She leads the way into the gallery, their fingers entwined, she takes a look around, black and white photos on the walls, men in pain, women in bondage, lots of men on men, all dark, broody, lots of flesh and leather. She nods towards what will be their starting point and lets him lead the way there. He stops in front of the large photograph and she steps in behind him. She leans into his back, her face averted from the photograph in front of them, her mouth at his neck. She relaxes into him.
“Describe it to me,” she whispers into his ear.
And he does, he starts talking softly in honeyed tones, describing the dirty, base, obscene photograph in his beautiful voice, and she feels his voice enter her like liquid, the vibrations of it humming into her chest and she breathes against his neck, his words making her draw the image in her mind, a sharp exhale against his skin when his description hits her pussy, hearing his voice catch as he registers her response. He keeps the monologue going, he finishes describing the photograph, but he doesn’t stop speaking to her.
He is no longer describing the photo, he starts describing things he knows she loves, hot, sexy things that he knows make her wet. She makes a soft sound and he knows he has it right as she presses against him harder, and he leans back into her. He keeps talking to her and her hands reach around his body, pulling him back, her lips now on his neck, and she holds him firm against her and he feels her hips push against him. And he keeps talking, drawing depraved pictures with his words, and she holds his hips still, and tight against her as she almost imperceptibly starts to fuck against his arse, making a soft sound through her lips against his neck. She tenses and relaxes against him, hardly moving, her breasts rubbing against his back, her hips and crotch trying to get more contact against his arse. And finally he runs out of words, his breathing heavy, and they stand there in silence, and they feel the heat of their bodies hard up against each other, and when she can almost breathe, she whispers ‘fuck’ breathlessly in his ear and he hears her smile and he nods. “I know.”
And they move onto the next photograph.
When they leave the gallery and head to the short film show, the nature of the films is clear from the crowd milling about in leather and latex outside. They don’t wait but head straight in, finding seats towards the back, it is already dark. They hunker down and her hand finds his knee and slides up his jean-clad thigh, coming to rest at his crotch, against his cock. She wants to feel what in the films makes him hard, to understand what goes on in his mind. She feels him shift, and starts to smile as his cock hardens under her touch. She waits, and his cock presses insistently against her fingers. She laughs and turns to him.
“Stop it,” she says.
She knows he is blushing, there in the dark, but he laughs also.
“I can’t help it,” he says.
She can see his teeth flashing at her, there in the dark. And his laugh makes her want him, and she reaches for him, pulling his face to hers and she kisses him, and he is still laughing, and she kisses his laughter, her hand still on his cock.
When she pulls away, she looks at him again through the dark.
“Now seriously, stop it,” she says, and waits to see what he is going to do about it.