Again and again, he brings us both to the edge and then switches, until we’re wild with need, buzzing, humming, and snarling with pent-up sexual energy. How long does this go on? I have no idea. I have no concept of time, only sensation. Only feeling. Only mouths, and fingers, and tongues plunge and push and pull and the edge is right there, right there—
We both come at the same time, and we can’t keep kissing for the rip of orgasm blasting through us, our lips both frozen together, fused, breath coming in ragged gasps, and I twist toward her, clasp against her, feel her soft skin and full breasts against mine, my nipple brushing and rubbing hers, sending my orgasm higher and wilder, her tongue sliding along my lower lip and her whimpers and shrieks blending and tangling with mine. He’s rapacious as he devours our cunts, back and forth, and back and forth, using his fingers and his mouth. He’s all over us, milking every last shred of ecstasy out of us.
I’m still gasping, still shuddering, still whimpering when I feel him slide up between our sweaty, trembling bodies, hard, angular muscle sandwiched between softness and curves; he twists toward me, palms my face, claims my mouth. I feel movement, break the kiss for a breath and catch a glimpse of her hand on his cock, sliding leisurely up and down its stunning length.
I rest my cheek against his and catch my breath and watch her fondle his cock. Watch the way she twists her fist around the plump head, plunges down to the root and flutters fast shallow pumps at the base and then alternates to long slow glides.
God, why is that hot? Shouldn’t I feel jealous? I do, a little. But not because she’s doing that to him, no, but more so because I want to touch him, too.
So I do. I slide down his body and take his balls in my hand, cup them, caress them, and suck them into my mouth. I cup them in my palm again and massage them gently. I take his cock between my lips and feel her hand pumping him, and then we find a rhythm together, me sucking while she plunges both fists around his thickness.
He’s gasping, grunting, cursing. Thrusting into my mouth, into her fists. Hands in my hair, on her back and waist and ass.
“Fuck, fuck.” His voice is deep, bass, guttural, and rife with need. “Stop, Jesus, stop.”
We both stop, and his hands go to my face. He pulls me up and settles me on his stomach. Eager and with a heady sense of need, I lift up and reach down to guide his cock into my cunt, sinking down on him, burying him to the hilt inside me.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight and wet, baby,” he mutters. Then, reaching for her, he pulls her toward him. Guides her leg over his torso, brings her slit to his face. “And you…god, babe, you taste like fucking sugar.”
I ride his cock, and she rides his face.
She angles and grinds, and I lean forward, wrap my hands around her big, bouncing tits and flick my thumbs over her nipples and kiss her neck and she reaches behind her body and somehow finds my clit with her two middle fingers, and everything is sensation, him fucking me, her fingering me, her tits heavy and hot and soft in my palms.
Between his thick, pounding cock and her sure, quick fingers, I come hard and fast, grinding on him in wild circles, cursing nonstop, and clutching her tits with all my strength.
I lift up, letting him slide out. I nip at her earlobe and tweak her nipples. “Your turn to fuck him,” I hear myself say.
She shudders, at the cusp again. I move off him, and she slides down his body, impales him into her in one smooth motion, letting her head droop forward and a gasp rush out of her as he fills her, and god, I watch the way he splits and stretches her, watch his cock disappear into her slit.
That shouldn’t make me hot and bothered, but it does.
Part of me says this should all feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right.
It feels…familiar.
He pulls me toward him again, and somehow I’m ready for yet more. I throw a leg over him, reversed this time, so I’m facing his feet. I position my knees against the mattress and lean forward so he can press his firm lips and nimble tongue to my core. Leaning forward, I plant my fists in the mattress, gasping and writhing as he takes his time now, leisurely, luxuriously, slowly driving me towards yet another climax. I’ve lost count, now. Too many. So many. I ache deliciously from them, and as another ramps up inside me, I find myself gasping, on all fours, rocking back into his mouth, tits swaying against his stomach, and this motion brings me closer to her, brings her breasts to my face, and I suckle her thick, hard nipple into my mouth and she whimpers as I bite down gently. I redistribute my weight so I can worm a hand between her body and his, and I find her clit with my finger.
