Gray Film

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Two young lovers escape to New York for some private fun.
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The sky was an ominous sheet of gray, stretching from one corner to the other of the bedroom window of the suburban New York apartment. Dusty old brick coated the walls of the infinitely small space. Cream colored sheets fell carelessly from the edges of a king sized bed nearly the width of the room; pillows lay propped against the wall, their backs covered in a gray chalk-like film. One lonely blade hung from the ceiling, spinning around two dim light bulbs that had been there for ages. In the center of the room, sprawled on the bed, lay a young girl lazily staring at the sorry excuse for a fan. Her blue-gray eyes followed the lone blade, as if in a trance; one finger ran through her thick chestnut hair, gently stroking the soft curls spread across the sheets.

A quiet, distant clicking noise slowly roused her from her dream-like state; she could hear padded footsteps coming from just down the hall. Quickly sitting up, she scurried backward towards the pillows, arching her back just so to flaunt her rounded breasts, and placing her hands behind her hips for support. It was a matter of seconds before a hand crept around the hanging curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. In stepped a tall, muscular man whose deep brown hair and slightly tanned skin reminded her of power; here was a man who could one day rule the world, she thought. For a second, she caught his eye: so much depth, so much strength lay in those two hazel orbs, she almost couldn't tear herself away. Slowly, he made his way toward her; with every small step he took, she became so much more aware of herself; how her black corset gently pushed on her bosom, how her fishnet stockings crept up her legs, ending half way up her fine-toned thighs, how badly her full, rosy lips craved the warmth and touch of his own; how his bare, refined abs pillowed out gently from his stomach, how his sleek black pajama pants seemed to lengthen his strong legs, and how they accented the strangely graceful bulge protruding from his lower torso. God, he was gorgeous.

She crept over to the side of the bed where he now stood, crawling on all fours until she was just at the edge. Sitting on her heels, she glanced upward at his face; her want to kiss him nearly drove her insane, the stubble lining his soft cheeks and his curling smile making her dizzy with lust. Finding the approval she sought, she lifted her delicately manicured hands to his sides, looping her slender fingers over the edge of his pants. They slid down like silk, revealing a shave so thorough and so smooth, she almost felt like she was back in that southern downtown apartment, finding herself wrapped up in his bare arms, under the cool breeze of a real ceiling fan; oh how she wished to be back home, but she knew that this was how life would be, rough like the brick walls that surrounded them, impure like the dust coating their dirty little secret. Licking her lips, she reached for him, taking him gently in her hand and wrapping her fingers around in a firm grip. He was already as hard as a broom stick, and certainly as soft as one, too. Smooth, like the way he made her feel when he kissed her nose on those lonely days, reminding her that she was loved, forever and for always, amen. She lowered her mouth down to a comfortable level, slowly kissing up and down the shaft, savoring the texture of his warm, cozy skin.

Suddenly, an unnerving thought came over her. Having promised herself a long time ago that she would never venture into something so...unsanitary, she was surprised at herself for even getting this far; however, it was the next step that made her most uneasy. Should she see how far down she could go? What if she went too far? Would he laugh if she gagged? Deciding to play it safe, she slowly peaked her tongue out from between her lips, caressing the sides, then slowly making her way to the bottom. She was by no means graceful; having never done this before, she was more than hesitant to assume that he was enjoying her efforts. Playing with the tip of his shaft, she gently opened her lips, taking him into her mouth just past the middle of her tongue. She closed her lips firmly around him, when he made a faint moaning noise. She smiled, continuing to massage him with both her tongue and hand, being careful not to get her teeth too near. By this point, he was constantly groaning; she moved quicker, stronger, tighter, until she felt his hand firm on her head, deep gasps and moans echoing through the dim room. Faster, stronger, harder... She gripped him, sucking him as she would a straw... More, more...

