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The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 01

By: TheGreyKnight



Authors note: For once, I'm doing quite a build up for my first series. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. The BDSM and all the rest will come as the story unfolds.

*****

He opens the door. 

The heat beat down upon our hero like nothing he ever felt before. It coaxed sweat to the surface of his skin where it could nearly turn it into steam. He dabbed at his forehead with a kerchief, pushed the airport door all the way open, and stepped into Northern Africa for the first time.

After a moment his eyes adjusted to the bright, hot sun and the light that warped everything it touched. 

He hailed a cab, holding the palm of his hand up over the sunglasses, wondering when he could adjust to this new found light. If she had been anyone else, anyone at all but her, he couldn't even fathom coming here. Much less staying in the heat a moment longer than needed. 

The hotel was splendid and the English of the check-in girl was perfect. It was clear from the moment he entered the room that this place specialized in pampered Europeans. He hardly had enough time to park his suitcase and get in the room before his phone rang.

"You are so very punctual, answering on the second ring." Her voice is like incense smoke. Even through the phone it bounces in his ear and runs over his skin. Somehow, it makes him even hotter than the sun.

"I want to see you tonight." His voice is dark, low with a tight throat. 

"You are tired. Your journey must have taken it out of you." She laughs and it is airy, as though she does not fear him at all.

"I want to see you."

"You repeat yourself, My Mister." She tisks and he can feel the weight of her full lips through the phone. Sense them on his face, his chest, his cock. "We did not agree. Please, do not make me more uncomfortable about this meeting than I already am. This is—very difficult for me. I adore that you traveled, that you came. Now please, My Mister, freshen up. Take your evening meal, do you call it supper or dinner? Shower, the soap here is so beautifully perfumed, but do not not use too much. I want to smell you tomorrow."

He is about to break form and beg her, but the click comes before he does.

For a moment he resents her, then pulls himself into the shower, limps to bed in nothing but a towel and falls into a deep, dead sleep before the sun even falls.

He opens the door. Massive and wooden, replete with panels each larger than his head—and there she is.

Her hair is glossy, rich and long. There is no way she would be a surgeon in the States with that kind of hair. It is, amazingly, his first thought about her. Then her neck turns and their eyes meet for the first time. When she smiles, both warm and contained, he is no longer sure what to think, or that he can. His world becomes hotter, heavy and soft around the edges. 

The waiter asks him the question again, in the kind of slower, louder English that someone only breaks out when dealing with a particularly stupid tourist and he's pulled out of the fire. "Sorry," our hero says, "I—she is waiting for me." He gestures with his hand, careful not to point and when the waiter sees her, his eyes return to our hero with confusion and doubt. After a second, he nods.

Our hero takes steps so heavy he wonders if he's carrying another person, but through it all, each footfall that leads him up to her—she does not look away. Her eyes are on him, her smile fixed, small and warm and when he arrives she stands. Her breasts bounce within the dress of fabric too thin to constrain her, and her hand is offered up to him. When he tries to shake it she pulls it back and laughs, eyes growing wider, mouth curving into more of a grin.

"You did not think I would make you fly all this way just to have you shake my hand, did you?" 

Our hero is not sure what to respond, so she saves him again. She wraps her arms around him, low; at the waist, and constricts him as her face pressing into his chest. And as she takes the air out of him he can no longer breathe in the smoke, is no longer lost. He simply clings to her. And he thinks he can hear her barely whisper the words, "you're mine now." But the moment is not long enough and she breaks the embrace.

Her eyes are warmest, hottest kind of dark he's ever seen and it's only the movement of her hand offering a seat that breaks her gaze.

The waiter returns and asks her something in their native tongue. "Well we'd certainly like more water. And a moment if you'd be kind." The waiter casts our hero a second suspicious glance before pouring to large glasses of ice water as he, and The Girl, lock eyes.

"So, how was your trip! Did you sleep well?" She is framed by the most red sunset he's ever seen and he wonders if she asked for this seat or if it was just another dice roll. "You are so silent, I did not expect this. I think of you as verbal, your mouth always moving. Am I speaking too much? I tend to do that when nervous. When I can't-"

"You're not."

His words hang heavy in the air. She seems to relish them, her eyes closing as she takes a long pull from the glass of water. "Say something else."

"This is where I suppose I'd say the word 'you' and then you'd said it back to me. 'You?' And then I'd say something like, 'Yeah, because you are are something else.' But I don't want to do that. I want to—I have never tried to be more impressive and less of myself than at this moment."

She laughs and it is earnest and free before her guard comes back up. "My Mister. If the core of you wasn't impressive, do you really think you'd be here?" She gestures to the old fort converted into a restaurant with her hand. A place that invaders had conquered and made their own for hundreds of years, maybe longer, now adorned with rich carpets along the wall and trinkets for sale in the lobby.

"I like when you call me 'My Mister.'"

"Then you should say more about it. I love your voice. It is different in person, when I can hear it, feel its little vibrations wash over me."

"I wanted to see you last night."

"I know." She smiles instead of looking down or away. "But I knew it was best that we see each other today."

He takes the slowest pull of water that he's ever had in his life. It is cold and needed, the dust and the heath seeming to sap every bit of moisture from him. 

"We are going to reach a point where I will need you to stop knowing what's best and deciding for us."

"I see. Already so aggressive. Terrifying." But her body shifts forward, more of her breasts are revealed and there is nothing scared in her tone. Our hero wonders who should be terrified. "Have you eaten today?"

"Not yet."

"And last night?"

"No, I went right to sleep after a shower."

She tisks and flags the waiter, ordering so quickly and with fluency he could never hope to understand,. "I think you'll like the selection. And perhaps eating will coax you out of your shell. Maybe the dark monster within you is only scary and grumpy because he does not get enough to eat. Well, tonight? Tonight he has the best meal he could have in a long time."

He ignores the obvious bait of sexual banter given that she can retreat from it so easily here. "You didn't ask me what I wanted."

She moans, she shifts in her seat and her thighs rub against one another as she crosses her legs. Then her forefinger and thumb grasp the fabric of her dress just above her navel and pull so that another centimeter of her bust is revealed. "That is because I know exactly what you want." 

"I told you that you were going to need to stop deciding for me."

"Yes," she reaches for her glass of water, "and because you asked it I will not-"

He traps her hand between his and the rich, thick table cloth. Pushes it down into the table in such a way that nobody looking on would think anything of it, simply two lovers holding hands, but in a way that she could very much feel. "You have asked me, before I arrived, what is the difference between me and the monster? You seem to have made a mistake, thinking that the monster does not ask and the man does. You are wrong. We both do. The difference is merely how we handle not being—look me in the eyes—how we handle not being heard."

Our hero removes his hand from hers and takes the longest sip of water in his life before placing both palms back on the table. "I will not threaten you. I will not demand anything of you. But I do ask you to remember that I am no fool." 

The waiter comes with their food; small portions, finger foods, steaming hot. When he is not responded to in any way he vanishes and our hero speaks with the low, slow growl from the back of his throat that he's rarely heard. "You didn't ask me all this way to be a poor host or a tease. I will have you. If not tonight, then soon. And you will make the travel, the heat and the sun worth it."

She nods, mouth open only a crack, and begins to instruct him on the correct way to eat the first dish. 

"I cannot come in tonight." She says it without any kind of hesitation or heaviness. It is simply fact. 

She looks away from him as he stares over her immense and ocean-deep beauty before looking around the bar of the hotel lobby. He surmised the building was only a few decades old but the wood in it, older than America, modern republics and saxophones. He wondered if this only worked on tourists, the age and splendor of the carpets and tables. Did the locals find it tacky or warm? Did they find this idea of local tradition being pushed accurate or silly. He wanted to ask but she was shy and he needed to let her be.

"I will wait for you," our hero says. And when she turns to him with surprise he nods with a smile forming. "I have waited this long. What's another night?" He sips the local, Muslim beer that she recommended. "Besides agony, of course." 

She laughs. And her laugh is amazing. He has never heard it in any real way and it makes him smile. "Wink for me," she asks.

"Just—wink?"

"Yes, please. It is such a funny think to me. Tell me, what is the difference between a wink and this 'cowboy wink' you always tell me of? Hmm?"

"Well, a wink is just a wink."

And he does and she giggles so loudly that her hands come over her mouth. She's drunk too much, or she can fake it. "You'll forgive me if I'm not entirely seduced."

"Forgiven."

"Now the cowboy wink. Please? Please!?"

She seems to know he'll deny her before he does. "I'm not sure you can fake a cowboy wink. It has to come naturally."

"Well, what is a cowboy wink then?"

He takes another sip of the beer before putting it down, brushing his hands on his hips and leaning forward. "A cowboy wink is honest and dishonest at the same time, like a normal wink. A way to say that something isn't exactly what it seems."

"So what is the difference?" She leans forward.

"Well. When you cowboy wink? It's got a little recoil to it. Like you're firing a gun."

She laughs so loudly that others look over and she covers her mouth. It causes him to grin fully, laugh with her, lean in closer to her than he normally would. She calms herself, takes a deep breath, looks up at him and begs. "Try."

So he summons his feelings for her. So much more than sex and excitement could hold and looks into her eyes like smoke pushed into a bottle. Then he winks like it forces him to tilt his head in the opposite direction while pulling his lip up into a smirk. 

And The Girl is breathless for a moment before laughing so hard that she must cover her mouth with both hands. In between gasps she says, "that is the most," before taking more air in, "silly thing I have ever seen." And she hugs him, kisses his cheek while still laughing. Then he feels her lips against his ear. "What does your hotel room look like?"

He opens the door. 

It slips open with a beep from the card reader and is too light, or he is too strong. Maybe it is the drink she's made sure was always in his hand. Either way he hits the wall and she giggles, causing him to laugh. Then they move move the hallway together before he kisses her long and full on the lips until she asks him to close it behind them. After he does he turns around to see her making her way to the balcony, sliding open the door and stepping out. The breeze comes to life and moves over her, tossing her coal-black hair around and filling the room with some blessed relief. 

Heavy steps take our hero out into the cool air of the terrace and he cannot help but look at her, the sea of her curves more visible as the wind pushes the dress against her form. She turns to smile at him and then leans over the railing. She laughs into the rushing air in such a way that they sing together and then she pulls back to push her back against him, into him and reaches up so that her palm is on her face. "I feel so very terrible now."

"Why?"

"Because we are out here in the cool air and it is very pleasant."

"What does that make you feel terrible."

She strokes his freshly shaven cheek, plays with his earth-toned hair and turns around to lock her stunningly dark eyes on this browns. "Because, when I fuck you? It's going to be so much more hot now."

His hands are slapped away from her writs and then pushes into the mattress as she writhes on top of him. "No. You are always in control, My Mister. Tonight you must wait." She makes sure his hands will stay on the bed before she brings them back to his face. She pushes an index finger into his mouth. "Kiss it. Suck it for me. Make me fall in love with your thick lips all over again." 

