Blind Carnival || Chapter 5. My Cup of Tea

~ Chapter 5 ~ 

My Cup of Tea

She moves three or four times – it’s hard to count when there’s a massive penis inside one’s fanny, hitting the cervix every time one lands – and then she comes. It makes sense, of course; she was ‘almost there’ when she opened his trousers, and she hasn’t been that aroused in seven years. And it’s the best position for her anyroad. And he’s absolutely gorgeous under her.

Her whole body is on fire. This phrase didn’t mean much to her before, but now she gets it. The skin’s tingly, heated. All her muscles are, first, tense and trembling, almost burning – and then she melts. She falls ahead, pressing her palms into his shoulders, arms surprisingly straight. She’s making her usual mewling ‘orgasm sounds.’ She’s forgotten about them; they’ve always seemed silly to her – but she feels too good to be embarrassed right now.

It takes a few seconds to go back to reality; although she really doesn’t want to. She hasn’t been in the magical land of ‘a brain turned off by a powerful orgasm with the help of a hot, alive penis’ for seven years.

She looks down at John. He is – of course – smiling.

He’s stroking her hip under her skirt with one hand, while another is gently rubbing her knuckles. And it feels weirdly amazing, his hot palm on her hand. She really doesn’t want to move right now.

“Do you want to…?” he asks softly. “Now that you are… done, do you want to lie down?”

She probably looks very surprised.

“What? Now? Are you actually offering me to get off?”

He laughs. And it’s a guffaw. That is exactly what they call a guffaw. His mouth is open wide, eyes squinted, the white teeth in a gorgeous contrast with the black beard.

“I thought you just did.”

Oh, right, he likes daft puns.

She smacks his shoulder. He chuckles some more.

“Olivia, I am a big boy and can take of myself. You’re having sex for the first time in seven years; and you’re probably exhausted.”

The hand moves from her waist, and he rubs her upper arm. It feels very nice. Professional curiosity wins over her embarrassment.

“What are you going to do if I say ‘yes?’ Go to the washroom and…?” she asks and vaguely gestures up and down with her loosely fisted hand.

He shrugs nonchalantly. He’s still one hundred per cent hard inside her. That’s actually very impressive.

“We can flip…” she offers.

She’s trying to be polite here. He smiles again, and it’s a bit shy this time.

“I’d rather not.”

“Why?” Are the two of them really having this conversation?!

“Because you’ll be sore tomorrow. And… I really don’t want to spoil your impression from what’s happening in here.”

And he is saying it with a straight and honest face!

Somehow his calmness spurs her into action. She clenches her inner walls – and just as the novels describe it, his breathing hitches.

“I would like to address the issue of you thinking you aren’t a good shag next time…” She slightly lifts her hips, tightly holding him inside. “But right now I have matters to attend.”

She slams her pelvis down, and she can actually see his pupils dilate. Like in a video in a human anatomy class. She lifts herself again, and she can feel his chest expanding under her palm. He’s taking a deep breath in, bracing himself – and she plunges down again. She digs her nails into him, and he groans loudly. Right, she forgot about that.

She sets a nice comfortable rhythm for herself, adding a bit of a hip twist from time to time, no particular pattern, so that he can’t predict when it hits him – and soon enough he’s bucking his hips, head tossed back. God, that’s one beautiful neck! He’s also literally growling. She takes another mental note. The sound effects with him have to really be explored in more details. He grabs her hips, though rather gently, and pushes her down. The cock jerks; and she rides him through the orgasm. He’s huffing and puffing. And it’s… adorable.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“God, I think I went blind for a second there…”

It’s her turn to chuckle. She’s very comfortable at the moment. He’s very nice to sit on. All hard muscles and hot skin. She carefully lifts her hips; and his cock slides out. She lies near him on the bed and puts her hand on his chest. She really wants to feel the heart beating there. It’s sappy and something from her novel, but who said a casual shag has to be emotionless?

He’s still panting, one hand pressed to his eyes; and then he puts the second one on hers. There’s a delightful warmth and affection in all his gestures.

“I am going to go clean up.” He sits up with a groan. “And I think I need hydration. Do you want me to get you anything? Or we can go to the kitchen.”

She’s torn. She’s very comfortable here, but some water might be a good idea.

“Some tea would be great.”

He nods and walks to the bathroom. He’s wobbly. She’s feeling rather smug right now.


She’s lying on her back pondering his ceiling. The water stops running; and then she hears him moving somewhere else in the flat. Then water runs there, and she hears a clang of a kettle being put on a stove.

“Earl Grey?”

He does have a very nice voice, even when he’s yelling through a flat.

“Sounds great. I’ll be in a mo.”

He peeks into the room and chuckles. She turns her head and enjoys the view. Dark hair sticking out, shirt open, belt unclasped… He’s like a present when the gift wrap’s already torn and you already know what it is… and it is exactly what you wanted. She thinks that this image can so easily be used in the book she’s working on right now – but then again, she might just keep it to herself. She’s not sure she wants to share him.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Do you have honey?”

“I’ll check.”

He leaves, and she stretches. He was right, she already feels the soreness she’s pay for tomorrow. She hasn’t felt it for years; she’ll happily welcome it.

She treads to the kitchen and sits at the table. It’s just as neat and cozy as the rest of the flat. He places a cup and a plate of biscuits in front of her, and rubs the tip of his nose with his index finger. That seems to be a quirk of his.

“Sorry, no candles and champagne.”

She laughs.

“I don’t drink, remember?”

“Oh, right,” he mutters.

He’s looking around. Is he uncomfortable? And she thought he never was.

He flops on the other chair. Yes, he is obviously slightly uneasy. Since this evening is in general strangely revelational, she might as well just ask.

“Penny for your thought?”

“Would you like to stay for the night?” He shifts on his chair. This shy awkwardness is most charming. “I mean, I have to go to work tomorrow, but we can have breakfast together and…”

“I’d love to.” She smiles, to him and to her own sudden relaxed attitude. It’s odd but she doesn’t have a single doubt. “I have nowhere to go. I work from home, so I’ll just drive myself back.”

He smiles back.


He takes the first sip of his Earl Grey.

They’re silently drinking tea. This is called comfortable companionship in her novels.

“I have a question,” he says, back to his mellow self.


She’s never had better biscuits in her life.

“Shower sex.”

“What about it?’

“You mentioned it in the car, and the thought stuck. Is it actually that uncomfortable?”

“Why? Is it something that happens to recur in your fantasies?”

She’s looking at him about the rim of the cup. He smirks.

“Well, in theory it sounds rather appealing,” he draws out. “All the foreplay with foamy loofah and washing each other’s hair…”

“And then you still need to apply conditioner,” she finishes his sentence. “Are you supposed to take a break from groping for that?”

He’s pondering it for a moment.

“Right, some people use more products…”

“Yep, and there’s always the question of lotion after it. If you jump in bed right out of the shower, fifty per cent of chicks afterwards will be in agony from dry skin on their shoulder blades, since we do need lotion after each shower.”

“There’s always massage oil…” He has given it a lot of thought, hasn’t he?

“If you are that interested, we can conduct an experiment next time.”

She lifts one eyebrow pointedly.

He nods and then asks after a pause, “Can we continue conducting them for an indefinite period of time?”

She freezes and stares at him. He’s softly looking at her over his cup. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying?

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Katya Kolmakov
Katya Kolmakov. Mother. Writer. Artist. Fanfiction and Wattpad. First novel on Amazon

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