Crumbling Memories

Chapter 3: Shower thoughts

I hate hospitals. They smell of antiseptic, decay, and fear -- the kind of fear that burrows deep, the kind you can't shake off no matter how hard you try. It clings to your skin, settles in the pit of your stomach, and lingers in the back of your mind, a constant reminder of your own mortality.

There's a natural biological instinct within all of us, an urge to avoid sickness, to escape from pain. But what happens when sickness becomes unavoidable? When the sterile, bleached walls of a hospital become more familiar than your own bedroom, the corridors more frequently trodden than your own hallways? For some people, the hospital becomes a second home, a place of frequent visitation. The nurses know them by name, the doctors become familiar faces, their routines intertwining with the daily comings and goings of medical staff.

I don't want that life. Neither for myself nor for Vicky.

I glance at the clock hanging on the wall, its ticking echoing in the silent corridor. Every minute that passes feels like an eternity, each second heavy with apprehension. Vicky is in there, undergoing tests, and I'm left to wait, the cold plastic of the waiting room chairs offering little comfort.

As I sit here, I remind myself that Vicky is 45. With age, comes the inevitable, visits to the doctor become more frequent, bodies aren't as resilient as they once were. It's the cycle of life, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept.

I've always embraced getting older, thanks to Vicky. Each year marked another chapter in our story, another year of shared experiences and moments of pure joy. She had a knack for making birthdays feel special, turning the process of aging into a celebration rather than a countdown. I recall my 23rd birthday, six years ago: a day of laughter, surprises, and unexpected revelations, a day that, even in its simplicity, was extraordinary.

But now, as the sterile lights of the hospital cast long shadows, and the echoes of distant conversations bounce off the cold walls, I can't shake off the fear, the sinking feeling that our lives are changing, that the future we envisioned is slipping through our fingers, becoming an elusive dream. The woman I love, the woman who's been my anchor, my safe haven, is in there, and there's nothing I can do but wait. I hate hospitals, and I hate feeling powerless.

But most of all, I hate the silence, the uncertainty that comes with waiting, not knowing what the next moment will bring. And as I sit here, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic, all I can do is hope, and remember better times when the world was simpler, and the woman I love was by my side, healthy and full of life.

***

"You rented a what for my birthday?" I ask, hardly believing what Vicky just told me, the phone almost slipping from my hand.

"A loft, darling," her voice, soothing and smooth, comes through the other end, "Well, it's more of a neo-loft really. Practically an attic."

I burst into laughter. "Vicky, trying to downplay it doesn't work. It's still a loft, and you know it's anything but 'just an attic'."

"Perhaps, but you're worth every penny," she retorts with a lovingly defiant tone that I adore, "How long till you arrive? Everything's ready, and I'm eagerly awaiting my favorite little birthday girl."

"Besides," she adds with a slight chuckle, "I still can't convince you that moving in with me is such a great Idea and Bilbo's been meowing his heart out today. I don't want him distracting us from our special night. Which is why, a loft."

"I'm... almost ready, going to call a cab," I reply, the anticipation making me fidgety, "What should I wear, Mistress?"

"Hmm," she hums over the line, her voice dipping into that firm commanding tone that I love. "Wear something simple. And bring a spare change of clothes and lingerie. Your attire might end up... ruined, and slightly wet by the end of the evening."

My heart skips a beat. "Does that mean... are you finally..."

Her soft laughter cuts me off, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "I guess you'll have to wait and see. Hurry up, darling."

"And oh," she adds, a note of concern slipping into her voice, "Even though it's near the seaside, dress warmly. You never know when it might snow."

"But Vicky, love, it's May," I laugh at her unusual comment, though a small knot forms in my stomach. Maybe she's just joking. "I think we're safe from snow."

There's a beat of silence before she says, "Just... just come, okay? I can't wait to see you, my beautiful girl."