He inhales her, sucks on just the tip of her finger and then takes it in through the suction of his mouth and nothing else. He licks around it, pushes it in and out with his lips. 

"Oh yes, My Mister. That is what I wanted." She pulls the finger out and offers her palm to his hips to kiss before coming down and inviting him. Her tongue invades his, licks up and down his mouth as her breasts push against against him and her hips slide back and forth, grinding him through his clothing, her panties. He's never wanted to reach up and grab something more, so he growls. 

"Yes, I want that too. I want to feed that silly little beast in you." Then she kisses below his ear, all up and down his jawline and over his neck. 

"It's not silly," he says.

She kisses up her way up to his other ear, gives it a quick lash with her tongue and whispers, "Oh yes it is. Because it has never had me to tempt it. When we are done? When we say goodbye? That beast will have run wild for the first time in its life. I will make it stronger than it's ever been and you? You will love it instead of hiding from it." She pushes her tongue inside his ear as she begins to undo the belt on his slacks. "I love that you dressed up for me, tried to impress me. But I want you to take off the mask now."

Shes over him again in an instant, kissing him as he feels the belt being undone. And that is something that stuns him. The confidence, the knowing, the saying of what will happen instead of what might. Her pussy and the heat he can already feel spilling out it, might be the least enticing thing about her. She intoxicates him more than the travel and the booze ever could and takes the heat of the unforgiving sun from him with her mouth.

His cock is out and the room cools immediately. He feels her panties, just the hint of lips through them, grinding between her and the hardness of his cock. "Oh yes, this is perfect. You are so ready." She laughs and puts her hands against his chest, pushing into his button-up shirt that's thicker than her dress as she climbs up and down the underside of his cock with the thrusts of her hips. "Mmm, is this enough for you, I wonder? Because I could be here all evening. No, you are too patient to push me down and fuck me now. And that is why you peel me apart without even trying." She leans back down to kiss him hard, her lips slightly open in a purr. "You are strong enough to both take and resist me."

Now it's her ass that grinds against the top of her cock, barely bobbing up and down as her eyes look deep and heavy into his. "I cannot believe you have kept your hands to yourself. You are everything you promised and still, I see the monster inside, rousing, ready to conquer. He is almost as sexy as you are." She takes our hero's face in her hands and kisses him again. "I need a condom, My Mister."

As he reaches beneath them for his wallet her lips move back to his ear. Then her tone shifts from the husky, accent-heavy purr that she has been using all night to a more perfect sounding English with a tone much lighter, girl-like. "I'm going to put that wonderfully thick cock in my mouth in such a way that you'll never forget. I'm going to use it to break you. Force you, just by sucking alone, to push your hands onto the back of my head and take my mouth. But tonight, I need you too much. I've been waiting, I've been wanting to feel a man. And you, my sir, my invader, are very much a man."

She takes the wallet from him, pulls the condom out and flings it across the room like it's unneeded, then she rises, moves her thighs on either side of his lap and pries the condom open. She looks him in the eyes as she slides it down him, over him, biting her lip for show and making a little sound. "I can feel you through it. So hot still. Oh, when I finally get your cum in me I fear it may burn me." She pouts, pulls her panties down to her knees and pushes the head of her pussy over his cock. 

As he turns his head back to growl, wince, close his eyes he hears her laugh. When he looks back to her, she has not broken contact, her eyes dancing as she slides just the tip of him in and our of her pussy, moving her hips back and forth, up and down in such a way that she takes only a little of him in. When he moans she grins.

"More..." He says in a way that sounds too much like begging to even his own ears.

"More what?" She pouts her lip out and pushes her pussy another two centimeters down. "More water? More beer? More sleep?"

Then with a single motion she slides forward, her hands using his chest for balance and she brings the whole of her pussy around him in a single stroke. She laughs into his growl before closing her eyes and moaning. "You fill me up so nicely. You know that a woman does not need a perfect cock for it to be her favorite—so this is just a bonus." She bends over and offers her lips to him in a long, slow kiss. It is loving, softer and he feels his cock being strangled by that amazing, vibrating pussy. 

"Couldn't you stay like this for an hour?" She asks as she breaks the kiss. 

"I could."

"Well, I can't."

She pushes into his shoulders and with a single, fluid motion, moves the whole of her body like a wave in the ocean. Her breasts sink down as her back curves and her hips thrust down over him again. He can barely keep her in frame as his eyes close shut and he concentrates on the long, easy pulls of her pussy over him. "Do I feel good, My Mister? Do I feel tight?"

"Yes." He rasps it, can barely get the words out. "Yes, you feel amazing."

"That is good. You should hold onto me now."

He moves his hands up and clings to her back, they sink into her skin and she moans at the touch. And somehow, even through the fabric, he feels closer to her than if it was skin. "Do you know why I told you to hold on?"

"No."

"Because I hadn't started yet."

Her pussy contracts around him like it's made of liquid, as fluid as her movements. He cries out and she does with him as her hips begin to bob up and down. He pulls her into him, clings to her for dear life as his hips move up on their own, legs spreading so that she can push down further. "Oh yes," she says. "Oh yes, this was worth the wait."

She pushes back up off him, easily breaking his hold on her, and settles her legs into the mattress so she can start to push back and forth with hard, more rapid strokes, her hair splashing with every lash of the whip. 


The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 01



Then the moan comes from him, deep from within at first but rises and she joins. And he can feel her dig in, her voice growing lower, yet more shallow in breath and tone. She's not longer rolling the full of her hips into every movement.

No. She's starting to bounce up and down, only pushing in and back slightly. She's close, too. He can feel the shift. 

Each push of her hips grows more shallow and becomes quicker than the last until she is finally almost vibrating on top him. 

Our hero opens his eyes, see's the beauty of he face as her eyes are closed, mouth is open and breasts bounce without vigor and it is too much for him.

He screams, he cries out her name and she makes the effort to fully ride his cock for a few more strokes to take even the slightly extra drop from him.

As he cums, she shifts, back to full long strokes for him until he is finished. 

She waits a moment as the breath returns to him, stroking his face, his chest, until he opens his eyes. Then she begins to push again, wordlessly bouncing up and down on his still-hard cock. 

The girl digs in, swims over him with easy strokes, and starts to moan louder and louder. She shifts again, suddenly going fast in the almost disjointed motion as he move his hands to her hips to keep contact, keep her with him, pulling her back to earth each time she ascends.

Then he feels it—the wave of her cum rushing over his cock as she screams, her nails digging at him through the shirt.

She only takes a moment, then she laughs, opens her eyes, and places a single, hard kiss against his lips. "That was nice." 

Our hero tries to fight it, sit up after she moves off him and slides her panties back up, but she simply pushes him back down and kisses him again. "No, no, you are still out of it from travel, I can tell you need another night of sleep. Here, let me help you. "She draws the curtains and shuts the door so it is only open a crack. "There, this the way the air conditioner works best, I'll turn it up as I go. Mmm, and you should get out of those clothes. Let your body drink in the air. It'll help you adjust to the heat."

She comes back and kisses him again, long and slow, in a way that brings peace and soothing. "You know what I said. That I could not sleep over. That I cannot become too attached, do not ask me now, yes?" Her hands rub his face and she kisses him again. "I will see you soon though and I tell you this before I go." She moves to his ear again. "I am a very beautiful woman. You're going to have to really bring your strength and not just your charm. Rest up, you will need it."

One last peck to his lips with hers before she arches up and gives him a wink. She flicks the lights off on the way out and he rests his hands behind his head before the monster stirs in him and asks the question strong enough that he says it out loud.

"What the fuck just happened?"



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 02



He opens the door.

The bar is blessedly cool and completely shielded from the sun. It is smokey and dark, the way they used to be in the States not so long ago. There is a welcoming air there and he guesses that tourists and their money keep the place afloat. 

A hostess asks him if he'd like a seat at the bar with a grin that had been carefully cultivated to be just the right amount of inviting. But when he describes The Girl in the way she instructed—A green skirt, hair put up—her eyes dim and smile falls. Instead she gives he guesses a nod in response and asks him to follow. 

When our hero sees her, lounging the booth like a lord on their throne, he smiles despite his earlier resolve. She is much more conservatively dressed tonight, the skirt nearly reaching her ankles. The top, a much looser blouse than the dress, pretty and purple and compliments her eyes like it was dyed with her in mind. And indeed, her hair is done up, with a pencil through the bun. 

The hostess asks what he'd like to drink in English, but gets cut off. The Girl says something in Arabic—our hero supposes, it could just be some local language he doesn't know the name of—and finishes with a "merci." The hostess gives our hero a look, and he is not sure what she's trying to convey, but she's saying it strongly, and tries to express it for another few seconds before moving away.

"Last night you interrupted to get the waitstaff to speak English. Tonight the opposite?" He asks. 

"Oh, My Mister. Last night you needed to hear. To be aware. Tonight you very much do not. Tonight you would do well to disquiet that strong mind. The less you know, the more like a pleasant dream it will be." She shrugs, she smiles, she tilts her head from side to side.

"Are you intoxicated?"

"Oh yes, very much so. From the moment you arrived. From the moment I heard you in your room. From the moment I woke as I woke thinking of you."

It's only then that he realizes there was no drink in front of her. No book, no phone-nothing. Just the woman and the cloth in the semi-round booth in the back corner of the room. He wonders how she kept herself entertained, if she had been there for long. She must have spoken with the hostess for him to get that reaction, but what did she say? 

"You're wheels are turning. The exact opposite of what I had hoped." She tisks and offers a small smile. There is no lilt in her voice tonight. No girlish glee. She is controlled and measured as he typically is. Even her arms haven't moved and it's only this far into the web that he realizes she made no effort to greet or touch him.

"I'm trying to figure you out."

"I am very happy. Hah, done. And so quickly." 

He laughs and she smiles more. "I'm not used to this kind of treatment." 

"No, I imagine not. You told me once that women will often fawn over you too much and then grow cold. Do you remember?"

"I do."

She nods, like it is sad, like it is just another thing in life you lose in time. "Do you ever wonder why that is? If it's you? If it's something you're doing? A pattern you're seeking? Is it even happening at all? Maybe you start to drive them away when you want to be done with them? Maybe you are very cruel, beneath your surface. This monster you speak of? Maybe it deludes you. You only think the women enjoy it. That they said as much. Maybe, maybe, maybe."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Mmm, I made myself a promise, long ago. That if I should ever break every rule and see you I would not be one of those girls. That you would remember me differently."

"Do you think what you've told me will make me remember you differently?"

She laughs then, and it's honest. She shifts, ever so slightly, her shoulders rolling as she does. "Don't trust me, My Mister. Or do. But you agreed at the start, before the start, that you'd have to give yourself up for me this trip. That you'd have to let me make the rules. You've been good about it so far. Don't break such a wonderful streak. I will make you very, very happy. You have my word on this."

The hostess returns with a beer bottle and a chilled glass. She opens, pours, and bows her head in service—then departs without a sound. 