This doesn’t last long, though. Without warning, she rises up, lets his cock flop free, rotates to ride him reverse cowgirl, wasting no time getting him back deep inside her. I’m treated to the sight of him buried balls deep in her cunt, her slit stretching to accommodate his enormous size, and she’s riding him for all she’s worth, slamming up and down, rough and hard and unrelenting.
Her asshole is bared to me and without thinking or considering I spit on my fingers and smear the saliva around the knot of muscle and slip my middle finger inside, slowly, carefully, millimeter by millimeter, until she rocks forward and whimpers and relaxes for me, and then I can slide my finger all the way in to the last knuckle.
And now, god, fuck, oh god, he’s lapping at me hard and fast and my climax is building and my core is throbbing and she’s clenching around my finger and he’s fucking her with all he’s got while eating me out, and we’re all grunting and cursing and shouting oh shit, fuck, right there, god don’t stop. We’re all moving and writhing and fucking, and she’s coming apart on top of him, fucking him so hard the wet squelching and the slapping flesh on flesh is all I can hear even over my own breathless whimpers of climax.
I fit a second finger inside her as she comes, and she’s half-crying from the force of her orgasm, gasping, almost sobbing.
I end up on the bed, on my back, a voyeur, watching raptly as my man fucks this other woman.
Then he throws her off and bends her forward over the bed, positioning himself behind her and slamming hard into her cunt. His eyes fix on me as begins to fuck. Hard, rough thrusts. Hands gripping her hips, yanking her back into him. Brown eyes hooded and unblinking, assessing my reaction as he fucks her in front of me. She watches me too, arms outstretched, mouth open wide, brows drawn down, body rocking forward with each powerful fuck of his trim hips.
I can’t move, can’t breathe. I can’t look away. They’re both watching me watch them. God, he’s fucking her so hard, so goddamn hard it has to hurt. He’s not fucking her to get her off, but I can tell she will. I can tell by the expression on her face, the way her eyes widen and her lips tremble and her body is wracked, curling back into his thrusts, spine arching and bowing up to shove her big round ass into his driving hips.
Fuck, I can feel it. Watching him fuck her, I can almost feel what she’s feeling. The burning stretch of my pussy around his cock, the thickness of it gliding in and out of me, filling me, the way his hips slam against my ass with a loud clapping sound, the sweet slide out, the sweeter mad crash back in. Fuck, I’m hot all over again, writhing, watching. My fingers find my clit; I’m masturbating, watching him fuck her to mindless orgasm. He grabs her hair, wraps the crimson length of it around his big hard fist and jerks her head back, roughly, forcefully, mercilessly, then fucks her even harder, grunting like an animal as she thrashes and screams and fucks him back just as hard, their eyes never leaving me.
With one hand knotted in her hair, the other lifts in the air, draws back, and swings down and cracks her wickedly across her ass cheek, sending it quivering, making her scream even louder in equal parts pleasure and pain. God, now he’s spanking her with each thrust, one cheek and then the other, again and again in time with each ramming crush of his cock, and she keeps on coming, screaming herself hoarse.
My fingers fly, and they’re watching that, watching me bring myself to yet another orgasm, this one rising up slowly
and heavily.
And then, as I begin to whimper and whine and arch up off the bed with the searing fury of my climax, he pulls out of her pussy. He wraps his fist around his cock and jerks himself. Three hard yanks of his cock, and a jet of cum spurts out of him to splash across her back, up her spine, and then another jerk and another gush pools on her ass and dribbles down the seam of her ass, and then one last spasm and more dripping cum on her ass.
I come so hard I black out.
**
I return to awareness slowly.
I smell him, first.
