The Wall

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Late night. A sound, a voice. A journey through the wall.
906 words
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It has been an hot day, the night won't be less.

I lay on my bed, cloth-less, just the smooth breeze of the wind fan from the ceiling keeps my skin from sweating. Shortly, I get sleepy.

In the buzz, I hear the heels down the hallway. Keys-door, the click. The next door lady is back at home.

Sleep's scarps later the quite muffled sound of her voice wakes me up. Singing, perhaps, as the shower runs.

I slide again into Morpheus' arms.

Then, it happens.

Something urges my eyes to open.

A whisper, across the wall. The softest moan, and my slumber is history.

Seconds of silence, then another whisper, just like a sigh. It gets my adrenaline to run.

Straining, to not miss a thing, I wait.

And there again, the moan.

Feeble, short.

I feel it on my skin short before hearing it.

As a light finger on my throat.

I feel.

With outstretched mind, awakened senses, ready, alive.

Another sigh, almost gasping, it brushes my nape making me shiver.

Staying still, I close my eyes and push my awareness toward the wall. Toward her.

A wide mouthed moan, interrupted, restarted, velvety and warm.

I feel it sliding on me, on my chest, rising and falling back to lick my nipples.

I hold my breath for the shock of the sudden pleasure.

Next wind feels like fire to me.

Quietness follows, but not in my mind.

I try to recall the way she looks. Who's with her? Who the artist drawing those sounds from her?

My skin tingles.

My hair tingle.

My fingers.

Between my legs.

A long sigh, ending in a whisper of unintelligible words. It reaches inside me through my lips and all across my body, lifting it, wafting and finally leaving from where it entered, followed by the echo of my own voice.

I'm afraid she could hear me.

Anxiously, I wait.

It comes in form of an "Oh", repeated and chased that I feel sliding along my legs. A warm breath, her "oh"s which roll up from my knees to my mound to vanish in the air.

I have the strong urge to touch myself, but the command doesn't leave my brain.

Still a soft rain of moans whose waves fall on my face.

I feel my skin burning.

My heartbeat increasing.

I see her nude, thrilling.

A string of muffled moans, soft, almost syncopated moans. I fell wrapped by the light touch of those sounds.

More words leave their meanings in the wall. But their sound reaches my genitals.

I'm breathless again, again I moan.

Staying still.

If she has not heard me, maybe her mate might have.

There must be a lover.

Or a she-lover to whom she talks.

But her voice comes back alone.

Low, long, modulated through tight lips.

It insinuates a massage wrapping me. Pressing my chest. My belly. My aroused sex.

She raises, I hump.

The sound opens wide and, just for a moment, it holds me.

I feel her as her body would be heavy on mine.

With full sureness I discern the moment when our genitals touch each other, melting into each other. It's when a moan grows in fullness. I can't help it, I match mine with hers, even biting my lips.

And she replies.

Little "yes" running along my skin like fire drops.

My breath increases.

She gets quiet. Maybe her lover is annoyed?

I still hold my hands from moving and squeezing, and stroking.

She starts again with sighed moans. Subdued. Then louder. They fall on me, like bites and kisses. Each one is a shock running across me. Wandering like hands. The strength of the pleasure taking her, the voice of the pleasure taking me.

There's no break.

Words insinuate, rough, thirsty, they penetrate in me, I penetrate into them.

I pant with no restraint.

Her "Ahs" are harsh and high. They whip at my sex like a tongue.

Her moans, her labias widening for my sex.

The longest sigh. I tense, eyes wide open in astonishment for what's coming.

Then, the scream.

It explodes through the wall and pours all over and inside, breaking any bounds. My climax melts with hers and I hear myself screaming with her. She sprints forth, breathes, gains strength again. Her vibrations turn into mines, her scream vibrates in my chest, becoming orgasmic pulsation, liquid, burning. I stick my nails in the palms of my hands, I see her twisting in the pleasure like me, dancing at the sound of my voice as I do for hers.

She slowly decreases.

Short and panting sighs slowly losing loudness and energy.

Each one of hers matches a spasm of my pleasure.

Shortly, it's quiet.

I rest still in the darkness, allowing my silence to be like a hug.

I wake up in full daylight. My body rested as ever, my mind relaxed.

I can't help but start when we both get out at the same time from our apartments.

I look at her appreciatively.

She walks few steps away.

It's like I know her body. Like recovering a well-known pleasure.

We walk in the lift.

Inside the close space, her face lifts to watch at me. Her gaze is sweet while she smiles to me.

And we get to realize.

The complicity between two women, each one alone at home, parted by just a wall, who have shared an unforgettable night of pleasure.

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  • COMMENTS
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4 Comments
colin23colin23about 7 years ago
Advice to Anonymous

Advice to Anonymous: don't try reading poetry, because you wouldn't understand it. Real literature often uses language to create an atmosphere without making everything explicit or stating each stage in chronological order.

AlexaDrakeAlexaDrakeabout 7 years ago
The Wall

Ah the Anonymous critic. Hiding like the legendary troll under the bridge, harsh judgement without context, criticism thrown as spite without a hint of constructive support. As a translation from another language I thought this was a well thought out fantasy, describing a shared moment of passion. As an author writing for the first time in a second language, I felt this was great and look forward to your further efforts.

LordOrionLordOrionabout 7 years agoAuthor
Language gap

Correct. The tale was written originally in italian, my mother Language, and the structure, the Language were set to fit the italian linguistic fees.

I had doubts about translating it: the feel of the story can't be transposed from a Language to another without adapting the tale in the Whole, and your comment confirm my doubts.

For those who can read both languages, I've sent the original italian tale for publishing too, which doesn't mean I take for given the story is Worth itself.

Thank you for the comment.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 7 years ago
the wall

English not your first language? Usage is poor. there's a lack of structure and paragraphs. Sentences don't make a story and makes this very difficult to follow.

this is a nice outline for a tale but it's not at a point it should be published.

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