"What you have there Mister? Well, it's about the best beer in the world. The world just doesn't even know it exists yet. I fear what will happen once they do. It is so very hard to keep something sacred in the face of temptation." She brings her arms down and lowers them beneath the table. Then she brings the rich, vibrant table cloth up and folds it in itself. 

"You're not having anything?"

"Oh—my drink already arrived."

And then she's fluid again, like water, like when she rode him. The Girl slips beneath the table like rainfall and he feels her hands on his knees, his thighs. Her voice, muffled and distorted from below, is like the devils. "Now, you must pay attention. Public indecency here? It's quite the crime. And so much worse for infidels and foreigners." She laughs like a violin, it drowns out the sound of his zipper being pulled. 

"You are ready to listen, yes?" 

"Yes."It comes from the back of his throat. 

"Good. First, you smell the beer. You must bring it close to you, hold it. Take it." As he does, he feels his cock in her hand. She inhales so loudly that he feels the cloth shift. "Oh yes, a rich scent. Very good. The English phrase that always makes me laugh is "full bodied." Silly. For a language with such utility? English is very poor at being poetic. Arabic runs circles around it."

She moans and he feels her breath, the heat of it, on his cock.

"Now bring it to your lips. Push them just inside the rim as you tilt it." Her lips rub over his head. "Mmm, while I think circumcision is a brutish practice? I admit. It does help you out in a few situations." He feels her lips shifting, twisting, rubbing all over the head of his cock as he puts the glass to his his mouth.

"Tell me you have not put it in your mouth yet."

"No. I know the game."

"Of course you do, My Mister. You are so very smart. But you are also tempted. So I think you should know the proper way of things before you get ahead of yourself. First, you should take the sip in and roll it around in your mouth. Then you should take it down your throat and let whatever expression come to the surface that may be. And from there? Well, the first hit is always the most informative, but there is something to be said about reaching the end."

"You're not going to keep up with the game?"

"I am going to play the next part of it, My Mister. I'm going to work up a thirst." 

And with that he feels the tip of his cock move past her lips. They slide and vibrate past his ridge, the most swollen part of him, and then hum after locking over it. He growls, but forces himself to stay silent, pushing the beer into his mouth to choke the impulse out. 

It's amazing. Crisp and light. And he can't begin to focus on it. 

Her lips continue to vibrate and he feels her hand let go of him, only for both to grasp onto his thighs, squeeze into them before a quick, rapid bobbing motion strokes the head of his cock.

Then then it stops and he feels the need to thrust his hips forward until he hears a faint giggle. He takes a sip of the beer and then, just as its in his throat, he feels the first, long lick of her tongue and it makes him splutter. 

No laugh from below this time. Just rapid licks, each coming faster than the last. They slow and begin to trace around him, over him. Then she slides down, her hands gripping him harder through the denim as she slithers her tongue up and down each part of his shaft, her cheek and forehead rubbing against him as she does. "I like doing this without hands," she growls. "It makes me feel closer to you."

Her voice is lower than he's heard it before. It makes him need another sip.

She blows on his cock and it causes him to jolt back, the air is so cool now that he is slick from her efforts. He feels a tug of her hands to come forward, and he does. This is must be exactly what she wanted because as soon as he resumes the position he feels her mouth go over the tip of him.

And now she's doing both tricks at once. Humming and licking, as her head darts back and forth. It's more sensation then he's used to and he has to focus not to lose himself to it. He grips the table cloth with his free hand, clenches the beer glass with the other. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

This makes him even more of her prisoner because, as it turns out, she hadn't even started yet.

Without any knowledge that she was going to shift, he feels the whole of his cock moving down her mouth, into her throat. Then, with her bottom lip, he feels her kiss his ball. Her lips tighten, and she pulls out of him with so little speed it is hard to imagine that she took him down in one movement.

As soon as she returns to his tip, she places a single kiss on his crown. "Drink your beer, Mister."

He does.

He's back in her mouth the moment the beer is in his. Only now she is rocketing down, moving back up, changing speed and what part of her mouth she is using to stroke him without any reason. Not being able to see her, to instruct her, makes every movement a mystery. A gift. 

The next time she swallows the whole of his cock her tongue strokes along the underside of his balls in a way that must look utterly obscene, but all he can see is the red table cloth swaying slightly.

She pulls again, and now he's slouching, his shoulder against the boot tilting forward. It must be easier for her in this position because she starts to inhale and release his cock in full. It's all too much and he moans, to which she stops. He wants to grab her by her hair, force her down like he would any other woman, but instead he simply waits for her to kiss him. Kiss all of him.

When she makes contact again he tingles, feels himself tightening. He realizes in his heart that this is exactly what it means to give yourself over to someone. And how rewarding that is.

"Mmm. It throbs for me, doesn't it My Mister? I must reward its good taste."

His tip is rocketed back and forth inside her mouth. Then the tongue added again. Then, full strokes, up and down his shift. Faster. Faster. 

Faster.

And when he can feel the cum being pulled out of him, taken from him like theft, she moves back up to just the tip again. She must be pushing up on his thighs because he can feel the strain, but does not know what it could be for.

Then, he does-she pushes him in and out of her mouth with greater ease than he could have imagined.

And then, faster still. 

His resolve lessens. "Fuck," he says aloud, as her torture reaches its crescendo. As his balls pulsate and the whole of his cock is hard, hot and slick like an ignited can of oil, about to explode. 

He puts the beer down, he places both palms on the table, he cranes his neck back.

And he cums.

He feels her continue for moment, just working the tip, then feels her stop, drink, pull him into her mouth with just the slightly movements of her lips, like she needs more. 

Then a swallow and a kiss to his crown.

"Would you be so kind as to take the napkin beneath your bottle and hand it to me?"

He does, though it is soggy and somewhat used. Her delicate hand and perfectly manicured nails come out from beneath the the cloth and drag it in. After a few muted sounds of wiping and dabbing her hears a near silent, "Thank you."

She reappears, with the same grace as she vanished and she smiles. It is not as wicked now, or he is too drained to see it for what it is. The table cloth is brought back down and smoothed out before she rises and makes her way over to his side of the booth to bend over and whisper in his ear.

"You are being so very patient, My Mister. I appreciate it more than I can say. But I hope that goes to show you a little of my gratitude." Then she kisses his ear and her voice is all but demonic again. "If you keep being this good of a boy we may even kiss one day." 

When he turns to look at her in disbelief she winks and begins to move towards the exit with her hips shaking like she's listening to drums in the distance. 

He zips up and finishes the beer before the hostess comes over with a plate of food and another beer.

"I didn't-" Our hero looks around the bar. "I didn't think you food here."

"We don't. But the lady you were with was quite insistent that we keep this plate behind the bar. She brought it in herself. And I was to give it to you only when she had left. She is very—well, she's her own person, isn't she?" The hostess removes the first glass and prepares the second. 

When she's gone, he lifts the plate which covers the food and sees a meal all laid out clearly home cooked. In front of it is a simple card, soggy from the steam. 

"Until next time. ♥"



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 03



He opens the door.

The hall is beautifully decorated with a woman's touch. Curios and accent pieces hang on the wall. And as he has come to expect, finely woven carpets cover age-old wooden floors.

"Out here!"

Our hero closes the door behind him and steps into a warm, if cluttered, living room that is bathed in natural light from a dozen windows. He frowns and calls out, not knowing which of its three exits takes him to her.

"Are you lost? Do you need help?"

Outside. He makes his way to the glass door and slides it open. He's about to complain before he sees her. She is either naked, or wearing a top without straps, and is submerged halfway in a large, above ground jacuzzi. Her arms are spread out and she has a pleasant smile that's neither cunning nor open, but somewhere in between. "You should shut the door so flies do not get in," she says. Then, after a moment adds, "...and the same could be said for your mouth."

He cannot say for certain that she winked beneath her shades, but he believes it. He, however, closed the door behind him and made his way over to the side of the massive tub.

"Look how dashing you are in those shades-very sexy. I am glad you agreed to wear them. I wondered what it would be like not seeing your eyes. I do love your eyes, My Mister. So bright and blue and not at all what I am used to And, as it turns out, you hiding them from me? I do not miss them that much!" She laughs, like a normal woman, not at all like the first night. Then she splashes water at him.

When he dodges she laughs again and kicks her feet out of the water so that her naked knee is visible.

She swims up to his edge of the jacuzzi and rises out of the water, her breasts nearly visible. Then she pushes her hands against the railing and leans forward. "Are you going to come here, or do you fear another splash?"

He moves over to the edge of the tub, tempted to look down, but keeping his eyes on her. And once he's made the decision it almost too easy. She is transfixing and somehow, only seeing the outline of her eyes through the smoked lenses almost makes her more appealing. "You are a very striking man."

There is alcohol on her breath, light and easy. If she was anyone else he would ask about it.

But still, even as the heat beats down on him, he waited for what was next. "Thank you. You know how I feel about you. How beautiful I find you." 

"I do. I am no stranger to me thinking it. Most men come for the looks, or the breasts, and only figure out I have the wit somewhere later. You are such an enigma to me. You knew I had the wits first, I told you that you'd never get the breasts or see the face. And yet..."

She runs the front of her hand up and down his chest, feeling him through his shirt. They stare at each other as before she grabs him, clings to him. Then his hands move up her back to her hair, still dry, and they lock her head in that position. She swallows and he can hear it like a gunshot; sees in her eyes the first moment of fear. 

Then he leans in, presses his lips against hers. For a moment, they are only touching and she is trembling, despite leaning in the water, despite holding onto the railing. Then she pushes back and he follows, bit by bit, until the kiss is whole.

They dance with each other, hold on to one another, with that kiss. Their lips say all the things they can't because it would be too soon and daring, because it would wound him and worry her. So they say them here, in this kiss, before they even part their lips.

Then, for the first time, he invades her. His tongue in her mouth, his hands through her hair. His shoulders exerting force on her body with his size, holding her in place until she kisses him back, licks his tongue with hers and sucks it into her mouth with vigor and not just pleasantry.

When the kiss is broken they look at one another. She bites her lip and he looks at her with his mouth falling open, terrified that she is going to withdraw again, ask him to turn around while she escapes into the day once more. The feeling is hot, in his stomach, in his eyes. He's never wanted to pin a woman down like this.

But instead, she laughs. She laughs and says, "You're a very good kisser!"

So he vaults over the edge of the tub, clothing and all, and sinks into the water next to her. He's wrong on the depth, though, and sinks in until his brown hair is soaked with water and, for a moment, as dark as hers when he comes back to the surface.

"No!" She splashes at him, kicks him in the thigh. "No! I'm naked! I didn't say you could come in here! You get right back out this momen-"

Our hero kisses her again, this time capable of wrapping his arms around the small of her back and pulling her to him. And this time, she stops fighting, almost immediately, putting her hands on his hips and letting herself be dragged to him, almost weightless from the water.

