Work Out Curtain Up

I felt a breath travel through her nose, and she pulled. I slide into her, finding new warm wet spots to batter and explore. So soft and warm and inviting, she's going further and further, lips over veins, tongue fondling my skin, tasting, and savoring me over breath and air. I hiss through my teeth again and I swear I can see steam escaping my lungs.

She's good, so good, humming and twisting around me, swallowing to get more of me in her, trying and exploring, finding new things to do with her hands. Caressing my stomach, massaging my thighs, wandering up to fondle my breasts, never staying still, always moving, never stopping. I move with her, pushing and pulling in time, letting her move and shiver around me, trying to find some place where everything clicks.

Her hands reach beneath my weight and stroke the entrance, tracing the lines there with just as much devotion as she gives everything else. I gasp and clench and resist the urge to ram everything I am down into her stomach. That would not be fun for her. But it's hard. I need to be inside her all the time, nothing separating, just union and warmth.

Louise's face is red, and her eyes are streaming tears and I face my own predicament. Despite everything, I don't want her to choke on me this much. Practically speaking, if she dies now, then the future of this particular relationship ends and she can't suck my dick anymore, let alone let me inside her in any other way. Moral and legal rules in the way. And I like her. A lot. She wouldn't get me concert tickets and stay over and make breakfast or even just smile at me in the dark when we watch movies or say that I'm beautiful or just be herself laughing and smiling at every stupid thing I do trying to impress her. I pull away. She needs to breath and I need her to breathe so we can still be together. It's harder than I want to admit, but it understands. It's angry, but it understands, at least that first bit. Sacrifice now, for continued gain later. It spits down her throat, something hot and viscous and potent, but it understands.

She comes up coughing and sputtering, spilling my preseed down her front, staining her shirt. Her face is a mess, red and swollen and bloodshot eyes as I rest my girth on the crown of her head. I still loom over her. Deep breaths, chest up and down trying to find some relief in the night air. And she's still smiling. Weakly sure, definitely bit off more than she could swallow with this, but that's on her. I warned her. I told her. She knows what I am, but she still did it anyway.

I reach down, and lift her up, hands under my arms. The remnants of my discharge smear across my front as well, but I draw her in deep, kissing her again. I taste myself on her, dark and heavy, filling my own mind with more thoughts of lust and ravaging, turning the world outside into a fog of mating and breeding. She kisses back, softly, letting me invade her mouth with a more pleasurable muscle. She welcomes just that same as the first. I am still spilling viscous preseed on the concrete, a never-ending flow of virility. She breaks away, still somewhat desperate for air. I let her rest her head on my shoulder, holding her tight. My girth parts her legs and settles beneath her entrance. Her warmth trickles down my shaft, as mine radiates up into her. Her stomach twitches against mine.

"What are you," she whispers in my ear. Her voice is hoarse and rough, trying to find some semblance of syllables through my essence still clinging to her throat.

"You know what I am," I whisper back. I can almost hear the thoughts in her mind start to spin as she realizes this little show is over. She softens, let's go as exhaustion slowly creeps up her body. Whatever lust in her mind fades as the call for sleep settles in.

She kisses my cheek and completely slumps over. She's tired from the big day, and frankly so am I. I'm going to have to take care of this when I get home, but I certainly can manage. It won't be happened. It was promised a warm throat and a discharge in a welcoming belly, but it's going to get my hand a shower drains once more. It spits, arcing high and straight against the brick wall. I slowly shift Louise up onto my shoulder, letting the weight anchor me down. She's surprisingly light after all this. I'm covered in my own preseed at this point, but that's fine. I'm used to being in my own messes.

I turn off down the alley and with an odd mix of pride and embarrassment, notice a small crowd has gathered at the mouth back onto the street, watching in silent awe. I smile, flashing a glinting smile that I hope sparks in the dim light. I can see some evidence of arousal from the people. Pride swells in my chest as I pass through. They're almost afraid to touch me. My smile widens as I take off down the street, my mate unconscious over my shoulder, erect, painfully so, for the world to see. My back straight, Dust to Dust still in my head, my clothes half draped and torn, I head home. Hopefully, Louise gets up and restarts at some point. That's the rule after all, and I wouldn't exactly call that a blowjob.

