Finger Painting

This is a story I had up on the ERWA site in August.

Finger Painting
Keziah Hill
(copyright 2005)

“Have you got it?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s in.”

She sat across from him on the hard plastic chair, the sharp edge biting into her bare thighs. The room was cold and smelled of disinfectant and stale tobacco.

“Come closer,” he said, glancing over to the uniformed guard.

She shifted the chair next to him and leant forward for a kiss. His mouth was hot and wide with the flat taste of desperation. He worked hard against her lips, drawing her tongue between his teeth.

She pulled away and watched his grey eyes glaze over with something that wasn’t quite lust and wasn’t quite pain. Resignation. Maybe he’s realised what he’s lost. Who’d have thought.

She shifted again, feeling the pressure in her cunt. He better have a plan to get it out.

“Take off your coat,” he said.

She peeled off her dark jacket and smiled as his eyes flared at the sight of her low cut, tight T-shirt. It hugged her small breasts, the nipples sharp, distinct tips under the soft cotton. She knew he liked small breasted women, he’d fucked enough of them while she’d watched. She hadn’t minded too much, some of them were gorgeous. Later, as he fucked her, she would close her eyes and pretend she was the one fucking them, her cock sliding in and out, glistening and smooth.

He’d hate that. Not that he minded her fucking other women, but only if he was there and only if she didn’t come. He was funny like that. He was the only one who was allowed to get her off and he worked hard at it. Some strange quirk in his ego, she supposed.

Most of the men she’d been with didn’t care too much whether she came or not, but he was different. He seemed to get off on watching her, wasn’t much interested in his own pleasure until she’d come several times. She thought it was strange, and asked him about it.

He’d looked at her with eyes empty and cold. “You complaining?”

“No,” she’d said and meant it.

He was good. Early on he’d realised his cock didn’t do it for her. Too wide and long. She felt nothing as he thrust into her, all sensation blunted. He took up too much space.

But his fingers, ah, those fingers! He had the hands of a painter or a sculptor with long, pliable, graceful fingers. He would open her wide and work them in, touching every part of her, discovering every curve and fold. He’d use his finger tips to lazily trace circles up and down the walls of her cunt, sliding in deep and then just playing at the entrance as he almost withdrew. She felt he was discovering something she’d kept hidden, even from herself. It was as if his fingers were painting a portrait of her cunt. Or giving her a road map for her own pleasure.

It would drive her mad anticipating where those fingers would go next. When he lingered at her entrance, drawing out her juice to slide around her clit, she wanted to weep for more. He never seemed to tire but would just go on and on, stroking and tickling her, till she was half crazy with the need to come. Then he’d put his mouth on her clit and suck it until she screamed for mercy. Or more. She was never sure which.

It was hard to reconcile his worship of her body with who he was. He wasn’t overly bright. Nor very imaginative. Like any good crim, he had gaol tatts all over his body. They were spidery and crude, made with ink from a ball point pen. She was lucky that L-O-V-E was tattooed on the fingers of his right hand. She didn’t think she’d fancy being fucked with H-A-T-E.

Those fingers were good for other things too. Rolling joints, weighing smack, holding the knife as he eased it into the guts of his partner. He wouldn’t have got life just for that, but shooting a cop, that was different. Pulling the trigger with those clever fingers got him a permanent slot inside.

It had to happen. He’d been spiralling out of control for months. Using and finding drugs dominated his waking hours. There were very few left for a lazy session of finger painting. Even before he’d been caught, she’d decided it was time to make herself scarce. Disappear for a while. Maybe go up to Broome or the Alice. But now he was on remand, she felt sorry for him.

“Did you leave your knickers off?”

“Yeah. How are we going to get it out? I can’t go to the toilet now, they told me they’d cancel the visit.”

“I know. Put your jacket on your lap so it’s over my leg and kiss me again. Soon something’ll start goin’ on, so you need to open your legs for me. You’ll like that won’t you, baby? It’ll be like old times.”

“What?”

“Don’t panic, we need to go slow and watch the cameras. When they turn away, I’m gonna reach under your jacket and stick my fingers in. I won’t have time to get it out before the camera comes back so you’re gonna have to sit very still. Hopefully, things’ll hot up in here and they won’t notice us.”

She stared at him, not believing what she was hearing.

“You’re kidding! We’ll never get away with that!”

“Sure we will. I’ve forked out a fair bit for this. I’m not givin’ up now and neither are you,” he said staring at her, his shark like gaze pinning her to her seat.

This was the one and only time, she vowed. No more. She was mad to think she should do him a favour. She would get out of here and go straight to the airport. Get on a plane and just go.

“Now,” he said as the camera turned.

The jacket covered her short skirt and his arm. As she leant forward to kiss him, he slid two fingers into her cunt. She could feel them grasp onto the plastic balloon, then still. He deepened the kiss, using his body to press her back against the chair. She gasped as she felt his other fingers slide into her ass.

She broke the kiss and glared at him as he grinned at her.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

She dropped her head onto his shoulder, feeling his fingers move inside her, mapping her again. He slid them in and out frantically, as if wanting more from her than just the smack. A trail of sweat trickled down her back as his fingers continued to search and tease her, back and forth, relentless. The knuckle of his bent thumb was wedged hard against her clit which pulsed, hot and tight.

“You can’t move. You can’t make a noise. Just sit there,” he said. His eyes were glittering and feverish as his fingers worked her, pushing her up and up.

She didn’t think she could hold it in. But a crash behind her bought her some time.

“Good, baby, good. It’s happenin’.”

The fight got louder and louder as two crims on the other side of the visitors section stood and started throwing punches at each other. Guards came running, chairs fell and everyone started shifting and scrambling away. Two women started in on each other, slapping and yelling, pushing and shoving.

“Now, let’s get this out.”

“No!” she gasped, clutching on to him. “Not yet!”

She drew her legs together keeping him in. “Quickly!” she begged. “Now!”

His grey, dead eyes glittered as he worked her, rubbing his knuckle against her clit, hard and fast.

Yells and screams surrounded her. An alarm went off as more guards pounded into the room.

She sat motionless, silent, as tiny shards of heat and cold, and sharp, searing pleasure slammed through every nerve end, every blood vessel. As the world exploded around her, shattering into brilliant, pulsing fragments, she held her breath to keep the noise in, prolonging the rush for as long as she could.

He pulled out the balloon and swallowed it, just before the camera swung back. His hand was covered in her juice. He wiped it on his overalls smiling at her. She exhaled in a huge shudder and pulled quickly away from him. Standing, she walked to the exit, not looking back.

She would miss those fingers.