Either he's pushed his way between them, or she's opened her legs, but he's gone from kicking to latching them around him.

He pushes until her back is against the wall and they kiss. And they kiss. And they kiss.

When he pulls back she is a different creature entirely. Her mouth is open and she is panting. Her hair is ruined, not perfect for the first time and she is looking at him in a way that is almost terror mixed with arousal. He feels the darkness stirring in him, telling him that he could take her now. That he could push her and she would yield.

Instead he bends down and places soft, firm kisses on her forehead, her cheek. He is only mortal, and has as finite a reserve of nobility as any man, so the kisses slide south. Then they are playing over her neck and collar bone. They are on her shoulder and her upper arm.

Her breasts are large, beautiful and sleek with water. They have been hidden so long that they hardly seem real. When he kisses them, instead of revelling in it, he thinks that they are just another part of her. The Girl. The one he cannot stop thinking about no matter how much he tries.

The sucking of her nipples, the pulling of her skin closer to his, makes her head tilt back and mouth open. She bobs her head, rolls it from side to side, as she feels him pushing her breasts together, sucking both nipples at once. When she comes back up for a kiss he releases her, moves back to her mouth and moans as their lips touch again.

His cock is hard through his wet slacks and rubs against her bare pussy, as they lock onto one another. When she pulls back from the kiss, she looks lost, wide-eyed and enthralled all at once. One arm clings to his back and the other strokes his face. "Can you pull out? Promise me that you will? Can you?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he uses his strength to simply move her from the position she's in to a bench, so that she's barely above water at all. There he reaches down beneath the surface, her eyes following his hand until it breaks the waterline and once again after it resurfaces.

When he falls upon her she tenses up, like she will scream no, but the beat of her own heart is so loud that he can hear it. He picks her up again, his hands so large they're nearly the size of her shoulder blades. She floats under his touch until pushed back up against the railing, his strength allowing her to be laid gently against it.

Then he shoves himself into her once, slowly, just to spread her open. He is sure the gentleness in him will fade.

His cock is hotter, harder than usual. It seems fueled by his confidence and, for the first time since meeting her, not in any way inhibited by the booze. When he finishes his push he can feel a small ripple, a wave, continue forward—bounce inside her.

One of his hands closes around her throat, not in any way to choke her, but simply be present. She strokes it, puts her on hand on top. Her eyes are intense, evocative. They seem to be telling him to hurry up, slow down, make it hurt and be good to her all at once.

Her nipples sway as they sink and rise, splashing water against his chest. And every time they do, it takes power away from her and gives it to him.

He focuses. Tells himself to stay in this moment. To feel her, watch her, when she's at her most intimate. To take her, get inside her head and heart, now that her defences are finally falling. To get under her skin in such a way that she cannot take him from her blood. 

And that's all before he pushes into her pussy a second time.

The swaying of her breasts, the feeling of his cock opening her up and the water flowing inside. The intensity of her eyes, so bright that they nearly shine through his glasses and she moans, turning her fingers into grappling claws, clinging to him. She wants more, and he grins as he gives it to her in a third, strong shunt.

"Oh God," she says as she closes her eyes, body going more lax while her pussy tightens. This is where he is a king, unlike other men. Where his resolve can pass tests and commit to deeper, stronger connections.

Another thrust and a curse escapes her lips.

His rhythm begins, slow and easy pushes, but constant now with only the slightest hint of tension as he grabs her neck, pulls her closer to him. He is simply enjoying her without hurry. Without fear. That knowledge in the back of his mind that she belongs to him here. That finally, he's the one in control.

"Devour me! Take me!" She screams the words but they are lost on him. You cannot urge a man on a single mission to abandon it. It comes across as hollow, empty. He can see the concern growing in her eyes, the more difficult and husky tones escaping her lips. "Damn you, I said fuck me!"

But he remains constant. When a light chuckle escapes him, her furious eyes snap open wider. She shows her teeth to him, growls, but he only keeps his eyes on hers, pushing at the same speed.

"I waited a very long time for this," he says in a tone that isn't even breathy. "You're not going to hurry me. You're just going to enjoy it. We're just going to enjoy it." Then he sends a single stroke, hard and fast inside her and feels her pussy flex to grab him. Take as much of him as possible.

She whimpers, earnestly whimpers, as her head twists and eyes shut again. Then there is nothing left to feel but his skin on her, the water flowing in and around her and the merciless sun as it bakes the top half of him and leaves everything under the water cold and distant.

This spurs him on. He begins to plunge faster, deeper into her. Now there is a kind of snap at the end of each push so that a second mini-wave flows inside her.

Her pussy grows tighter now, starting to make him work for each shove even with the ease of the water. He rues it, but only for a second, as it takes him out of that control. The pushing, the growling, being everything to him at this moment.

She is a wall that is being pounded. And cracks are starting to appear.

"Yes! Yes! Yes, My Mister!"

And he responds this time, going faster, applying more pressure to her neck, driving his cock into her with more vigor.

Her back arches in response, legs tighten, she shifts ever so slightly in his grip to take more of him in, to make it easier to explore her as deeply as possible.

Then for the first time, he fucks her in earnest.

There is a low grunt from him every time he pushes into her now. He's leaning forward as well, to get the perfect angle that the setting will allow. To make it so that every push in and out will be perfect, in its own way.

There is only his cock driving into her. The waves he makes inside her. The splash of her breasts and the bob and tickle of his snarls as they bounce off her face.

So she starts to scream. It's low, from the back of her throat, but it's becoming higher pitched. Her pussy clenches around him as her nails pierce the skin of his back. He can feel her hips, for the first time, pump against his just to get that last greedy little bit of him inside her.

She cums, but she asks for more with her screams, somehow pushes her body behind the explosion to get a little bit more of his body.

And he's not stopping for anything. He's speeding up. Her eyes open as her mouth makes rough shapes and half sounds. He knows what this is. The moment just after an orgasm that being pushed inside hurts and it causes him to smirk. He shows her, that despite her efforts, he has no intention to stop. To do anything but keep pushing, going faster—making her melt.

As his orgasm approaches the heat inside him, hotter than the sun, and he hears her scream. "My tits! Please, my tits!" There are more words, but they become nonsense as he pushes in and out. The hot tub shakes like turbulence in a plane. Like the entire world is shaking and not just the earth below.

He pulls out of her and she clings to him, tries to pull him back in a song older than their ancestors. But he opens her legs without effort and leaps out of the water, on the bench he sits and aims his cock at her.

Her eyes find his, but then move to his cock. Then they both watch the harsh, almost violent stream of cum that lashes out against her breasts. He is lost, screaming, and she pushes herself around him with both hands, sliding herself up and down his cock as he cums the second and third wave.

When he is done swearing, thrusting his hips through her breasts sleek with cum and water, he slides down beside her and breathes heavily.

After a moment of playing with his cum she laughs and nuzzles her head against him, then into his chest.

"What are you laughing at?" He asks in a distant, vacant tone as an arm comes around her.

"I said 'Tits' for the first time. That is an ugly word. I do not like it." She laughs again, kisses his chest, cups a hand to it and plays up and down it.

"Why'd you say it then?"

"I was trying to remember English. Some of the words vanished. You're a bad influence on me, My Mister."

She laughs and kisses him again. It is dangerous, wrong, and against the rules she stated he must follow before he ever landed. But instead of warning her off he grabs her face with both hands and kisses her back. They sink beneath the water embracing, then rise back up to kiss once more. They are into one another through that kiss. With one another. There is no fear and no doubt.

Not until she breaks it, at least. She looks down at her own naked form, at his still clothed body. "We need to get you out of those clothes." Her tone is lost, absent. "Could you get out, hand me a towel? It's just over there."

He takes a moment, fights his ego, and nods before jumping out of the jacuzzi, kicking off his shoes and socks and sloshing over to the towel.

Suddenly she is modest, low, not making eye contact and giving a small, fake smile. "Would you turn around?" It hurts, but he does and can hear her lifting herself out, wrapping herself in the oversized towel. Then, after a moment, "could you pass me the smaller one, for my hair?"

He turns back to her as he does so and again, another small, empty smile with only the briefest bit of eye contact before a fake, faux-pleasant tone escapes her lips. "My, I have gotten you so wet. So silly of me." She kisses his cheek in that same hollow way. "Will you stay here, just a moment? I'm going to check inside to see what kind of things we can put you in. I'll be just a minute. There's a towel for you, just on that picnic chair. I'll—be..."

And she walks inside. Our hero takes up the towel, slaps the socks over the edge of the jacuzzi and switches it off after dumping out his shoes. He dries his face, his neck and then squirms out of his shirt. He dries it off and looks back to the entrance. 

After debating, he takes off his slacks and wrings them out as best he can, dries himself down and strips entirely to wrap the towel around his waist. He calls for her, waits, calls again. Waits.

Finally he knocks on the glass door, slides it open and calls.

It's only then that he realizes that he doesn't even know her name. Just something that he could "call her."

And as soon as he does he realizes that she's no longer in the house. That it's not hers. That there is, in fact, a very good chance that she has no connection to this house at all.

That he is naked, alone with wet clothes, in the middle of a strange city.

That it is just him and the sun.



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 04



He opens the door.

Moving in from the balcony he notices the clock, which barely makes a hum, is far too loud for him to endure. He unplugs it and looks to the phone, hoping that somehow the two are connected. That if he can stop worrying about the finite amount of time he has here, that they have left, she'll call. She'll realize it too. That it's better to be with him, even if it frightens her, than to let the days ebb away.

He smirks to himself, our poor hero, thinking "they?" Of course after their last encounter there is no "them". She's made it clear. She's run off at the end of every encounter. The one time he got to see her, truly see her, she left under a lie.

Part of him knew she was going. Part of him still thinks she couldn't have been so cruel. All of him knew that wasn't her residence. There's nowhere in the world that a twenty-something surgical student/beginner of her practice, would set down roots like that. Even if she came from money. Even if...

Thoughts can race faster than the world spins. And there is no thought as friction-less as 'if'. 'If' has wings that flutter so fast you can't see a single beat of them. It is useless thinking, and our hero knows that; but what else is he supposed to do with the whole day where he cannot leave the room? She has no other way to reach him. He has no other person to see. So he orders room service for every meal. He showers with the bathroom door open in case she calls. He sits on the balcony; paces on it; moves back to the bed; and flips on and off the news.

He becomes even more of a caged animal. More of his whispers. More of his darkness. More of the things he fights beneath the surface.

'Maybe' is just as fruitless as 'if'. But he asks himself... Maybe this is what she wanted all along?

The phone rings twice before he answers it.

"I will not be seeing you tonight. I thought I should tell you that much."

When he asks her what happened, to tell him, that he deserves an answer — there is only the dial tone.

He looks out at the city; bathed in the sun so that it looks red, and waves goodbye to the Sun, his only friend. Then he lies in bed, hands behind his head and asks the ceiling what his next move should be. When it answers he wonders just who he's becoming.

