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From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister)
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Fuck - fuck.txt [1/1]
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Greetings from the edge dear reader. Again... if you are not at least
18 or live in a community where adult material is not wanted, DO NOT
READ THIS! Post freely and archive if you desire. Critique as you
see fit. All I ask is that you do not make a profit from my work and
give the author all due credit. -- Know you this: I am all I am.
Nothing more... never less. Live or die, i do not care. So long as
another sees and knows and learns, then I am at peace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fuck By: H.D. Meister (dez187lm@hotmail.com)
Fuck. That's all that we do now, and even that is being overly kind.
We meet, undress, fuck, get dressed, and part ways. Breathing should
be as easy. It is all that we have left.
But that was not always how it was. You know it; I know it. There
was once a time when we would walk through the park in silence,
content to be with each other. There was a time when I could look
into your eyes and see the lazy smile of a man who knew that Life was
truly well and good. Once... not so long ago, I would lay in your
arms and think about the future. With you at my side, I knew that no
problem was too difficult. No situation hopeless. I could kiss you
and feel your heartbeat as I feel my own. I knew Love.
Then... it all changed. I cannot even remember when it happened. I
don't know how it happened. But it did; why else do we fuck? we
don't even talk anymore. Are there no more words to say? Have we
said it all? Have we grown cold to Love's touch in our hearts? Have
we grown old and gray, living only to see the end come and remove us
from this... thing?
When was the last time you kissed me tenderly on my neck? When was
the last time I touched you gently on your chest, dragging my
fingertips along your flesh? Did none of that matter? Were we going
through the motions for each other's benefit? Why do we fuck now?
The last time we fucked, you splashed your sperm over my face. I
didn't wash it off; all I cared about was that I came. That was all
that mattered. Respect was gone. Respect for you. Respect for
myself. Respect for the act. We didn't even speak to each other. I
walked into your apartment, stripped, and waited for you to join me.
You rose from your studies, stripped, and walked your dick into my
cunt. I don't even remember seeing you face. All that mattered was
that my cunt was filled with dick. I didn't even care whose dick.
Why do we fuck? Are our bodies so used to each other that they cannot
exist apart? Maybe they are denying the fact, if it is a fact, that
we no longer love each other? Why do we fuck? Why?
I remember the first time we made love. It was a full year to the day
after we had decided to date. I waited because I knew you wanted
something more than just a sex partner. You waited because you wanted
to be sure that sex was not the only thing holding us together. When
the time came, it was magic. I was a virgin; you were not. Yet that
did not matter; we both wanted it to be more than special. And it
was. I can still remember the concern on your face as you slid your
manhood ever so slowly into my untested depths. Joy beyond
description filled my when I felt the pain give way to a wave of
bliss; I had given my maidenhood to the man I loved with every inch
of my being. I can even recall watching you place the condom around
the massive extension of your love for me.
Every lick is within my mind. I can still smell your sex as I knelt
before you. I was about to feast upon your essence, something I had
been told "good girls" never do. I didn't care; I loved you and
wanted to show you physically. When you hissed, it was because I had
pleased you. I felt your legs tremble as you fought to restrain the
animal within you that demanded that you thrust into whatever warm
cavern your manhood was within. I never once considered bracing
myself, for I knew that you would win. The Man would win. The Man I
loved would win, and I would share in that glorious victory.
Yet now... I do it for no reason. I suck your dick simply for no
reason. I don't even remember what it tastes like. It's nothing more
than a dick down my throat. Why do we fuck? If there is no pleasure,
why? Why even bother with the effort of removing my clothes? Even
now, with three fingers deep inside my cunt and two others in my ass,
I know you're coming. I know I will fuck. I will fuck you. And I
don't care. It's just fucking. It should never have happened. It
did. We fuck.
Calculus is becoming easier to understand. I guess I am learning.
But I wish I could say the same about us. We fuck now. There is no
other way to say it, and I should be mad as hell about it.
I don't know when it happened. I can't point t one thing and say,
"That's when it all went wrong." All I know is that when we fuck,
it's not the same as it was before. Worse... I don't know why we
continue to fuck.
If we no longer love each other, but need the sex, then that would at
least be an excuse. But then... I would feel something. As of right
now, I don't feel a damn thing. Hell... you just left, and I don't
feel anything. Yeah, I can remember the fact that I fucked you, but
that's all I can remember. What did you do? What did I do? I don't
even know if we even knew we were fucking.
