Uncomfortably Numb

I sobbed once as he pushed into me. A little gasp and a welling up in my chest. But I pushed it down as he continued to push in. I lubricated, finally, and he was sliding in and out, behind me, where I didn't have to look him in the eye.

Soon he was grunting, squeezing my hips, urging us on. I tried to make sexy sounds, make it seem like it was hot. Fake it till you make it. I honestly didn't think I was doing a great job, but he seemed satisfied. Soon he was done. Filling me with his cum and collapsing on my back. My soul felt a little more stained.

After, he pulled out and fell next to me on the cheap motel mattress. I stayed on my stomach, head turned away, the cum starting to leak out; staining the already filthy comforter.

I flinched when he placed a soft hand on the small of my back. He leaned over. To kiss my shoulder I thought. Either way, he never got there. I slid out the side of the bed and headed to the bathroom without looking his way.

"You don't need to stay," I called over my shoulder and then shut the door.

After I'd rinsed him out as best I could, I cracked open the door to check if he was still there, but he wasn't, thankfully. I'd say, "thank god," but we aren't on the best terms at the moment.

He was gone, along with the dress pants I'd flung on the cuck chair in the corner as I'd pulled them off, sucking his cock to get him ready. "Why does every hotel, even cheap ones, have a cuck chair?" I stopped to wonder.

Then I saw that he'd thrown some money on the night stand. Payment for fucking him? Chipping in for the room? Who knows?

He hadn't left a number, no surprise. I was never going to call him anyway. I didn't know his name.

I hunted down my bra but couldn't find my panties.. I hadn't made it out of the bar with them, I remembered. I guess either he could jerk off with them, or his girlfriend, wife, whatever, would find them. Maybe both. I stuffed the bra in my purse.

I accidentally caught sight of myself in the mirror by the door. I usually try not to look.

I looked like hell, but sexy hell, I thought. I'd fuck me.

I hadn't cum. Not even close. But that wasn't the point.

Still, I had the room and nowhere to be. Not now. Not ever.

So I stacked up the pillows and laid back down in the bed, my thighs falling open, my fingers running along my cunt. I was still wet from washing up and a little bit of his cum which continued to leak out. I used it to coat my clit.

The more I touched, the emptier I felt. Dirtier. Used up. Dull.

Soon I was rubbing my clit roughly. Demanding some kind of response.

Faster, harder, furious. Give me something.

I pinched my nipple. Slapped my breast. Twice. Hard. Hard enough to bring a tear to my eye.

That did something. A tingle of something. I chased that.

I tried slapping my clit. First a tap tap tap and then harder, eventually spanking my own cunt fully with the flat of my hand.

I felt that.

It was good to feel anything, but I wasn't climbing up the ladder. Not how I remembered it going.

"Fuck!" I said to no one.

It wasn't going to happen. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

I was frustrated, of course, but it didn't burn. Like everything else, it was muted, dull.

I got up and shimmied into my dress, cleavage dangerously exposed without the bra, and let out a sigh. I shoved the cash in my purse.

Did it make me a whore? Did it matter?

The door clicked shut behind me.

****

It had been almost a year since I'd felt anything. Also since I'd cum. Not that I'd really tried for the first six months. Too much to think about. Estates, and debts, and stupid letters to banks and insurance companies. The funeral. I didn't even notice, at first.

But six months in, over coffee with a friend, I realized. Not strange to not have a lover, of course. Expected, I'd say, though no one gives you a handbook when your lover dies. What to do. What not to do. Maybe I should write one. Once I figure it out.

"How are you?" she asked in that... way.

"Fine," I said reflexively.

"Really?" she asked.

"Life goes on," I answered. But it made me think. Was I ok?

"You are so strong, the way you held it together at the funeral. If it were me I'd be in tears all day, every day."

"Yeah," I answered noncommittally.

But the truth was, I hadn't cried. Not when the police told me. Not at the funeral. Not since. Not once. I lived in a fog through which nothing could touch me.

And everyone who asked me, "Are you ok?" got the same answer: "Yes".

I experimented when I got home. I just wanted to check. We'd had such a rich and intensive... and frequent... sex life. And during the last six months I hadn't even considered sex. I just wanted to try and see.

