Killing The Sun: Part 1

by Mara White

  He spreads my legs on the couch after he’s taken off my panties. I’m sore from earlier but now drenched from all of the make-up fondling and teasing he’s been doing. The blinds are open and I can see into the apartments in the building across the street. Our lights are dimmed but not enough so that anyone across the way who wanted to couldn’t watch. He laps at my center, alternately tongue-fucking me and lazily licking my clit. I arch my back and slide closer to his face, my thighs coming to rest on his shoulders. I moan and press harder so that his tongue slides all the way inside. I pull the straps of my bra off of my shoulders and let my breasts fall free. Danny reaches up and pinches my nipples so hard that I scream. It’s too much for him, so he stands and quickly yanks his pants down. His balls hang so low. He’s an old man, but his cock is amazingly practiced and perpetually hard. He strokes himself in one hand while the other grabs my breast.

  “Put your face down. Ass in the air,” he says gruffly, jerking himself.

  “Please be gentle,” I say as I lower my face into the crack of the couch.

  He isn’t. He pounds me until my flesh screams, until my back threatens to snap from the pressure and impact. With one hand coming over my hip he uses all of his fingers to rub flat against my clit until I explode into orgasm and growl out his name. I want to hit him. I want to spit in his face. He grabs my hair and yanks my head back.

  “Say you won’t leave me!” he roars, pulling all the way out and slamming back into me again.

  “I’ll do whatever I want!” I yell which earns me a vicious hair tug. His palm smacks against my ass cheek so hard I know it will leave a mark. Then again in the same spot. Then again and again. Tears fall from my eyes and smear my makeup into the sofa. He reaches for my clit again and I shout, “NO!” But Danny doesn’t back off and fucks and rubs so fast that as the orgasm pulses through me I scream in horror at my own treacherous body, all the while his huge cock is still pumping and dipping into me. I can’t stop the orgasm. My will, apparently, isn’t as hard as his cock.

  I want out of this relationship.

  Danny isn’t your garden variety Dom—like I’d even know anything about that lifestyle. But from the little I do know, that would mean both consent and boundaries would factor into our relationship. Instead of a closeted kinkster with domination fantasies, I’m tethered to a real-life sadist—who no longer gives a fuck about what I think. We never had a safe word and we definitely need one. Our love is no longer about Danny’s protective nurturing. This coupling has become a dark power game—for Danny it’s about winning, and for me—I need to get the hell out before something really bad happens.

  Danny was so gentle and I blossomed like a flower under his touch, becoming hungrier and hungrier for something I never even knew I wanted—never knew existed before he showed me. At work I was always properly fucked, at least twice a day, sometimes more. Messy hair, rumpled clothing, sweet, sleepy satisfaction all over my face. He would always make me come first, suck my nipples, finger-fuck me or eat my pussy until I rolled into an orgasm. He’d get me good and then work himself out. Part of the reason I never suspected anything was that we were together so often it seemed like we didn’t have time apart. He smelled like me, I reeked of him. Our lovemaking was always written all over both of our faces.

  We stood on the Brooklyn Bridge, hands interlaced. Aimee was always captivated by wherever I took her. That’s why it was so easy to fall for her. She was perpetually happy, a young, vibrant girl. She looked out over the water and squealed when she first saw the Statue of Liberty. Most of the women I’d had in my life would have complained about the wind and asked about my 401K. Aimee grabbed my hand and pressed it to her heart. She looked at me earnestly and thanked me for bringing her. I wanted to kiss her. I needed to taste her. I wondered only for a second if she would be repulsed by my age, but the way those adoring eyes smiled at me, I knew it was in the bag.

  We were going to be a thing. A big thing. So big it would become a problem. But I wasn’t thinking about eventualities, I was staring at her ripe, pink mouth, dying to suck on her tongue and let my hands slide up over the round curve of her butt.

