Hands in the Dark

I wanted her the moment I saw her, wanted her so badly I didn't even feel bad about it, not at first at least. Not just in the physical sense, I wanted to possess her, to be the only person allowed to say, "She's mine." I don't know how we ended up beside each other, but I remember her first, "Hey," and that brilliant smile with a clarity that will never fade. It is the rock upon which my church is built - unshifting and impervious.

We spent those first days just making each other laugh. I love her voice, but her laugh is something special. It shoves back the dark corners of my mind with its brilliant glow. Maybe she exaggerates it for my benefit, providing a lilting succession of uplifting phonemes when a more subdued chuckle would be apt, but if it's something she's eager to provide, I'll take all I can get.

Obsession plays no game fairly; it's really just a nice word for addiction. As we unraveled our lives to each other, we tangled ourselves together, always shoulder to shoulder, not caring if anyone noticed that we looked like two awkward, horny teenagers.

Pain is directly proportional to distance times time. I barely survived the evenings when we were apart, constant communication my only lifeline. Silly pictures that captured our lives, like the time we unwittingly had the same breakfast, made the day bearable. We were gleefully addicted to each other.

For me, it was wonderful and terrible. Life at home was awful, and no matter how genuine my feelings, I was using her to escape. It wasn't fair to her, and I didn't know when my situation would change, so I backed away.

The despair was instant and incessant. No matter where I directed my thoughts, her face was there waiting - the perfect drug. I raged at my life, and in that rage I found the power to change it. I shattered everything around me, picked up the shards I valued, and escaped my prison of mirrors.

"It's over. I need to be with you." As soon as I pressed send I was full of the worst terror I've ever felt. Doubt sat heavily on me while fear mocked me. My heart pounded in my chest, and I cursed myself for making a terrible mistake until I received a response after a time that felt like an eternity but was probably best measured in seconds.

Her response was simple and perfect, like disinfectant sunlight. "When?" My life floated upwards, suddenly relieved of the steady burden that had strained my heart and my hope.

"Tomorrow?"

"You don't ever have to ask."

Tomorrow was beautiful and new, with a delicious core of familiarity. The person I needed most had been returned to me, and I did my best to suffocate her with attention and affection. Moments of honesty brought new bonds, stronger than the old, forged on the altar of knick knacks I could never give her, nestled on a shelf beside my bed. We snatched every opportunity to be close, but our reservoirs of need couldn't be drained by simple proximity.

The day after that, and every feasible subsequent day, I had her for lunch. The sweet taste of her that accompanied each moan and scream was life-giving nectar, and I poured her messily down my throat, never sated and always thrilled with the opportunity for lustful gluttony.

When she was limp from being devoured, I took her like I wanted, deeply, slowly, but not for my sake. "Come for me," I told her as I filled her, and she did, as rapidly and repeatedly as her body and mind could muster, glorious each time, but never enough. "Come for me," and she shook and wailed in my grasp, sweat, tears, and pussy soaking us both. "Come for me," I begged, never caring about anything but her ecstacy, terrified of what might happen when it ended.

Addiction is never static. Chasing that dragon is how we ended up in a sex shop. I knew what I wanted as soon as we went inside. Sure, the sign said they were for covering your lover in homemade, organic, preservative-free whipped cream, but the need for a middleman was just an illusion.

Box in one hand, joined together with the other, we wandered the store. Lingerie didn't interest us; she's best served naked, and we rarely had the time or patience to unravel something wound around her. She stroked a pair of handcuffs coated with shaggy fur wistfully, but they were quickly annotated with, "next time," and a side eye that made blatant promises. Toys of all sorts were momentarily entertaining, but it's my job to pleasure her, and I know best how to use my own tools.

I thought we'd exhausted the possibilities when she stopped in front of a display I never thought would interest her. I watched her hands tremble slightly as she pulled two things from the display - a small bottle of warming lube, and a butt plug barely larger than one of her fingers. I couldn't help but see the large, jovial graphic announcing that batteries were indeed included.