He’s clean. Smelling of soap and aftershave and man.
I feel him, second.
Muscles. Body hair. Flesh against my flesh.
I’m on my side, and he’s spooning me, breathing steadily, deeply. Awake, but relaxed. His hand explores the length of my body from knee to breast in a line, and then scours back down. He caresses my thigh, teasing in, just a little, then up to my hip, cupping my hipbone. Fingers move teasingly toward my core, but then he backs off and slides his hand up my belly, tracing the line of my diaphragm. He tickles the underside of my breast, and then slides a fingertip in a ring around my nipple, which hardens and slowly stands to attention.
Something else hardens, as he realizes I’m awake.
Something big, a thickening between the globes of my ass.
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”
I writhe my ass against him, sliding his cock between my ass cheeks. Good god, how the fuck are either of us horny again?
“Yeah,” I breathe. “A very dirty girl.”
“We did some bad things today, sweetness.”
“Lots of very bad things.” I angle my hips, lift my thigh, reach between my legs for his dick, fit the head to my slit, and then with a sigh, sink him in. “You tried to make me jealous, with her, didn’t you?”
He laughs, a rough scraping chuckle. “Yeah, that backfired a little.”
“A little?” I laugh, sarcastically. “I got off harder watching that than I did when you fucked me.”
“I noticed.” He slides his arm around my hips, and that arm becomes an iron bar pinning me against him. “Might have to fix that.”
“I thought you were going to come inside her,” I say.
He grinds into me, and I arch my spine to press my ass back against him.
“Never,” he growls. “Only you.”
“Only me?”
A laugh. “That’s how it’s always been with us, right? We fool around with other people, but I only ever come inside you.”
His palm cups my breast as he starts to lose control.
“That’s right,” I breathe. “All your cum, just for me.”
“You want it?” He’s breathless too, his hips pistoning hard and fast now.
“Yeah, baby,” I gasp, tilting my head back to rest it against his shoulder. “Give me that cum. Give it all to me. Let me feel it.”
“Fuck…” he presses his hand over my pussy, slides a finger against my clit. “I’m close already. So fucking close…”
I twist my head and find his mouth.
Instead of kissing me, he bites my lower lip. His fingers pinch my nipple hard enough that I forget about kissing because it hurts and steals my breath and then his fingers slide down my body to massage my clit and I’m coming, coming fast and coming hard.
My cunt squeezes around his cock, and that’s all it takes for him to find his own release, grunting in my ear, breath huffing on my cheek and his voice loud, body thrashing, cock slamming into me and filling me with his thickness. I feel him twitch, pulse, throb, and then he thrusts into me and flutters, pushing deeper and deeper, grinding harder and harder into me as he comes, and I feel a hot wet rush, a blast of cum filling me and spilling out and he’s still going, still thrusting, still fucking, still coming.
I lose my breath for a moment, lose thought, dizzy, overwhelmed. Something about the feel of him like this, intimate, just us, the way he goes limp behind me even as he remains hard inside me, his arm laying heavily on my ribs, mouth pressed in a long kiss against my shoulder.
I let myself lie in his embrace, and just breathe. Feel him. Feel us. Something in this silence between us is…alive. I feel him. Not just his body, but him. His soul. His essence is wrapped around mine.
Something binds us together in this darkness. A deepness. The meaning is secret, beautiful…and fleeting. I reach to find it, seek to drown myself in it, but it flees. I’m left gasping, near tears from the beauty of it, and from the absence of it.
I’m facing away from the windows, facing the bathroom.
I see another door, one I hadn’t noticed until now.
Was it there, earlier, when I took a shower? I don’t know. It’s hard to remember.
And now I can’t seem to look away. It’s a black door, plain and unadorned, except for the handle, which is a modern black knob. It’s partially ajar, opened just a sliver, just a crack.
I feel his awareness behind me.
