Locked in the Closet Pt. 02

This close to her he experienced every sound of her excitement. Even though she had placed a hand over her mouth he could hear her moaning, quicker and loader now. She almost lost control, and for a moment the living room with the sleeping children was filled with a husky growl of pleasure. Like a small animal he curled up even tighter, let her use him as she pleased. He hoped that she would forgive him for being bad earlier. His cock was still hard, waiting for her.

It all felt, even though it was horrible, soothing somehow, as if he belonged in the moist darkness that she had created for him. She stroked his hair, mumbled something. He couldn't hear what.

For a while her fingers almost stopped inside of her. Then, they hurried up. They seemed to rush for the finish line. Her sounds muffled under the palm of her hand, but he could still hear. He almost came again at the shivering of her orgasm. Because of him, he thought.

Everything was silent in the living room. The children were sleeping. Her breathing silently died down, and with a whimper she released her hand from underneath him. Then she stroked his face, smearing him with her juices. As he had against the socks his tongue flicked out, touched her fingers. As if it was a signal, she showed them down his throat. Again, he panicked, until he realized he couldn't go anywhere. The fingers slid in and out of him, made him chug against their slow movement. They tasted like a concentrated version of the smell that rose from her laundry basket. He swallowed as much as he could.

Maybe she was pleased with him, because when she was done, she stroked his face again, smeared him with their combined fluids.

Meanwhile her other hand found his cock again, started to stroke it. But he never got close this time. It felt more like an afterthought, like a reward. As soon as he started to drip on her she stopped, wiped herself on his pants.

"Go," she said. "Before they wake up."

She didn't do it for him, and so he dug himself free off the blanket. He looked up at her, saw her still sitting like a judging queen. This time she had decided that he should go, and he put his cock inside his jeans again. It was painful.

But something made her change her mind. As he turned to leave, she grasped him by the arm, turned him around. She made him stand before her as she stroked him for a little bit more. Then she felt his mouth again, made him lick her fingers.

After that, with a silent movement, she sent him away. She stayed put and sunk into the couch again, as if he had just gone for a drink or something. But the movie would soon be over. Everybody except the bad guys got their rewards. It was a happy ending. So why did he feel so sad?

At the staircase he turned to look at her. She didn't look back. He stroked himself as she had done, but it wasn't the same. With tears streaming down his face, he ran to his room upstairs, locked the door. He came in his rolled-up underwear. It felt wonderful. It felt like a betrayal.

He laid down in the same positions as on the couch, the comforter loosely around him. He waited for her to come upstairs, but she never did. He felt the darkness come for him.

"I pray the lord my soul to keep," he whispered, and fell asleep.

The end.