fmotis

|sequel to this one|

He strayed the roads under the falling rain, his hair was wet, his fingers cold, his heart a mess, his eyes wetter than the sky above, his prick stiff like the concrete he walked. Time has passed a day, a month he could not tell. Just some hours after the mad farewell. Dizzy he stumbled on men and wondered if one might be him, or all of them. A coffee to go steaming, then growing cold. A little man and now even smaller. He saw them pass and felt they can tell, just by laying their eyes upon him. Size him up right. He thought he should yell and imagined to rip some faceless monster apart. Standing up was never his art.

He searched the ways in the rain and despair, because he knew already his path. He could not go another road.

Back up to her this was a different walk. He could see it all now. All her unspoken desires he could never fulfill. All her reign over him. All her men. She didn’t request a thing, he gave it all in worship and lust. No reason to complain. He chose the game. She played it, gauged him and she was still there. This was a different walk now. She will know, her winning hand. The unspoken will become visible, the threshold will be crossed and there’s no turning back nor running.

Inside the bedroom. She didn’t move. Looked at him with her sleepy eyes. Her body exposed and marked. He stood naked in front of her as if waiting for her permission, then laid beside her. Taking her blended scent in. He hugged her, felt her hot breath and her body shivering by his touch. He was there and would never go away again.

for S.

“I see it in your fake eyes. No need to turn away now.”, he grumbled at her in his smoky voice she adored so much when they first met.What was there left to say now? He knew and she wanted him to know. Now what? Is this the dead end street she inevitably expected? No escape route in view. It’s dark anyway. The wind is blowing elsewhere. Here it’s silent, except his tired breathing. And the rejection of his touch that burns her body.

Her eyes closed now. She focuses on the air he inhales with such difficulty. Barely breathes herself. The air that flowed above her skin and made her tremble. She never really knew him, never got to know who he was. His touches were enough, he didn’t even need to talk. Most times he didn’t say a word. He came in, shut the door and she was all over him, sucking on every bit of his body and cum. Never resting a moment for fear he might leave. He fingers piercing him without compassion. Until she came and fell back exhausted and sated on the warm carpet or bed or table in the kitchen. She could feel his breath retreating from her skin as he got off her and dressed silently. Almost sad. His eyes, still left on her body. He opened the door and left. A stranger again. She never wanted to talk to him. Posed the sleeping, fucked beauty until he left. Sometimes she really fell asleep. Until her husband dangled with his keys at the door. He never wanted to suspect a thing.

He stood in the middle of the room. Not really straight but robust and strong. A large shadow over her small body fixed on the wall. He was not threatening her. He was not even angry. They stood there in screaming silence. Their eyes wandered on each others bodies in a violent farewell.

He closed the door softly, she slid down to the floor.