There’s a sudden strange tension, a palpable heaviness to the moment between us. Sadness? Perhaps.
A knowing.
A farewell.
His lips touch the side of my neck, the hollow behind my ear, my jawline, my cheekbone. “You have to go, now.” His tone indicates there will be no refusal.
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
But I stand up. My legs are shaking, trembling. Aftershocks still wrack my body. Cum leaks out of me and drips down the inside of my thigh. I feel him behind me, his hands on my waist. I walk forward, and he moves with me.
We stand at the door. I twist the knob, slowly, reluctantly. It opens toward me, swinging on silent hinges to reveal darkness. Blackness. Nothingness.
A familiar blackness, a familiar nothingness.
I don’t want to go through.
I want to stay here.
I don’t know what’s on the other side. Or do I? I can’t remember. I only know him, behind me. His body. The passion, the all-consuming erotic need. His touch.
I only know shuddering in the darkness with him, and sometimes the breath and the heat and the slide of someone else’s skin against my own, against his, many limbs tangled together in a secret moment out of time.
I want to stay here and feel more of that. I want to feel more of everything.
But despite my wishes, my feet carry me forward involuntarily. His hands press against my waist, pushing me forward and pulling back in equal measure. He wants me to stay, but he knows I can’t, and he doesn’t know how to verbalize it either, anymore than I do.
One step, two.
Three.
The threshold is before me, and he is behind me. There is no in between, no waiting, no putting it off. My feet obey some unheard command, a pulling, a pushing.
I step through, and his hands fall away, his heat diminishes, his presence is enveloped by darkness and cold and then…
Nothing.
***
Silence.
Perfect, utter silence.
A drowning quiet.
A longing, deep and unfulfilled, soul-deep, a bone-deep need for something I cannot have; the first sensation.
Pang of loss, gnaw of guilt, acid bite of shame, burning heat of lust, a deep delicious soreness in all the right places—all of these sensations roil and coil and mingle together, wedded; the second sensation.
I open my eyes; the third sensation.
I’m in the room of black doors.
The white cot is beneath me and, to my left, a small square black table on which is the thick white candle, flickering merrily, rivulets of melted wax dripping down the sides to pool and harden on the silver candlestick.
Beyond me, I can see six pools of orange-yellow light and six doors: four black, one green, and one silver.
I lay still. The only sounds are my heart thumping in my ear and my breath, soughing in and out slowly. This is all that exists, within and with
out.
How long do I lay in the warmth of that candlelit room, not thinking, not feeling, barely even existing?
I don’t know.
Time out of time.
But no, that isn’t right either. There is no time. If you cannot measure the passage of time, then there is no time. The only measure of anything is the infinitesimal shortening of the candle, and the pool of hardening wax around the base of the silver candlestick.
I feel tiredness in my bones, lethargy in my muscles, and an overwhelming unwillingness to get up.
I close my eyes once more and feel the heaviness of sleep pulling me under, and then I’m floating as I drift along the edge of consciousness into that place of not sleeping, but of not quite being awake.
And then sleep pulls me down, and I am helpless to resist.
Everything fades. Memory of anything, knowledge of anything—it all fades away to nothingness along with my knowledge of my body, my mind, and myself.
Only darkness remains, only the vague point of I, floating in eternal nothingness.
Floating away.
Drifting.
That infinitesimal point of I, the dot that is I begins to brighten and come into focus.
Hardens. Expands.
The darkness is not my friend. I won’t let it swallow me.
I—
I am.
I am.
The point of I becomes a pinprick of light.
And then it grows.
Flickers.
Dances, wavering and jumping, twisting and leaping, guttering, flaring.
A candle flame.
It calls to me.
Breathes upon me, into me.
I cling to that life, that light, that breath. I let it push through me. Let it diminish the darkness, until I can feel myself once again. Feel the fullness of my body, the expanse of my mind, the presence of my sense of self.
The Black Room: Door Two Page 6
