My Salvation

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She’s dancing seductively, swaying, arms in the air, or grinding her heat into an unknown stranger, pressing herself firmly against him, or her, it really doesn’t matter because she has a need, a desire burning within and finding a rhythm, going with it, following it into a deep dark abyss is her new religion.

I watch from the bar, eyes following every silky curve of her leather-clad body, every thrust and sway of her hips, her arms, tongue along her red wet lips.  I slide my fingers up and down the long neck of my beer, feeling the cold condensation between my fingers.  I know what she wants, what she craves, and I know all I have to do is wait here, wait and look and be patient.  Eventually she’ll come back to me, she’ll waltz up to me smugly, and I’ll pretend to not notice.  She’ll whisper in my ear and I’ll still pretend not to notice.

I’ll take a long slow drink from my beer before turning to her finally and I’ll still wait. Wait for those dark pleading eyes, the urgency in her voice, the rapid breathing and licking of her lips.  And still I’ll wait.  I’ll wait until she tells me she wants me, needs me, and assures me I’m the only one who can satisfy the deep ache inside.  I’m very patient and I can wait all night. 

I know that’s what will happen as sure as I know the sun will rise in the morning.  We play this game every time we come here.  Every time I see her on the dance floor, every time she sees me ordering a beer and settling in for the evening.  We don’t question our actions; there is an unspoken rule between us.  She seduces me with her body, her eyes, and her voice. Her very movement in and out of throbbing bodies sends a hot white ache ripping through my own body, but still, I wait and play the game.  I wait for her to come to me, to beg me, plead with me, convince me to touch her.  And only then, only after she’s practically on her knees licking my boots do I get up and walk out. 

She doesn’t have to follow me.  I never lead her, pull her behind me, or ask her to come with me.  I don’t say anything at all.  I just leave the sweaty heat of the club and find my way to the alley beside it.  And of course she follows.  She always does, like a puppy, loyal, eager to please.

She’s making her way over to me, twisting and turning sensuously, weaving her way through the swell of groping men and jealous women. I can see the intense gazes of both sexes on her face, her breasts, and her ass.  They all think they might have a shot with her, think they know what she needs.  I’m not worried.  I know what she needs, what she craves most of all, and only I can give it to her.  And she knows it too.  She craves me like a needle in the arm, a line of white powder, or perhaps, a thick brown liquid.

I turn from her, picking up a light flirt with the woman sitting beside me.  We’ve seen each other here before and I play a game with her too.  We flirt, I imply interest, and each time she responds anxiously awaiting more.  She should know better by now though, I only leave with one woman.  I slide my thumb up her forearm, bringing her attention back to me, dimly aware that her name might be Erin or Erika, but I’m not really interested.  She smiles and leans her head toward me and I whisper something seductive or sweet into her ear.  It really doesn’t matter what, because I never mean it.  I’m playing with her and she’s too dumb to realize. 

Then I feel her behind me, not wanting to touch me, but needing my attention, needing what only I can give her.  I barely hear her over the music, but I can still make out a small ‘now?’ and I turn from the Erin to glance at her.  I take a drink from my beer, eyeing her, sizing her up, trying to determine if she’s desperate enough yet. I look away again, pretending to find something else extremely interesting.  Erika says something to me, oblivious to the other game going on behind us, and I laugh, pretending to be wrapped up in her, but I can’t even remember her name.

Again I hear her voice in my ear, only this time closer, more urgent.  She’s leaning against me, her tight leather skirt pushed up her thighs as she presses them against the worn jean of my legs. ‘Please, I can’t stand it.’ She tells me, her voice almost a whine.  Then her hand, inching it’s way from my hip to the buttons of my white pressed shirt, smooth across my stomach.  I look at her sternly, warning her that she’s about to cross the line and if she does that, she won’t get what she needs from me.  She takes her hand away but doesn’t back up.

“I need you, I need you so bad.” She tells me.  “Please, pleeease.” 

I can hear that frantic voice I so love ease its way into that last please and I know our little waiting game has come to an end.

I take a long, torturously slow drink from the brown bottle, tilting it all the way, allowing every last ounce down my throat.  I place it back on the bar and whisper something about a page to what’s-her-face, who in return, does a lousy imitation of a pout before telling me she’ll see me around.  I get up, brushing past my partner and walk out into the cool night air, inhaling the faint odor of car exhaust and rain.  I know she’s behind me I don’t even have to look. 

I turn around abruptly and grab her roughly by the arm. I push her against the wall and of course she lets me.  She always lets me, its what we do.  I push my body up against her, hard, pressing myself into her back and ass, spreading her legs with my feet, and forcing her hands against the wall.

“Please…” she moans in response to my rough treatment of her leather skirt as I hike it up, over her hips. 

I treat her tight shirt the same way, dragging my fingernails over her damp flesh as I pull it up over her breasts.  I pull her strapless bra down, letting it simply stay wrapped around her ribs.  I grip her firm flesh with my fingers, pinching and twisting, making her writhe between me and the brick wall in front of her. 