---

Louise woke up as I was trying to get the door to my apartment open. I didn't want to put her down. She had enough of the ground, by my decision. She squirmed, trying to get back under her own power. I don't think that is particularly good idea, but she keeps insisting. I am just trying to help, finding a good way to keep her safe and put her down somewhere soft or at least not particularly stained, but she keeps thrashing. I half drop her, but that is fully her fault at that point. I was more than willing to place her down gently if she would just calm down a little. But that was not what she wanted, and I am nothing if not indulgent to her whims. She immediately crumples into the floor and stretches, before curling up into a little ball like a cat. That is what she wanted, and I am tempted to just leave her there. A little bit more patience and she would be on a couch at worst, a soft bed flush with pillows and blankets and a me to snuggle against. Now she has a matted down carpet a wall and a slightly soiled jacket to cover her against the chill of the night.

But I don't. If she doesn't want to be carried, in the full safety of my arms, curled against my chest, finding comfort in my heartbeat, that's fine. She is now a barrel, a sleepy barrel that doesn't particularly roll all that well. But she is a barrel and I will roll her in the door. There is resistance, but not enough, not nearly enough to leave her out in the hall.

Eventually, I lift her again and shove her onto my couch and she finally understand that I am here to help, and she should listen to me and not struggle against my will. She writhes and wriggles a little, trying to find a little more comfort in the cushions.

"I want chicken wings," she murmurs. Apparently, she's not quite as asleep as I thought she was but was more than content to have a shitty hall carpet as a bed. And there is a point there.

When the stars align and Louise taps into the will of the cosmos, she can dispense some truly divine wisdom. Chicken wings sound absolutely incredible right now. But there is still a bit of a conundrum with her suggestion.

"I'm not getting you chicken wings," I say, and I can feel the hangry energy well up from her stomach.

"If you get wings, you're going to get sauce all over you and then we're going to have sex. I'm not letting you give me spicy wiener again. That's the choice. Wings or sex."

I know I am being cruel. I have to be cruel, for my own safety really. I will not subject myself to chemical torture if I can help it.

And her brain starts spinning once more, turning, and singeing the synapses, gears grinding into something molten and smoking.

"Sex before wings?" she says and once more, I am reminded of her wisdom, only unlocked in the altered states of consciousness brought upon from great exhaustion and drunkenness, and a little bit of oxygen deprivation.

"Do you feel up to that?" I ask. I have an inkling she's not, not really. Just something to keep the pleasure alive a little longer, the idea of a night that would last forever, and honestly, after carrying her all the way back, I'm not sure I have it in me either. We're both freefalling as the music wears off. I would try, certainly, but it's now more morning than night at this point. I need sleep and only the thoughts of wings and the throb between my knees are really keeping me up. There is a bed a door down that is calling Rachel so very sweetly. And Louise could be there too, sleeping soundly next to me.

She's sad now as I break her dreams before her. Well, I set her up to break them herself. She knows that she's done for the day once the thought that a hallway seemed like a good place to sleep. We're at our limits, and despite my still aching hardness, the rest of me can't quite match the pace. It is disappointed to say the least. It has to go to sleep now, despite the will to play.

"No," Louise says, "But do you want to? I kind of feel bad. I got you all worked up and then I couldn't finish it."

"Louise, it's fine. I can deal with it myself. You didn't have to do any of that. Really. I think Papa Jam's is still open if you want wings."

"Can I at least watch? And yeah, I still want wings. I'll order. You get comfy."

I'm still hard, so painfully hard and aching and throbbing. After I cleared the crowd, it wouldn't go down. There was a female on my shoulder and that could only mean one thing. There were other females back there, gazing wide eyed at the spectacle before them, trying to decide if they wanted to claim me for themselves. She fiddles with her phone, trying to find the buttons that would summon delicious chicken through the blinding blue light. It takes her a long while to get everything situated.