Then he laughs because he knows he's not becoming anyone. He's reverting.



There are few things as easy to accept as a bribe from a foreigner. Even in the hospitality industry you can always deny it. Allegations are common from finicky customers. He imagines this is more true for Americans; both because they are under more scrutiny; and because there is some truth to the notion of the 'Ugly American' traveler.

So he explains his situation to the girl behind the desk again, this time pulling out his wallet. 

"The problem," he says, "is that I keep getting calls that are very short. Very quick short. I feel that there is a problem on the other end of the line but I can't quite make it out."

"Yes sir. You said, sir." Her tone is even. Dutiful. She's a good girl and he's a bad man from another country.

Then, he opens the wallet and pulls out a large bill of local currency.

"But I haven't just been called once." He places it on the counter. "But a second time;" He repeats the process. "And then a third tonight." And the third bill comes down. He stares at her face in such a way that says that he's not even looking at the money. It's not even there.

"I just... I don't know what I..." She looks to the money, to him, to the money.

"Oh that's a very easy answer. See, someone here does your tech. Probably a guy, yes?"

She nods.

"Well, he's going to have access to a switchboard. And that's going to have access to all the numbers that have called me in the last week. If I had that number, I could solve the problem. And if I could solve the problem, I could sleep really, really well. Forget all kinds of things that are weighing me down." He pushes the money over to her now, still not breaking eye contact.

Still, the desk girl hesitates; but at least she doesn't look around. "You say that they called you?"

"Three times."

"And you just want to call them back?"

"I just want to talk to them."

"I mean...." She shrugs, she debates, and she looks to the money again before back to him.



The first two drivers who show up are far too upstanding. They don't know what he could mean, sir. No, they don't know anyone like that, sir. Yes, I'll be happy to take you to another busy road, sir.

But the third? From the moment our hero sees him, he knows the kind of man he's dealing with. The driver seems to know as well. Instead of asking for directions or making small talk in the rear-view he turns all the way around to face the back of the cab. He has a small, slim grin and speaks without the booming greeting that you give foreign money. "And what can I do for you?"

When our hero says that he's looking for a friend that's "good to have when it comes to finding someone", the driver nods. He doesn't even negotiate. He simply turns around and pulls into traffic.



Even when you have no idea what you're expecting, you can still be surprised. The apartment is small, but the building is nice. The walls are only slightly chipped and the neighborhood is quiet. It is more official, less hidden away, than he would have guessed.

He knocks on the door twice with the ball of his fist.

When there is no answer he does it again.

And again.

There is shuffling behind the door. A split-second shift of the light that denotes movement. When nothing happens after that he pulls out his phone, dials her number and calls. There is a faint ring from the inside and then he hears her sigh. Heavy steps bring her to the door. It opens without ceremony and by the time he sees her, she is already turning around, slumped over.

He closes the door behind him and follows her.

The living room is cozy as a nook. It is much simpler in any way than the settings they've been to so far. But it is also honest; real; her.

She sits in a large chair, curls her legs up so that her feet touch the same cushion she rests on, and then wraps her arms around them so that only her eyes peek out over her knees. The fabric she's in, he doesn't even know what to call. It is loose, and looks to be a kind of pyjamas. It hides her.

Our hero takes a step toward her, only to find a cat is in the way. It is docile, and friendlier than its owner by a fair amount. He strokes it and it falls onto the floor, stretching its legs and offering him its belly.

"You are good with animals" she says after a prolonged stroking session.

When he looks back up at her she seems terrified. He believes that cannot be the case. Why allow him in. No, it seems to him that she's playing possum. So he rises, moves over to the other chair in the living room and sits down beside her.

"I knew this would happen, you know? That's why I'm an idiot. I knew that you'd find me, if you wanted." She shrugs, or does as best as she can to imitate it, from her iron-clad position.

He observes her for a few moments longer; his eyes playing over every part of her as she stares ahead.

"That's not what you're talking about, is it? Me finding you isn't what you knew would happen."

She offers a smile to that, rueful as it is. "That's My Mister. Always on."

Finally, she looks to him, eyes puffy. "There's no end game here. There's nothing for us besides the fun we've had. That's what I realized yesterday. I don't want to get any more hurt than I have to... hurt you any more than I have to. So you should go."

"No."

"Compelling argument." She nods. "I can see why you had to fly halfway across the world to find a woman who could put up with you."

"You think that's going to do it? You're going to twist the knife a bit and I'll fly off the handle?"

"No. I just think what every other woman thinks about you. That you're great. That you're wonderful. That you're not worth it." Her eyes are clear, focused. Attacking suits her much better than defense. "You should leave."

"I'm not going to."

"Not here. You've made that clear and you are as stubborn as I am. I mean the country. I mean in three days. You should get back on your plane and remember this as fondly as you can." She rises with poise, ease. "The couch is comfortable but the cat will sleep on you if you stay. Goodnight."

She starts to walk away and he jumps up, getting in front of her. Our hero can see the rage in her eyes. 

"I swear," she says, spitting the words, "if you try and hold me; touch me; kiss me... You will go to prison! You will become what your limited vocabulary would call, "an incident", in the media. Go on then. Try me."

Her slap across his face isn't nearly as hard as her words. So he endures it without touching her.

"You mean nothing to me." She slaps him again. "What? Too weak to even stop my hand? Or even, too slow?"

This time she steps forward to slap him again, raises her eyes up to look at him, teeth bared. "Are you fighting yourself? Your nature? That thing you hold back?"

"I'm not."

"Do you know how many men I've lured here?" she laughs. "I can't even keep track anymore."

She raises her hand to slap him again but then makes a fizzling gesture with her fingers. "Not worth it. Goodnight."

Then she walks around him like he's a piece of furniture, slips down the hallway and into a room. It's only after the door doesn't close that he knows what he must do. He walks in after her, moves into the bed and lies down. He makes sure there is distance between them. Silence. Starve the flame. All it wants is for you to give it something else.

So he ignores her mumbling, the things she says out loud, the insults and jeers. He ignores as she takes up the blanket and removes it all from him. How she twists and turns and grumbles.

He ignores the tantrum for more than an hour.

Then, she turns to him and they look at one another. No words, no fury or insult or touching. Just looking. A few minutes pass, though it would be romantic to say it's an hour. But it's only a few minutes, it just seems like more when you're not distracted.

She slides over to him, puts her head against his chest and her free arm over his stomach. "I'm scared of being hurt." It is a small whisper in the night, louder than a gunshot.

So he strokes her hair until she falls asleep and quite a long time after.



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 05



He opens the door. 

The tell-tale sizzle of a cast iron skillet sings from the kitchen. Our hero, tired like he's hung over, looks in confusion in the direction of the noise, down the hallway. The entire episode seems like a dream until he touches his face and winces, his cheek still tender from her slap. Then the memory of it all seeps in, last night, the strange country, the unmitigated tyranny of the sun.

Then other memories come to the surface. Bribery and trespassing most notably. Maybe breaking and entering if someone wanted to pin that on him. It certainly wouldn't be difficult. 

He heads to the bathroom, looks at himself in the mirror and observes the bags under his eyes, the stubble he had no way of removing. So he turns on the hot water, runs a small rag under it and lays it over his face, dabbing at his eyes while breathing in the steam. 

After he takes it off, he looks to the medicine cabinet. It is open, just slightly, and he considers exploring. Then he remembers that this is her sanctum. He's not even been invited. Our hero tosses around various justifications before closing it all the way shut. 

Light steps take him to the kitchen. It is open-aired, bathed in natural light, and everything in it looks somehow handcrafted. She is dressed modestly, for the first time that he's seen her, adorned in a large T-shirt with worn jeans. Her hair still looks to be damp. "You showered?"

She turns to look at him, some reservations in her eyes, before going back to the hash browns and egg dish she was making. "I did. Did it wake you?"

"No. You're still here." 

She smiles at that and looks back to him after taking the hash browns out of the pan, turning the flame off and bringing the dish to a small table. "Please sit. I am still here. I could say the same for you." When he does not move she gestures to the table for two again. "I promise it's not poison. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it last night." 

"I'm not worried about the poison. Just the—"

"We can talk about last night. I'd like to have breakfast first."

He nods after a moment and takes a seat. She places various plates and a mug in front of him. "I am sorry, I do not have tea. I only have café."

"That sounds good."

"You don't like café, though?"

"I'm very groggy so, this morning, I like it just fine. Please."

She nods and fills his mug. Then she places the egg dish in the middle of the table and pours honey over it. "It has to seep in. We need to give it a few moments." But when everything is set aside, she looks at him over her own steaming mug of coffee. Directly, openly, for the first time. 

"So," he says after a sip of his coffee, "you want to tell me what's happening right now?"

"Not in particular." She smiles sweetly and, when he doesn't budge, she nods. "I suppose some answers are in order. We are having breakfast. I could say I'm sorry, but I'd rather say I'm sorry and make food you enjoy. It was also a good way to signify, I thought, that I wouldn't be running away today."

"Today."

"Today, My Mister." She nods. "I give you no promises about tomorrow." She cuts into the egg dish like it's pie and offers him a slice. "This is Mwshewsha; please do not make the joke where you say bless you. I hate that joke. I made it with love, unlike the dinner I left you with at the bar, which I made mostly with curiosity and spite." Another lovely smile is offered. "You are here, having breakfast with me. You are the first man who has ever done that. You are the first to ever be inside my place. The second to ever sleep beside me, but the first not in a hotel room. You are many firsts for me. What point is there running today? We began the day together. We should spend it together."

He takes a bite of the mwshewsha, rolls it around on his tongue before downing half a cup of the coffee. "I'm going to need another one of these," he says as he shakes the mug. 

The carafe is in her hand and she pours coffee into his cup within an instant, silent, close. Her hips mere centimeters from his shoulder and her eyes looking into his as she completes the task, puts the container on the table, and sits back down. 

She is, without a doubt, as lovely in the morning in the simple clothing as in the evening in elegant dresses.

"I lied, last night." For the first time he can remember, she flinches, looks away and then back to him. "I said many things that were untrue to get you to—I wanted you to get mad. Punch a wall. Strike me. Scream. If you did that, I could reject you. Rationalize it."

Our hero swirls the coffee around his mug before taking a long pull of it. Then he surveys her. Tries to look into her eyes, past the dark color. Past the strong exterior. Past the part of her that plays him like a a card game that's she's known since a child. To her. When he finds he can't, he takes another sip. "Go on."

"I've never lured anyone here. Never met a man for anything like this. Hold on, there's more. While not exactly a lie I also am not so experienced as you might think in these matters. I have implied a more impressive history than the truth. You are—well, you are an unwitting member of a very elite club, sir." She offers a small smile, but he gives nothing in return. "I was hoping by now, somewhere, I'd see the crack. The thing in you that made it easy to say goodbye at the end. When it did not come, I sought it. When I tried to provoke it and still did not appear? Well. I don't know. I don't know what to do about that."

