in a broken line of white highlights, starting as a few shifting pixels, one area seeming to become more intense growing to the point to be drawn into that focus and be absorbed into an unknown origin. i was inside the light or everything was seen from the perspective of that point or within something outside yet habitable.
as though the camera is following a thought message that travels through space but when it comes to you it sinks into your mind tracking from inside. an old memory arises of a girl in pink top and blue jeans and white trainers with blonde hair so spotless and stepping off a pavement at that point uncertain if the bus might move. this way you could keep a distance from that view or the feeling from underneath, the shadow of his body and your tits swinging with insistent thrusts. that sense of a body open and filled and emptied and made full too but in a remote nerveless way. another sense of unbearable interruption and frustration growing and your flesh looking like sculpted stone with his fingers denting the curve of the skin.
your cock comes out leaving a wide gaping cave and the tip is pressing against her ass then bearing in and through, membrane to membrane making her feel weak but with a headrush and with the space changing and shaken with a deep silent cum unseen but dubbed in later. for a moment you were there but the moment moves away from you as the guy in front also cums clumsily. instead of a teasing tongue twirling on him and a gorgeous fullness spilling as if in summer heat his body looks curled up in a black cloud and he looked like he is sorry, but out of frame. he had shot in her closed mouth but he pulls out now so the remaining jets can be caught but then she opens her mouth and lets a slo-mo skein drool down into the logic of the frame.
as if a spindrift vector in you earlier blows free into the image flowstream and some survival devices or other checks it before it bleeds into the shot. one minute your hair is flaming up against porcelain skin or black hair and skin with glowing highlights. all the space is a living canvas anyway but there were moments you might escape the frame, a cross-fade through the surface of skin to dark and light shades or a pan away to things continuing outside, in the street but linked to all this. or else everybody has stopped while the card is changed or waiting for tokens but still moving a little to maintain things.
words appear alongside feeling their way into the masquerade but never behind it. in one instant you are limp or hard or all states at once to be edited out or not. as if the camera might have to try to gather and assemble all the parts of the bodies, slaves to its transfixing power.
out of you now the milk of your mind can pour.
you were doing a painting of a flower and he stood behind you so close in a sunny room your bodies seemed to breathe the light into each other. you may have been startled out of giving him a pleasing smile too full of them now. you are as vulnerable as a shemale on your way to a wedding, a fucking hard-on under that huge bridal dress in the great old shiny light creamy brown car, keyed up but wary. keeping the camera in thrall a step ahead of the edit.
fred west says: when they come up into you it’s beautiful, it’s when they go away you are trying to hold them, you feel them flying away from you and you try to stop them.