  He reached out and pulled a stray blonde hair that my lip gloss had ensnared. I could feel his warmth everywhere, and I knew he would protect me. He moved so gently, so hesitantly, it almost broke my heart. I’d had boyfriends before and they groped and grabbed handfuls of whatever they could get away with. Danny gave me a kiss like we were lovers at our own sacred wedding. He touched me so reverently, so delicately, and my body responded with greedy heat. I opened my mouth to him and let my tongue speak for me. He was instantly hard. His grip tightened and he pressed against me, feeling as virile as any man, and I forgot that he was nearly fifty, old enough to be my dad.

  I licked my lips slowly when he pulled away. I lowered my gaze and whispered at the wide wooden planks that gave way to the highway, and, even farther below, the East River.

  “Danny, please make love to me.”

  His expression was priceless—shock that faded into admiration and ended with pure, perverse lust. I’d said the right thing, voiced exactly what his wildest dreams were imagining. I wanted him to want me more than I’d ever wanted anything.

  I grabbed her by the arm and charged toward the Brooklyn side. A man returns to his home on instinct under that kind of duress. Two minutes later, I swung her around and dragged her back toward Manhattan. A swank hotel so I could savor her all night. Her plump little body. She looked like a fucking ripe peach. That coloring, that hair, those naturally flushed cheeks. Creamy white thighs and a big round butt, huge fucking tits.

  I took her to the Standard, got us a stellar room—I’d give her the fuck of a lifetime and then I’d forget her. But what I wasn’t expecting was how good she’d taste. I licked champagne off of her lips and drank it out of her mouth. She rolled her neck back in ecstasy and whispered my name repeatedly like an omen, like we were real fucking lovers—a love story, the two of us. I couldn’t have imagined how soft her pale thighs would be, how succulent her tits, but most of all how tight and explosive that cunt of hers was. I knew from the first fuck that I’d never get enough of it.

  I think I fell in love more whenever he was inside of me. Our bodies in symbiosis felt like nothing I’d ever felt before. Danny caressed me and it left a fire on my skin, ignited something unrecognizable deep down inside of me. He made love to me four times that night—more orgasms than I could count.

  He bathed me in the tub, scrubbed the dried semen from my stomach and my thighs while he tasted my mouth. I was open before him, completely uninhibited. He licked my pussy in the bright hotel light and I wasn’t the least bit inclined to shy away; instead, I spread my legs wider. He plunged his fingers into my ass while he fucked me with his tongue. I didn’t push his hands away, I pressed myself down harder. I wanted him to take me and take all of me.

  My last orgasm was elusive; it swam to the top so many times, and just when I thought it was breaking, it dove back under again. Danny was relentless and his two fingers fucked my ass up to the hilt. I’d always thought I wouldn’t like it but when I finally came it was from imagining his dick instead of his fingers ass-fucking me. I came so incredibly hard that I thought my insides would fall out. My screams were loud enough to get us complaints. Danny seemed so proud when the front desk rang. I lay sprawled across the huge bed on my belly and caressed his cock as he reassured the front desk clerk that there was no reason for concern. He smiled down at me and winked as he told them goodnight. I swooned at his authority, at his casual confidence.

  Danny had a lot of power; he was used to getting what he wanted. He unwrapped a peppermint candy on the nightstand as he made another call. It was to his driver, that much I knew, but I could barely understand what they were talking about. I sat up and wiped my lips, sort of in a daze from both the sex and from my own surprisingly enthusiastic performance. He licked his thumb and forefinger and then he pushed them in my mouth. I sucked his fingers like I
wanted to suck his penis; I just couldn’t stop myself. I pulled them in with suction all the way past the knuckle. He hung up the phone, then stared at me and grabbed my breast with his free hand.

  “I want to be exclusive,” he said and I nodded solemnly. “No one else in that sweet cunt, no one comes near that pussy.”

  One night. It was our first night.

  I guess that’s where I went wrong. I assumed it went both ways. I never thought that he was already spoken for—he fucked like a man who was mine to take. I never questioned his intentions. I only thought that if a man could bring out that tigress in me, then he had to be the right man for me.

