When Life Gets Tough
He was sitting alone again tonight. The apartment was a silent cell of anguish to which, it seemed, he had been permanently sentenced. The clock ticked on, taunting him with its indifferent reverberations, making him wish his ears would just fall off like god damned leper ears. His mind was racing, always fuckin' racing, and he was fuckin' sick and tired of it. Nothing could stop his mind from racing. Not the needle in his arm, not the knife jutting from his thigh like a French flag of surrender, and maybe not even the 9mm pressed to his sweaty temple. As his index finger tensed around the trigger, he couldn't help but scan the room and allow his memories of her to come flooding back.
He stared into what was left of his living room, he had destroyed nearly everything in a drunken rage, and the first wave of painful memories had begun.
He could still see her there, in front of the couch, standing between himself and whatever meaningless bullshit the television tormented him with. Looking back it would be impossible to say why, but at the time it had irritated him terribly. Despite his vulgar protest she was not to be denied, not on this night or any other, she shut the tv off...shut the lights off...pulled the shades open...and proceeded with great purpose and little urgency over to the stereo.
Her favorite song now emanating forth from the speakers, a song he detested, but from the look in her eyes he knew he would have no complaints. There was something in her eyes that night, from that very moment he had known things would be very interesting, and her smile was, in a word, wicked. His memory went into slow motion and suddenly he could recall every little detail. The flickering of the candlelight reflected deviously on the barren window, the thump of the bass he felt throughout his entire body from her song, and most importantly every single movement she had made whilst enticing him.
Her body was simply angelic as she began to sway to the music, her hips traversing side to side, slowly, deliberately, perfectly. He loved to watch her sleek movements, her prominent hipbones mesmerized him even greater with each passing second, something below began to stir. She ran her hand through her hair, slowly down her cheek, over her neck softly, slightly more aggressive over her perky breats, mercifully over her slight midriff, resting briefly on those hipbones, and back from her body. She knew she had tormented him, not even removing a single piece of clothing, and already his throbbing cock was protruding proudly against the material of his cargo pants only briefly catching her attention. She was wearing a very short skirt, with fishnet thigh-highs, a shirt that was likely meant for a 1st grader, and what else he could only imagine.
She had danced her way over to him, grinding her fine ass against his aching, swollen member while reaching over the arm of the couch, and before he knew it he'd been chained to either side of the couch. She straddled him and had whispered instructions seductively in his ear. She was in charge, absolutely no talking, what he is to do would always be made very clear, do it quickly, no contemplation, and no refusals. She bit hard into the flesh of his neck, then, drawing and tasting of his blood before, again, walking off to the stereo. A new song, the dance resumed, his cock seemed harder still, and as blood ran down his neck slowly saturating the collar of his shirt he didn't utter a word. She immediately returned for another brief taste of his crimson offering without the slightest interruption of her seductive performance.
Clearly he could recall the eyes, always focused on him, closing briefly, occasionally such that the energy of the music could fill her soul and command her body. Gracefully her fingers trailed over her hips to the base of her shirt, before peeling it off to reveal a sheer red bra and so much more of her exquisite skin. He could've spent days admiring this much of her; the flat toned stomach, cute little navel ring, a line of rib after rib leading to the swell of her breasts, and onto the pale skin of her neck. Every inch of her tantalizing perfection mocking him in this moment of futility. Were he not commanded silent he would gladly beg on his hands and knees that his hands or even his tongue could enjoy her form.
He sat wordless as her skirt hit the floor to reveal his favorite red panties that tied at the hip, his heart was racing and he was squirming with uneasy excitement. Again he took in the shapely form of her legs, still clad in the fishnets that truly drove him mad (like his boner achilles heel, those fishnets on her legs could give him wood while watching sumo wrestling,) all the way up to the perfect curve of her ass. He was so caught up in it that the sheer red bra hitting his face had caught him off guard. Her nipples had stiffened in the cool air and his mouth had fallen agape almost begging to get a taste. His eyes brightened as she approached, god he wanted a mouthful of those exquisite breasts. She crouched slightly bringing her breasts just out of the reach of his tongue, he struggled with all of his might to get his tongue there, but she tormented him all too well.
She rose slowly, allowing his lips brief contact with abdomen, then she turned slighty and the tie at her hip was pressed against his lips. He bit onto it and she pulled herself away, half freeing herself from its entrapment and the same at the other side. Her pussy was just inches from his face, he lamented that his tongue could not reach, the scent of her excitement increased his discomfort. She resumed her sensuous dance, naked except for the fishnets, parading in front of him and bringing his passion to a boil. Her hands freely exploring her body, caressing her stomach, grasping at her breasts, teasing her nipples, and sliding down between her legs to listlessly play with her wetness.
She would torment him with a taste from her finger before she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her tongue teased at his cock through his pants as her warm breath permeated the material. She continued this torment as she removed his cargo pants and eventually his boxer shorts. His cock, engorged with blood, stood at full attention waving in the air like it was saying "hello" or greeting an old friend.
