I can't quite remember where this falls in to the timeline of those two weeks in each other’s arms. My brain has shook that particular tin of memories around so much, it doesn't seem to have an order anymore. Just a beginning and an inevitable (and unwelcome) conclusion. The middle is a (sweaty, panting, sticky) mess of nights out with cocktails, a lazy Sunday getting lost in the city, verdant parks, pizza in bed, too many restaurants... All punctuated by your naked body, your incredible and explosive orgasms, and the strength of the bond that connected us. 

There is one memory that always sits on top of the happy jumble as if carefully placed there so I'll always find it when I want/need it. It's the one I always come back to, whether I'm idly daydreaming or slowly masturbating to thoughts of you. It’s forever etched on to my mind so I never lose it.

My jumbled memory puts us on a sunny Sunday, browsing the market a couple of hours after you woke me up with my stiffening cock at the back of your throat. The brightly coloured clothing on the stalls, the smells of different foods poking our hunger, the maze of the unfamiliar alleyways making it feel like an adventure, but nothing detracting from each other. Stopping at random points to indulge ourselves in long, deep kisses, feeling each other’s body pulse with the excitement of where the day could take us. It wasn't just that we had a day off from work together, it was that we had two weeks off from life and it felt like we could do anything, go anywhere, but chose this. We spent that day never not touching each other, always finding a way to tease. You'd tickle the back of my neck. I'd whisper in your ear about what I'd do to you over the Goth stall table. You'd push a hand in my back pocket and squeeze. I'd gently run my hand across your breast as we kissed, not caring who saw. You, with more disdain for those around us, would run your hand across my thigh and up the length of my cock as we stood and looked through knock-off t-shirts three for £5... At that point, you won and we hastily headed to my flat.

As always, the foreplay was long and selfless. Our tongues tracing over each other's skin, our fingers and hands teasing and twisting the flesh we knew caused a reaction. Our words dirty and uncompromising. Your taut nipples against my lips. My fingers exploring your hungry holes. The slow pulse of my cock nestled against your puddling cunt as we kissed, biting and sucking each other’s lips. I hadn't let you come yet though. Every time you came close, I pulled away from your glistening, wanton centre and let you suck my cock, my fingertips keeping you on the edge between pleasure and frustration. You begged me to fuck you. To hit it hard from behind. You wanted to feel every inch of my girth fill you and my hips crash against your arse. How could I refuse...?

I moved from the bed and walked towards the full-length mirror that rested against the fireplace, while you circled your clit as you watched my hard dick wave from left to right as I moved. Your eyes travelled up to my arms as I grasped the heavy wooden frame, watching the dimples of my traps hollow as I lifted the looking glass and brought it over. I placed the mirror on the bed and told you to straddle it. The unexpected instruction shocked you and you gasped as you arched your leg over the glass. Every inch of your own body was reflected back at you. Your perspiration-moist skin, your erect nipples, the thick strand of secrete leading from your inner thigh back to your wet lips, the end of my cock, perilously close to them, almost touching against your throbbing clitoris. Your eyes moved across the image, down the length of my shaft and balls to my large, sculpted thighs. You exclaimed that you could see everything and you wanted to see it now. You tucked your knees up and pushed your neatly formed pussy out, making sure you would be able to see me enter you. My cock nudged at you, pushing apart those moist folds of precious flesh, releasing your wet so it fell on the glass in glazing droplets...

You gasp as you watch your hungry cunt devour me, inch by slow inch, feeling my fat dick stretch you from inside, pushing against your walls, nudging at the depth. You can feel the warmth and ebb of my blood in you as I bury myself deep and hold there, the thickest of my veins pushing past your lips, the tip of my cock pulsing inside you, my throbbing balls resting against your exposed clit, my thumb resting gently on the inch of slick, sensitive skin between your holes. Your own blood rages with lust. The sight of me filling you completely creates that heat inside you, the image of your flushed labia stretched around me echoes every adult movie you’ve dared to watch. The pressure of my cock that deep sends your eyes into the back of your head, and as I slowly pull out I squeeze past every hidden spot that might tip you over the edge. The electricity in you builds and you beg me to fuck you harder. 

I raise a leg on to the bed, grab a handful of your hair and drive my length into you with purpose, spraying the mirror with your juices. A scream escapes you as I bury myself deep and quickly pull out of you again, all the time your eyes watching your pussy get fucked and more swollen, drips of your come hanging from your clit and descending to the glass. You come, your core tightening. A second wave hits, stronger than the first, colours and shapes bursting behind your tightly closed eyes until they start to burn. You come again. This one makes you lose control and exclaim that you can’t take anymore, but a sharp pull on your hair brings you back. You open your eyes and focus on the reflected filth below your shaking body. You clench your cunt so hard that it nearly pushes my cock out of you. I push back and squeeze my dick inside with long, hard strokes. The swollen walls of your pussy just giving way enough to drive me over the edge as I feel my own desire trying to escape. I pull out and squeeze my fingers around my straining dick, just below my cock-head and spray violent chains of thick come up on to your body and all over the mirror, hitting your tits and down-turned face as you watch it drip off your stomach and on to the glass. We collapse on the bed next to the abused mirror, literally fucked, and appreciate our artwork. We laugh as we sign our names in the mixture of sweat, spit and spunk and joke about just exactly how we are going to clean it up...