“No underwear again?” I ask, pretending to be angry.

She only responds by writhing and whimpering, pressing back against me. I move to the right a little, pushing her against the wall, and place my foot on a discarded crate next to us.  I pull her to me and grab her right leg, throwing it over mine. In this position she is fully open to me.  I press my left thigh against her ass, steadying her while my left hand continues to unmercifully accost her nipple and the soft flesh around it.

“Please!” she begs. 

My heart is pounding so hard she can probably feel it thud against her back.  I slide my hand around her right thigh, and using my index finger, I teasingly stroke her dark curls, far enough away from her dripping center, but close enough to cause her to thrash against me. 

“Please! Please!” She continues to beg. 

I take my hand away from her breast and bring it down hard on her ass, just beside my leg. 

“Please what?!” I ask harshly, practically biting her earlobe as I suck it into my mouth. 

“Please… please…”

I smack her ass again, my flat palm leaving a red impression on that gloriously creamy skin.

“Please, fuck me!” She finally calls out, her fingers curling into fists, scraping the stone in the process.

I fiercely plunge my hand into her swollen wet sex and am immediately rewarded with her thick pie filling that’s practically bubbling out of her.  I finger her clit, quick and harsh, and only moments later she’s crying out in orgasm, humping her hips against my hand.  Before she can even ride out the last of those powerful waves, I take my hand away, push her leg down and turn her around to face me.

Her face is flushed, her eyes dark with desire and lust, lost to her addiction.  I don’t tell her what to do, she knows by now.  She fumbles a moment with my belt before yanking my zipper down and pulling my rubber dick out.  She slides her hand down the shaft, admiring and I let her indulge only a few minutes, lost in her lust, before I again force her back against the wall, kissing her hard on the mouth, my tongue invading her greedy mouth, plundering. I bring her leg up over mine again slide the head of the rubber cock between her wet lips, drawing a loud moan from her as I slide it over her clit a few more times.

“What do we say?” I ask her.

“Please… please… fuck me.”

“Is that all?” I ask, trying to make my voice calm and patient, pretending to almost be bored. It’s part of the game.

“Please… make… make it hurt.”

And with that I’m slamming into her, rocking her body hard against red bricks, no doubt scraping her back like on so many other occasions. I grab her other leg and pull it up and she wraps it around my waist. I’m standing on two feet again with her toned legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my body into her, pushing against me while I pound my rubber cock deep inside her. 

I smack the underside of her thigh, the bottom of her ass, smacking her creamy flesh with my hands, feeling the sting against my palms, feeding her craving, supplying her drug.  Rough sex in a dark alley where she’s fought the dark side, darkness similar to what rages beneath her hot skin.  I’m lost in her, pumping my hips fast and hard, fierce with lust and passion and power, spanking the hell out of her toned ass as best I can with only my hand.

I know from experience she’s getting close. The tension in her stomach, the intensity of her counter-thrusts, the tight grip of her legs, her moans and pants, the clawing of her fingernails on my ragged shoulders and back.  All signs point to oncoming orgasm and it’s with this that I lunge at the base of her neck with my mouth, pulling the sweat-drenched flesh into my mouth and sucking hard before biting down. 

A cry rising up out of her throat as she bucks against me and grips my shoulders, bruising them. I just hold her, restraining my own strangled cry threatening a forceful exit from my lips at the pain in my shoulders and waist from her tight grip.  She eases up finally, floating in her high. I slide the cock out of her, stuffing it back into my jeans, before kissing her again.  This time its gentle, playful even, nibbling on her bottom lip and savoring the mixed tastes of beer, sweat, mint, everything that’s her.

I help her straighten her clothes, neither of us saying anything for a few minutes.  This is the way it always is, getting back into normalcy, switching to our other selves.

She clasps her hand in mine and I turn to her. 

“Thank you, Will.” She says with a small smile, not meeting my eyes.

“You know you don’t have to thank me, Buff.” I tell her, cupping her chin. But she always does, every single time, and I know for certain she will the next time too.

We walk down the alley, my arm around her shoulder and her arm around my waist.  We’ll go home and I’ll whip her before we make love, without the club, the alley, without the rough fuck against the wall.

She needs this though. She craves it, harbors it, a deep secret only I know about, and I feed her, supply the drug.  I’ve become her pusher, her addiction, her priest.  She whispers her desires, her dark secrets, fantasies, and needs into my ears and I make them come true.  I play any role in order to feed her cravings. 

You think I’m the one in control don’t you?  You think because she begs me, because I decide when, because I smack her ass, fuck her deep and hard, you think because I hold the whip that I’m in control.  She’s the one with the real control.  Everything I do is for her pleasure.  I know what she wants, what she yearns for, what burns her deep down inside, and I supply it without thought to my own pleasure or myself.  She has set me free, allowing me to be anyone, allowing me to pretend I have control, committing fully to me. I might be her addiction, but she’s my salvation.

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