I’ve been toying with the idea of a balcony for weeks now. It’s wrought iron, black, old. Curved like a woman’s hip. It’s one of many on a building in some European city. Flowers hang from its corners. It’s beautiful, but what is about to take place here is not.
She’s dressed as he asked, short black skirt, tight tank top, no bra or panties, shoes left inside. Her hair is up, off her neck. It’s a warm night, and she’s hot. She’s been hot for hours, and sweat beads on her neck and runs to her chest. She’s ready for him, but waiting. Waiting so long, every minute feels like a year.
She grabs the top of the railing with both hands, leans over. Below, she can see people walking in and out of the building, returning from dinner. The sun is almost set, casting heavy shadows on the street and the balcony. She glimpses him approaching from down the street, his reflective sunglasses catching the last of the sun. Her heart pounds.
She’s wet already, and now she reaches down and puts two fingers in her pussy, preparing herself as he asked. She moans. She waits, and moves her fingers steadily. Her knees shake, but she steadies herself against the railing, gripping tighter with her free hand, facing the street.
From the open door, he emerges, smiling to himself. He’s removed his sunglasses, and he pauses near the door to watch her. He clears his throat approvingly, but she doesn’t look at him. Several minutes pass, and she’s moaning, but all he does is watch and rub his cock through his jeans.
Does he even want her? So amused is the look on his face, not bothered in the least. Not struggling to contain himself like she is. He is so separate from her desire that it’s almost impossible to imagine that he directed the whole scene.
Then, suddenly. Swiftly. He steps forward. He unzipped his jeans without her noticing, in her complete distraction. He presses her against the railing. Hard. His body is against hers, and he yanks down the straps of her top with both hands to expose her breasts, slick with sweat. He cups them, and pinches both nipples, hard. She yelps and opens her eyes. She’s dizzy with her need for him, and she tilts forward over the railing a little. At the same moment, he reaches between her legs, pulls her hand aside and shoves three fingers inside her. His fingers, so much larger than hers, hurt. But the pain is pleasure for her, and she feels her orgasm approaching. She leans even farther over the edge of the railing, pressing herself into his hand, coming hard, hard, on his hand. She cries out. The pleasure shoots through her body like electric current radiating from her center down her arms and legs.
He wastes no time. He pulls out his fingers, yanks up her skirt, and shoves his cock inside her. With his other hand he pulls her by the hair, holding her upright again, pressing her even harder to the railing as he fucks her. She cannot contains herself, and is crying out in the now semidarkness, drawing attention from another balcony and the street below. She doesn’t even notice; she has lost sense of time and place. The whole time, he is silent but for his deep breathing. He rocks harder and faster into her, and she grinds back against him, using the railing for resistance. Her hands, where they grip, are marked with red impressions.
When he comes, he lets out a loud moan, “Mmmmm.” She laughs, finally, to hear his voice, and comes again herself. This time the pleasure spreads softly inside her body. A few moments pass, and he turns her around, smiling for real. “Hi,” he says, kissing her, pulling her straps back up, putting her back together. “Hi,” she says, still breathless. They notice some watchers on that neighboring balcony, and wave before stepping back inside, laughing.