Her hair wrenched to its roots, and her body follows it. Face half smothered by the fabric of the sofa. Unwhipped skirt now bunched to midriff. The cool breeze stirs invisible vellus fuzz, conjuring goosebumps across her rump.
Pah
A hand-shaped gasp, hard palm across her behind, flat like a metal ruler. Breath. Again. Breath. Again. Again. Again. Less sudden hard now, cupped, rapider growing rhythmic. Pah - Pah - Pah. You could dance to its beat.
Pause. The cool breeze still lingers on her now sore high-pitched skin. She feels the absent hand rise like space opening. Waits, waits, waits. And the hand lays down softly. Shiver.
Pah -- Pah -- Pah. And on, and on. Her tongue tastes salt at the corner of her lips. And on, and on.
From throat like oomph of air forced out but like moles bleating almost silent but not at all in the room with only Pah and the old clock tocking. Never wanted this: needless, nasty. He had. Wanted this Pah-pain in her and, most of all, a certain look. To him it was different. Meant something different: he tried to say but didn't. Now the dark anyway, perhaps it would have been better to pretend...too late, anyway.
Blood keeps pulsing round around, pulsing welted skin and pulsing sex and pulsing temples. Arousal, not so surprising, but bitter like old dandelions. Empty pornographic pleasure: itch touch climax, close it now. This loved man pleasures in this pain at this ending. Finger parts folds probes pleasure. Yes, wet, and the touch is bucking, but then it's just so salivating walking past unwanted food street smells -- so, what of it? And on, and on, probing pleasure intermingled - what of it?
Tears. Beautiful, so often, and this less beautiful is the end. Ending with pleasure-pain he'd wanted and she hadn't. She, that other, once also loved, will, no doubt. This and more. So, welcome.
Enough, shame enough to full stop. Goodbye flint hearth and him. Not guarded against that sword, what's in poured out: on the sofa, on the ground. To she, the other, also enough, goodbye full stop. Exile both far from the lands of her heart. Let them share their exile. Pah -- pah -- and again. Better this end, maybe, in the end, than the beauty way. This pain is less pain than the beauty way of parting.
All Shimmers. Not like eyes, like water through a colander. Thoughts, that is, feelings, that is. Pah and Pah and Pah and Pah. Pain drunk, pain flight. So very here, but not much to do the being.
Hair wrenched again, body shoved roughly again, manipulated like a mannequin, body lifted until she's on her hands and knees. Pah, again. And then the sound of his zip unzipping. He's going to fuck her like this. Without love, at least without tenderness. Doesn't he understand that this is the end?
"Get off me!" Thwumk. "I said, get off me. I mean it!"
She found her feet and pulled her skirt back down to cover herself. He was still kneeling on the sofa, his trousers pulled half way down his thighs, cock hard and poking out like a lonely fat finger pointing at where she'd been a moment before.
"What? Where are you going? Anabelle, where are you going?" he said, tucking himself away and getting to his feet, confusion on his face.