Did I fuck your asshole? Memories of the first time we had anal sex
still linger, but they do not make me smile as I once did. Then, I
would think about the trust you had in me. You were stepping into a
realm which had always been morally wrong and filled with things that
you just should not do. Oral sex... anal sex... even bondage. And
you chose me as your guide, even though I was but a novice. I could
have fucked up royally, but you trusted me. It was this trust that
astounded me. I felt blessed that you loved me. And now... we fuck.
What did I do? What did you do? I can't remember! It's easier for
me to remember the ancient mathematical laws and theorems of some long
dead man than it is to recall the last seven... ten... twenty? When
did you leave me? I don't know. That you were here with me is a
fact. I know that much. That we fucked is also set in stone. We
fucked; it's all we seem to do.
Or do we? even in fucking, I would care about my own satisfaction. I
don't. Hell... it's like I simply place Tab-A into Slot-B and repeat
as needed. I don't even know if I blew a load. And the frightening
part: I don't care. I should. I love (loved?) you. I should care.
Yet I cannot get myself worked up to the point of even a mild loathing
for what we did. So we fucked. And I don't believe that fuck is the
right word.
When did I stop looking into your eyes and smiling? At what point did
it become the nothing we have now? Did I suck on a tit? If I did, I
don't remember what I tasted. Maybe there was nothing to taste.
Maybe I didn't even bother. When did I stop? When did it stop? When
did we start fucking? Why do we fuck on, like robots programmed to do
a task over and over and over and over and over?
Hell... we don't even pay lip service to what we once had. Fuck.
Movie. Fuck. Part ways. Only one of those things ever changes, and
even then it's confined to a set of limitations which are birthed from
what? Comfort? Routine? When was the last time I enjoyed having
your thighs wrapped around my skull as I slid my tongue over your
gateway to Venus? When did it become a cunt? Why did it even gather
up that common name and wear it like a identification badge? Was it
sweet? Sour? Tangy? Did you moan? Scream? Shout? BREATHE!? When
I stop enjoying that most intoxicating of nectars? There was a time
when I would have to tear myself from between your thighs. What do we
have now? Why do we fuck.
I remember that Winter night when I let you strap my body down. I
offered you the chance to use me as you saw fit. And I basked in the
pleasure that you gave me. Even as I watched your lips travel slowly
up and down my hardness, I knew that you would not harm me. There was
love between us. Trust. Understanding. When you stood above me, I
did not see a soul bent of gaining pleasure without giving pleasure.
What my eyes bore witness to was a woman who loved me as I loved her.
We made love, even though I was trapped by twine and my best leather
belt. We... Made... Love. Now... we fuck.
Once I could have told the world when the desire within us had finally
spilled out of whatever container was vain enough to attempt to hold
it. Once I would have kissed your neck softly, seeking to drain the
stress of a hard day from within your body. I would have fought a
legion of damned souls for you. Nothing short of the Second Coming
would have kept me from you. And even that... is a matter of debate.
I would take whatever Time would allow me... for the chance to expose
your skin inch by lovely inch to the air. I can still remember the
exact shape and size and location of that small birthmark on your left
thigh.
Now... I don't remember the last time I actually saw you naked. Did
we fully undress before we fucked? Or did we simply free the
necessary part so that they could do what they do best: fuck. Were
you wet? Was I hard? Does it even fucking matter! It should! It
should! Damn it, it should! But it doesn't. And that is more
horrific that witnessing the first wave of Hell's army crawling their
way towards you.
Christ. When did it all change? Why do we fuck? a dick and a hole.
That's all we have left? Why? What happened? When did I stop
feeling every inch of your body? At what point did we stop giving
pleasure? Why do we fuck?
Even as I think, I do not stop doing calculus. I don't care, but I
should. Did you work on a paper and finish it before coming over to
fuck me? What was your reason? Did you have a reason? I didn't. A
dick... a hole. Is that all that is left?
Now that I'm finished with my homework, I find my legs moving. I know
where they are taking me, and I don't care. I know that your cunt is
there. I know we will fuck. I know this... and I should not. I
should care, and I do not.
(dez187lm@hotmail.com)
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