The battery on my favorite toy, the reliable one, was dead, but I had a plug in wand that I dug out.

I'd always been a cum fast, cum hard kinda gal. But after half an hour I was going numb.

I tried again the next day, once the clit sucker was charged.

Nothing. I lived in a fog through which nothing could touch me. Not even an orgasm, apparently.

From there, I tried everything I could think of. Old standards like fingers and pillows. Old toys. New toys. I paid a masseuse to go down on me. I picked up a lesbian who was frankly out of my league, and let her have her way with me.

Nothing. Only pain felt like anything, and even that wasn't too much. Slapping. Nipple clips. Self paddling. Tit slapping. Clit spanking.

But I continued to live in a fog through which nothing could touch me much.

Strangers were a better choice for rough sex. They were more likely to get as rough as I wanted and less likely to tell anyone. Plus they didn't ask questions that I didn't want to answer. They never asked, "Are you ok? How are you doing really?" So I never had to answer, "Yeah, I'm fine."

I tried random anonymous pickups in bars. Alleyways and cheap motels. I blew a guy in the back of a bar by the payphones. Swallowed his cum, wiped my mouth and wobbled back to my stool. More than one pair of eyes on me. It was another woman in the bar, scowling at me like I was dirt, that did it.

I didn't cum, but at least I felt that. Felt the stain. Something like shame.

I let my weed dealer believe he was pressuring me into sex for drugs. Let his weird little friend watch me ride him, bouncing up and down on his disappointing cock. That felt like something. Not like fun. But something. So I let the weird friend fuck my ass.

I slowly learned the dirtier the better. The more depraved. The more pathetic. The more the fog cleared. But never enough to come. At the end of six months I was doing gang bangs. Blow bangs. Parks. Cars. Hotel bars. Taking money. Paying money. Anything to find that little jolt. Each time my soul got stained, I'd feel it. Whatever it was, it was better than nothing.

****

I glanced once around the room and then made my way out of the motel, my tits barely contained. I made sure to look the receptionist in the eye. To give him a chance to sneer at me. Hoping he'd call me a whore. But he was just bored. I was literally a dime a dozen in there.

There was a half broken neon cocktail sign directly across the street. I stumbled in and to the bar and got a vodka on ice. I'd never been much of a drinker, but I was making up for it the last six months.

I scanned the room, hoping against hope that I could find a pick up at this hour. The place was pretty empty.

I almost dropped my drink when I turned back to the bar. I don't know how he got behind me without me noticing.

I liked the way he looked, the way he was dressed. He even smelled good. But I wouldn't let that stop me from picking him up. After all, he already met my primary criteria - I didn't know him and he had a cock.

He started to offer to buy me a drink, and probably to make some inane conversation. I stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"If you're going to put effort into picking me up, don't bother," I said. He looked disappointed.

"What I mean is, let's go. No need to try."

I was thinking maybe I would blow him in the alley behind the bar while he smoked a cigarette. Or I'd let him fuck me against the wall close enough to the street that the cars going by could see. But he said, "I have a room."

He didn't take me back to the motel, unfortunately. So I didn't get to parade a quick return in front of the bored receptionist. He pulled me in a cab and we drove ten minutes to a real hotel. One that I knew of. I hadn't been fucked in such a nice place in a while.

He kept a hand on my thigh, right where the dress ended, as we went. Tapping in time to the music in the cab. It felt familiar. Too familiar. I turned my head away to the road.

When we arrived, he hopped out quickly and tried to get around the cab to open my door, but I was already halfway out. He offered a hand and pulled me up and out. Firm but not rough. This didn't bode well.

He even put my arm through his and walked me in. Maybe they'll think I'm an escort, I hoped. But no one even looked at us on our way through the lobby, my heels echoing on the tile.

Once his door closed, he asked, "what's your name?"

Rather than answer I let one of the straps on my dress fall down my shoulder, breast showing right to the nipple.

"We could talk," I said. "Or... I could choke on your dick."

He frowned.

"You like it rough, huh?"

"I don't like to talk," I said.

He strode to me, grabbed me by my arms, picked me up and tossed me on the bed. "This is more like it," I thought.

