Corruption

What is it about her, he began to wonder...why does she make me breathe like this? He knew she was there; she was the only person he was aware of. She made him shiver. Cold was the best way to describe it; an aching sensation that began with his skin and sank inward to his inmost parts. Somehow he knew it would be made better if he was closer to her.

The room was filled with men in black suits and women in dresses of all colors. Men of importance - lawyers, businessmen, politicians – milling about the room with a certain satisfaction, the delirium of a party and the search for excellent conversation. Discussions of yachts and finance, polite conversation about politics, art, and gossip. The words came to him – this foreign, invasive feeling could not dominate his excellence as a conversationalist – but he could only mouth them and watch the smiles of the people he was with. Could they see his unease? It wasn't unease; he was so close. It was appetite.

A ravenous appetite. He refused to move toward her, though; he didn't know what he would do. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to fuck her, to worship her, to destroy her, to make her scream, moan, cum, breathe against his face; the urge was even more primal than sex, though the images in his mind proposed only that. He surely couldn't move away.

His eyes strayed over to her; he slid his gaze across her back and ass, cupped gently by the dress. A kind of perfection that seemed mathematical and more, heightened by whatever this feeling was. Something more sublime than mere lust. Her eyes turned to look at him and she smiled, so slightly only he could know. There was something communicated through her eyes; she could have communicated anything, everything, but the message she dripped with was more primal than the civilization of words could emit. She felt the same way. His resolution was broken (or replaced? What difference is there between coercion, corruption, and desire?) He felt himself moving toward her, as though he were being drawn, but there was a bestial impulse to it.

Then it was alright. There was clarity in his mind. They couldn't look away from each other; they were locked instinctively. They had to be alone, to do what they needed. (what they needed, what they desired, what they were forced to do; the distinction had become irrelevant to them) He heard her voice in the clearest and most natural tone; "Excuse us," she said. Her hand touched his chest; it lingered there for a touch too long, enough for them to feel each others' warmth and hate – hate is too light a word - the threads between them. They wanted to devour each other. She pulled him aside.

She pressed herself against a wall and released his collar. He leaned close to her and breathed against her neck; it felt electric. Her hand stayed on his chest; she felt his heartbeat. "We have to get away," she said, her hand tracing down his body, teasing herself on the contours of his abdominals before she discreetly groped his crotch, first just exploring him, then feeling herself melt as she felt his cock harden in his pants. "Do you know where we can..." she breathed.

"Yes," he said, coolly. With a kind of reluctance she pulled her hand away from him.

They slipped away from the gathering. The lights were low; those in attendance were occupied with their own discussions. The two understood the need for discretion, and no one doubted the character of these two excellent people.

The elevator door closed and she nearly threw him against the wall; her hands gripped him by the neck as she pressed her body against him lasciviously. He could feel the heat of her, everywhere; the feeling of her lightest touch had been electric, this was nearly overwhelming. He gripped her by the wrist and stopped her, though he knew – they couldn't and wouldn't harm each other, even if they were...rough. "Somewhere better," he snarled, growled, though his voice never lost the strange delicacy and sculpting it had learned in nowhere but the finest settings. He smiled calmly, even politely, though she understood that there was more than politeness in it. She raised one of her hands to his hair and curled her fingertips in it; she kissed him, wantonly, passionately, lustfully; whatever they did together was an affront to civilization. The elevator rang as it neared the floor and she pulled herself away, smiling at the effect she had had on him, too easily felt between her legs, and brought her fingertips to wipe away the lipstick she had left on him. They were composed when they left the elevator.

"Patience," he whispered. There was no room for words in their minds as they entered his car and drove away.

The door to his apartment was shut for scarcely a moment before he pressed her against the door; they forced each other into another kiss, their tongues twisting in each others' mouths, their hands groping one another's bodies. It failed to satisfy the need that they both had.

It was a strange dance they made to his bed; they couldn't tear their lips away from each other, their hands twisted on one another's backs and legs. Her dress came undone and was discarded on the floor; the coat flowed off his arms. His tie and his shirt were each torn away. They could feel each other's ragged breaths and the heat from each others' bodies.