Rising like a cat, she moves over to his side of the table and somehow snakes her way in between him, his extended arm holding the cup, and the table. When she makes contact with her ass, she slides all the way back, the back of her read resting against his left shoulder. "Please hold me."

He wraps his free arm around her stomach and she further presses against him. "Thank you."

They sit like this for a minute until he kills the rest of his cup. Then he puts it down, wraps his other arm around her and holds her. Hugs her. Is as close to her as he can be. When he feels her lips on his neck, on the base of his jaw, it stirs his cock to life. As soon as it shows that faint flicker, she moans into his ear and rubs her ass back and forth against him like a wave. Like the sea. 

"I don't know who you are," he says. "I know less of who you are now then before I came."

Her left hand takes his cheek, presses against it, brings his face down closer to hers so she can continue to writhe against him while still being able to kiss up and down his neck. Finally she reaches his ear, licks it and whispers. "I am just a woman from a faraway land. One you knew would say goodbye to you no matter her feelings or desires. I'm just a dream. I'm just that last bit of it you can remember before you wake up."

She breathes hot, heavy air into his ear. Then cool. She licks it up and down again as her ass pushes more firmly against him. Her stomach juts out like a belly dancer before she takes the momentum of it and slides it back down her hips. Somehow, she manages to grab him through his pants, stroke his cock in such a way that he makes his first moan. "I may hurt you," she whispers, "but it will be so worth it."

Just to take some power away from her, he drives his right hand down past the waist of her jeans, under her panties, and strokes the very outside of her pussy. When she drives back, both shoving forward to meet more of his hand and pushing harder against him with her head, her shoulders—he knows to dig in.

Wet already, sleek and easy; he wonders if her pussy is ever anything else. A finger slides inside her without resistance and he bobs it up and down in the center of her. He pets her, strokes her, makes a "come here" motion with it to touch the upper ridges of her and tickle every one. 

She slides against him, presses her ass in deeper, exclaims and curses. She whimpers and growls. She isn't even the same woman second to second. 

After our hero shoves the second finger in, much harsher than the first, she grabs his wrist, tries to drive it and his fingers in and out. But he simply takes her hand, removes it, puts it back against his chest while she gyrates against his hand like a creature possessed. 

When he places his third finger at the very tip of her pussy, ready to move it inside she hisses. "Please, no. Please, My Mister. No. Be good to me. Do not—" Then she screams as he moves inside, slowly, making sure she takes every part of it knowing the next segment is coming. She goes still as he does, only her mouth moving and he feels alive. Powerful.

In charge.

At first she is limp, only clinging to him. Then she begins to sway with his pushes, whimpering only at the end. Finally she raises up, just by the strength of her core muscles, and shifts just enough to twist and look him in the eyes. "Give it to me, My Monster." 

She cries out again as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, hips wriggling and eyes shutting as her hair bounces, swirls, becomes a mess. It hides her face as his fingers sink deep in and out of her pussy, just loose enough to take the fingers. "Yes. Yes. Hurt me. Hurt me!"

He bends forward to get more torque, to put his shoulders into it, to be closer to her face as he rams his hand in and out of her. It does not take long. She cums violently before him, legs twitching and cum flowing out of her. 

Their lips are just about to touch as she opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Oh, you. Hello, you." It is a tender moment, soft, and it seems like she is empty and open. 

Then he drops her onto the floor between his legs. 

"Turn around." He says it without emotion.

She does, hands springing forward for his cock through the fabric until he grabs her wrists, turns them just enough to stop her, make her wince, cry out. "Do you think you're fooling me?"

"I'm not acting, My Mister! You're hurting me!"

"Do you think I'm going to fall for that again?"

Her face contorts with pain, she shifts, pulls hard at his hands before bowing her head down and starting to sob. It is low, coming from behind the curtain of her hair, and hard to make out. "Please," she says, "please, I'll do anything. I just want you to feel good."

They wait in this stance before she finally looks back up to him with a grin. "Alright, alright, you figured this one out. But really, what do you think the score is, hmm? Do not get too proud of yourself."

He yanks at her wrists in such a way that she comes forward like a sack of flour. After she hits his chest he spins her around and bends her over his lap. Then, with a harsh tug, he removes the jeans from her waist without unbuttoning them, the denim leaving red bite marks against her skin. When she starts to resist he pushes her down with all the force of his left hand into the small of her back as his right pulls her panties down. 

"Oh, are you going to show me discipline? Going to be a big strong man?"

Crack. A single, hard sting to her ass. No pretense and no warning. Just the whip-crack in the air. 

Her tone changes. She stops fighting. There is a moment of peace. 

"My Mister. That quite hurt and I—"

Crack.

"Please. I would like you to recon—"

Crack.

She's shivering now, an honest lump in her throat changing the words in a way that cannot be faked. "Hear me out, all—"

Crack.

Finally silence comes into the room, the only sounds her breathing, the only real feeling the hot numbness in a hand he is using too hard. One that can certainly not keep this up despite the pretense of his smoldering silence. 

He waits. She has a lot of advantages on him, but not patience. Not even and especially not in this situation, strewn over his lap, in pain, unable to get back up if she tried with all her might. Trapped. Like an animal. Like the beast she was on the inside. 

"I want—"

Crack.

"Stop! Stop! Hitting me!"

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

She is actually shuddering now. Long, slow gasps like the opposite of wails coming into her mouth, vibrating over his thighs. "I thought about what you were saying." His tone is low, easy. "You really would be anything I wanted you to be until it was time for me to go. Anything. And then I started to think, why was that? Why would you—play that game? Do you really not want to be seen that badly? And you almost had me right up until you said that we'd spend today together like it was a gift." 

He spanks her much more softly now. Still firm, but easy. He plays her ass like a bongo drum instead of a death sentence, until she starts to move with him, moan and gasp. Then she starts to rub her pussy against him, each spank making her thrust against him until she is riding the wave, moving into him with her clit like she's on his cock. She gets closer and closer to her orgasm. Then, right as she's about to hit her peak—

Our hero tosses her onto the floor again. When she looks up at him with daggers for eyes, he cracks his neck. "I'm willing to bet I'm a lot quicker sitting in a chair than you are laying on the floor. Crawl back to me."

She does, moving back to him until her hands on on his knees, eyes filled with spite and disobediance—and something else. Something more fun behind that.

"Reach into my right pocket." He leans forward to make it easier for her, as she fishes around, finds his phone and offers it to him. 

He scrolls through it a bit, not really looking at the screen but at her. Then he selects a number and calls it. "Yes, Room 714 here. I'd like to extend my stay." A pause as her eyes grow hotter, more of her teeth show. "Ten days?" And during this lull she's craning her head forward like she'll bite him, like a feral animal. "Yes, if you have to move me to another room, that would be fine. Thank you. I do appreciate it."

The phone is switched off and tossed onto the table. "Now. Pull down my zipper."

Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then she does as he says.



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 06



He opens the door.

Two of the hotel room's many lights glow against the backdrop of the city's magical night, somehow a different color of blue and black than his own. He looks out over it, taking the last piece of meat from a kabob and a sip from a cool local bottled water. "You were right about the kebab place: it's very good. Worth the extra few minutes."

He steps onto the balcony and the air feels wonderful against his skin. Somehow, being higher up has made it feel that much cleaner, cooler as he tosses the skewer in the trash and takes the small bag of items he purchased to the "desk" before opening it up. "They had everything, well, almost, but you weren't kidding. It was the place to go."

A bottle of massage oil is placed on

the desk. Then lube, a second kind of lube, and a butt plug. Finally he takes out some restraints, soft and easy guards that go over the whole of the wrist to make the strain of them bite into the flesh less while still taking more control. He dangles those, holding them by the chain in the middle. "These, I think, you'll be very happy with. They should alleviate a lot of your concerns."

Small, easy steps take our hero to the bed where she looks up at him with a mixture of concern and rage. Her hands are bound by traditional cuffs and her mouth stuffed with panties and a hand-towel from the bathroom. Her legs tied up with the simple sash of a complimentary robe, soaked in water to give it extra strength and tension. She moves, stuck on her stomach, like a fish out of water.

"Now, now, dear. I did the shopping for you. The least you can do is say thank you." 

She growls in response and he kills the bottle while looking her in the eyes, puts it down on the ground before undoing the now only soggy belt. As soon as it's off she kicks at him but he laughs and holds her legs still long enough to kiss her ankles. When she continues to resist, he pulls out the key to the handcuffs and waits for her to look over.

It takes a few minutes before she does. He sees her eyes look up at it, recognize it, and acknowledge. That's when she stops.

He mounts her from behind, the sheer panties she wears giving almost no resistance to his cock, hard through his jeans like a hammer. It's pushed against her intentionally as he takes her wrists, pulls them up gently. Then, as he undoes the lock, he puts the key aside on his end table as he continues to slide his cock up and down. "I'll unlock the other wrist in a second but first we-"

There is violence in every thrash and kick she gives from beneath him, but he's in too good of a position, too strong and too ready for it. He just holds her wrists until it passes. "There we are. Now as I was saying, I'll undo the other one in a second but first? We're going to try something."

Our hero kicks up off her, rises up, and gives her ass a faint love slap before offering her a hand up. She looks at it, then him, and back to his hand before she takes it. When he pulls her up, she gasps, almost like she weren't made of anger and frustration. "I'm going to take the fabric out of your mouth now. I'd appreciate having all my fingers after I do."

First comes the hand towel, folded in half. Then the second pair of panties she had produced from her purse. He tosses both aside and then looks at her, hair a mess from being thrashed around. Indentations on her face from pressing into the mattress. Torso covered, breasts barely contained, by his dress shirt leading down to sheer panties and a dangling pair of handcuffs, half-clasped.

And more beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen, even in that moment.

"I could have bitten off three of your fingers just now."

"Two at most. If you were lucky."

"If you were lucky, My Mister, it would have only been one. And when I sewed it back on later, I would not have done such a good job so if you ever tried this again, I could grab you by it. Twist it. Make you scream for me." 

"Don't you do enough of that as is?" He glides to the bathroom door. "Come here." 

She gives him a curious look before taking light and searching steps to him. Then he grabs her from behind, takes her handcuffed wrist and moves it up behind her back. When she's locked into that, he puts a hand beneath her throat, moves her into to the bathroom, and faces her towards the vanity.

There the pair stands, her shorter than him by a fair bit, but the two of them side by side in less than perfectly pressed clothing. Their eyes and faces giving the signs of fatigue. Real, and earnest. "What do you see?" He asks as he releases her wrist but keeps her throat so he can press her into him.

"Someone who greatly overestimates himself."

"What do you see?"

She looks over the reflection. "Why did you leave me, in the room? I would have come with you, I would have been more pleased. I—wanted to go."

"I wanted to show you that I'm not putting you on a pedestal. One of, I can only assume, approximately a thousand fears you have about me."

"And you will quell them all? My big, strong hunter?" She leans her head back against his chest. 