As the call ends, my heart flutters with anticipation. I feel a warm blush spreading across my cheeks, my pulse racing. I can hardly contain my excitement, my impatience. An eager, delightful squirm takes over me. The promise of the night, her love, her voice -- everything swirls together into a heady mix that makes me giddy. This isn't the end, far from it. It's just the beginning of something special, something unforgettable. Tonight is going to be a night to remember, I can already tell.

My heart still racing with anticipation, I step out of the cab and stare at the luxurious loft in front of me. The modern, sleek exterior shines under the evening city lights, promising a world of opulence inside. Vicky's always had an impeccable taste, but this... this takes it to another level.

"Thank you," I say, handing the cab fare to the driver. The door shuts behind me with a reassuring thud, and the cab takes off, leaving me alone on the plush sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, I step towards the entrance.

As soon as I walk into the loft, the sight before me takes my breath away. The room is beautifully lit with the glow of a dozen candles, and soft jazz music wafts through the air. But the most striking sight is Vicky herself, standing in the middle of the room, a vision in black. Her dress, a gorgeous number with a daring cutout showcasing her toned leg, hugs her figure like a second skin. She radiates elegance and authority, like a queen in her court.

Yet, standing there in my t-shirt and shorts, she looks at me as if I am the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Her eyes twinkle with love and excitement, her lips curve into that warm smile that always sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Mistress," I breathe out, walking towards her.

Vicky opens her arms and pulls me into a warm hug, her soft perfume enveloping me. "Happy birthday, my little girl," she whispers into my ear, her voice filled with affection.

When we pull back, she hands me a glass of wine, raising her own in a toast. "To my beautiful Lisa, turning 19 today."

I laugh and give her a playful nudge. "That's a good one, Vicky, but I don't feel 19 anymore. I feel more like 23."

"Oh, is that so?" She winks, a playful grin playing on her lips, as if her earlier comment was just a harmless mistake, a joke. Yet, something knots in my stomach, but I push it aside, choosing instead to bask in her warm gaze.

"Now, let's dance," Vicky commands softly, placing her glass on the table nearby.

As her words echo through the lofty space, my feet carry me almost of their own accord towards her, drawn as if by a magnet. "Come here, my angel," she purrs, her voice a velvety caress that sends a shiver through me. Her hands find mine, and we start to sway to the intoxicating rhythm of the music.

The anticipation in the air is thick, the soft rhythm of jazz filling the room, imbuing the atmosphere with a seductive charm. We move together, a slow dance, our bodies close, our passion radiating in each swaying motion. My Mistress is the sun, and I'm a small planet caught in her irresistible gravitational pull.

"Angel," she murmurs, her soft, sweet lips tracing the shell of my ear, making me shiver with delight, "you look absolutely stunning tonight."

Our eyes meet, and I see adoration and expectation mirrored in hers. Heat floods my cheeks, and I lower my head in a futile attempt to hide my flushed face. However, my submissive posture seems to stoke the fires of her desire. The sound of her voice, each word saturated with love and tenderness for her submissive, feels like a caress on my skin.

"Thank you, Mistress," I whisper, so softly that she'd have to read my lips. But I know she does, she always does.

As we dance, she guides me, leading me through the subtle steps of our shared dance. The dynamics of power and dominance between us unfolds slowly, sensually, almost imperceptibly. It's a dance within a dance, our very own dance.

In the dimly lit comfort of our shared sanctuary, our bedroom filled with memories of our passionate rendezvous, her kisses pepper my face, her arms encircle my waist, setting my heart ablaze. But as soon as her hands start to drift lower, a jolt of arousal pulses through me, and I can't help but drop to my knees before her, my eyes gazing up at her with a longing to serve. Her dominance is my drug, and I'm an addict, a willing one at that.

A pause hangs in the air between us as I gather the courage to voice the yearning burning within me. "Mistress," I start, my voice but a whisper filled with sincere devotion, "May I serve you tonight in any and every way you desire?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest as I stare up at her from my kneeling position.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips, my words seemingly stirring something deep within her. Leaning down, she presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, her fingers tracing a path along my cheek, setting my skin ablaze. "Darling," she murmurs, her voice so soft it's almost lost in the low hum of the music, "I want you to feel as good as you make me feel."

