Apex of Release

D- had fallen asleep. Head plastered, hair all which ways like greasy straw, longer than mine. He was despicable. A completely sad excuse for a male. Sleep was a dangerous pass-time for someone in his position. On the couch- and I'm his girlfriend, asleep in the next room, next to some strange army man I'd only met the night before- there were two of them, in fact.

The old one was on the couch. Flesh sagging and cold demeanor. I'm sure he was on drugs. I'm sure he was drunk, maybe dying on our hallway floor, but we rolled him over so he would vomit places other than his throat. Of course I frigged him before the sickness. I had let myself tune out while each of them had a go. A valley of cold and this one held my arm, and the one who was supposed to love me, he held the other arm, AND a leg. The old army man took his go on top, mounting my wobbly flesh like he was young and spry again. I let him think he was.

This one was agile though, in and out of the sheets. I was barely able to move now. Exhausted from forced play- haha but adept at never quite reaching climax. I had outlasted all three of the men.

The steady breathing told me he was asleep next to me. I watched his clean haircut float up, then down, his chest heaving ever so slightly. Slowly I reached my fingers toward my sex. Rubbing the outside layers lightly, and slowly. It felt burned and used- wet from other people's juices. D- never touched me anymore. He was too obsessed. His obsession was becoming me, not partaking in me. He was my greatest competition. More lithe than me. Better looking in my skirts than me. Longer hair than me. Longer fingernails. Softer voice. He was a suburban corporate husband's wet dream. A little boy-girl they could fuck up the ass as many times as they pleased.

The army fellow stirred, his sandy hair pressed against the pillow, lips parted. I stopped my motions and lay breathless. He rolled towards me, wrapping his arm around me. I think I was sleepy man's teddy bear. It was strange and uncomfortable. He didn't belong here. I was nervous to take up the exploration of myself with him draped over me like a blanket. But I realized that it was after all my house, my bed, and I didn't get to cum. So upon careless thought, I returned my hand to my legs, and slid my fingers sluggishly back to the opening of my sex. I worked at an indolent pace, the rhythm working in succession to the slow movement of my heart. The juices started to flow, and I picked up my pace, my heart speeding faster, my breathing stitching in my throat. My eyes had been tightly shut, and I opened them to stare at the intent watch of the army man. He was wakeful, and a voyeur.

"You're not asleep." I breathed. I removed my hand, and he grasped my wrist, returning it to my waiting cavern.

"Don't stop- please! It's making me want you. Keep going." He whispered in my ear. His breathe in my ear was soft and the tone was deep and sensual. I wanted to fuck his words, his voice. Soon, my rhythm returned, methodical. He started to stroke his trembling cock. It was becoming enormous, quavering slightly at his touch. He reached down and stretched his enormous hand over my throat. It was surprisingly gentle, though my breathing became labored. His eyes followed mine, and I closed them.

We knew we had to keep quiet. The two men in the next room would ruin the moment. They would immediately want to say dirty words, and stick their rods into any orifice they could find. D-'s voice would rise several octaves, he'd be wearing heels, and the fucking would commence. Lifeless, soulless. We wanted this mutual control- voyeuristic and wrong. With those meaty fingers clinging tenaciously to my neck life became more real more precious. It reminded me of how important breathing was to the human process, and how quickly and easily it could be stripped away. Something inside me wished for that moment.

I had never felt so sexy. He was intent on viewing my facial expressions. He wanted to watch me touch myself. He wanted to know he made me cum. My undulations became more pronounced, like waves throughout me, rocking my inner core and sweeping across my legs into knees and thighs and my belly, my arms and my neck pulsing and expanding into blackness. I covered my mouth and moved my head and he pressed with such arduous constraint, unyielding in his strenuous task amplifying my sensory response, and as I moved to completion covering my wails with my free hand, he also reached the apex of release. I felt his chains controlled across my breasts. Then he released his hold. There was no pretended sentiment- which I appreciated rather than disdained. He rolled over, and I could hear his breathing become less protracted and more even. I used a sheet to wipe his seed from my breasts- rolling to sleep also, knowing my secret was safe with him.