They came to the bed; she straddled him, her hands stroking his chest, sliding against the flats of his pectorals. She could feel how needfully his dick throbbed against her pussy, even through his trousers and her thong. She playfully ground her hips against his; one of her hands came down from his chest and touched his crotch, her fingertips toying with the belt and fly. When they were finally discarded, she held his cock in her hands against her pussy; a soft moan emanated from her lips.

She moved her body down, her breasts sliding against his cock and teasing it with her cleavage. Her fingertips stroked him; her tongue flicked at the head. It was perfect, she thought – a strange thought, but never one more appropriate. She wanted it inside her; she kissed it as she cupped his balls.

He grew impatient, watching her lick his cock. Surely she could taste how hard he was. He sat up, separating her from his cock; she followed him up, her teeth bared like a predator as she crawled up his body. She cupped her breasts, her pussy once again inches from his cock; the scent of her arousal was intoxicating. There eyes were fixed constantly on each other. Her bra came undone – neither of them knew who did it. She instantly pressed her breasts against his chest, drawing her hardened nipples across his pectorals as she smiled lustfully to him. Her eyes communicated everything.

She was still taking too long; he pulled her against him, and was soon above her. Her attitude, and his, were hardly different; there was nothing about submission here, only primal need. She stroked his cock, seeming to dare him with her eyes; his hands moved to slide her thong away, and her hand came to replace it, fingering herself until her juices covered her finger. He was only too willing to suck them away.

Her legs spread apart. His cock was so hard, she thought; so thick, so perfect. They were so ready. Her fingertips spread her pussy lips for him; her other hand toyed with his hair.

"Yesss," she hissed as she felt her pussy suck the length of his cock into her.

Her hand strayed to his back, pulling him closer; she arched her back, pressing her full breasts against his chest. She instantly felt his cock throb inside her responsively. The distinction between breaths and moans vanished; the flesh of her pussy sucked on his cock, rippling against it, urging him to cum.

She's so wet, he thought – it was barely the only thought that he could form into words as he fucked her. Her legs tightened around him; they undulated against each other, their bodies fitting together so tightly and perfectly that it could only be described as perfect and natural. She looked down toward her pussy, her gaze crossing her breasts and hardened nipples, to watch his cock appear and disappear as it fit itself between her throbbing lips. She could feel how hard, how thick it was; she could feel her own body releasing more of its juices in arousal.

There was more to this than sex. They were fulfilling, obeying something deeper.

It became clearer to her. Her moans subsided, but he could sense the pleasure she felt; they shared in it. She was aware of it – the carnal pleasure, the perfect moment coming, the union...but she was aware of something more important, something that she knew would give her more pleasure, something that would satisfy her more. The desire was closer to feeding than the need for procreation; so very basic. She wanted him to cum.

His grunts became growls; they became roars. She was oblivious to it. The pleasure was in the anticipation; they were fulfilling something more important than either of them. She could almost taste the precum dripping into her pussy, mingling with her own juices deep inside of her, as his arousal heightened and his orgasm neared. There was euphoria between them. So she continued working him, clenching her pussy down against his cock to urge the cum to spill from him; driving her hips against him, urging his cock deeper, as though it could.

The moment was explosive; the pleasure would have been lethal if they were only human. It was beyond words; his body straightened; she could feel his intoxicating breath scorching her throat; but she ignored his groans as her whole body and mind was consumed with the sensation of his cum filling her. Her hand coiled in his hair as she held him where he was, feeling his cock surge between her pussy lips, as she – with incredible coolness – accepted his orgasm.

He kept his cock buried in her pussy until the sensation began to subside; it was unearthly, more than anything he had experienced. Still her pussy suckled on his cock; when his eyes finally opened, when he finally looked into hers again, the calmness, the serenity, and the depth of her pleasure unnerved him, but only for an instant before she could feel the throbbing arousal it created. She drew her hand across his cheek, smiling as though she were proud of his accomplishments; her thumb slid across his lip, separating them lightly as though to release the heat within. His cock was still buried inside her.