Her words cause a wave of warmth to wash over me, a soft gasp escaping my lips. "You would want that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," I respond, my voice shaky with anticipation and desire. "I want that more than anything." My words hang heavy in the air, a silent promise of devotion, of pleasure to come.

"Begin pleasuring your pussy with your left hand, darling," Vicky commands. The second part of her order makes me gasp in surprise, "and use the other hand to pleasure your ass."

A strangled breath catches in my throat as my fingers find my sensitive, swollen clit, while my other hand naturally gravitates towards my sweet little hole, teasing the sensitive flesh. I feel her eyes on me, watching every quiver of my body, every flicker of pleasure that crosses my face. Her heart pounding in sync with mine, the anticipation almost unbearable.

I glance up at her just in time to see her hand slip inside the cutout of her dress, her fingers disappearing between her thighs. I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of her pleasuring herself, her fingers reappearing glistening with her own arousal before disappearing once more, heightening my own desire to an unbearable degree.

The moment feels intimate, like we are baring ourselves to each other, our bodies lost in the throes of pleasure that we're both facilitating. I hesitate for a moment, remembering the golden shower fantasy we've discussed before. The thought alone makes me squirm with anticipation. My heart pounding, I voice my desire, "Mistress...may we...?" I don't finish, the question hanging in the air between us.

For a moment, she seems to hesitate. Not at my request, I realize, but rather as if she's trying to remember something. But the moment passes, and she gives me a small nod, her lips curling into a knowing smile. It's as if we're sharing a secret, a precious shared desire that makes this moment even more electrifying. We're lost in our own world, a world filled with sensual pleasure and shared intimacy. The night is just beginning, and it promises to be unforgettable.

"You must ask for it properly, my obedient little girl," her voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"Mistress," I whisper, my voice trembling as I continue to pleasure myself, "may I... may I have your golden shower?"

A soft giggle escapes her lips, her hand continuing its steady rhythm against her swollen folds. "Are you sure about this, my obedient little girl?"

"Yes, Mistress," I beg, my hands actively pleasuring my eager holes, "please..."

I'm barely hanging onto the precipice of pleasure, my breathing erratic and my body trembling, as Vicky positions herself over me. Her arousal intensified by my desperate pleas, anticipation is palpable between us, like the calm before a storm.

"Just a moment," she pants breathlessly, "Are you ready, darling?" Her sensual voice is like a caress against my skin.

I nod eagerly, my eyes wide with anticipation and raw desire. "Yes, Mistress," I gasp, my body shaking in anticipation.

She takes a deep breath, and then relaxes. Her golden shower doesn't spray but flows gently onto me. The warm stream of her essence floods my face, trickling down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. My breath catches in my throat as the rivulets slide down my tender, slender neck, soaking my clothing, dampening the fabric until it clings to my body, outlining the contours of my trembling form.

The moment captivates me, a display of pure intimacy and trust. I'm on my knees, bathed in her golden shower, my face a portrait of bliss and obedient surrender. The warm liquid paths across my body, leaving no inch of me untouched. My clothing, my skin -- all are drenched in her essence. The intensity of the experience, the powerful intimacy we're sharing, leaves me spellbound.

Throughout, my fingers never cease their dance, edging me ever closer to climax. The sensation of her golden shower covering me, combined with the pleasure my hands are delivering, creates an intoxicating blend of sensations that leaves both her and me breathless.

She continues pleasuring herself even after this, the sense of complete power over me only fueling her arousal, keeping her teetering on the brink of climax. Her mouth is open, breath quickening, as she moans and watches me, her sunshine, so blissful, so beautiful, so tender, so ecstatic.

Her hand moves to her breast, gripping it as she cries out my name, her pussy full of her own fingers, happiest among all. Her knees are bent as she stands before me, head thrown back.

Her moans don't cease, she needs me now, just like this, burning with desire, obedient, tender, kind, sexual, moaning in pleasure, her little girl, her beauty, her obedient princess, her slave, her lover.