She led me to the counter and then to my car, never relinquishing her grip on my hand until we got there. Seated and on the road, she grabbed my hand again and shoved it under her skirt and into her panties. It's my job to make her feel good, and I love my work. A seat belt and bucket seats held her hips still as I found my way inside her. I couldn't concentrate at first, too worried about driving and dying to give her the attention she deserved. In everything, there must be balance, and eventually I found it. She squirmed on my hand, rising and falling, moaning and whimpering while I directed just enough attention to the wheel to keep us between the lines. She's always glorious when she comes. I love her voice.

I was trying to remember how to drive with two hands when those plans got delayed. My goddess bathed me with her tongue, pulling her remnants from my fingers, nectar too divine for mortal men who have not earned it with proper worship - high praise from one so holy. My face told her I understood the favor bestowed upon me. We ran out of freedom around then; somehow life sucked the life out of us.

Stolen moments fueled us and allowed us to proceed about our daily chores like automatons until our timelines next intersected. When a day arrived where she was to be my lunch, we barely made it into the building where we work before I asked her if it was time. It only took her a few minutes to say yes. We tittered nervously on the way to my apartment, afraid the wrong casual word would disrupt the spell and return us to our original accursed universe. Magic potions brusquely inhaled temporarily warded off our disastrous lives with protective vibrations.

Clothes cast aside, I threw her on my bed, shoved her legs out wide and devoured her. I pried her open with my tongue and slurped every drop from her slick, smooth pussy. She fed herself to me, and I feasted on her. I found the perfect world with her coming in my mouth, and I clung to it desperately.

When we were both too tired to continue, I stripped and held her close. We didn't rest long, clinging fiercely to each other as I slowly found my way inside her. She likes to tangle her fingers in my hair while we kiss. I like to feel her scream into my mouth. She shook in my arms as I split her open over and over. I was disappointed in myself when I finally came, but the satisfaction and affection on her face forgave me.

We were often unable to convince life to cooperate. I never knew disappointment until she was snatched away from me at the last moment by a meeting scheduled by people with a woefully inadequate sense of priorities. Even professional darts players don't have to deal with a moving board.

The air quavered around us when we were too close. We left the office at lunch one Friday, scheduled this time because I refused to take any chances of her being stolen away from me prematurely. As she kissed her way down my body my heart pounded and my breath stuck. She didn't need to encourage me to be hard enough for her to swallow. She worshiped me with her mouth, eager to show me that my love was not misplaced, and my effort was appreciated. Her lips and tongue found every inch of me, and then she took me deeply, slowly, until she couldn't control the need to show me how much she needed me. Her mouth was like nothing I've ever felt, and my world swam when I exploded down her throat.

I found the strength to repay her, and did my best to swallow her whole. We rummaged my fridge for fuel before round three - leftover tots from one of her favorite restaurants. Rejuvenated, I kissed her, but was rebuffed. "Wait," was her only explanation. She disappeared with her bag, and came back pensive but excited.

Her acquisitions were presented to me, unpackaged and in working order. "I love it when you use me, and there are so many fun and dirty ways for me to be used." She kissed my chest softly. "I want you to be able to use all of me."

I could only mumble a surprised acquiescence. A wordless agreement found her on her hands and knees on my bed. "Go really slowly." I mumbled a distracted affirmative, already considering an order of operations. She flinched when I touched the first slick finger to her backdoor. The warming lube was a good decision; her voice fluttered excitedly as I drew small circles.

"OK, in, just a little." I added more lube to my finger, rubbing them together to make them warm before seeking entrance. She gasped when she first accepted me, and I froze, waiting. Her breathing quickly returned to normal, so I stroked in her slowly before pressing my finger deeper. Her gasps slowly turned to groans as she took more and more of me.

"Turn it on and put it in me." I coated it thoroughly and pushed the button under the base. She gasped when it first made contact, lurching forward to crash on her side. After a few huffing breaths, she told me, "Holy shit! That was intense." It took her a few more deep breaths before she could climb back to her knees and inform me, "I'm ready for it now. Try again."

She still flinched the second time as soon as I touched her, but she didn't fly away. My finger was bigger than that toy, so it didn't take long before she had everything but the flared base inside her. "It feels way bigger than it looks," she commented after a few stabilizing breaths, looking down her body at me. Her eyes shot open when they landed on my half hard dick, and I could see she was calculating ratios.

"Should I take it out?"