I leave her to her task as I strip. She wants a show and I want to put one on. I saw one, participated in one and now it's all me, stage, curtains, audience, band, all for me. My clothes are ruined, but nothing a cycle or two won't fix. The jeans are a little frayed and blown out, but some sandpaper and a cut here or there and it's just another pair that came pre ripped. Perfectly normal and fashionable and completely acceptable for all occasions. My aesthetic fully enforced; it becomes apparent that should be full naked.

It's all out now, open, and full, and I take a deep breath in, letting my skin kiss the darkness. The city lights sneak in through the cracks in the curtains, finding little patches of my skin. It finds the ridges and muscles, casting thin shadows on my body. Heavy, everything I am, everything I have is so heavy. A hand traces my breasts, over the nipple. One of the few things I have that are soft. Louise likes them and I like them too.

But the mass of flesh between my legs, hot and hard and throbbing and burning red with raging need, that is my pride and joy. It stands defiant and proud and eager. My hands trace a vein, trying to go up and down and finding little patches of slight sensitivity to linger on. It's sated now, with the promise of release for an audience, especially after that botch in the alley. I think, despite everything, it's tired too. It had a big day as well, and it just needs some soft gentle love before I go to sleep. And Louise will be there, worshipping from the side, watching with rapture as it enters her mind and takes up her soul.

"They have the Garlic BBQ, right?" she calls from the main room.

"Yeah, but you have to call them to get it. It's not listed on the site, I think."

"I hate the secret menu bullshit. Like, if it's that good, then just put it on the real thing. What do you want?"

"Large order of Cherry Bomb. And get some fries with the sauce."

"Got it. Also, hurry up, I want to see you naked."

That is a good thing to hear. I want to be seen naked as well, so our interests align. And there is food on the way. All the impulses and urges combined and sated in time. It is just a matter of time. The core of my being is impulsive, clenching and flexing trying to rebel against reality to crack it open and find something to change the world to satiate my will right now. But I am not that strong.

I stretch, feeling the clench and grip of muscle on bone being pried away from one another until something gave. It was the muscle, loosening and trying to find something better than what it was. That rip in my core as I force myself to relax travels through the rest of my body. Joint and socket, cracking and grinding, finding new ways to bend, and let myself let go. Everything in my body is trying to fight itself and make something better than the conflict from which it stems. I'm still smiling, as my hard flesh, all of it, every inch, struts from my room back to my waiting mate who has just procured a meal.

Dumb and stupid and downright wrong, my thoughts go to places where I don't want them too. She ordered some delivery from a chicken place. Louise did not go out with a stick and a rock and bring down a deer. There is no pile of furs or an open flame to breed on. There's a mattress with flannel sheets and a pillow that I've had for the past ten years. There's a heater that works more when it feels like more than when I tell it too. But something deep in my brainstem sings as I see Louise sprawled out naked over my couch, lounging with an exhaustion that probably has a comeback from at least 3 second winds. And she's still up and as soon as she sees me, I can almost make out the shifts her body makes internally as I present myself. Some twinge in her stomach that I almost miss.

Her eyes grow bigger taking in more of the dim light surrounding us, making out my shape and outline, finding more things to take in. She starts high, focusing on my face, taking in my eyes, losing myself in their shade, just as I lost myself in her. But that is not the main draw. I can feel them trace lines, lighting up my skin under her gaze, my cheeks, my nose, my lips my chin, outlining my neck as the hairs on the back stand on end. She is watching and looking as I watch her, nothing just existing, half glimpsed in shadow and blue light from a screen already discarded and threatening to hide under my chair on the far wall.

She settles onto my chest, taking the mountains and valley, savoring my peaks. Detours to my arms, following the lines, the tense and release, the hard and soft, the power behind all that I am. Finding my stomach, finding my abs, the lines, and the ridges. I can actually see her hand clench and unclench, wanting to reach out and touch me. Louise finally settles on her favorite part.

"What are you?" she whispers. I watch every syllable form on her lips, her tongue and teeth part and sway, languishing in her astonishment over my frame. I am something that breaks her mind, something that she cannot simply understand, something so odd and other and incomprehensible to a normal life. Even now, when she has seen it, touched it, tasted it, felt it invade her and take her senses and make them blank save for the sensations that it brought. And she still does not know how to process me. She can pretend that I'm just some woman, just some woman who came crashing into her life and wanted to join our existences into something else. But when I disrobe, confront her systems with something it cannot understand, she breaks.