Vicky leans toward me, beginning to kiss my wet, smiling face. She embraces my head, kissing my closed eyes, whispering words of love and adoration. She tells me I'm her one and only, that I'm the best in the universe.

As I cum, my voice throaty and raw as I scream her name, my body convulses in ecstasy. The waves of pleasure crash over me in an onslaught of sensation. Everything around me is chaos, but I'm at the center of it, glorious in my surrender, drenched in her golden shower, my skin flushed with pleasure, my body wracked with orgasm.

"Good girl, my sunshine," she praises, her voice soft but full of pride.

She watches as I tremble under her touch, my body still sensitive from the powerful climax. My face is radiant, her golden shower dripping from me, highlighting the blush of satisfaction on my cheeks.

Vicky whispers sweet affirmations to me, her breath warm against my skin. "You are perfection, my darling," she says, her voice filled with reverence and love. "Every inch, every spot, every nerve, every cell of your body, every thought, every word... perfection."

She brushes her lips against mine, and I can taste the sweetness of her words. "You are my perfect, precious, obedient girl." The sincerity in her voice makes my heart flutter. It's in these moments, caught in the aftermath of shared passion, that I feel the depth of her love for me.

As Vicky's words wash over me, I feel a warmth spread through me, deeper and more profound than the physical pleasure of our shared climax. Her words, full of love and pride, make me feel cherished, treasured. They feed a hunger deeper than the physical, a longing for her approval, her praise.

Her touches are tender as she runs her fingers through my hair, her eyes never leaving mine. Her gaze is full of love, a silent testament to the depth of her feelings. I revel in the intimacy of the moment, knowing that she sees me, all of me, and loves me.

In the aftermath of our shared climax, as we bask in the afterglow, we are two bodies entwined, two souls connected, two hearts beating in sync. The intensity of our connection is overwhelming, but in the best way. She is my Mistress, my lover, my everything. And I am hers, body and soul.

***

The exit from the hospital is just as quiet as the entry. In the sterile silence, the only sound is the echo of our footsteps in the empty corridor. The automatic doors slide open, giving way to the dim twilight. We've been inside for hours, the sun has already set, and the world seems to be holding its breath, waiting for something.

I clasp Vicky's hand tighter in mine. The test results are folded up in my other hand, a symbol of the inevitable that we've been trying so hard to ignore. I don't need to look at them; the words are already etched into my brain. The reality that we've been trying to outrun has finally caught up with us.

As we walk towards the car, I feel the hospital's weight lifting off me, but it's replaced with something else. It's heavier, like a shroud that's slowly descending upon us. The streetlights flicker to life one by one, their cold, harsh light casting long, ominous shadows. Everything feels surreal, like we're trapped in some twisted dream.

The night is cold, colder than it should be for this time of the year. It bites into my skin, seeps into my bones, making me shiver. Vicky, ever the protective lover, wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close for warmth. Her touch, however, fails to chase away the chill that has taken residence within me.

I slip into the driver's seat, looking back at the looming silhouette of the hospital. It looks monstrous in the dim light, a physical embodiment of our fear and apprehension. It's a constant reminder of what could have been, what should have been, and what is. It's a stark symbol of the frailty of human life and how quickly everything we know and love can be snatched away.

The purr of the engine breaks the silence as we sit, lost in our thoughts. Vicky squeezes my hand, a silent promise of shared strength. But the comfort it offers is drowned out by the thundering silence within me. I'm caught in the reality of our situation - a reality I had been blind to for too long.

Life is unpredictable, much like a winding road trip with unexpected twists and turns. You start with a destination in mind, armed with a map, but there's no telling what lies around the corner. I glance at Vicky, her calm facade illuminated by the dashboard lights. It's a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

As I pull away from the hospital, I come to a grim realization. Our destination has changed. Our journey now is about facing this unexpected turn, learning to navigate the uncertainty together. But the guilt of my failure -- my failure to see, to understand -- weighs heavy on my heart. The road ahead is uncertain, and as we drive off into the night, I can't help but wonder if we're equipped to weather this storm, together or apart.