Vocalisation Variations

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This piece is part of a series:

Cowgirl | Facefuck | Come | Piledriver | Vocalisation | Cumshot

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One

It is summer and the air over the village is completely still. The window is open. The trees and the river beyond look tropical in their stillness. When we fuck our bodies are lubricated by sweat. She moans. Louder as our pace increases. By the end she’s screaming, full-throated, the noise of our fucking echoing out over the silent world. Afterwards, without her screams, the quiet is so quiet it hurts to hear.

Two

From the moment I start to touch her until the moment we are done she moans in a throaty, regular rhythm. Her eyes are shut, her head thrown back. She holds me very tightly. She doesn’t get louder or faster. Just moans, slow and constant, quite out of time with what we are doing. It is only after we’re finished that she opens her eyes, sees me looking at her, smiles.

Three

She talks throughout, but her sentences are broken: “I’m going to…”, “I have to…”, “That feels so…”, “Oh god, you…”. As if each thrust into her severs her train of thought, forces her to start again. As we progress it moves from half-sentences to half-words. Syllables and plosive sounds, jumbled letters arranged and rearranged, and then those give way to grunts, moans, breaths – and finally, after a long and thorough fucking: a cessation, a melting away of words.

Four

The sounds she makes in pleasure and the sounds she makes in pain are at first indistinguishable to me. Both are high, plaintive, slightly whimpering. When I slap her cunt and when I kiss her neck: the same shuddery exhalations, the same pleading moans. It takes a few times together to learn to tell them apart – to notice that pain doesn’t come from so deep in her lungs, is slightly jagged, full of stops, pressed lips. Pleasure modulates with her breathing, and can be quiet sometimes, almost silent.

Five

We are fucking in her bedroom, which shares a thin wall with the room in which her housemates are currently pottering about before bed. We can hear every movement they make. We are quiet. She clutches me and pants, mouth open, struggling to tamp down her breathing. She grabs a handful of the duvet and stuffs it in her mouth. It’s not enough. Eventually she spits it out and bites my arm. The teeth leave marks in the skin as deep as fingernails, but I don’t make a sound.

Six

When she masturbates she is silent at first. The silence becomes breathing and then the breathing has shreds of voice in it, and then she moans lightly on every exhale. Faster. Louder. Kneeling over her vibrator and clutching it with one hand while, with her other, she rakes her thighs with her nails. As she approaches a climax the pitch of her moans becomes higher. Too high. Past the point where she can vocalise. She comes with her mouth open, her back shivering, as silent as she was when she began.