  His cock still wasn’t flaccid when I finally fell asleep, and his balls were cinched up like he was a firing machine. I moved as far from him as possible on the king-sized hotel bed. The last thing I wanted was to cuddle when I’d been fucked into oblivion. My parts ached, I felt tired and taken to the limit. I wasn’t sure if I could go again ever—let alone the next morning. But there was no need to worry, because when I woke up he was long gone. I don’t even think he spent the night. He’d scribbled a note on the hotel stationary that simply said:

  Best fuck of my life.

  Sunshine, you’re all mine.

  There was thoughtful room service, fresh-squeezed orange juice, chocolate croissants, a pot of fresh-brewed dark coffee. I ate everything, licked my fingers and called my mom to tell her I already had a boyfriend in New York.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Wade asks me as we step into the building. He greets me with a hurried kiss on the cheek and concern washes over his handsome face.

  Seeing him makes me somehow more ashamed about Danny and the things I let him do to me. His kind brown eyes take me in as if he can see right through me.

  “Aimee,” he says, noticing my hesitation, “you can talk to me.”

  “I can’t believe I came back. How could I be so stupid?”

  “Not so convinced he’ll leave her anymore?” Wade asks as he pulls open the door to the elevator.

  “Not so convinced I want him to,” I say as I brush my long bangs away from my forehead. Wade looks at me and lets out a harried breath. I want him to hold me. His arms look safe and strong. I need a hug desperately.

  “Wish I could help you there, but you already know what I think.”

  “I’m starting to doubt that it’s so easy to just pack up and go. I don’t know if he’d let me.”

  “He’s threatening you?” Wade asks as we step off onto our floor.

  I shouldn’t be talking to Wade about these things. I hardly know the guy. I shrug and shake my head and smile nervously at him.

  “My place, beers and burritos?” he asks, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. He is so supportive. Just like a brother or a totally dependable friend. I can’t believe someone divorced him. Seems like women would be lining up to even get a chance with him.

  “Give me ten to change and shower. Feed the cats,” I say, fishing for my keys.

  “I’ll go grab some guacamole, that will cheer both of us up. I need it too, I had a long day.”

  Wade has the TV on the sports center when he lets me in. He kisses me on the cheek and our burritos beep in the microwave. I plop down on his leather couch and giggle when he sets down a platter with two sad-looking frozen burritos, along with two bottles of hot sauce and a tub of guacamole.

  “Aren’t you a gourmet today? I thought we were ordering out.”

  “I thought cooking would be more romantic,” he counters as he pops open a bag of tortilla chips.

  The thought crosses my mind that Danny would be irate if he knew how much time I was spending with Wade. I shudder at the thought of what he might do or say to him if he found us together. I scoop a glob of guacamole using my chip, and then alternately one of sour cream to put on my sad little dinner. But I’ve eaten a thousand sad little dinners before, like every single one on the plastic plates of my childhood. Hot dogs, Wonder bread, a TV dinner was a treat. If it didn’t come in a can or a box, then it didn’t belong on an Olsen plate.

  “Your cooking reminds me of my mom’s. All that’s missing is cheese in a can.”

  “Don’t knock it, Sunshine. This is what sustains thousands of college-aged Americans every day!”

  My fork is midway to my mouth when I freeze mid-air. My mind flashes back through all the times we’ve talked and whether or not I shared with him Danny’s awful pet name. I get a little shiver thinking that maybe I’m being watched or recorded. I don’t trust Danny anymore and I know for sure that Danny thinks it’s me who’s untrustworthy. My fork goes back down on my plate and I cross my arms in my lap.

  “Did I tell you he calls me that?” I ask, my voice shaking just a little.

  “Sorry. It slipped out. Yeah, you did. In fact you showed it to me on your phone.”

  “I guess I’ve been pretty open. Sharing the filthy details of all my dirty laundry.”

  “Sorry, Aim. The name does kind of fit. I won’t call you that again if you don’t like it.”

  “Did you say there was beer?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “In the fridge,” Wade says, and he picks up the remote and starts to flip through the channels.

  There’s a chilled six pack of IPA and a halfway empty bottle of white wine in the fridge. A box of baking soda, a full bottle of ketchup and that’s it. It’s depressing somehow, like maybe Wade needs a family. Maybe I do too—anyone other than Danny.

