Okay, here's my second contribution to the ongoing Porn Battle, written in twenty minutes. Once again, I'm trying a new fandom - the primary attraction of the Porn Battles, to me; this time, it's Cold Comfort Farm, one of the very few movies that I think is the equal of the book it's based on. Anyway, here it is.
Becoming Mrs. Fairford had been most agreeable. Flora had worn white with silver trim - so chic, so classic - and known exactly what words of love and praise Charles would utter once they settled into their hotel room for the honeymoon. Charles was so agreeable, so reliable, that she allowed a modest blush to stain her cheeks when he compared her favourably to "grey-eyed Athena" for wit and "gracious Aphrodite" for beauty. Charles, she felt, understood her.
Charles's kisses grew firmer, his tongue bolder, and his hands made short work of the dress. Almost she wished to reproach him for laying waste to her finery, but there was a hunger in his eyes that took precedence, and she found that there was a thrill in surrendering to this man, to her husband of an hour, ardent and fumble-fingered. "Charles," she said, urging him on when he checked himself, "please -"
"You haven't -" he said, and then she understood.
"Show me," she said, thinking she was ready, revelling in her own decadence, rolling in silk sheets and a gown twisted so that the hem was at her waist. But, oh! the sharp hurt of it! She felt as if she were drowning, struggling for one steady breath, the force of each thrust knocking it out of her. Dimly, she sensed wetness where she had opened to him, that the skin of his back was warm against her hands, that his hair was tickling her cheek. "Charles," she said, so softly she couldn't hear it herself, but he did, he must have, because his lips were on her again, tenderly bestowing kisses that dulled the pain, that made her aware of the pleasure of his weight on top of her.
"Flora," he whispered between kisses, his hips between hers rolling rather than pushing. "Can you ...?"
She nodded, blinking through the sudden film of tears. Girls the world over did whatever it was he was asking for; she could too. She wanted to hold him above her with hands against his shoulders, breathing deeply for long moments, but it would be a rejection of sorts, and he deserved better. She pulled him close instead, fitting herself against him, and tried to move as he did. A little wisp of pleasure trembled into being but vanished before she could snatch it. She cried out then, and he shifted, drawing a blazing path of sensation down her body. A golden orb touched her everywhere they were joined, and she clutched him more closely. When he shuddered and went still, she felt the light leaving, but slowly, gently.
He kissed her again, fingers pushing back the hair from her brow. "My clever wife. My beautiful girl." She traced his features with a loving hand. She would get up in a moment, she decided, and order a light meal. Charles mustn't be allowed to go hungry, and she wanted to keep up her own strength. After tea, she would put on the lingerie Mary had given her, perhaps the pearls she'd retrieved from the bank, and invite Charles to enjoy her again. If hired girls had learnt the pleasure of it, she wanted to drink it down and not just sip delicately from the lip of the cup.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.