The Beach

David took his time, denying the overwhelming urge within him to immediately thrust into her, hard and deep. Instead, and with immense restraint, he simply probed a small way inside of her, enjoying the exquisite sensation of her tightly enveloping and slippery wetness that wrapped itself around the flared and swollen head of his cock. He opened her deliberately, slowly, dipping just a short way, before withdrawing, then returning back inside, deeper each time, with each teasing, short stroke.

Watching her face all the while, the sensations of their lovemaking flitted rapidly across her features, her expression changing to match his gradual penetration of her body. She was gradually opening herself to him, becoming one with him, allowing his wide girth to enter her, to fill her. All was reflected in the fascinating and ever-changing expression and movement upon her face. She was indeed beautiful. He was truly making love to her, and it didn't really matter to him that it was not truly reciprocated. But of course it mattered. Without love, what have you got?

Something cold was in his hands. He looked. A forgotten bottle of single malt Scotch whisky was grasped firmly. Had he carried that the whole time? And it was the very finest. For special occasions only. By now the letter he had posted to his boss should have arrived. He had left his flat in West Sussex tidy and clean. Had put in his company car keys and mobile phone along with the letter. He had nothing else to do but listen. His insurance contracts had been lucrative to him, but crippling to the third world people to whom it ripped off. He had written to them also. Told them what to do. Truth and honesty. He raised his bottle up to the Elfe, who kept him silent company. A double-edged sword of the cruellest kind. The Elfe agreed without a word. He could be truthful now, and honest to himself. The Elfe alone knew he was dying.

He had known his fate for a long time. Now, and with the approach of death, the finer points of life resolved themselves from the confusion of living. He would make his peace with the world now, here in this empty place, and remain here forever. The Elfe smiled.

Abigale could stand the teasing no longer. She wrapped her long legs around him, raked her fingernails down, along his back, down to his buttocks, and used all her strength to claw and draw him into her. His restraint finally failed, and he plunged his length deeply into her, deep into that hot, wet, sublime heat, her warmth swept along the full length of his cock, ensnaring him to the very base of his swollen shaft as he filled her fully. For a long blissful second, he held himself buried inside her as deeply as he could. His hardness was greater than he could remember. And she was now his, was truly fully his, as she lay deliciously impaled upon him. He had possessed her at last.

The urge to move within him was uncontrollable, restraint was now forgotten, and he began to move now, to plough into her. With ever quickening deep strokes, he made love to her, fucked her, willed her to be his. Her eyes flew open in surprise as the now blatant and urgent pace of his desire took her with force. She fed off his lust, willed him to even greater effort, faster, deeper, harder, to screw her, to fuck her.

Through the passion of the moment David saw her wide and unseeing eyes gaze up at him, past him, through him, their sight lost in the power of her convulsions, as she rode his passion. It was then, in that moment, that he knew for certain that it was not at him those eyes were looking at, not him who was ravishing her. Strangely, that certain knowledge was not even a surprise.

He already knew in his heart he would never truly have her. Her body perhaps, but her mind, never. And then later, much later, he still had to ask. He had to offer her the chance of a new life with him, what little life remained to him that is. She never knew of his condition, he never did tell her, and, of course, she had refused. He had expected nothing else, but still he had to ask.

Now, as he gazed at what he knew to be the last Sunset he would see, sitting on this cold, deserted, isolated beach, the Elfe alone kept him company. He remembered again that first exquisite night with Abigale. His lovemaking had never before felt so strong, and the memory made him smile. That passion sustained him now. If he were to be denied her soul, he would accept her body. And it seemed to him then as if her very youth could sustain him, give him strength and return some of his life. He made love to her with silent desperation, with a need bourn of his mortality and loneliness. And when it came, the intensity of his climax surprised him.

His seed burst forth with a power that was almost painful. It had built up slowly, deep within him, and had been held back for too long. And once released, his orgasm gushed through his very soul, through the length of him within her, swelling and hardening his already bursting member even further, finally exploding hotly and deeply inside the object of his desire. He heard her cry out as she felt his heat erupt and swamp her, and he joined her, crying out the pleasure and pain of his own desperate release.

The passion waned, the pleasure faded, as life itself fades. Now he realised it was time for another release, a final release. The smiling Elfe understood. She beckoned him towards her, this time she did not dance away, but instead, embraced him warmly. She took him readily within her, took him to another place, a far safer place. He smiled at her smile, and he realised, finally, that he was content.