She was straddling him again; the switch, with such force, but such willingness, was strangely imperceptible. She raised herself stiffly up, her hips gyrating against him briefly, as though he needed to be reminded of her pussy. His shaft revealed itself, dripping with their cum. She brought her hands to herself, cupping her breasts, seducing herself with her hands before one of them left to slide down her flat abdomen.

"I can feel it inside me," she breathed, her fingertips straying close to her pussy. The other hand continued to toy with her breast.

She moaned, though whether it was out of pleasure in itself or only to toy with him, to keep him hard, or to draw his arousal and pleasure, was impossible to tell. Her eyes betrayed nothing now, as though she had learned something from their orgasm. Her fingertips felt the base of his shaft and the wet slickness of their juices clinging to it. An utterance combining a moan and a lurid laugh emerged from her lips as she tasted it.

"More," she groaned. It seemed like a command.

Her hips twisted against him, his cock drawn against every part of her succulent pussy. He could taste her in the air; she stopped toying with her breast and brought her hands to his hips, bracing herself, as she started to move against him again. Still her pussy sucked, and he grew hard again. Nothing would please him more than to cum inside her again.

She started slowly, her hips seducing his cock, as though she needed to. Her eyes fixed hungrily on his, her hands gripping his hips harshly as she pounded against him, her hips settling now and then against him to further tease him. After all, his pleasure was hers too.

He could feel their cum seeping down his cock; her pussy was still secreting its succulent juices to ease his entry into her body. If the sensation wasn't enough, the scent was more than enough; he arched his back and drove his cock into her rippling pussy. "Give it to me," she demanded. She leant down to his face, her fingertips sliding across his cheek, her back curving inward against him while her large, perfect breasts hung above his chest, even while her hips still pummeled against his cock. "Cum..." she moaned lightly against his lips.

Again he roared; she seemed to collapse against him, resting her body fully against his, her cheek coming to rest on his chest as she looked away, enjoying the immersive sensation of his cum surging inside of her. She could feel every jet of it, and every bolt of pleasure that electrified him. This was the purpose; yet she seemed so calm as he erupted into orgasmic ecstasy. As it seemed to subside, the eruptions from his cock lessening, she smiled, her fingertips teasing one of his nipples toyfully. Her other hand slid between her legs and stroked his cum-coated dick, her fingertips moving to tease his balls. "More," she cooed, listening to the rumbling of his groans through his chest idly. The sound of her voice, the want; the inner, insatiable, irresistible desire to fill her with his seed triggered his arousal one last time, and she felt his cock surge with another jet of cum.

"Mmm," she moaned with a serene, sensual satisfaction, appreciating her little victory. She arched her body against his and drew her firm breasts against his abdomen, feeling (literally) how it triggered his arousal. One of her hands stroked the side of his abdomen.

He could feel her crawling up his body to kiss him again. Her tongue played languidly with his; she caressed his cheek. His hands curled around her legs, sliding to her hips.

"I might keep you," she said, before she dismounted him, his cock sliding wetly from her pussy. The rest of the night he forgot.

He was in the shower the next morning. He felt refreshed, and more than bodily; he felt enervated. He felt powerful, capable; he could destroy, create...these feelings weren't new, and in some sense they existed in everyone, but just as that carnal attraction that everyone felt – surely toward creatures like her – was so much greater last night, this sense of power was greater, too. He was more than a man now.

He could feel the strength in his arms; he braced his hand against the shower wall, flexing it, watching the veins distend along his arm. He smiled, confident in the knowledge he could break through the wall if he wanted to; his fingertips slid across the smooth surface, as though granting it a reprieve from his destruction.

