9 Spent

“It happens to everyone.” She tried to keep lightness in her voice, tried to convey that it wasn’t a big deal, not the end of the world, not even the end of their night. Certainly not the end of their time together.

“I know,” he said. But his eyes were cool and pale and didn’t meet hers, and his hands lay at his sides.

She trailed her fingers over his bare chest and stomach. He didn’t react. “It’s okay, really. We can do something else.”

He turned his back and sat up. “Yeah, I’m going for a puff.”

She laid back and looked at the ceiling, her body screaming for release. She thought about touching herself, but it wasn’t what she needed. An empty climax without another’s eyes to watch.

It did happen to everyone. It happened to each lover she took, and there had been many. A little while of great sex until that one time that changed everything. She would gloss it over and rightly take the blame with each one, would maybe carry on with them for a while, for a long while with a few, before her appetite once more got the better of her. She would find another cock to suck.

There was always another cock to suck.

When he didn’t come back to bed, she rose and followed him. He stood, a silver shadow in the light of a full moon at the edge of the porch, the butt of his cigarette an orange ember as he drew. She went to him, and she imagined the moon played in milky highlights over her naked skin, over taught nipples and soft belly and thick thighs. But he wasn’t looking. They never looked afterwards.

She touched his shoulders, slid her hands down his trunk, down his hips, pulling his trousers with them, and her mouth was on him. Even soft he was arousing and delicious, and when he shrank from her, she followed, sucking all of him in. Then his hand was on her forehead and he pushed her off, roughly.

“Not now, “ he said. He left her there, went back inside while she knelt in the cold naked light of the moon.

The first time, she blamed the cock. Fickle apparatus that it was, its owner and possessor was a virile young man who would gladly fuck anything that stood still. He was fun. He was built. His body cut from marble like David, his black hair curly and wild and his eyes huge pools of bottomless tar. He had thick carpet across his chest and down his abdomen. His cock swelled to a massive size. He was playful, and would happily bend her over every chance he got. He slapped her ass and squeezed her breasts and told her to come for him, and slapped her harder if she didn’t.

She could have almost called what she felt for him love.

On their last night, she pinned him beneath her, and her pendulous breasts brushed his skin, and his eyes smoldered with desire. She teased her wetness over his tip as he reached and groaned for her. She sank around him, so ready for climax, and she met his eyes, looking for –

But he wasn’t there. His eyes, though open, closed her out and his cock melted within her. His hands fell away from her flesh. She tried to carry on, bring him back, tease him with her body, her lips, but he’d left her.

That relationship ended in that moment. It hadn’t been love. It had only been sex, and when it was gone, there was nothing left. Nothing to keep either of them.

The second time sent her spiraling into depression, a darkness so deep it took a number of young phalli, sometimes simultaneously, to pull her back to the surface.

She would have certainly called him the love of her life. He came during the time she operated under the erroneous belief that love was what she sought. He’d been kind and funny, and focused on her pleasure like his own life depended on it. His soft blond hair swept his shoulders and his body was thick and welcoming. His eyes were almost catlike, and if she looked into them while she came, the heights they reached together were existential. He could one moment be fucking her hard and fast, and the next be worshiping at her feet, feeding on her, purring against her skin.

They were perfectly matched– until they were not. And when his eyes stared emptily into hers, and his hands fell away from her flesh, and his beautiful cock slid from the velvet clutch of her body, her heart shattered into nothing.

The ones that followed were an even mix of one night stands, alley-fucks and longer term relationships, even a marriage that lasted more than a decade. It lasted because she buried the hunger. She was successful for years. But denial slowly weakened her soul. Apathy seeped into the corners, until one night she left their bed and hunted. She found it, another beautiful cock belonging to another beautiful boy, and she fed.

She rose from her knees and considered following him back in, considered trying to bring him around. But the familiar weariness edged her consciousness. She looked at the moon, a flat expressionless cutout in an inked sky. She let her gaze fall into the tree-line, and listened to the beckoning moan of a promising wind, pushing before it the faint scent of sex.

And she followed.


Erotic Passages Copyright © 2015 by Felicity Johns. All Rights Reserved.


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