"I don't know if I silence a single one." He strokes her hair with his free hand as her body rests against his, handcuff dangling in the mirror image. "What do you see?"

"Is this some test?"

"No, that's your job. I wouldn't take it away from you. What do you see?"

"You could make me answer." She pouts out her lower lip in a way he's recognized as playful. "Make me tell you with your big, strong hands."

"Tell me, Little Miss."

They look their counterparts over in the mirror, then themselves. There is silence as they scan. After a moment she sighs, takes his free hand in hers and wraps them both around her as she hums. "I see something to be afraid of. I see an equal. What do you see?"

"More or less the same." He tightens his hold on her until she is closer to him. "Though, in all honesty, I may slim that definition down to 'danger.'" 

She moans at this, then tilts her head back to kiss his chin. When he laughs, he sees her smile, teeth sharp as lies appearing as she does the same again and again. She continues the process of tracing his chin in kisses as he slides his hands down from his grip on her to inside her panties and, as he bends to take them off her, she kneels to keep kissing him, only pausing to step out of the panties. 

"I might not even be wet for you," she says with large, rapidly blinking eyes. "I mean, you hurt me so. Treat me so poorly." 

"Yeah?" He says it as he undoes the buttons of his own shirt. 

"Mmmhmm, you are all the classic signs of an abuser. You leave me with scars inside and out and here I am, this poor little thing to be treasured."

He pulls her back to his face by her hair so he can plant a long, easy kiss on her lips. Their tongues entangle and wrestle, back and forth, into each others' mouths as hands roam over bruised and dented flesh. 

When he puts his hands in between the buttons of the shirt she wears and pulls it open, spraying a hail of buttons around the bathroom, she doesn't even break her kiss, but reaches into his jeans to tug on his cock. To grab it by its base and pull him to the shower.

Despite the heat of the day, she's turned the water up to near-scalding until steam clouds their senses like a night of drinking. She holds her head beneath the water before bringing her silky, wet hair up in a thrash, throwing a string of water at him as she looks over her shoulder like she's innocent and pure. 

"You're ruining my shirts," he whispers into her ear as he moves the head of cock just into her pussy. 

"You should feel lucky I am letting you off that easy."

Her wicked grin and sultry tone vanish as he shoves inside her. "Would you look at that," he says in response to her moan. "Turns out you were wet all along."

"The shower, dear sir. An older and more giving lover than you will ever be."

Then she bends forward more, hands go up against ancient-looking tiles and palms sink against them like she's under arrest. For a moment, there is only the sound of the water and the clinking of the handcuffs against the tile. He places a hand against the wall, right next to hers, and uses the other to hold her to him by her waist. "I want you like crazy."

"You have me."

"I want more."

"That's your curse." She laughs as she pushes her ass out, bends over more, slides herself against his cock. "You have me, you want more. Be happy with the moment."

He grunts his acknowledgment, pulls out of her and moves back in until there is a pleasing, slapping sound of their skin making contact. And this time, she surprises him with a gasp, a laugh, something earnest. Or earnest sounding.

His arm pulls her in and he pushes his cock into her again. She laughs once more, this time her hand finding his against the tile wall, coming over it, squeezing.

Pushing. Shoving. Shunting as hard as he can but still she laughs, shakes her ass against him and, as she steadies herself, she even laughs through an orgasm. When she collects herself, she laughs again and looks back as best she can. "Are you going to fuck me, or what? That was good. Maybe all you needed was practice."

There is a soft, easy roar that comes from him as he continues to fuck her in earnest, using his cock like a weapon, to subdue her. He pushes with everything he has into her tight, sleek pussy as he's done before, as he's used to make her easy, empty, still.

But she only laughs. Encourages him. Spurs him on with light and gentle jeers until she stops, cranes her head back to the ceiling, and screams as she cums once more.

Enthralled, enraged, he begins to push into her again before she can recover. For a moment, she is whimpering, writhing, still. But after she gains her strength back, she resumes laughing, encouraging and calling out to him for more. More. More!

She cums a final time and that's when he feels it, her pussy getting so tight that he can hardly move. "Don't stop now," she calls out. "Take what's yours. Go. Now."

And he does. He fucks her for all he's worth and barely hears the worlds flow out of her. Some mocking, some cooing and little between. When he's about to cum, she pushes against him, shoves him back, and he pulls out only to spray over her ass cheeks, quickly washed away by the hot water.

"Mmmm." She makes the moan as she stretches, slides up the wall and turns back to him. Grabbing his still-hard cock, she strokes it twice until he shudders. "Oh, don't be afraid. I was only showing you that I wasn't putting you on a pedestal." 

Then there's a single wink, a flick of her wrist to turn off the shower, and a quick step out to exit.

He stands there. Gasping, shuddering, holding onto the railing to catch his breath for a moment.

The clang that could only be the sound of her handcuff hitting the tile echoes in the bathroom.

"Well, are you going to take me to bed or what?"



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 07



He opens the door. 

The cinema lobby, seemingly ancient and made before movies even existed, is replete with the finely woven carpets and fabrics Our Hero has grown accustomed to. Wooden doors made to withhold armies with metal bars far too heavy for the fair to grasp, much less use. It is, as so many places he's seen recently, a monument dedicated to giving a good impression.

The Girl walks with him, not hand in hand as she has expressed she'd so dearly like, but is frowned upon. Instead she glides besides him, her loose dress and bouncing hair catching his eye. When he turns to look at her, she looks back and smiles, but it is low, almost cautious.

"Do you want anything? Do you—do you have anything when you see a film?" 

"No, thank you." She shakes her head. "I do not see them often. I admit, I never understood what the fuss was about. Much less what it would be to spend limited time here going to see one." She laughs. "But I agreed." Then she shrugs and looks over the lobby like the world were new to her. "You say you love this one?"

Our Hero nods, finds out you can buy a chilled beer even here, and takes her into the theater. 

They sit next to one another as music plays and lights dim slowly. He sips his beer and does his best not to ask her any questions as they have only been deflected. It is her nature, he's come to know. She is always surviving, walking a tightrope, and no matter what laugh or comfort or ease she shows it is not true. Not to the core of her. And he has learned that he must appreciate it. That it will not change. She will not wake up one night, confess her soul and make everything giving and honest between them.

She will simply be herself. The Girl. Capable, cunning, and giving. But scared, maybe even shy, and putting higher stakes on small things than he did on traveling continents. Maybe, he mused as he sipped his beer and listened to the faintly dreamlike music, that's why she liked him. Because he didn't have those fears. The demons in him never care much for making of show. Restless wasn't a part of his nature. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He washed the semi-sweet beer around in his mouth and swallowed.

The Girl shifts but keeps her eyes locked directly ahead. "Do you find your attraction for me wanes?"

"It increases." 

"And yet, as you find me more attractive you make me come to a cinema? To see an old movie? Tell me, My Mister, should I not be suspicious of that?"

"Does it matter how I answer? You'll be suspicious of it. You're suspicious of the leaves falling out of trees."

She laughs faintly before the mask is secured again. "If you like me, if you want me more, then you understand that this is foreign to me. That I..."

Our hero waits. He does not know what to say, only that anything he's mentioned immediately after she's trailed off has been wrong. At least, he thinks, he has beer, shade, and music while she struggles.

And struggle seems to be the right word. She shifts, her lower lip vibrates as through she is about to say something. Finally, she shifts her head to look at him and he turns to return her gaze. 

"I believe you are a good man, but I believe that this can only end poorly. Do you understand? That your heart will be broken if you keep going like this? Pretending I am something that I'm not? I will hurt and I do not wish to hurt you."

"So then I'll be hurt." 

"And I will be the one who suffers because of it!" She takes a deep breath and looks back to the screen. "I'm not the kind of woman you take to the cinema. I am not someone you hope you can charm and woo. I take what I need from a man when I need it. This entire experiment has only confirmed that." She seems to wrestle with herself, the final words coming out in a hot spill, like they've boiled over some wall. "Can we please go?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to take you to one of my favorite movies."

She leans forward now, eyebrows raised, both of her hands grabbing his forearm. "Why? Look at me. Why would you take me out over keeping me in, fucking me, having me?"

"It's not just about you." He looks her up and down, tries to understand why this is such a concern for her. "It's about what I want."

"To—treat me right? To get something from me? To make me feel another way?"

"I—you're overthinking this."

"At least one of us is thinking, then. Don't make me compensate and I'll stop doing it." She smirks and grasps him harder. "Why are we here?"

"The movie is going to start and, one way or another, you're going to see a part of me in it. I like this one a lot because the guy tries to be better after he loses the girl, not to get her. I like how he does it. I like the car chases. I like it all." He looks her up and down and feels a tightening in his throat. That little lump that expands to make sure you can breathe even when your body is telling you run, fight. "And I wanted you to see it and then you could know something about me."

"If you wanted me to know something about you, I would ask. Do you not trust me to ask?" 

Her grip lessens and her eyes seem more watery than normal, but maybe it's just the darkness; he cannot tell for certain. So he puts down his beer and turns to her, putting his free hand on one of hers. "I trust you to ask. Stop—listen. I trust you to ask. I wanted to give you something without you having to request it."

"You understand that sharing yourself with me may not be something that brings us closer together, don't you?"

He smiles, he pats her hair and looks into her eyes before his head bows under the weight of knowing that there is no winning. There is only playing the game out for a little bit longer. That she will, in the end, leave one night and never come back. But he tells himself he knew that before looking back into her eyes. "If I tell you the truth, all of it, will you listen?"

She nods. 

"Of course I know. I knew it before I saw you, and I knew it after I did, and I knew it this morning, and I know it now. In fact, not only am I acutely aware if I do share something with you that you might not care for it? But I'm pretty sure anything I share with you that isn't sexual may just make you run away screaming. That there is nothing I could do so terrorizing as tell you of a childhood memory or how much I enjoy you. That somehow, somewhere along the line you learned that someone saying this is some kind of devil. And it must be working for you because here you are, a young surgeon, safe, in a relationship she dictates. But you know what? Whenever you think you're going to hurt me, like your leaving will rip me in two? I think you mean it and I think you mean it because you've gotten so damn used to evading—"

"Could you stop?"

"Yeah."

He exhales, his breath hot enough that he realizes he's been going faster than he intended. She looks at him for a long moment, smiles and whispers, "I would kiss you now, if I could."

She turns back to the screen in such a way that he is unsure of what to make of it, and after a moment, he does the same. 

Then, after a moment, as the screen starts to flicker, he feels one of her fingers stroking in circles in his palm. It traces odd patterns before the heat of her palm meets his. The world is long and slow and the movie seems far away until her fingers lace between his. When she squeezes his hand in the dark, he wonders if everything he just said was a lie.

That maybe he'd indeed feel empty after she left.



The Sun, The Girl and Goodbye Ch. 08



He opens the door. 