"I- "

"If you say, 'I'm a monster,' I will eat all of your wings. Don't think I won't. Or can't for that matter. You're amazing."

I blush. Somehow, enough blood leaves my hardness to rush to my cheeks and I blush. And I look at her as well. Dark and deep and rich, hiding in the room while in plain view, half glimpsed and flitting through my senses. Even in full view, she's open and vulnerable and I can't take in all of her. The muscles in her arms are a little more defined. I don't think she'll ever have the bulk I do, but she is going places. Rope and wire wrapped around bone into something strong and lithe and bendy and wiry, something to coil and writhe and snake around the world. She smiles wide and glinting and eager. Vine to tree, serpent to branch, spring to girder, entwined and joined forever and ever.

I nestle with her on the couch, legs interlocking and touching, staring down the length of both our bodies to gaze into one another's eyes.

"Food should be here in like 15, 20 minutes," she says, "That going to be enough for you?"

"Yeah that should be fine."

"God, you're big."

"I am aware."

"But you still like hearing that I bet. God, horse does not even begin to describe that. Monster."

"I thought that was a bad word."

"Only when you say that. Every time, every single time, I get a little twinge of fear, right in my stomach. I don't know how I take it. I really, really don't. That shouldn't fit. But it does. I just can't get it in my mouth and that is the definition of a tragedy. What are you Rachel? You're too good. I want to taste you so bad. I want to take you in everywhere. I want you Rachel."

I stroke, up and down, starting light and gently. No need to go so hard right from the start. I have all the time in the world, even with the time limit coming down on my front door. Whatever is on the other side can stay and see and watch for as long as they can. It's not a problem. I've already shown the world what I am, and they did not reject me outright. Fear, or awe, or something just so odd that it was worth keeping around. I can live with that. I can accept that. Because there is Louise, sitting on the other end of the couch, entwined in my legs, watching my hand trace up and down, light touches and kisses from my fingertips.

I grip, still not going as hard as I can, warming myself up as I sink into the comfort of the moment. Louise's heat is radiating off of her. I can feel it in my thighs, my shines, slowly crawling up my body. It's nice, feeling of home and pleasure and fur rugs and fireplaces still glowing with embers against a harsh blizzard. I wish it were snowing outside, instead of that threatening blue just before dawn. I would even take raining, something to further enforce the fact that I should not be anywhere else but on this couch, in this apartment with Louise.

She moves her legs to straddle my length, just a little bit more pressure at the base. I can feel skin, soft and bouncy and supple, clinging to muscular flesh, clinging to bone. Texture and sensation and pressure, every little twitch and rub she gives, almost involuntarily, I feel with my entire body. Just skin on skin, simple, clean, easy even. Just touching me as I touch myself. She squeezes and let's go in time with my breathing, the rise and fall of my chest, and slowly we synch up. There's only us, slowly growing into one another, vine and tree slowly tangling roots and branches, until there is no separation.

Our crotches meet and she is wet and hot, so incredibly hot. The twitches and spasms just from the meeting are enough to send a convulsion up our now shared spine. A throb travels up my length and an arc of preseed spills out, landing on my chest, anointing me with my own essence. Once the first shot has been fired, it simply will not stop. Every stroke, every pulse, every thought sends another wave of me traveling and shooting and splattering against us, never ending, never wavering, just constant ceaseless discharge. It's nice, not want I really wanted, but nice, just enough to goad me further, make the movements slick and seamless and easy, coaxing me faster and faster and faster.

I bounce for her, the reverbs from my arms traveling up and down my chest. The impact of my strokes goes up to meet them, sending my body into surface waves. My movement hits her too, and she moves for me as well, the soft flesh flowing over the hard. The sway and bob on her chest, the slight movement of her entire body with the give of her skin. It's fun just to watch her move under my power. I'm doing that. Without any real direct effort, I am moving her and jostling her like a wave, and she is going with the current. The ocean is crashing round her, and she trusts it not to drown her.