She pulled away. In an instant she could have relieved all of that tension, but she had just let go. He let out a short, loud gasp; she looked up, relishing the pained look on his face. He was close, she knew; but that would only make him work harder. She was evil; so terribly evil. His breaths were now short, uneven, his eyes looking straight at her, questioning why she would leave him hanging. She just smiled. "My turn," she said playfully, raising herself on her knees. Running her hands down the bare sides of her legs, she fingered the garter straps, slowly unhooking them and letting them fall haphazardly. She stared into his eyes; he was getting impatient, she could tell. Licking her lips once again, she could still taste him, his hot flesh lingering on her lips. She wanted to keep him waiting; the longer she sat there, the less likely it would be that he would go off before she wanted him too; he had done it in the past, and she would be damned if he did it now. Slowly his hands made their way to her side, caressing her legs, then around and up her back. She could feel him playing with the zipper on her corset; he slid it down ever so gently, and upon reaching the end, he grabbed its stiff flaps and threw it in a corner across the room. Her breasts now lay exposed, each one delicate and smooth as silk. He gently ran his thumbs over each, circling her nipples as he held each breast cupped gently in his hands. Her own hands free, she made her way down to ties that held her black panties together, tugging at the strings and pulling them loose. The fabric fell to the bed; not wanting them to get in the way, she discretely tossed them behind her, hearing them plop as they hit the floor. She smiled, returning to the strange sensation she felt as he fondled her; her breasts tingled slightly under his touch, something she usually did not feel. The sensation made her melt; slowly sinking in his arms, her legs nearly spread into the splits, but at this point there was no way she could get back up.

Then, before she knew it, she was on her back. He had pushed her, grabbed her waist and pinned her against the bed in one fell swoop. Now she lay before him, legs splayed and bent. She could feel him grab her knees, the fishnet digging into her skin. Her feet now level with the bed, knees up in the air, she watched as his lips moved forcefully between them. She gasped; his lips were wet, not that they needed to be, she had done enough on her own. He was so much more...rough than she had been. His lips sucked more than kissed, not staying in one spot for long. She grabbed her breasts, fondling herself in rhythm with his movements. Then...then, from out of nowhere, she felt herself grabbing herself in a desperate attempt not to scream as his tongue pushed its way through her. She couldn't help but moan as he ducked in and out, feeling his way around each time he went back. Louder, louder her moaning became...

Until she opened her eyes. He was not three inches away from her face, a smirk plastered on his own. Panting, he said softly, "Didn't think I'd let you finish, did you?" God, he was evil; so terribly, horribly evil. She couldn't help but feel that it was karma, coming back to bite her in the ass - or, in her case, a closer region - for what she had done to him. Staring into his eyes, she knew he wanted her, he couldn't deny it, he was just waiting... Grabbing him around his neck, she pulled him in, closing the gap between her nearly dry lips and his soaking wet ones. Pressing passionately, she couldn't help but catch her tongue against his lip; it was sweet, albeit different, but sweet. So that's what she tasted like. As their tongues danced, she felt his hands move under her thighs, pulling her legs up and around his waist. And then suddenly...

She screamed. Everything went black, her eyes glued shut; God, he was so forceful tonight. Grabbing her legs, his fingers dug into her skin, forcing the nets to leave deep marks in her porcelain thighs, pushing himself inside. Her hands shot to the sheets, clenching them so tightly, it felt as though her nails would cut straight through them and draw blood. Just as quickly as he had gone in, he pulled out, followed by one more deep thrust. Forcing her eyes open, she stared into his own, studying them as carefully as her dizzy mind would allow. His power was prevalent now more than ever; so much strength, so much appetite, and, she now noticed, so much darkness. There was a void appearing behind the surface; his mind was gone, primal instincts now consuming him wholly. Her stomach collapsed into itself.

"Stop," she heard herself mumble. But oh, he felt so good, rocking, teasing, kissing... "Stop," she forced, "Dammit, please!" Harder, faster, back and forth... Tears welled up in her eyes. Those lazy spring days were long gone; the wild was now all-consuming, his soul lost to the brick jungle. "Stop, please baby, ju-" she screamed as her protests were silenced by quake traveling down her thighs, up her stomach, shooting straight to her head. He hadn't finished; no, he wouldn't be finished just yet, despite her desperate pleas for it to end. How quickly he had turned from an innocent house cat to a jungle tiger, thirsty for blood, eager for the kill, no matter what the costs. Faster, stronger... Shivers ran down her spine, his head now buried in her hair, both dripping in sweat. Oh, how she was thankful when at last he cried out, one last thrust, before collapsing on top of her. She panted, beads of the salty liquid running down her face, falling onto the sheets like droplets of rain. Stroking his hair, she waited for him to move, to pull out, to go pour himself a glass of orange juice with a shot of Stoli as he always did after a good romp. She waited, and whispered in his ear between deep breaths, "You. Are. Amazing." He didn't respond. "Baby, I need a drink." His body lay motionless, pinning her against the bed. "Baby..." Oh God, she thought. They were in New York, alone, and here they lay. She couldn't call anyone; no one. Period. They would take him, and then here she would be, half way across the country, with no money and no one to love. She pushed his shoulder, tickled his back, the way she knew would merit a response; not a peep, not even a snore. She desperately stretched her arm for the phone, just barely out of reach. "Oh God," she whispered to herself. "Oh God."

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