She is entirely naked, open, arms tied together, legs bound apart. She is a toy for his pleasure, laid face-down so he can do whatever he wishes while not having to look her in the eyes if he does not wish. But of course, he does at the moment. He wants to see the fear in them. The concern. The false pride and bravado. 

He strokes her face with his thumb before moving it to her lips. "Kiss it." He waits until she does, her soft, full lips grinding over his rough skin before planting the single kiss. She looks as if she'll say something but then frowns and closes her lips. 

"Good girl. I thought you'd have more trouble with the no speaking rule."

He moves out of her line of sight, heavy steps making echoes like thunderclaps. He can be graceful some other time. Now he's the thing in the darkness. The eyes behind the veil. He's invincible, and perfect, and everything he can see, touch, is his.

The slap comes down on her ass cheek so hard and sudden, her body jerks at all three restraints. She makes a light noise that is answered by another slap to the same spot. When she cries out again the third slap comes down. This time she moans, but muted, stifling it.

"Quick learner."

As a reward, he strokes her ass, kisses it, gives it love and tenderness before swatting the other cheek . "Can you believe there are people who use crops? Toys? Something that takes away from the kinetic feel? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for using the right tool for the job but there are some things..." He swats her ass violently. "You just have to do yourself." 

Then he's covering her body, sliding over her without pressing down—further trapping her. When his hands touch the back of her head she flinches and he laughs, low and easy, into her ear. "So terrified. Of what? Something that you're imagining is going to happen? The hardest part for you is over. Agreeing. Accepting to do this. To give up some power in order to see my heart." He pressings his cock against her ass, hard enough that it can easily poke her through the slacks. The poke turns into a rub, the rub into a rhythm. 

Then he feels her rubbing back against him. Slowly at first, but then more and more. "You are powerless. You are trapped. You are stuck here beneath someone who could rip you apart. And you'd rather that then admit that this is lovely for you." He pulls her hair so hard her head tilts back, so that he can whisper in her ear with the hushed tone of assured knowledge. "Darling. That's love."

When she makes a jerking motion like she's going to bite at him, kick him, he simply subdues her with his strength. He pushes her back down into the mattress, runs his hands over her ties and moves his mouth to her ears again. "Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You don't have to be mine ever again. Not for a second. Just trust me enough to give yourself up tonight, for one hour, so you know that you can." 

The curves of her ass tempt him, nearly draw him in, before he tugs at her hair again. This time he bends forward to kiss her throat, the side of her neck and just under her chin. The little places that spell out danger in any other context. Then, for the first time with her, he bares his teeth. 

He draws them over her skin, never scraping and never clamping down. He simply takes a little bit more away from her in the moment, each moment, that they are on her skin. When he drags them back to her ear he whispers again, cock so hard it feels like it could drive into her through his pants. "You held my hand tonight. You came back to me." He shunts his cock against her ass as the rest of his body comes closer to her beautiful, gasping face. "The power is shifting. Does your heart feel it? Your pussy does. Has it ever been so wet?"

It seems for a moment that he's going to dip his hand between them, unzip, pull out his cock and slide in. Instead he simply pushes a finger inside her, slow like thick torture, until it is all the way inside her. Then he makes a few circles, pulls it out and brings it to her mouth. "Suck, up until my first segment. Leave the rest for me."

Her mouth sucks around him in such a way that he struggles not to moan when she's reached the first knuckle. Then she stops, rolls her tongues around it, and begins to take it in and out of her mouth rapidly, sliding her lips just up to the point of demarcation before sliding back again and, even as he pulls it from her lips, her neck extends to keep him in her mouth for just a fraction of a second longer.

He sees her neck twist, her body trapped in the binds that he's made for her, before he puts the finger in his own mouth and sucks her juices. "No, you haven't. You haven't been this wet before with someone else, have you? I don't need you to answer. We both know the truth."

This time, the finger slams inside her. She gasps in such a way that he has to bring his hand down on her over and over again. Each slap, each hit, causing her pussy to clench, her body to shake. But still, when it is over, she holds his finger inside her like it's made of magic, even wetter than before. 

Her cum is applied like a balm to the most reddened parts of her ass, and she jumps and shifts as it is. While our hero soothes the marks he caused with the cum that came, he dips into his back pocket, pulls out a wallet and single handedly retrieves and opens a condom. Then he rises off the bed like he has no weight and, as opposed to before, slides over to the front of her without making much of a sound at all. "Make an O shape with your mouth."

She does and he puts the condom in, pinches her lips so that they are too tight, small, and just barely open around it. Then he pushes his cock forward, just the tip, and slides the plastic wrapping over. Then, clenching her head in place like a vice, he slides his cock all the way in until he's used her like a machine to wrap himself up. 

And, simply because he is there and she cannot move, her fucks her face for a few strokes before moving back behind her.

It's only his cock that's out, hard as it. The rest of him remains clothed as he slides over her naked body to cover it once more, aligning himself behind her perfectly, bringing his cock to the entrance of her pussy while his lips reach her ear once more. "You love me. And that's harder for you to hear than anything else. You love me and it scares you and you cannot rid yourself of it and you know it'll hurt when that love stops."

He pushes the tip of his cock into her easily, opened and accommodating as she is. His hands move through her hair, stroking gently, like playing a harp, as he slides just centimeters of himself in and out of her. "And every part of you wants to run. Love means run away. But I'm betting that every part of you wants to find out what's next, too, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise. You want me to beat you into submission? Bite you until you are raw? No. You really want to experience torture, then listen to this."

His cock moves all the way into her as she simply gasps, shudders, in a way that echoes in the only way that bare honesty in an empty room can. Then, when he is all the way in, the words fall out of him like confession. "...I love you, too."

There is silence for a moment. The sputtering, almost starting of her words. The heat of her face starting to radiate so much that he can feel it from the side. Her pussy in turmoil, both clenching and shaking. She seems like she's on the verge of tears. She seems like all she needs is softness and understanding.

And that's when he starts fucking her like he's never fucked anyone before. 

The contours of her body, the restraints holding them in such rigid demand, make it easy, almost impossibly easy, for him to glide in and out of her. It is long, full, hard strokes without much effort at all. The condom isn't just a precaution, it's to delay the one thing that could stop him from truly torturing her—how much he loves her pussy. How perfect he finds it. How easily it ends him.

Hands stop caressing, start choking her neck from behind, binding her hair to keep even her face still. To keep her as in place as possible. One he designed. One he knew.

One that the monster knew too well.

Already it was pressing for him, from the back of his mind. Taking control of his hips so he could swing easily back and forth. It growls, begs, beckons. "Let me have her," the voice speaks and, when he does not answer it, the monster roars again. "You can't break her without me."

It's just a moment. Just a night. Just the time between them. What's the harm?

Our hero lets the monster that is inside him out and the first thing it does is clench her throat so hard that she gasps. It's only when she does that it starts to slam in and out. 

She shudders as it builds and the monster only fucks her harder for it. Everything from this point on is wrong. Everything is punishment. Letting the word love out, knowing this could be her final night, it is too much to bear for him. But the monster can take it all in stride. Walk with rhythm. Take without remorse. 

The girl is starting to pant, she cannot help it. The tell-tale clenching in her pussy, the slight pushing back of her ass against his thrusts, the curve of her back only being pushed down by the weight of his chest. She's close.

The monster does not care. This means so little to him, her orgasm. He has a vision for her. One that involves fucking her until the point that she cannot live without him. One that involves never questioning if the bird takes flight when the cage is empty. So he continues to fuck her with long, full strokes.

When she starts to cum, he is inhuman. He does not shift at all. He fucks her through the nearly mute orgasm, continues on as she whimpers, as she puts up with the pain of being fucked too much through it. And, it's only when she struggles with the tethers, chokes at the binds, that the monster roars aloud for the very first time.

"You were supposed to be silent and still." His voice takes the oxygen out of the room and her body stops squiriming immediately. For a moment there is only the sound of his cock moving in and out of her, the faint squeaking from the bed it causes. Then he hears her breathing resume. Panting being begin. 

That's when he starts fucking her faster. 

"The sad thing is," he says with a voice like fire, like endings, like shadows, "the soft part of me would give you anything and you'd walk away. You'd say 'thank you' for the gifts. This part of me? It knows exactly what you need."

He moves faster, harder, in and out of her until she is on the verge of another orgasm and, even after that, harder still. This time, when she cums, she cries out and the monster sinks his teeth into her shoulder, clamps down, and fucks her harder still.

She begs him to stop and, each time she does, he takes more of her skin between his teeth until she stops or, at least, stops speaking words and instead squeals and whimpers. Like someone powerless. Like someone opened up. 

And her reward? 

He fucks her harder still.

Long, full heft. The whole of his strength pushing all of his cock as far into her as possible, so much so now that there is a clap of wood against wood from the bed lifting off the floor and slamming back down on it. 

Even the monster's cock can't resist her forever. Fatigue, one way or the other, always slips in. Either he'll get too tired to keep fucking her, or he'll have to let the pleasure of her in. When she cums the third time, crying out with a ringing in the room, he has his answer.

The monster releases her skin, her hair and her neck. It pushes into the mattress and then it begins to fuck with her with everything it has until there is nothing left to give but more sweat, more growls, and just that little extra bit of cock that enters when a woman when you fuck her so hard that your skin presses into hers. 

This assault, this siege, continues until she cocks her head back, cries and begs no, for anything other than it to go on, and that's when the monster's cock begins to tingle in such a way that the dance is over.

He tries, as hard as he can, to keep the fucking going for along as possible. Reminds himself to not give in just because cum is starting to seep out of him. To give her every stroke in case this is goodbye. 

The monster pushes himself beyond all limits it has, and as she begins to cry out, it begs for just a few seconds more. Just let me fuck her into pain a few seconds longer. 

Then, when she begins to cum and tremble around him, he loses himself. He cums, and cums, and cums. Then pulls out of her as soon as he is able. As soon as the world is isn't ringing.

She says nothing, as our hero returns, breathing heavily, feeling so hot the sweat and air feel cold. She only gasps and shudders. After a moment, like she's still being fucked, she cries out and shakes again, trembling, screaming softly in the way that one can only do if they are afraid. 

He undoes the binds, though she flinches with every touch of their skin. When she's finally free, she curls up into a ball, looks at him from behind her knees with large eyes, pulling a blanket over her naked body. 

Our hero moves to the other side of the bed and sits down, her gaze following him as he does. After putting away the bindings he looks to her, sits on the bed and does not show any expression of hurt when she bends away from him for doing so.

"Come here."

"No." She says it through the fabric.

"My hour isn't over yet. Come here."

She is reluctant, still covered by the blanket, but she inches towards him in the same protective ball. He grabs her, forces her out of it despite her kicks until she is laid out in a flat line, then he shifts her to her side and rolls in behind her.

Then they spoon for a moment. The moment turns into an hour. The hour into two. Both still awake, listening to the other's breathing, before she turns to him and whispers like she's afraid to summon what just came out of him again.

"Who are you?"