"No. No, I want you to fuck me. Holy fuck I want you to fuck me like this. Now, right now. Fuck me fuck me fuck me, please!"

I rose to my knees and buried myself inside her in one push. She wouldn't let me be any more gentle than that. Her body gobbled up my rapid thrusts, and the vibrations went all the way from her ass to my teeth. Functioning on instinct, fueled by an animal desire, I destroyed her thoroughly, until her shaking left her a boneless pile. I exploded in her in one last act of devastation, and when I pulled the vibrating power source from her, she gasped, twitched, and switched off entirely. I dove into the abyss right behind her, her request for me to use her echoing in my ears.

Then everything caught fire, careless tinder thrown on smoldering jealousy. He chased me in his car, not realizing he was chasing us. There's a stained glass window in my church that depicts this scene - her following him back to his car, head hanging low. They're always pictures of the most trying times, right? That's when our faith is tempted, when the church is what we need.

I found solace at her altar. It held an implacable hope that found no home in me, but was something I could trust as long as I could see its earthly representative. It had a space of honor in my home - visible, but private. Nonbelievers aren't fit to gaze upon it, but the truly faithful take comfort from its omnipresence.

We shared occasional messages and acknowledgements in passing, but things cooled. They had to. We had a new default distance, universally applied, and we chafed under the chains that held us at such odious lengths.

I dared ask it one day. "Why are we so far apart?"

"I'm pregnant," her response read. I knew it wasn't mine. I don't remember the rest of that conversation. When I think about it, all I see is me stabbing myself in the heart with my phone.

I gorged myself at a buffet of addictions to pass the empty time. When you don't care about tomorrow, today can get pretty crazy. Also, it turns out you can survive some pretty crazy shit.

Her new little girl was six months old before I heard from her next. "I won't lose you again. Everything is in the past, and none of it matters. I want my now to be full of you. They say once you're an addict you're always an addict. I understand that now. I'll never be free of pain without a constant supply of you. Drug me. Fuck me. Use me. Love me. Please."

We quickly returned to the state of horny teenagers and having her smeared over my face and shirt for lunch. I told her I needed a bib with her face on it. I love the sound of her laugh. A few kisses led me from her navel to her smooth pussy. Our tangled fingers anchored us together, making a promise and a commitment as I feasted on her. Nothing else mattered.

Everything was waves - my pulse in my ears, her body rippling under me, the Deftones song blaring in the background. The only thing that was constant was my need to make her come. Even as her body clenched and she screamed my name, even as she gushed to fill my mouth, I was thirsty for her next one. Everything that was happening was perfect, and I worked diligently to prolong her perfection. Over and over, wave upon wave, she died in my mouth, only for my love to revive her.

Somehow, a weak, "Please," from her pulled me back. I leapt up her body with strength powered by need to press my lips to hers. My needy hands filled themselves with her butt as our desperate lips cling together. I let go just long enough to bury my impossibly hard dick in her drenched pussy. Her moan was delicious, and I made sure I licked every bit of it from her lips before I started to rock slowly inside her.

Her climaxes are my newest addiction; I need no other drugs while we're together. I dosed up, filling myself with the high I need by filling her like she needs. "I've never come just from being fucked like that," she gasped under me while I ground against her slowly.

"Come for me again," I told her before I claimed her mouth, driving into her hard, using her like we wanted me to. I love holding her arms down while she thrashes under me, watching her body ripple as she begs my cock deeper. She shook for me again and again, and I never wanted it to stop. Desperation was our rocket fuel, and we left the planet far behind.

She's asleep in my arms right now. I hate that I'll have to wake her soon. Her life is rough enough without me stealing precious sleep, but we're not to the point where there are no consequences. The people who love her won't let her fail, but she has a scary amount of work to get there, and I worry about how much of her will be left. I know she can do it. She's stronger than I am, but she's not invincible, and the unfair world wears her down from every direction.

I do everything I can to hold her above the arrows, but old wounds make most things harder than they should be, and I fail her more often than I'd like. That's how I know she's stronger. She's never failed me.

Each day is the same struggle made new as we stretch our needy palms toward each other's warmth. We've burned each other enough now that we can cling together tightly without fear. It only hurts when we let go. For now, she lives two lives, while I live half of one.