He grabbed my hips, yanked me down the bed, and pushed my dress up to my bare cunt.

"Time to get fucked," I thought.

But he hooked the cuck chair with his foot, pulled it to us and sat in it, then dove face first into my pussy.

"So that's what it's for," I thought. But I said, "You don't have to do that."

"You don't like it?" he asked.

"No... I... you just don't have to. You can just fuck me, or whatever makes you happy."

He ignored me and continued to lick at my pussy. Sucking my clit into his mouth. Pushing my folds apart with his tongue. Licking up and down. His hands on my stomach. That also felt familiar. I surprised myself by giving a little gasp.

And he didn't stop. He didn't stop when I finally got wet. He didn't stop when I covered my own mouth with my hand. When I pulled my tits all the way out and pulled at my nipples.

He stuck his fingers inside me and pushed on the upper wall meeting his hand on the outside. Pushing on my g-spot. Too, too familiar.

He growled at me. He slurped and sucked. He kept looking up at me as he ate me out. Exactly like. Exactly like. Exactly like my... I turned my head so I didn't have to see.

He wet a thumb in my juices and started toying with my asshole. Pushing and prodding. I gasped louder. It felt so much. So familiar. So intense. So fucked up.

My body started to climb the ladder and I shook my head back and forth.

Not like this. Not now. Why now?

"You want it," he said. "Take it," he said.

Oh fuck. That's exactly what... how did I get here?

"I don't deserve it," I pleaded.

He looked me in the eye from between my thighs. "You do," he said, his thumb pushing into my ass, his mouth sucking in my clit.

And...I exploded.

In orgasm. In sobs.

I came and I cried. Howling, screaming, bed shaking sobs.

He pulled back. He kept a hand on my stomach. He didn't hold me. He didn't shush me. He didn't tell me to calm down or that it would be alright. He just let me cry.

It took a while. A year's worth of stored up tears is a lot.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I finally said. "It's not you."

"I know," he answered.

"I... I lost someone," I tried to explain, but the sobs started up again. My chest ached. I felt nauseous.

"I thought you might have," he said, holding up a hand to show me a wedding ring. "Three years," he said. "I've been there."

"This is... it's the first time I've cried," and then, "this is the first time I've cum!"

"It's funny like that," he said.

"I don't know if I should thank you or hate you,' I told him.

"Yeah," he agreed with a tight smile.

"I should... you didn't cum. I should suck your dick, or something."

"Do you want to suck my dick?" he asked.

"Not really."

"Then don't." He sighed. "Look, you don't owe me anything. You can go if you want. Or you can stay. I'd love the company. I still can't sleep great alone. But it's up to you. Take off, never tell me your name, it's fine. You really don't owe me anything at all."

"I'll stay," I said before I'd had a chance to think about it at all.

He changed into pajamas in the corner while I washed my face in the bathroom. There wasn't a door, but after he'd gone down on me, how much did I have to hide? I laid my dress over a chair and crawled naked into the bed. I held my breath as he lifted the sheets and got in.

He didn't try to hold me, thank god. He just let his body touch my side, said "good night" and turned out the bedside light.

I didn't imagine I'd sleep, but I must have. I woke up to find I'd draped an arm and leg over him, my breasts pushing into his side. His shirt had pushed up exposing his stomach. His pants were a little tented, though his steady breathing said he was still asleep.

I reached down to feel the penis through the pants. Definitely hard.

I wormed a hand under his pants and held it. Warm and stiff.

I pulled the elastic over his cock and watched it bounce with his heart beat for a moment. Then I lifted up, bent down, and kissed it. Right on the shaft. He stirred a bit.

I started to kiss my way up the shaft and then lifted it with a finger and slipped it into my mouth.

I'd been face fucked quite a bit in the last six months. But I hadn't worshiped a cock. I hadn't made love to one with my mouth. I missed that.

I sucked and licked and kissed. Slowly and softly. Sometimes taking him deep, sometimes not. At some point, as I slurped on his dick, his hands came up and into my hair. I stopped and looked up at him, the spit stringing from my lip to the tip of his cock.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"No," I answered, "I'm really not ok. Not at all." And it was best feeling in the world.