The deviant smile stayed on his lips. He thought of her; he thought of the attraction. The perfection. The couldn't help but groan; his cock hardened between his legs. But he was certainly aware of the strangeness – now that there was some satisfaction of the need. He didn't know her name; there were no words between them. The attraction was irrational, unnatural; it was savage. He cared very little; they more than consented. There was nothing immoral, he thought. The need – the need to satisfy her – was an end in itself. It was the important purpose; everything else was now a means to it. He wanted to worship her; she wanted to worship him. The satisfaction – the unreal, inhuman satisfaction of their carnal acts – dissuaded him from thinking too much about it. But part of him still wanted to understand it, even if he had no reason yet to fight it.

She wasn't in the bed when he came out. He smirked as he moved to dress himself; the clothes they had discarded were on the floor; her underwear, the dress, his shirt – torn from the collar down. It was worth that, he mused. Soon enough, he was civilized again; he tightened the tie around his throat.

She was sitting in his living room. The moment that he entered, her eyes were fixated on him, as though she had been expecting him that very instant. Of course she had. The look of hunger on her face would have unnerved anyone who hadn't experienced what they had the night before; the look of unlimited desire, perfect lust. He stood still, watching her. She was dressed in one of his dress shirts; that seemed to be all, he could clearly make out the shape and color of her nipples through the fabric, and the ends of the shirt covered only enough of her legs that the core of his worshipful desires was kept out of his view. She barely moved, except for the enticing rise and fall of her large breasts against the shirt.

She willed him to come toward her. It was like the night before, but now there was not a hint of resistance. He wanted it; anything that would please her, he wanted. Anything that would satisfy their need; our need, he thought. He stood before her; here was a man, a perfect image of masculinity; strength, character, power, intelligence, sexuality; she was his counterpart in all ways. What could they...create, together? Her eyes were locked on his cock, already throbbing in his trousers. She brought her hand to it, lightly groping it, worshipping it in her own way, priding herself on it as though it was her trophy.

She willed him to kneel. Was it really her that was willing it, though, or was it him? The distinction was lost to him. There needs, their desires, their pleasure was inseparable. He was now at her level, eye to eye; her legs spread apart for him and he moved closer, drawing the slightest smile from her lips.

"Why can't I resist you?" he asked.

She brought her hand up to his face and curled it in his hair, her eyes straying there, "The same reason I can't resist you," she replied.

There was a pause. He didn't know who willed it; he leant down and kissed along the inside of one of her thighs, his hand stroking the outside. He rubbed his cheek against it and looked up to her, her hand still toying with his hair idly, "What reason is that?"

She pouted in response, her hand sliding away from his hair down to the back of his neck, teasing inward past his collar. "Do you need to know?" she asked.

He breathed against her thigh, his fingertips lightly stroking the outside, sliding further back to her ass. "Yes," he said.

She paused, pulling her hand away from his neck. She calmly unbuttoned the shirt she wore and threw it aside; she cupped her breasts, her eyes intently fixed on him; her fingertips toyed with the erect nipples.

There was not a moan, not a sound from her except her breathing, while she played with herself. Her hands moved down her body, tracing the sides of her abdomen before she touched herself, her fingers circling her clitoris before she slid one down the length of her pouting slit. The arousal was palpable; he could taste her pussy where he was; the scent was unbearable. He started to move closer to her, his hands taking hold of her hips and urging them closer to his face, but with a light touch of her hand to his face he relented. She lightly stroked his head to keep him at bay.

She continued to lightly stroke herself, toying at times with her clit. She wasn't thinking of last night; she was thinking of what this was doing to him, the kind of anticipation, the kind of want that grew inside of him. Finally, she moaned; she even moved, arching her back into the air, her breasts raised high as she continued to masturbate inches in front of his face, her hand still stroking his head. She finally inserted a finger into herself, slowly sliding it between her swollen lips, causing beads of her copious arousal to trickle out of her pussy. She looked at him across her breasts and smiled; his eyes followed her fingertips as they left her pussy, only to slide over her breasts, the wettened fingertip leaving a trail of her cum before she flicked her fingertip with her cum, smiling luridly at him. She took the finger into her mouth and moaned, her back again arching.