She would put her mouth to his cock without touching it, obscenely close yet not close enough, open her mouth wide and allow it in again without contact, her hot breath engulfing and cruelly tormenting him.
Again she would straddle him, tearing the shirt off his body, and pressing her body to his. This was the most vibrant memory of the night. The sound of her breath in his ear, her arms reaching out across his owm grasping near his wrists, her breasts pressed against his chest(he could feel her heartbeat, he revelled in it,) and the warmth of her pussy just over his cock; agonizingly close. She bit into the other side of his neck, now, tasting again of his blood. Its warmth cascaded over her lips and across her tongue, so amazing its taste that she could no longer hold out. She went to his left arm and freed it before dropping the keys onto his lap and hauling ass into the bedroom. Quickly he freed his other arm and...
Suddenly he was jolted back into reality. He had stood in the hallway for quite some time now staring at the remnants of his living room contemplating masturbation were his hands not; one holding a gun to his head and the other badly lacerated from the struggle. At this point, though, he paused. They had continued on into the bedroom, but he doubted he could bring himself to stare blankly into that room, the one they had shared for so long; definately not in its current state. He wondered why he must torment himself with this, why didn't he just pull the trigger? What was he waiting for? No good could come of this, but his heart made him look and made his mind remember.
He practically sprinted into the room, diving to join her on the bed. When normally he would take his time to explore every bit of her flesh with his tongue and drive her crazy with his oral skills before she begged to be fucked; she had made it abundantly clear that this was not on this night's agenda. It was she who had brought him to the brink of begging and it was her now kneeling on the bed with her ass in the air towards the door so he made no mistake as to what was expected of him. He spanked her ass, just once, hard enough to let her know it wasn't very nice to torment him like that. And if she wanted to be taken right then and there then she was in luck, because wasn't wasting a moment. He took only a moment binding each of her arms together with the silk they always kept at the bed. Finally there lips met with an unrivaled fury of passion, their tongues embraced, and in an instant he dissappeared behind her. She could feel his cock pressing against her, slowly easing into her warmth. He was halfway inside of her when he pulled out. He couldn't help himself, he pulled her upright by the back of her hair and lowered his lips to her neck, biting at her and covering her neck with gentle kisses, encircling each of her nipples with the aggressive touch of his warm tongue, his hands caressing her pliant breasts, he grasped her waist as his mouth trailed over her stomach, goose bumps all over her body, she shivered at his touch and when his tongue had finally slowly worked its way to her clit electricity shot through her body. He was only there for a taste, though, he'd return for more; but now he climbed back over her and threw her onto her back.
His left hand would restrain her bound hands to the mattress above their heads, his right hand would grasp at her throat forcefully pressing her down and impeding her airway. Now, in his time of control, while again they shared erratic amorous kisses; he entered her with all the built up energy of her living room torment. He was quickly inside of her, pounding her pussy like it deserved a punishment, their flesh smacked together rather violently and the sounds of enjoyment escaped each of their lips. She wrapped her legs tightly around him urging him closed, his grip tightened at her throat, she bit through his lip and again they shared the taste of blood, he repositioned her as needed and spent her required extra time enjoying some doggie style. They would end with her on top, riding his pole with reckless abandon, screaming out obscenities as every inch of his thickness penetrated her. Every soft, wet aspect of her pussy filled out and caressed by his rigid cock, his balls slapping against her ass, and as her entire body tensed and shook through another orgasm he had collapsed from his own. Almost as long as the hours they spent fucking like mad, she straddled his face and his tongue worked impecable magic on her. Clearly this was both of their favorite, he loved the look on her face when he could catch a glimpse. She would force him to stop eventually much to his dismay. Then they lie in embrace staring into each others eyes and life was good.
Back to reality, what had gone wrong? Why was she mad at him? What did he do to her? Did he hurt her? Did he upset her? When did this happen? Why didn't they talk about it? Why didn't they work it out? Why had she done this to him? Why did he have to kill them?
Simple enough he had gotten home that day after getting off early to surprise her. Apparently the surprise was for them all, because their she was in their bed fucking his best friend. He left the room and closed the door without a word and walked into the kitchen to collect his thoughts. No one emerged from that door to console him. Instead the fucking resumed, all their noises clearly audible, the squeeking bed spring, the headboard smacking the wall, his best friends groans matched by his own lovers moans of passion. These sounds ran circles in his head, they slowly toured his imagination and provided him with an exceptionally painful mental image. His stomach ached, his heart pled to burst, and then there was silence.
Honestly he had no recollection of doing it. When he found himself staring at their dismembered corpses, standing in a quarter inch of blood, holding a butcher knife; wasn't much left to decipher. And he was wasted. How long had he stood in that kitchen listening to them? Did he trash the living room before? During? After? How had he cut his hand so badly? Where were there heads?
There was no going back now, no running away from this one, better to end it now. Hope was lost, his finger tensed, and at last the trigger was pulled. Now the silence was forever.
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