  “Hey, Wade, you yourself eat like half of the college students in America. And you’re the one teaching them. Not setting much of an example,” I shout from the kitchen.

  “I have a representative from all the major food groups. Like I said, don’t knock it or I’ll stop inviting you over for these elaborate dinners.”

  I grab a beer for Wade too and bring them to the couch. He takes them both and opens mine first; the lip gives off a tiny little wisp of smoke. I look at Wade and smile. He’s so caring and kind. He’s a smart man and I get the feeling he’s watching over me.

  “You okay, Aimee?” Wade asks, his face strained with concern. “I know it’s none of my business. I hate to tell you, but . . .”

  “What?” My heart hiccups at his dangling words. “What’s the bad news?”

  “These walls aren’t so soundproof. I don’t want to be intrusive, by any means . . . but, is he hurting you?”

  “Oh, Jesus! I’m not—oh, my God, I can’t even talk about this.” I set my beer on the coffee table and stand up to leave. I’ll never be able to face Wade again as long as I live. I couldn’t be more embarrassed. In fact, I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed that I didn’t stand up for myself. I die at the thought of Wade hearing how rough and mean Danny has been in the bedroom.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I care about your well-being and you don’t deserve to be mistreated by the guy. I—”

  But I’m out the door so quick I don’t hear his last words. Utterly humiliating to have anyone hear how Danny speaks to me, or even worse, to have them know how he fucks me. I want to crawl away under a rock and die. I don’t want to be one of those women who people feel sorry for. And I know I shouldn’t let him control me or let him think he can have his way. But the worst part is, I’m not even sure if what he’s doing is abusing me. Maybe he has to get it out of his system and he’ll go back to being a kind lover and doting on me instead of hurting me. It’s a passing thing, not a turning point in our relationship. We hit a big road block and we’re having difficulty navigating our way through it. I tell myself this, but it rings false to my own ears. I couldn’t say it to Wade because there’s no way he would buy it. I’m losing touch with normalcy—starting to slip my grip on reality.

  I feel close to Wade but I don’t need him listening in on my sex life. What Danny and I do is private—between us—we’ll work it out eventually. But I hate that his new aggressive streak just made me lose my only real friend.

  My first night at the club . . .

&
nbsp; I was so naïve. Back then I was still Aimee, not yet entirely transformed into his Sunshine. I was taken with the food and the wine, the no-holds-barred opulence—so taken, in fact, that I wasn’t careful with how many drinks I downed.

  Three of his closest friends were there and they all stared at my cleavage like it was theirs to stare at. It should have clued me in, but I wasn’t a part of their world so I didn’t know how to navigate it. Tony, Sal and Indigo. All three of them rich, handsome and intimidating. Well, Sal not so much, but Tony and Indigo were lookers. Handsome, spoiled rich men who both had a mean streak.

  My inhibition waned with the alcohol and Danny’s hands found their way to my leg.

  “Aimee, should we go with these guys to the club?” he asked, a sly smile flitting across his lips. They all smiled too, uncanny, knowing grins that I took at face value.

  “Anywhere. I’m having so much fun!” I must have looked so star-struck to them. All of their eyes glued to how he touched me, I should have known that something was up. But I was young and as green as they come.

  He called for his chauffeur when we stepped out into the cool city night. The air around us crackled with excitement and I got shivers just from the contact between our two hands. We said goodbye to his friends and promised to meet them uptown. I was tipsy on my feet and pretty much drunk in the four-inch heels Danny had sent wrapped up in red tissue paper to my apartment. They’d arrived while I was getting ready and he’d called my cell at the same time.

  “Aimee?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do they fit?”

  “I’m just sliding my foot in right now. Holy crap are they gorgeous! Like a glove, Danny. So perfect!”

  “Wear them for me.”

  “Of course.”

  His voice over the phone was enough to make me combust. I could tell the image of me slipping the shoes on was making him hot. And thinking about his arousal was turning me on.